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Mike and Zeb, Dug Bar cattle drive 1999
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He was born into the Brislawn herd of Spanish Mustangs on the short grass prairie near Oshoto, Wyoming. He came to Oregon in the 1980s when a friend bought a load of young horses from the rancher who agreed to meet up in Dillon, Montana. Mike hauled a trailer over to get the horses and picked out a line-backed zebra dun gelding as his payment and named him Zebulon Pike. He was two years old and had only been handled a few times.
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| Always in his element in the canyons |
Mike always said he only figured Zeb out because of Tom Dorrance and Tink Elordi. Mike had been working with Zeb for over a year, ground work, round pen, several colt clinics. But Zeb had a powerful sense of self preservation and he hadn't thought of a good reason why he should let Mike get on his back. Finally Mike took Zeb to a training clinic in Malheur County with Tink, a younger basque trainer who was working with Tom, the venerable horseman from Wallowa County. A lot of trainers had advised Mike to 'desensitize' Zeb by exposing him over and over to the things he didn't like, sudden noises, clumsy movements. But after two days at the clinic, Zeb sulled up and wouldn't let anyone near him. Tom was watching from outside the pen and Tink asked for ideas. Tom told Mike to break it down to three steps, "Approach him like you're walking on kittens, grab some mane hair and get on." Mike 'walked on kittens,' got to Zeb's shoulder, took hold of some mane, put a toe in the stirrup and when he hesitated he heard Tom's quiet voice,"He's ready Mike. He's ready."
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| First ride, Mike and Zeb, ponied by Tink Elordi |
It was the beginning of 30 years of partnership. Without the relationship Zeb had with Mike, none of the rest of us would have ever been able to enjoy knowing him. Over the decades, his mistrust changed to tolerance tinged with suspicion for most of us, but he always trusted Mike. Zeb was reluctant to be haltered, right up to the end, but as long as you showed commitment and quietness he'd let you catch him. Once caught he was always respectful.
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| Gabe and Zeb (age 19) |
He might jump sideways at a tree cracking or spin to face a potential predator or slide a bit on a greasy north, but he'd stay upright and so would you, as long as you stayed on. If the terrain was challenging he'd take his time, little steps weaving down the steep slope or picking his way through deadfall. A smattering of cowboys, all of our kids, and - in his later years - a slew of visitors and novices all enjoyed Zeb for his capable, sure-footed way of handling himself.
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| Sara and Zeb (age 25) gathering cattle with Pete and Jon |
I have so many stories with Zeb in them. The time at the Steen Place when an ornery angus bull butted Zeb and lifted him right off his feet with Mike on his back. And the day out on Alder Creek, when Mike and Zeb roped an injured bull in the brush and wrapped him around a big pine tree so we could doctor him. Or the winter we were coming down off Square mountain in a blizzard in Hells Canyon, me and my mare following Mike and Zeb as they broke trail through drifts up to Zeb's neck, and Mike warning me, "It'll feel like you can't touch bottom, but you will."
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| Zebulon Pike, 33 years old, April 2020 |
That's how it was with Zeb, you always knew you would touch bottom. Not many horses are as steady and capable as he was. Part of that was his self-preservation and part of that was based on the trust he had with Mike. They'd been through a lot and they worked it out together as they went a long. The day he died, Mike was by his side, keeping him company with a few gentle words to Zeb's occasional nicker, a patient companion as Zeb took the long trail for the last time.
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| Mike's illustration, cowboy poem, the Zebra Dun |
"The stranger sat there on him, and curled his black mustache, just like a summer boarder, a waitin' for his hash."
From Sara at Magpie Ranch, home of Bunchgrass Beef
