By Tobi Lopez Taylor
This essay is part of the ongoing Arizona Horse History Project series, which also includes posts on Penny Chenery and Secretariat, Hank the Cowdog, Man O’ War’s son By Hisself, Frank Brophy, Doc Pardee, and another essay on General Burton.
The day after Thanksgiving last year, I was riding my Arabian mare Rosie in the arena at the front of the property when our local Olympian, Major-General Jonathan R. Burton, came pedaling over his bicycle, along with his daughter Judy and son-in-law Don (you can read more about our neighbor, the General, here). Rosie marched over to the fence so that her friend the General could rub her face, and we all compared notes on our respective Thanksgiving dinners. Then Judy looked down at Rosie and up at me, and said, "Dad hasn't ridden for years, but he wants to ride a horse."
I had visions of lightning-quick Rosie becoming famous for doing a double-axel and breaking the General's 90-year-old hip—or worse. There would be headlines about it in the Chronicle of the Horse, the USCTA News, and Dressage Today. Rosie and I would have to change our names and move to an undisclosed location to avoid angry mobs. I shook my head. "I don't think this is the horse for you," I told him. "But my chestnut mare is a retired FEI horse, and I think she'll suit you just fine."
"Great," said Judy. "How's tomorrow morning sound, about 10 a.m.?"
"I'll have her all saddled up," I answered.
I spent the rest of the day cleaning tack and tidying up the General's mount, Brusally Panatela. Retired from showing since 2005, she was a 24-year-old Arabian/Trakehner mare, bred, raised, and started under saddle by my friend and mentor Shelley Groom Trevor. Panatela's sire, Brusally Orzetyn, a son of Orzel, "the Arabian Secretariat," had been one of a handful of horses in the early 1980s in Arizona competing at Prix St. Georges in dressage.
Panatela herself had shown successfully to Fourth Level in dressage and could perform many of the FEI movements. However, in order to compete at the upper levels, she needed to wear a double bridle, and she'd never met a curb/snaffle combination that suited her. That was irrelevant for the General's ride; she would go well enough for him in a snaffle, though she was a little creaky these days. I gave her a dose of Bute to make the upcoming ride easier on her.
The next morning, I fed horses, mucked stalls, and counted the minutes until I could tack up Panatela. As I worked, I recalled the first time I sat on her, in 1989, when she was four years old. I recalled when she was sold to her longtime owner Carla Ferrara, and how delighted I was to buy Panatela from Carla in 2000. Panatela had been ridden by two Grand Prix riders (Beverly Rogers and Julie Sodowsky), and now she was going to be ridden by an Olympian. I prayed she'd go well for the General and that he'd enjoy himself and be safe.
Then I remembered Shelley telling me that Panatela’s sire—who we called “the smartest horse in Scottsdale”—had once carried an elderly horseman for one last ride: André Popiel (father of horsemen Andrew and Paul Popiel), a former Spanish Riding School equestrian. It had taken four people to get Mr. Popiel onto Orzetyn, who stood like a rock and then carried his rider as if he knew the gravity of the task. I prayed Panatela would go equally well for the General and that he'd enjoy himself and be safe.
I led Panatela up to the mounting block, telling her under my breath how important it was to "be a good girl today, and don't get anybody hurt." Alan stood on Panatela's off side, pressing down on the stirrup, and Judy helped her father get aboard. It took him a minute to get organized, and then we all stepped back to watch.
Panatela has some arthritis in her hocks, and at the walk, her left hind leg takes a shorter step than her right. I was curious to see how many strides it would take the General to get her striding evenly behind. Answer: two strides—and then, not only were her strides evenly matched, they became longer. As the minutes went by, the 90-year-old rider and his 24-year-old mount were showing us the training scale in action: rhythm, suppleness, connection, impulsion, straightness, and collection.
Alan and I looked at each other, across the span of the arena; over the years, we've gone to some pretty high-level dressage shows, including the World Cup. He's not an aficionado or a zealot (like his wife), but I could tell that he knew he was seeing something out of the ordinary. The General's position and technique were straight from a textbook, and his suppleness surprised me. Like the horsemen at the Spanish Riding School, he looked like he was doing nothing—and yet, paradoxically, his body was doing innumerable subtle, minute corrections with each stride that Panatela took. Soon he asked her for some slow sitting trot. When that was going well, he used his dressage whip just slightly to transition to a more stately, cadenced trot, known as a passage. Because passage is relatively difficult, especially for an older horse with hock issues, he halted her after a few minutes, and patted her neck. Everyone but the General had tears in their eyes. Then he said to his daughter, "Okay, I'm done. And I didn't fall off!" We helped him dismount, he fed Panatela a piece of carrot, and I led her back to the barn.
General Burton had simply asked to ride a horse again, but in so doing, he gave those of us who were present—including, if not especially, Panatela—an enormous gift: an expression of artistry, kindness, and joy. Often, when I am in my barn cleaning stalls, I'll see him, now age 91, riding his bike down the street. When he gets to our driveway, he slows down to see if there are horses in the arena (and there usually are). Then he rides over to the fence, and they soon come up to greet him—this man who loves all horses.
