His portrait, painted by my grandmother, sits in the office, hanging over the white-flowered couch. A background of blues — a stroke of midnight here, an accent of cerulean, a splash of deep navy — creates an almost mystical effect around the grey and white head. The mane is blowing in an imaginary wind, wild and untamed. The exact opposite of him in real life. In the note she left her daughter, Barb said, “This is Cody as I remember him.”
An appaloosa from a local stable, Cody stood around 15 hands high; his grey and white coat was usually stained brown from the mud he rolled in. The stripes on his hooves, the trademark of an appaloosa, couldn’t even be seen through the dirt.
“His nickname was the mudpuppy,” said Dave. “Whenever he got washed he would immediately go in the paddock and roll.”
Yet, there was a beauty about him that couldn’t be denied. All horses are graceful, but Cody’s gaits were almost dreamlike. To see him cantering in the paddock, tail streaming behind him, created a magnificent picture. But he didn’t always have the freedom to roam wherever he pleased.
The early stages of Cody’s life were lived as a school horse. He’d spend day after day being used as a training horse … training for young riders, that is. Riders with experience or riders without.
The life of a school horse isn’t an easy one. It’s predictable, but more often than not it’s painful. Day in and day out being saddled up for someone new to be plopped on your back, heels digging aggressively into your flank, the painful yanking of the bridle by inexperienced, sometimes shaky, hands.
But for Cody, one of those riders was a very experienced rider. She had a gentle touch and true equestrian love. Her name was Amy.
Amy didn’t officially work at the staples. She was there taking lessons and helping out, unpaid. She’d let the horses out when it was time and round them back up when needed. She’d lead trail rides and even some classes. But one can only be around the thing they love so much before wanting their own.
“I wanted to get a horse,” said Amy. “And Martha, the stable owner, decided she was going to take me on a trip to get a horse, horse.”
Not just any horse; Martha, in an effort to show her gratitude and appreciation of Amy, was going to take her to get a thoroughbred.
“We were supposed to go down to Kentucky,” said Amy. She paused, thinking back to the moment she’d made a life-changing decision and gave a shrug. “But I wanted Cody.”
Martha, of course, wasn’t happy. Not only was Cody one of her school horses, but he was an appaloosa. An appaloosa, over a thoroughbred? No one in their right mind would make that choice.
“She was really not happy when I made that choice,” said Amy. “I mean, he’s an appaloosa first of all. Thoroughbreds are the top of the chain.” It’s the thoroughbreds that are seen at the racetrack; it’s the thoroughbreds who bring in the money; it’s the thoroughbreds who gave Martha’s family the ability to own their facility.
“They had started out downtown. (Chuck, Martha’s dad) was able to buy the facility from the winnings, I think it was off of Felaney.”
Felaney’s Reign. A beautiful and thoroughly wild thoroughbred. It was Felaney who became Cody’s barn mate when Amy finally took Cody from the stables, giving him the home and the freedom he deserved.
But he didn’t enjoy the freedom at first. In the beginning, Cody’s newfound freedom, to enter and leave the barn whenever he desired, had him pacing anxiously. Those first few days after moving to his new home, he was alone, except for Amy. And he didn’t like it.
“He paced back and forth along the back (paddock) fence,” Dave remembered. “He actually dug a rut because he didn’t like being by himself. And when Felaney came he was thrilled to death.”
Felaney easily took over, becoming the lead mare from the moment she arrived. She bossed Cody around, but she wasn’t mean. She was just … in charge. But that all changed after she died and Cody received two new barn mates.
Amy rescued two neglected horses. One, a quarter horse named G.I.’s Billy Jack, bred from two-track racehorses. The other, a national show horse named Executive Account.
Cody, never one to be too aggressive, quickly changed his tune.
“When (Billy and Count) arrived, Cody became lead horse,” said Amy. “There was a little argument between the two of them (Billy and Cody). It’s what horses do. They will sort themselves out, decide who’s the alpha, like with dogs. They get bossy and push the other horses out of the way. And whoever wins that little argument becomes the leader.”
Cody and Billy battled it out for several days. Looking out her office window, Amy could see Cody and Billy rearing up on their hind legs in the sunlight, one light one dark, opposites. It was something you’d expect to see in the movies, but not so much in real life. It went on for days. Finally, Cody got the upper hand. He backed the chestnut gelding into a corner of the paddock for an entire day, refusing to give Billy an inch. Cody kept him from eating, drinking, going anywhere else until Billy finally caved and Cody came out victorious.
“I was kind of happy to see that, actually,” said Amy, a little sheepishly. “I wanted Cody to win. It was his home first. He was there first.”
That moment was really the only time Cody was every aggressive. His normal temperament of being sweet and kind and gentle was all visitors ever saw from him. It was this temperament that encouraged Amy’s trust in him; she knew she could count on him, and he could count on her. He loved her with a fierce kind of love, something you’d expect to see in a mother and child.
“I remember when we used to go over to the barn,” said Dave. “I’d take Cody out because Amy would be talking with Kim and I’d bring him over to them. And the two of them would be standing there and he always made sure he said hi to Amy first, before he said hi to Kim. He’d come over and nuzzle Amy first, then Kim. I always remember that. Amy’s standing there saying ‘hi’ and Kim’s standing there going like this to him (opens and closes hand) but he went to her first.”
Cody may have liked Kim, but he loved Amy. He could easily tell where she was and pick her out between different people. Cody had an intelligence that many wouldn’t expect to see in an animal.
“He was a very smart horse,” said Dave. “You could tell when you asked him to do something, he’d kind of stare at you and lick his lips. They say that’s when they’re thinking.”
Cody would know when it was time to eat during the day; he’d know where to look to find someone, even through a cloud of fog. He could even pick your pocket if you weren’t paying too close attention.
Cody was lovable and smart. He was funny and cute. And he had a relationship with my mother that most pet owners never truly have with their furry family members. And even now, 12 years after his death, his photo sits on her desk. His painted portrait remains hanging in her office; her love for him and their relationship has never ended. He maintains his place in her life even in his death.
