…and on the eighth day God created the horse in perfect image, to romp, graze, gallop, play, and make manure wherever it darn well pleases, in divine grace.
In case you missed it, our longtime friend and fellow horse admirer Bob Artman passed away on Saturday, January 25, 2020. Bob could always be seen at Fair, ring side for the Saddle Horse Department, or riding around in the golf cart making sure everything was as it was supposed to be, and he looked every bit the cowboy that he was.
Bob liked the farming life and he owned both cattle and horses.
He was previously active in the Appaloosa Horse Association, and then later in the American Quarter Horse Association.
I used to tease him at the rail that he wanted one of those high-stepping Saddlebreds that would go leaping through the in-gate on two hind legs at Fair. I thought my quip was funny, but he didn’t.
Bob was the one who growled at me one year when I was keeping my harnesses in the stall with my mini, Levi. Because you couldn’t see Levi’s head over the stall grates, but you could see my wardrobe hangers with clothes and harnesses on stands, Bob thought I left someone home on purpose so I could have a tack stall. I told him the truth that I was keeping some tack in my mini’s stall, and he could go and look.
One year, Bob scraped me off of the arena footing when I was showing Sherry Wade’s Morgan colt in Halter Class, he who was weaned on the way to the Fair.
Needless to say, the weanling was a very unhappy youngster, and he never stood still once, was rearing and jumping and ended up jumping sideways straight into me, hitting me in the head with his head and giving me a full-body slam as he jumped, knocking me unconscious and leaving me laying in a heap of mud right in front of God and everybody.
I don’t remember hitting the arena footing, and I struggled to open my eyes. From a vantage point of about 4 inches off of the arena mud, I saw Bob Artman springing into action from the rail where he had been watching the halter class.
I passed out again and the next time I looked, I saw Bob half way to me, and then I came to again with Bob attempting to lift me up as he was asking me if I was all right. Someone handed me the wayward weanling and I stumbled in the direction of the judge, meekly asking if I could be excused.
I was seeing stars for the rest of the afternoon and probably should have gone to the hospital for concussion protocols.
My own trainer was watching the show but never bothered to inquire as to how I was. Only one other person inquired after me, besides Bob Artman, and that was Ken Staudmeir, he who came by my tent to make sure I was ok.
I took pictures of Bob Artman at the Fair last summer in 2019, from afar, me in the grandstand and he and Kenny Carr in their customary golf cart, sans cowboy hats (that’s a first) from way across the other side of the track. The two had pulled up to watch some of the Chuck Burns 6-Hitch Draft Horse Classic. It was the last time I ever saw him.
Say, Bob, thanks for everything and thanks for always having your friendly smile and gruff ways, a flirty wink for all the ladies, and thanks for being an icon there at Fair. We will surely miss you and I’m sure they have some mighty fine Appies - To Tip and Quarter Horses up there in Heaven. So long, from all of your friends up at the Crawford County Fair.
