I Remember Tandi

I picked him out as 20 horses stood sandwiched like sardines on an open stake truck fresh from a sale in Missouri—his spotted rump like powdered sugar gleaming in the midst of bays and chestnuts, pintos and greys. I was 14 years old, one of the “barn girls” at Blue Hill Riding Academy, Quincy, MA. “He’ll be my lead horse, I determined.”

The horses did not unload, but went to another barn for quarantine. We usually lost a couple to shipping fever, but several weeks later, “Tandi” reported for duty, alive and well. He was a coarse, rangy, 15.3 hand Appaloosa, probably with Thoroughbred as well as draft blood in him. He was a red roan with an oddly blazed face, a nice blanket with a few peacock spots, black roached mane, and wiry black tail—nothing much to look at, but there was something special about him, something that attracted me to him like no other this horse-crazy girl loved before. I had written a little song about him:

Tarlin, Tarlin
Tarlin, my darlin Appaloosa
Tandi is his real name
But I think he is worthy of
Tarlin—it means he’s very good
He does just what he should
Tarlin, I wish that he were mine
We’d live in the woodland forest
And Tarlin would be mine.

They called him Tandi—short for Tandakiya, a Sioux Indian chief. He looked like an Indian horse. I couldn’t wait to ride him for the first time. He already had a reputation as a nervous jigger, but I would be Tandi’s trainer and he would be perfect for me.

February 22, 1964 I mounted the big Appaloosa in the ring, and off we went at a brisk trot. He wanted to trot, so trot we did, round and round the large arena. He was a big, bold traveler. I had the best forward-seat saddle the stable owned on him—what a thrill to post his steady, rhythmic, ground-covering trot! Finally after about ten minutes, he settled into a walk, and I had to put him away and exercise another one.

It came time to take out a group on a trail ride with him. Would he “jig” all the way home, making me sick to my stomach as others who had ridden him reported? As we turned towards home, he started to jig. I caressed Tandi’s long, smooth neck and said, “Easy boy, it’s OK.” He settled into a flat-footed walk and almost never jigged with me from that day on. Everyone else who rode him, however, experienced the sickening nervous jigging. Because of this habit, he couldn’t be rented out, the other lead riders didn’t want to ride him, and he became my lead horse, just as I predicted.

I felt so good when I overheard the stable manager tell the owner, “Maureen gets along with that horse better than anybody.” I was known as the timid rider, not trusted to ride the hot horses or the ones who needed discipline. But this horse needed a quiet, reassuring hand and voice to settle him down, and I could ride this one.

I’ll never forget the lovely Spring day I took out a group of 5 or 6 young girls, all beginners. I had one little girl on a lead and the rest were on quiet horses. We got to the bridge at St. Moritz pond when we met another group headed back to the stable. One of my girls’ horses turned around and started following the other group. She couldn’t get him turned around again. What was I going to do? I already had one girl on a lead and couldn’t let her go—her horse would be too much for her. So I grabbed the curb rein of the wayward bay and took him on a lead on my left side. This meant I had no hands left for Tandi’s reins, which I had dropped on his neck. I squeezed with my legs and said, “Walk, Tandi” and off we went down the trail, my trusted friend completely obedient to my voice and legs. What a joy to have such communication with my equine partner!

Tandi and I enjoyed many wonderful trail rides together. I remember the steep Craven Mountain trail, the grass trails, the night rides. The highlight was the three-day, 50 mile competitive trail ride in New Hampshire. We didn’t place because Tandi sensed my competition nervousness and jigged himself into a lather the first day. We both settled down after that and had a great ride in some very scenic country.

In September, I heard that the owner of our stable was planning to sell my beloved Tandi. He hadn’t worked out at their summer riding camp, he couldn’t be rented out at our stable, and no one could ride him but me. I begged my parents to buy him for me. Dad said it wasn’t the price of the horse but the board every month that he couldn’t afford. I talked to the owners and they agreed to reduce the board if I used him to take out groups. But it was still too much for Dad. September 23, 1964 Tandi left for his new home. He would be a “lead pony” at the race track. Tears filled my eyes as I watched the truck and trailer head down the road. I watched until Tandi’s powdered sugar rump disappeared from view. I was consoled with the thought that the new owners said I could visit Tandi any time.

When I came to visit, I found Tandi (Candy Man now) well cared for but up for sale again. It seems he had not endeared himself to his new owners when he kicked and killed their small dog who had gotten into his stall, yipping and nipping.

Several weeks later I was at a horse auction, and who had a number slapped on his spotted rump—my Tandi! I begged the owner of our stable to buy him back, and he did put in a bid, but the final bidder was a riding stable in Plympton, MA, many miles from home.

I tried to forget Tandi, but I never could. I rode better horses than him, but none meant as much to me as he did. Years passed. I graduated from high school, got a job, and developed other interests besides horses.

One lovely early summer’s day I got a notion to take a drive to Plympton Riding Academy and find out whatever happened to my beloved Tandi. I arrived at the pleasant home and stable and talked to the owners. “Oh, yes, we know the horse. We still have him. Take a walk out to the pasture, you’ll see him.” As I rounded the bend and stepped into the clearing, my heart leaped as I saw my old friend, happily munching the green grass in the apple orchard as the birds sang and the bees buzzed. Tandi looked at me, but didn’t seem to recognize me. He went back to grazing the lush pasture.

I thought to myself, “Should I buy him? I have a job now. If I scrimped, I could afford to board him. When would I ride him? Just weekends is the best I could do. I work full time. He’d stand in a dark stall all week and then I’d ride him one hour on the weekend. No, he’s happy here. He’s 18 years old, he’s in a green pasture, and he’s happy here.” I said my goodbyes to Tandi. It would be the last time I would ever see him.

Tandi was a very special horse to me. There was a bond between us. We had many pleasant times together in the seven short months I knew him. I had written another song for him:

Never go away Tandakiya
I love you and I need you, Tandi Sioux
There will never be any other horse
I’d like better than you.

But he went away. I’ll never forget him.