25 Oct 2011, 9:50am

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Hail! The new Prince is born!

Son of Majestk Dream (Magic) and Ambir Dragon, our little boy ‘Puff’ is as beautiful, strong, and healthy as we could have Dreamed.

Our sincerest thanks go out to Gentle Oaks Stables and Gina Bressler for providing the hands on experience and talent to help him get on the ground safely.

oh oh oh she’s Magic!

Here’s Brian and his mare, Magic, at the Crabbet show this year.  Boy did they have fun!

Little Bit Of Magic

Racing pigeons have a concurrent history with Arabian horses. Homing pigeons were used for communication by the peoples who had Arabians. A European man by the name of Ulens imported carrier pigeons from the region and began what has evolved into an extensive sport around the world. The most notable import was a bird called The Persian Carrier. These birds were famous for carrying messages 1500 miles and were used by middle-eastern merchants, monarchies, armies, etc back into ancient history.

My father grew up in Brooklyn, New York and competed in the sport. He continued when we transplanted to Arizona and decades later here in Oregon. My father called them the poor man’s racehorse. He would rather have raced Arabian horses, but that was beyond his means. I inherited his birds and our whole family got into the racing pigeon fancy in a big way. My then 6 year-old son won a large combine race with one of his birds. It was a big win for anyone and a great experience for one so young.

My wife, Claudia, noticed I was wearing sweat pants and a sweatshirt to bed and shivering under several covers one night. She asked me what was wrong and I told her it was no big deal, I had forgotten to wear my dust mask while cleaning the coops earlier. She asked me how long had my apparent allergy been going on. I admitted for about a year. She had just been going through losing her legs to diabetes and she proclaimed the pigeons were going. I said no, I’d just wear a dust mask. She used that nasty sensible logic on me, we can’t both be disabled and take care of the family.. if you are on a respirator, who is going to do the leg work’? She called our pigeon buddies and all the coops and birds and equipment were gone within a week. We helped a new person get completely outfitted.

I was understandably moping around after my loss. Claudia, also being a mental health professional, quizzed me as to what we could replace the pigeons with. We both knew I had a vacuum that needed filling. She helped me explore by asking what brings me joy. I answered, you do. That pleased her. She asked what else and I answered, our kids do. She said, that also is a good answer, but what else that is not in our life currently would bring you joy? I thought as I looked out our picture window into the oak tree pasture and answered, well, a nice Arabian mare out in that pasture would sure bring me joy. Claudia said, I’ll see what I can do.

Several weeks later, Claudia had me drive her around and wouldn’t tell me what it was about. We went to the ranch of a woman we knew and she proceeded to show us a Morgan/Arabian cross yearling. She offered to sell us the horse for a mere few thousand dollars. I was aghast as it looked like Claudia was actually considering buying a mongrel horse and pay purebred prices! I got her aside and said, what are you, nuts?!? She gave a smug smile and told the woman we would consider it. As we drove away I continued to sputter and challenge how she could possibly consider it.

She had me drive about 30 miles to Michele Hawkins Horse Academy. As we pulled up the driveway, Michele walked out of the barn with a gangly bay Crabbet Arabian filly and began showing her to Claudia and asked her what she thought. Claudia said, I don’t know, what do YOU think of her, dear?

I picked my chin up off the ground and was mostly speechless. Michele handed the lead rope to me and the deal was set in concrete! I was hopelessly smitten. I realized later that I had been played with the classic sales technique called High Ball/Low Ball. I had NO objections to whatever we had to pay to own that mare.

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