Carol Reiter: The last dance for Robbie's Blue Gene

I remember when she was born.

Her mom was my mother's best producing mare, a little bay cowhorse that produced hard-stopping, fast-spinning babies that won tons of money and put my mom on top breeders' lists.

But one year, my mom didn't breed that fantastic little mare to a cowhorse stallion. Instead, she bred her to a big, muscled paint stallion, a horse that we had both fallen in love with.

My mom's little bay mare didn't have a paint, just a plain bay filly like her mom. All she got from her dad was a blue eye. That was her name, Robbie's Blue Gene, after her sire's nickname, Robbie.

That mare grew up to be a big, stout mare who couldn't spin or slide if she tried. But she was a pretty mare, and she had a disposition that couldn't be beat.

So my mom kept her. She didn't keep any of the little bay mare's other babies, but for some reason she kept the mare we called Robbie.

I think she just plain liked her.

When my mom died, my friend and I decided to co-own her, and eventually breed her to that long-necked colt that we put a lot of faith in almost seven years ago. My mom had bred the mare to a couple different stallions, and we liked her babies a lot.

We couldn't wait to breed Robbie to Willy.

Willy's first baby was Robbie's sorrel filly that we thought didn't have enough white to be a paint. We called her Mia, after her grandma, who was named Tia. Mia grew up, and grew pretty, and moved like a million bucks.

We sold that pretty red filly to a super nice lady, who started riding Mia and fell in love with her. She worked hard, won a buckle with Mia, and got her regular paint registration papers. Turns out we were wrong, Mia did have enough white to get registered. Just enough.

And Robbie got old. All of sudden, that big mare is our oldest mare. Well, Lucy is the same age, but we didn't raise Lucy. It doesn't seem the same.

But Robbie is starting to look like an old horse. Her feet are big, and her lip has started to droop a bit. My friend, a long-time horse trainer, called it a 'baccy lip' short for tobacco lip. It's the perfect size to put a chaw of tobacco in.

Robbie is still big, and she knows how to use her girth. My friend said that in our broodmares' world, solids go through solids. And they do. Robbie, and the other big, stout mares we have, just walk through a lot of fences, pushing until they are down.

Robbie has had a bunch of foals, all fillies, all great horses, although one of her babies broke our hearts when she was born with birth defects that demanded she be put down as soon as possible. That midnight ride to the vet's was full of tears, but Robbie never looked back. She got bred again, and had a crackerjack baby the next year.

And now we are looking at retiring both Robbie and Lucy. They are good broodmares, they foal easily and they are super moms. They take care of their babies, love them fiercely, and give them up when it's weaning time. The mares turn away from their babies, and fix their gaze steadily into the future, ready for next year's foal, next year's round of life.

This spring will probably be Robbie and Lucy's last time around. I'm looking forward to it, although with just a bit of sadness. I think Neil Young said it best:

"But now it's getting late, and the moon is climbin' high.

I want to celebrate, see it shining in your eyes.

Because I'm still in love with you, I want to see you dance again.

Because I'm still in love with you, on this harvest moon."

One more dance, Robbie. One more dance, Lucy. It shines in your eyes, and I can't wait.

Reporter Carol Reiter can be reached at (209) 385-2486 or creiter@mercedsun-star.com.