Quarter horses for sale barrel horses for sale
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Quarter Horses for Sale - Barrel Racing Horses for Sale


At Longhorn M we take pride in our horses. We have versatile quarter horses for sale. Our horses are used to do what needs to be done. As quarter horse breeders, we know that versatility is a must. Our horses barrel race, pole bend, rodeo, outride on the racetrack, pick up broncs, work cattle, and will go under harness. Be sure to check out our salebarn page which lists our current quarter horses for sale which will include barrel racing horses. The only horses on this site that are for sale will be in this section.

We are located in Boston, Kentucky which is 30 miles south of Louisville, Kentucky. Our farm is easily accessed by I65 or the Bluegrass Parkway. We are approx. 5 miles off both. For further directions, please call.

We have a rodeo section on our site which has several photos and details about rodeo. The rodeo schedule that used to be on the rodeo page, is no longer being posted. Sorry for any inconveniences this might cause but it was too time consuming to keep up with.

So, we hope you will enjoy the website and the information that is contained within. Several of our horses have participated in the making of movies, been on magazine covers or are noteable figures around the area. Be sure to read their stories and view their pictures of acheivements.



Throughout this site I have added some poems about horses and the cowboy way of life. I hope that you enjoy reading them.

cowboy poetry link



Heaven's Horseman


       Godís best designers,
       as a matter of course,
       did their best work
       when designing the horse.
       
From the tip of his ears to the arch of the crest, the withers, the back, the croup and the rest.
A proud horse in motion Is a beautiful sight That warms the heart And fills the eyes with delight.
And, nowhere in nature is there a beast as beautiful and useful as the horse in his least.
So it makes me believe, Though He has much to do, That in His spare time, God must be a Horseman, too.

Jim DeLine lives in Denver, Colorado Copyright © 1977-2000, Jim DeLine. All rights reserved.

THE HORSE'S PRAYER

TO THEE, MY MASTER, I OFFER MY PRAYER. FEED ME, WATER AND CARE FOR ME, AND WHEN THE DAY'S WORK IS DONE, PROVIDE ME WITH SHELTER, A CLEAN, DRY BED AND A STALL WIDE ENOUGH FOR ME TO LIE DOWN IN COMFORT.

ALWAYS BE KIND TO ME. TALK TO ME. YOUR VOICE OFTEN MEANS AS MUCH TO ME AS THE REINS. PET ME SOMETIMES, THAT I MAY SERVE YOU THE MORE GLADLY AND LEARN TO LOVE YOU.

DO NOT JERK THE REINS, AND DO NOT WHIP ME WHEN GOING UPHILL.

NEVER STRIKE, HIT OR KICK ME WHEN I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU WANT, BUT GIVE ME A CHANCE TO UNDERSTAND YOU. WATCH ME AND IF I FAIL TO DO YOUR BIDDING, SEE IF SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH MY HARNESS OR MY FEET.

DO NOT CHECK ME SO THAT I CANNOT HAVE THE FREE USE OF MY HEAD. IF YOU INSIST THAT I WEAR BLINDERS SO THAT I CANNOT SEE BEHIND ME AS IT WAS INTENDED I SHOULD, I PRAY YOU BE CAREFUL THAT THE BLINDERS STAND WELL OUT FROM MY EYES.

DO NOT OVERLOAD ME, OR HITCH ME WHERE WATER WILL DRIP ON ME. KEEP ME WELL SHOD. EXAMINE MY TEETH WHEN I DO NOT EAT; I MAY HAVE AN ULCERATED TOOTH, AND THAT, YOU KNOW, IS VERY PAINFUL.

DO NOT TIE MY HEAD IN AN UNNATURAL POSITION OR TAKE AWAY BY BEST DEFENSE AGAINST FLIES AND MOSQUITOES BY CUTTING OFF MY TAIL.

I CANNOT TELL YOU WHEN I AM THIRSTY, SO GIVE ME COOL, CLEAN WATER OFTEN. I CANNOT TELL YOU IN WORDS WHEN I AM SICK, SO WATCH ME THAT BY SIGNS, YOU MAY KNOW MY CONDITION. GIVE ME ALL POSSIBLE SHELTER FROM THE HOT SUN, AND PUT A BLANKET ON ME, NOT WHEN I AM WORKING, BUT WHEN I AM STANDING IN THE COLD. NEVER PUT A FROSTY BIT IN MY MOUTH; FIRST WARM IT BY HOLDING IT A MOMENT IN YOUR HANDS.

I TRY TO CARRY YOU AND YOUR BURDENS WITHOUT A MURMUR AND WAIT PATIENTLY FOR YOU FOR LONG HOURS OF THE DAY OR NIGHT.

WITHOUT THE POWER TO CHOOSE MY SHOES OR PATCH, I SOMETIMES FALL ON THE HARD PAVEMENTS WHICH I HAVE OFTEN PRAYED MIGHT NOT BE OF WOOD BUT OF SUCH NATURE AS TO GIVE ME SAFE AND SURE FOOTING.

REMEMBER THAT I MUST BE READY AT ANY MOMENT TO LOSE MY LIFE IN YOUR SERVICE. AND FINALLY, OH, MY MASTER, WHEN MY USEFUL STRENGTH IS GONE, DO NOT TURN ME OUT TO STARVE OR GRAZE, OR SELL ME TO SOME CRUEL OWNER TO BE SLOWLY TORTURED AND STARVED TO DEATH; BUT DO THOU, MY MASTER, TAKE MY LIFE IN THE KINDEST WAY, AND YOUR GOD WILL REWARD YOU HERE AND HEREAFTER.

YOU WILL NOT CONSIDER ME IRREVERENT IF I ASK THIS IN THE NAME OF HIM WHO WAS BORN IN A STABLE.

AMEN.

The Game Horse

He was tied up to the trailer out behind the stands,
a blaze-face sorrel gelding, roughly 15 hands,
High withers, slightly ewe-necked, back a little swayed,
white hairs on his muzzle, eyes sunk in with age.
An old warrior with his best years long since gone away,
left here baby-sitting at a small-town horse play-day.

Watched over by her parents, a young girl kissed the horse; they coached her on the fine points and wished her luck, of course. He hardly seemed to notice when the small girl took his lead; he followed without balking but not with any speed. She climbed on and walked him round some, he went without a fuss; his head was down, the reins were slack, his feet dragged in the dust.
When they called her name his ears pricked up, she sat up in her seat; trotting to the gate there was new lightness in his feet. When they got into the alley he flared his nostrils wide, picked up the bit and arched his neck, she latched on for the ride. She let him go and as they went the years melted away, and he was once again the barrel horse he'd been in younger days.
With eyes on fire and muscles bunched, raw power in his stride, blazing speed and energy wrapped in horse's hide. He had chased the cans from old Cheyenne to the Calgary Stampede, from Amarillo to Salinas, he had lived the game horse creed: "Run to live, live to run," it was printed in his genes, from nose to tail his big heart pumped blue blood through his veins.
Coming through the pattern they touched the last can some; it was still up on its edge when they were halfway home. When she asked him for a little, he gave her all he had; the barrel stood, the run was good, and the time was not too bad. When she pulls the saddle he's an old horse once again, but while he's running barrels, he's all he's ever been.
So here's to that old gamer -- may our golden years like his be filled with golden moments and glorious memories, Of races run and races won, of places that we've been, of friends we've made along the way and good things we have seen, And someone who will need us for what we still can do-- may our needs be small, our wants be less, and our troubles be but few.

by Tony Schwader


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Longhorn M
John & Gretchan McCoy
515 Old Nelsonville Rd
Boston, KY 40107
(502)833-3076