Ila Malloy examines her first foal for 2011

April 22 through April 29, 2011

By Ila Malloy-Stoutenburgh

I left my uncle in Burney with a casserole size apple pie and a refrigerator stuffed with finger foods and headed home after midnight, which would be the wee hours of April 23, 2011.

I departed a day early on the calendar, leaving Uncle Myles to spend his last visiting day with his daughter, her husband, and his sons privately. I had been unable to quit cleaning or cooking and it was driving him nuts.

"Come in and relax!" the king of the castle would order.

"No!" I’d yell back. "The Japanese are immaculate housekeepers, and I can’t leave this kitchen floor sticking to her feet!"

Insubordination and court martial pending, I explained to him that my husband Michael had no vehicle as the truck I’d left for him in the parking lot had failed to start and was in the shop. He seemed to accept that more than any other pressing issue which demanded I return home. Maybe my horse Layla was sending me signals, like the pacing the mares do before they let loose of their new life form.

As it turned out, the timing was auspicious. Arriving home, I found ranch hand Rich sleeping in his truck in the barn parking lot on night duty watching over Layla sometime around probably 3:30 AM. All was well and so I proceeded to the cabin and talked to Michael for an hour about the visit before turning in.

The next morning our hands covered the ranch chores, and I did site checks on the stock.

Rich stuck to his guns about taking night duty again, and so I went to bed Saturday night, glad for the relief, as Annie is looking like she’s competing with Layla for delivery.

At 11:24 PM the call came in over the walkie talkie announcing the arrival of our first foal of 2011, and was I glad to hear "He’s standing!" Sneaky Layla had done it again. Can’t leave her for twenty minutes, she’s going to lay down her baby alone. Incredible mare.

Her colt’s perfectly black tail ascends his spine in a dorsal strip, fuzzing out to what appeared to be the dorsal barbs of a grulla, with a silver dove rump and smutty face. Sociable from the beginning, it was hard to keep our hands to ourselves.

I couldn’t stop saying "Wow!" and repeating myself about the color and Layla’s performance as a brood mare. With Wilson, the palomino Appy colt at a year, she has more than paid for herself with this second super fine colt.

Relief gave way to exhaustion and I adjourned to bed again, sleeping easier now. Rich insisted he stick out the night for Annie, who now seemed inspired, letting down beads of milk, anticipating her own foal.

The week went by in a bleary blur of interrupted naps. I slept in my car. I slept in the barn. I listened. I watched the milk beading and falling off, walked the mare, brushed and fussed while observing all of the signs of pending labor.

In the end I nearly let down my vigilance , when I went back up to the barn at about 11:15 PM. When I had left her, Annie was continuing to eat with appetite. I had taken photos of the dipping haunches on either side of her tail, which bore the last tail wrap of red. It is written that if the mare is feeding normally, it is unlikely she will produce that night.

When I opened the barn door, I heard no greeting as had met my entrance every previous time, and I was apprehensive it was too late. However, Annie’s bright eyes met mine, and I saw no baby in the stall, which was excessively messy for the short time. I let her into the inner paddock and went to work cleaning. She laid down.

I watched her bite her sides and switch her tail and lay out her head and I began to work harder on the stall. I had just wheeled out the barrow to the barn doors and turned around to look when she got up.

Looking back at me, she let loose a gush and the labor proceeded. I cannot at this time go over the event so much as I brought my camera out and videoed as much as I could under the circumstances, but the world saw the arrival of the red filly at 11:34 PM on April 28, 2011.

This is the first filly by our stallion IM Diamond Cutter, who we brought out in 2005 from Texas to California to start our own line of the American Quarter Horse. Similarly my great grandfather Albert Chauncey Stoutenburg imported the Hambletonian, a Standardbred horse, from the East Coast to Montana during his day. I have a picture of his wife, my great grandmother with this horse. Interesting how generations who never knew each other were similarly inspired.

submitted by Anna May Batty

Last December we posted an excerpt from an account written by John H. Stoutenburg, and subsequently have acquired this poem. As a child I’d lay on the floor before the fire on a winter day with my toes extended toward the flames, looking up over our mantle, where hung the enormous horns of which this rhymed tale account.

The Texas Steer was composed in 1875 at Quinn River, Humboldt River, Nevada. John was working for one John Hoppin, a sheepman. In 1880, John H. Stoutenburg, along with H. H. Barney, and L. H. Hamilton formed the Sage Creek Sheep Company in the Judith Basin area of Montana. John Stoutenburg was the great uncle of Marietta Lehman and also mine.

Ila Stoutenburg-Malloy
STFA Web Manager

For your holiday enjoyment we submit to you…

THE TEXAS STEER
by John Stoutenburg

What we call a bull team is twenty Texas steers,
Armed with horns upon their heads, like mules are armed with ears,
Their hindends are protected by heels instead of horns,
And woe unto the fellow who steps upon their corns,
I’ve watched them through a field glass, their bodies are lean and lank,
And minus of their dinner, they’re no thicker than a plank.
They stand on legs like bean poles, of spider shape and queer
Their horns, I swear would shame an elk,
They’re eight feet in the clear.

Times are kinda lively, when those critters take a run,
There’s no use trying to catch them, for the thing just can’t be done.
Our fleetest whiteyed cayuses are left far in the rear,
And lightening can’t run crooked enough, to catch a Texas steer.
Had the South a thousand of these steers, at the battle of Bull Run,
They’d not have given up the chase, ‘til they’d taken Washington,
And when they placed their banner o’er the ruins and the dead,
They would’ve painted a Texas steer beside a copperhead.

You cannot use a blacksnake in driving of these steers,
For the lash would tangle ‘mong their horns, and lop around their ears.
It’s sure to wrapa knot, you never could untie,
And if a fellow ain’t a fool, he’ll likely never try.
They drive them with a goad stick, like the handle of a broom,
And the main point in driving them, is to give them plenty room,
But as to minor items, I never stop to see,
For fear the critters will break loose, and then take after me.

I always get on top the house, when the bull team is in sight,
Armed with Winchester rifle when they turn them loose at night.
Then you see, I feel tickled to think how safe I be,
For a steer cannot climb a house, tho’ he can climb a tree.
A driver that is married, and has a pretty wife,
You will generally convince him, that he’d best insure his life.
For when a steer once takes a notion, to kindly lay him by,
She’ll first thing take the money, then she’ll take a little cry.

I wouldn’t drive a bull team on a Silver City road,
For all the bullion taken from the Mammouth Comstock Lode.
And take a desperate chance when the drought is at its worst
Involved ever in a cloud of alkali and dust.
It’s hard on Christian drivers, who believe in church and prayer,
For you cannot make a bull team pull, unless you cuss and swear.
After it’s all figured out, they will all of them agree,
That you cannot work a bull-team, by a double rule of three.
Now, you can think I’m joking, and my veracity may doubt,
But if it’s not a certain fact, my name’s not Johnny Stout.
And if you think I’m somewhat mixed, ‘twill still all your fears,
When you see a bullteam of full-blooded Texas Steers.

As we continue to upgrade this site, we’d like to take a moment to remind everyone of our mission here:

…to collect and preserve information regarding the early history of the Stoutenburgh and Teller families in America…

This site exists to fulfill that mission. We want to collect and preserve any and all documents and oral histories that exist out there before they disappear. We want these to be available to our children and their children and so on down the line. We want them to know who we are, where we’ve come from, what we’ve gone through. This should be a unifying influence, not a divisive one.

Unfortunately, history, by it’s very nature, is open to interpretation. Even well-recorded, recent history is subject to dispute–and ours is not a well-recorded history. Much of that history involves times and places with little or no written records. Some people look at what we’ve found and see one thing while others see that differently, and that’s fine as long as we don’t allow our viewpoints to divide us.

If you have different information than what you see here, then speak up. Present your information (and documentation if available) clearly and intelligently. Share it with everyone here. We make no claims to having the final word on anything. The more information we can get and present, the better it will be for everyone to make up their own mind.

Those of us creating and maintaining this site would like to thank everyone who has contributed their knowledge and time to provide this information. We hope to continue adding to this store of knowledge indefinitely.

April 12, 2010

Upon the anniversary of his death, please take a moment to pay your respects to our beloved neighbor at Hyde Park by reviewing the article provided by clicking on the link below.

• Franklin Delano Roosevelt on MSN

Keep on the lookout for our facelift and new formatting.  Early in March we were the victim of a malicious hack, called a web hijacker, which redirected our visitors to a random succession of other websites. 

We apologize for the inconvenience this may have caused, and thank those who advised us immediately of the problem so that it was handled within a 24-hour period.  As a result of this event we are updating and upgrading and look to you for your feedback. Please stand by.