The challenge this week was the number “12”. What could I write about for 12? Ancestors, days, marriages, children??? Nothing seemed to work until I thought of 12 as midnight. We don’t have a midnight in the family but we had 11:30! A horse!
A horse! A horse that meant a lot to my Dad, my grandfather, my sister and I. You see, we are a ranching family and horses are like family and many lived out there life on the ranch. He was named “11:30” because he wasn’t dark or black enough to be midnight!
My dad acquired “11:30” in 1964 when he bought his ranch from his brother, George. With the land came 4 horses to mount the “cowboys”. Dad got “Stubby”, Grandpa got “11:30”, my sister Gail got “Pal” and I got my cousin Donnee’s horse Poquito. These were older reliable horses for the “cowboys”. Grandpa was 77 years old, my sister was 10 and I was 14. We were Dad’s crew! The horses had some age too. We think “11:30” was 14 when he came to our ranch. He lived until his 20’s.
I suspect Grandpa had ridden “11:30” before at his son’s ranch and I suspect Uncle George was hoping to pass Grandpa off to us along with his horse. Grandpa was a great man but sometimes he considered himself the boss! I mean after all, he was 77 years old and the patriarch! If he wasn’t helping the sons in Beaverhead County, he was helping his son, Dean, in Missoula! We all have stories of Grandpa’s help. Some good, some funny and some not so good.
“11:30” was a big stout Morgan gelding raised in the Rocky Hills on Grasshopper Creek and around Bannack, Montana. Probably the only negative point was his fear of barbed wire, or a stick that looked like barb wire or a shadow that looked like barb wire. You learned to move with him when he jumped to go around the stick or fall off!
Gail riding "11:30". She inherited the horse from Grandpa
Grandpa Shaffner
This is not "11:30".
I am still looking for the picture of Grandpa on "11:30"!
One day my dad gave me instructions of where to find cattle on the creek and a directions of where to move them from the creek to higher country in an effort to get them from the riparian areas and willows. Grandpa, a neighbor girl, Cathy, and I were to start early before the summer day got hot, gather and move the cattle. I don’t remember if we got an early start, gathering cattle in willows is hard in summer heat and when we started out it was getting warmer. I knew the way, but was overruled by Grandpa as he knew a “shortcut”. I knew we were going the wrong way and a difficult trail uphill. But after all, I was a kid and a girl, so what did I know! As Cathy and I worked and pushed the stubborn cows, Grandpa had the “lead”. I knew the trail we were going and it was the “long way” to the water trough. As we started up the last steep hill, at the farthest fence to the south of the ranch, the dogs quit us! They were hot; well so were we! In fact, the dogs ran home! Which was several miles but I would imagine they laid in the water of Grasshopper Creek to cool off. When we finally reached the top, Grandpa said; leave ‘em here and they will find the trough. I knew the trough was back down another coulee! We left and of course the cows found water. Dad was a livid with Grandpa. And we now laugh about the day the day the dogs quit!
Another trip Grandpa took with my sister Gail and my Dad to move some cattle on the creek resulted in Grandpa becoming lost. Since Dad had a Veterinary Hospital, work on the ranch was often done after work at the Veterinary Hospital was completed. It was an evening ride to gather cattle and move them. It was near dark when Dad & Gail headed home and Grandpa took off on one of his shortcuts. Since he was on a fast walking horse, we figured we was ahead of us. “11:30” was noted for his gait and fast walk so it was surprising that he wasn’t at the cabin when they arrived. It was now dark and where was Grandpa? The fear was “11:30” had shied at some perceived wire & Grandpa had fallen off & gotten hurt.
After searching for several hours and going back up the creek with a car and headlights, still no Grandpa. Dad left him a note and told him to call when he got to the cabin. Finally Grandpa called that he was in. Come to find out, Grandpa had gotten off and walked, leading “11:30”, because he was afraid of running into wire in the dark. Grandpa swore he feel down a prospector’s hole (more likely a deep ravine), & he had to crawl up the reins to get out.
Grandpa knew the ranch like the back of his hand and if he had given the horse his head, the horse would have returned to the corral. But Grandpa was a bit headstrong and stubborn and sometimes cranky.
“11:30”, the horse not black enough to be called Midnight, is a huge part of the Shaffner oral history-just like our ancestors.
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