From the Horse's Mouth

BUT I PAID FOR THAT HORSE!

I was driving the three slant walkthrough. We had gone up to Vernal, Utah to see Brad, Gary and the gang at McCall Saddle. You see, Smokey had decided that he needed a new saddle because his old one was simply not presentable and he was embarrassed to be seen in it. Who knew that horses worried about such things?

I agreed to drive, but if Smokey wanted a new saddle just to impress the mares he had to pay for it himself. Smokey was in heaven at McCall’s, he studied every option and tooling pattern in detail with Brad and talked shape and fit with Gary. I offered my opinions, not that it mattered since no one listened to me. Being married, kids and all, I’m used to that.

We were nearly home. Smokey had wandered up front and was looking through his Ipod for some more of that noise that he calls music when he noticed flashing red and blue lights at the O’Timer place.

“Christmas lights!” exclaimed Smokey “Grumpy must be getting ready early this year!”.

“Those lights are red and blue, not red and green! What’s wrong with your eyes?” I said.

“Nothing” was the reply “I’m a horse, I’m not supposed to be able see colors! Don’t you know anything?” Naturally, the obligatory rolling of the eyes followed.

Grouchy O’timer was, well, usually grouchy. Strangely enough, deep down he was a decent sort. We pulled into his place to see if we could help. Grouchy was very agitated and arguing loudly, stopping every so often to point at a horse in a heavily padlocked stall. The problem was that Grouchy was arguing with a law enforcement officer. As Smokey and I walked up, the officer was removing his hand cuffs from his belt. Sensing that the situation was about to go from bad to worse, I announced our presence saying that we were neighbors and perhaps if we could have a moment with Grouchy we could get him calmed down.

Upon hearing my voice, Livestock Inspector Thasa Lottabul turned and said “hey guys, I heard you were up north.”

Smokey, looking at the stall, gave a low whistle as he said “Gee Grouchy, do you think 14 pad locks is enough?”

Thasa said to me “why don’t you calm Grouchy down. I gotta talk to Smokey anyway. As he and Smokey walked away I heard Thasa asking “so, how was the place? I told you they were a first rate operation. Was Gary sleeping? What did you get?”.

Grouchy said “Trespassers all o’ya; I oughta run you all off; why I’m half a mind to get my pitch fork….”

Smokey looked over at Grouchy and said “Spare me Grouchy, you left your pitch fork over at our place. Why don’t you just take a chill-pill!”

“He’s getting kinda big for his britches” Grouchy said to me.

“I know, he’s already lost his apple privileges for two days and we’re not home yet…” What’s going on here?” I asked. Grouchy told me that he had purchased a horse from Goodbet Horse Rescue for $350 two months earlier. Upon taking the horse, Grouchy had been presented with a contract that allowed the rescue to retake the horse if he failed to provide properly for the horse. No formal bill of sale or registration papers were provided to Grouchy. Unbeknownst to Grouchy, the horse had been given to Goodbet without any legal transfer of title.

Grouchy’s first hint of a problem occurred during Inspector Lottabul’s first visit. Grouchy, who wasn’t ever particularly happy to see the law on his property, was doubly unhappy to hear that his horse was not his horse. To make matters worse, Inspector Lottabul had concluded his investigation and determined that though Grouchy had not intended to commit a crime, purchasing the horse from Goodbet who had no right to sell it, was a violation of the law, punishable as a class 5 felony – even though Grouchy had no idea that Goodbet didn’t own the horse. Well, Grouchy was beside himself. Not only had he become attached to the horse, but the notion that attempting to legitimately buy a horse could be treated as a felony was, to use his words, “bull hockey”.

Thasa, having rejoined us said “I tried to tell him that Goodbet never got title to the horse so, they couldn’t legally sell him the horse. I also told him that even though he could be charged with a felony, I wouldn’t charge him if he cooperated. I didn’t get any cooperation and he was just about to try on my cuffs. It’s a good thing you showed up when you did.”

“You’re a horse lawyer, tell the good officer he full of it” said Grouchy.

“He’s a very good officer and he’s not full of it. Even though you didn’t know that Goodbet didn’t own the horse, you are still subject to being charged with a felony for purchasing the horse. Screwy? maybe, but its Arizona law. Officer Lottabul knew that you didn’t intend to commit a crime, that’s why he said that if you cooperated with him he wouldn’t cite you.”

Officer Lottabul continued “the people who donated the horse were able to show me a bill of sale, hauling card and registration papers. Goodbet couldn’t produce a bill of sale and admitted that they never got one for the horse. Arizona law requires a Bill of sale for livestock.”

“But, I paid for the horse and I didn’t know, so tough luck for them” said Grouchy.

“You paid for the horse, got physical possession of the horse but, no title. Its not your horse because Goodbet never had good title to transfer to you. As for your tough luck, I have a superior right argument, that’s for the dude in the black robe to decide. If you want to test your theory can file suit, preferably after you peaceably surrender the horse. If you refuse to surrender the horse to Inspector Lottabul, he will most likely cite you for a criminal violation.”

Scowling, Grouchy walked over to the stall and began unlocking all 14 locks.

Later, Thasa stopped by our place to see the new saddle. Smokey was trying on every saddle blanket we had to see which looked best with the new saddle. Watching Smokey strut about, Thasa laughed saying “Smokey I think I finely discovered a real clothes horse!”

 　Daniel Rosenfield’s practice in equine and ranch matters is enhanced by his experience in business law and litigation. For more information on how to ensure that you have real title to the horse you are buying, send you request to drosen@mrbusinesslaw.com. Phone: (480) 609-9700, mrbusinesslaw.com

PLAYIN’ DOCTOR

Meanwhile, back at the Let Sleeping Dogs Lie ranch headquarters, Smoky and I had cleaned up from our day on the range and were heading to supper with Oman when Ima Loon zoomed up, sliding her truck to a stop in front of us and showering us with dust and dirt. So much for having cleaned up. Ima hurtled out of her truck, a crazed look on her face followed by hair flailing wildly behind, jabbering incoherently, punctuated only by the wild dance her arms were doing.

Oman, remembering Smoky’s notion of how to deal with Loucat earlier in the day, stepped forward quickly as he said “don’t worry Smoky, I’ll deal with Ima, she’s ok”. Oman, wrapped his immense hands around Ima, lifted her three feet off the ground and gently shook her until she calmed down. Ima looked remarkably like a rag doll hanging from Oman’s massive hands except that when he set her back on her feet she looked up at Oman and with a big smile on her face said “Oh, hi Oman, didn’t see you there. How ya doin?”

“How can you miss a 6’7” 324 pound cowboy standing right in front of you?” asked Smoky.

Ima replied “easy, sometimes I get so worked up…” followed by “oh no! Precious…” followed by a renewed torrent of jumbled words and arm waiving. The very short version of the story was: Ima boarding a horse named “Precious” for a guy; guy emphatic - feed only specially formulated and imported grass mix; feeding schedule to be followed to the minute; guy provides grass mix; guy pays extra for her trouble; guy provides emergency 24/7 phone number to a private vet; any issues, problems, concerns - even a glimmer of a possible issue that might become a problem in 10 years, call private vet instantly; Ima agrees; Ima follows feeding schedule sorta, kinda; Ima doesn’t notify private vet; rain water ruins imported grass mix; Ima feeds Precious wet (read that ‘moldy’) imported grass mix; doesn’t notify private vet; Precious eats moldy imported grass mix; Precious stops eating; Ima doesn’t notify private vet; Ima doesn’t notice Precious’s belly beginning to swelling up; Ima offers Precious field hay, oats, granola bars, pancakes (with real maple syrup) and Hershey’s chocolate bars (with almonds); Precious eats - for a while; Ima doesn’t notify private vet; Precious’s belly now really swollen, tries to drink water but can’t keep it down, in obvious pain, audible gurgling sounds, licking his sides; Ima doesn’t notify private vet; Ima mixes up Grandma Killdare’s magic remedy for everything human; gets a ‘good dose’ into Precious; doesn’t notify private vet; Precious now laying down, breathing heavy; Ima doesn’t notify private vet; Ima modifies Grandma Killdare’s recipe to improve potency, tries to get it down Precious; Precious regurgitates it; doesn’t notify private vet; modifies recipe yet again; no better luck; doesn’t notify private vet; administers triple doses of Bute, two different de-worming treatments and some Botvax for good measure; doesn’t notify private vet; Precious looking even worse; Ima doesn’t notify private vet, does comes over to the Sleeping Dog.

Smoky, in a rather sarcastic tone, commented “sounds like you need a dose of Grandma Killdare’s formula yourself.”

I shot Smoky a Your-About-To-Be-Grounded look as I said “why don’t you go check out the grass over in the west field, I hear it’s really green over there”.

“It is? I’ll leave you to deal with Precious, I’m outta here” said Smoky as he headed west.

Who says I can’t outsmart my horse? Turning to Ida I asked her if she had the private vet’s phone number with her.

“Why sure, I carry it with me everywhere.”

“Here’s my cell phone, call it right now” I replied. Ida, looking somewhat terrified, took the phone, dialed the number and turned on the speaker.

Sure enough, within two rings a voice answered “Stud Specialists, Dr. Doctori speaking, what’s wrong with Precious?”

After a brief description of the symptoms, punctuated by a few you-did-what!? and one or two sarcastic “is that all!?” statements kindly offered by Dr. Doctori, he calmly said that a team of doctors and surgeons would arrive by helicopter within exactly 21 minutes. The mobile surgical van would arrive within an hour. My keen legal mind began to sense that something odd here, prompting me to ask “What’s so special about Precious?” All of our eyes widened upon hearing Precious’s real name…

Ida said “you mean the stud that just sold for $4 million dollars?”

“No, the stud that just sold for $4.65 million dollars. Thank you for calling, perhaps you might actually try going to vet school before playing doctor next time, have a nice day, goodby” was the still calm reply.

“Wow, glad that mess is over. Not my problem now” Ida said.

“Ida” I said, “you caused the problem. You entered into a binding agreement to provide specific services which you did not do. Had you followed the instructions you wouldn’t be in this position. Not only have you breeched the contract that you entered into with the owner who happens to be the Mr. Zillion Air himself, you then decided to play doctor rather than call the doctor, and gave Precious unacceptable treatment and food, especially the chocolate.

“But, Smoky eats Mars bars”.

“No,” I replied, “he tries to swipe mine, but I don’t let him”. “To make matters worse, you gave Grandma Killdare’s home cure-all for people to a horse. Then you tried your own concoctions. When that didn’t work you gave overdoses of Bute, wormers and Botvax. That’s really playin doctor. If your going to play doctor, know what your doing because your going to be held to the same standard as any licensed doctor.”

“But that not fair, I’m not a doctor, I was just trying to help, like a good Samaritan.”

“Doesn’t matter, even if the Good Samaritan concept applies to animals, which is unclear, you still must act reasonably. Your choosing to play doctor, rather than calling the doctor, which was your obligation here. Arizona statute provides protection for someone giving aid in good faith, and isn’t grossly negligent in the process, though the courts have further limited that latitude to reasonable actions. However, based on Dr. Doctair’s comments and the medical team being airlifted out as we speak, I’d say your treatment plan might not be considered to be reasonable.”

“A 4 million dollar horse, what am I going to do?” wailed Ima with a horrified look on her face.

“Actually, 4.65 million dollars” said Smoky who had wondered back. “But, don’t worry, I ‘ve known Zillion Air since way back when. For two Mars bars I’ll take care of it for you…”

Daniel Rosenfield’s experience in equine and ranch matters is enhanced by his experience in business law and litigation. For more information on how to avoid playin doctor, please send you request to drosen@mrbusinesslaw.com. Phone: (480) 609-9700.

RIDING ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE FENCE.

Having dealt with the who owns Imposter a.k.a. Trouble issue, Smoky and I were out somewhere on the West range moving about 120 Brahma Mamas and their babies to greener pastures. In the distance, one of the drag riders spotted a cloud of dust approaching, led by several fast moving riders. The herd was moving along nicely and not wanting anything to change that, one of our crew moved off to intercept the riders before they riled the herd. Once intercepted, the conversation quickly became louder and more animated, causing the ranch owner to join the discussion.

“I’d say the boss is going to want us over there” commented Smoky. Sure enough, not ten seconds later, the radio crackled to life and I was invited to join the ‘discussion’.

“So much for not working…” I said as we headed over. The riders were led by a young man (‘man’ used loosely here) dressed in what could only be described as a matador’s costume, the jacket and matching pants made out of red velvet, with gold trim. His shirt was ruffled around the collar and sleeves and his matching sombrero featured little gold tassels hanging around the brim that danced about, sparkling in the sunlight - quite a sight!

The matching holster, trimmed in red and gold, held a gold plated .22 was just too much for my ever opinionated horse who couldn’t resist uttering “oh, gag me”!

The short summary of the conversation was: riders led by Loucat Meee, intercepted by our crew member, Oman Ubig. Oman is your typical 6’7”, 324 pound cowboy who splits the seams of his shirts when he flexes his biceps. Oman moves cattle by simply picking them up - but, I digress. Oman asks if they need help; Loucat - no, just exploring their land; Oman - land belongs to the Let Sleeping Dogs Lie ranch, must leave; Loucat - no one tells him what to do; Oman - gotta leave; Loucat - buzz off; Oman - leave now; Loucat - make me; Oman - casually reaches over, grabs Loucat by his red velvet jacket, lifts him off the saddle like a small sack of grain, dangles him about 2 feet above saddle; Ranch owner, Bigga Boz, get there; says Oman put kid down; Oman drops kid onto saddle; Resulting thud loud enough to be heard by all; Bigga - my land, should not be here, could get hurt; Must leave; Loucat - not marked, can do whatever he wants; Bigga - land fenced; Loucat - not so, buzz off.

I get there. “Son, you and your lady friends are trespassing on Mr. Boz’s land. He’s told you to leave, you need to leave, now.”

Loucat said “Buzz off” punctuated with a few choice remarks about me, my horse as well as Oman and Boz just for good measure.

Smoky said “how about I mosey over and extract numbers 7, 8, 9 and 10 from Loucat’s Maxillary bone.” “What?” Said Boz.

“Why don’t I go over there and plant my left front hoof in his teeth… …and they say you’re the smarter species!” Smokey said, rolling his eyes for effect.

Boz looked at me, a quizzical look on his face “Smoky’s studying to become an equine dentist”I explained.

Loucat said “that’s ridiculous, who ever heard of a horse being a dentist”?

I replied “who ever heard of anyone arguing the point with a horse? Yet, here you are”.

“Buzz off all of you and your horses. Get out of my way or you will wish you had” said Loucat as he grabbed for his revolver.”

Oman, once again casually reached over and simply placed his very large hand over Loucat’s gun hand and squeezed until Loucat screamed, dropping the revolver on the ground. “Aside from Oman, have you noticed all the hardware pointed at you? Not a .22s pointed this way and they’re all loaded.” I continued “Trespass, then try to draw on the owner even though outnumbered - Not good”. Loucat, who had turned beet red from his second encounter with Oman, looked around and his beet red face turned to a pasty white color as he realizing that he was the focal point of no less than six serious looking cowboys and their equally serious looking collection of rifles and pistols. Loucat began to shake uncontrollably. “Now” I continued, “Let’s get some things straight. First, you and your young friends have committed trespass on property. Even though you might have not intended to, the fact is that you entered onto property that is not yours. That’s trespass and you can be arrested for that act.

Loucat said “There was no fence”.

Oman interrupted “I rode that fence line yesterday and it was tight as a drum”.

I continued “even if there was no fence and you really didn’t know that you were on private property, once you had notice that you were on the property without permission, not only were you trespassing but, you had an obligation to get off the property. Cutting or breaking the fence simply complicates the situation by adding destruction of property, vandalism and possibly a few other charges to your problems.” You’re looking at trespass in the 3^rd degree, maybe even in the 2^nd degree - not good for you.”

“Now you’re a lawyer too…” Loucat spat out.

“I was a lawyer before you got here too.” I continued “It gets worse, rather than leave, you attempted to start a gun fight. Over what? What was worth risking your lady friend’s lives for? Had Oman not done you the favor of disarming you, right about now you’d look like a piece of Swiss cheese and your lady friends safety would have been entirely dependant of how good everyone’s aim was.”

“Just letting everyone know not to mess with me” was Loucat’s self-righteous reply.

“Unlawful display, assault with a deadly weapon, possibly aggravated assault and if you’d got a shot off, reckless endangerment, maybe even attempted homicide. No doubt, the prosecutor will come up with a few more charges. Still feeling invincible?” I said, leaving out the rest of what I was thinking.

“This idiot just doesn’t get it” interjected Smoky using terms far more polite than I was thinking.

Loucat, who was once again shaking uncontrollably, stammered out a shaky “Show’s what you know. I got it.” Turning to Boz, he asked “Will you let the ladies leave? They didn’t do anything.”

“Except trespass” replied Boz “tell you what, I’ll let you all go so long as you do just that”.

Taking off his sombrero, the one with the line of little gold tassels hanging all around the brim that sparkled in the sunlight, and Looking Boz straight in the eye Loucat said “Thanks. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.” Then looking at Smoky Loucat said “I got it”.

Gotta admit, I was stunned - for once, even Smoky was speechless.

Daniel Rosenfield’s practice in equine and ranch matters is enhanced by his experience in business law and litigation. For more information on how to deal with trespass while riding please send you request to drosen@mrbusinesslaw.com. Phone: (480) 609-9700, mrbusinesslaw.com