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Description
Who went over board on their horse's history? Me! So sorry about that....
Hope this guy gets in, I'm already too attached

Name: Doc
Herd: Nomad
Rank: none
Age: 14 years (mean't to be about 30 in human terms)

Sex: Stallion

RP Status:

EDIT: He was accepted, and is open for rp! Preferred methods are notes or email c:

History:

Doc was born and raised on Marrisson Ranch. He had an average foalhood, complete with a set of loving, proud parents. There was nothing extraordinary about them, but Doc loved them nonetheless. Once he grew into a yearling, he didn't speak to them as much anymore. The humans kept him and the other young horses busy; grooming them into what they hoped would become fine ranch work horses. But, Doc didn't mind. That's just how it was.

Opinions on the humans varied at the Ranch, and Doc listened to quite the collection of them before he finally decided he didn't care. Figuring out if these funny looking stick-figures were as evil or as heavenly as the other horses made them out to be was yet to be done by him, but he wanted to figure that out for himself, not have someone else make us his mind for him.

The first time he was saddled and ridden still lingers in his mind; he couldn't honestly say it was a pleasant experience, but it wasn't the unbearable torture some of the older horses made it out to be. From then on, he learned not all the humans were the same. Some of them were scared, even if they didn't show it to the other humans. They would hold tightly to the reins and sit rigid upon his back like a whole pack of coyotes were staring them down with hunger in their eyes. Then there were the confident humans, the ones that liked to ride hard and take risks. He didn't mind them much, and if they ended up pushing too hard Doc knew it wasn't their fault; humans weren't all that bright anyway. But, there were also the downright cruel humans to deal with, too. They came few and far between in his experience; like he said, humans weren't all that bright, but they were nice enough if you got them where they wanted to go without fussing too much. Usually. Once he was full-grown, a real nasty human became his most common rider. Doc couldn't stand him. He would stab at his sides with his spurs, or yank at his mouth, and not even because Doc was making a fuss. Doc had the suspicion he kicked and pulled just to get him riled up, and give himself a real reason to beat on him.

Then Doc was introduced to guns. He'd heard the cracks and bangs and seen the poofs of smoke, but he'd never understood what it all meant until that human, the real nasty one, ended up on the receiving end of one. It happened one hot, dry afternoon. He and a few other horses were carrying a few humans into town when a group of horses and riders he didn't recognize came charging down out of the prairies. Next thing he knew, the cracks and bangs were starting up, and his human was yanking him this way and that, shouting out to the other humans. When the pulling and kicking finally stopped, Doc was confused when the human slid right off his back and into a heap on the ground. He finally made the connection between guns and death while one of the other ranchers led him and his empty saddle home.

After that, things got better for him. His new rider was one of the most peculiar humans he'd known. He never yanked, and barely used his spurs. He would always mutter things to Doc while they were working, or traveling. Doc couldn't understand a word of it, of course, but he liked the man's tones. They were nothing like the harsh shouts of his old rider. And this human was smart. He knew all the ins-and-outs of the land, and Doc could respect that.

They were partners for a good, long while, and Doc enjoyed almost every minute of it. He learned how to use his body to its full potential; his legs could run faster over longer distances, he could read the land for signs of predators, humans, and other horses, and on one dreadfully hot afternoon he realized he could swim.

And when that human died, Doc wasn't sure he could bear it. They were alone when it happened. Camp had just been packed up, and they hadn't gotten more than a mile down the trail when three men showed up; Doc swore they came out of nowhere. It was the first time he'd heard his human truly afraid. He started talking, and the other men started yelling. Doc was getting nervous, but the other men's horses seemed to know what was coming. The first shot came, and Doc wanted to run. He remembered what happened the last time, and he wanted to get him and his human as far away as possible. He could outrun those other horses, he knew he could. Then the second shot came, and Doc was left with another empty saddle. Now, running was the last thing on his mind. He leaned his head down to sniff his human, and jerked his head back in fright as he got a sharp smack across the nose. He was confused, but he tried again. This time his human began to yell, but it wasn't one of the angry yells he was used to hearing from men. It was frantic, and he couldn't understand it until he felt a sharp yank on his reins, pulling him back. He reared in surprise as one of the men tried to lead him away, but he tossed his head and pulled them right back out of his hands. He tried one last time to reach his human, but he was yelling one of the only human words Doc had come to understand: Run.

So he ran. He ran, and he didn't stop running until his sides were heaving and the sweat was dripping off him in small rivers. When he finally stopped, he realized he'd made it almost all the way back to the ranch. That's when Doc realized he had a choice to make. His precious human was dead, he had no close ties to any of the horses at the ranch, and there was no one around to stop him. So, with the ranch in sight, he turned his back to it and set off in the opposite direction. There was nothing for him there anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~

Doc's been on his own for so long now, he's lost count of the years. All he knows is that he was a young, foolish horse when he made the journey out onto the plains. He was attached to his human, he'd admit, but since then Doc had grown, and more importantly, matured.

Now, he was a quiet, confident stallion living on his own and playing by his own rules. The best part about that was the fact that he didn't have any. Living alone will do that to you; you start to rely on yourself and look upon all others as foreign strangers. But, Doc quickly realized you don't get far in life with that mindset, so he began to hone his social skills. Whenever he came upon another horse, he studied them. It was almost like a hobby, really. The loners he met never really stuck around, so why not learn as much from them as possible while he could? He became quite the savvy horse using this method, and he prided himself on the way he could read and predict the minds and actions of other horses. Of course, others found this quite unsettling in most cases, but Doc wasn't concerned about that. He was fine alone, and whether or not he had company didn't bother him. Not to say he disliked company, no, but he also knew he didn't need it.
Personality:
Doc is an observant, independent, aloof kind of horse. Due to the fact that he never made any real bonds with the other horses at the ranch, he's the self-reliant type. He's not consciously aware of the fact that he ended up like this because of the death of his human. That death broke him more than he'd like to admit, and coupled with the fact that he didn't have many horse friends and was used thoroughly and often as a work horse, he finds it difficult to let himself get attached to other horses. He only took up the habit of studying them because he realized he knew more about humans and their tendencies than he did about other horses.
He has a loosely defined set of morals he follows, but that's not saying much. He's not conflicted about using other horses to his advantage, but tries to isolate that tactic to horses he's not particularly fond of. He likes spending time with mares, as he tends to find them more interesting than stallions.
He likes to speak with as much wit and guile as he can, but doesn't lack the serious side living on your own sometimes requires. Your best bet of getting on his good side is actually to be as playfully manipulative as he can be, seeing that he likes a good challenge every once and a while. His sympathetic side, which he admittedly reserves for very special occasions, does in fact exist, despite the front he likes to put up.
Doc's also somewhat of a liar. He doesn't like to talk about his younger life, and will edit his history accordingly if it ever comes up in conversation. And, if he thinks you're a threat, or is just in the mood for a little fun, he might fabricate a few fantasies for you to work with.
Also, he hates dogs. And coyotes. And pretty much all canine-like creatures. He got his scars from a pack of wild dogs, and nothing pisses him off more than those nasty little beasts. If he never saw another canine again, it would be too soon. The scars on his side are old healed up cuts he got from a pair of unkind spurs back from his life at the ranch.

All in all, Doc's a thoroughly neutral horse, but likes to spice things up with a bit of chaos now and then.

Description
Who went over board on their horse's history? Me! So sorry about that....
Hope this guy gets in, I'm already too attached

Name: Doc
Herd: Nomad
Rank: none
Age: 14 years (mean't to be about 30 in human terms)

Sex: Stallion

RP Status:

EDIT: He was accepted, and is open for rp! Preferred methods are notes or email c:

History:

Doc was born and raised on Marrisson Ranch. He had an average foalhood, complete with a set of loving, proud parents. There was nothing extraordinary about them, but Doc loved them nonetheless. Once he grew into a yearling, he didn't speak to them as much anymore. The humans kept him and the other young horses busy; grooming them into what they hoped would become fine ranch work horses. But, Doc didn't mind. That's just how it was.

Opinions on the humans varied at the Ranch, and Doc listened to quite the collection of them before he finally decided he didn't care. Figuring out if these funny looking stick-figures were as evil or as heavenly as the other horses made them out to be was yet to be done by him, but he wanted to figure that out for himself, not have someone else make us his mind for him.

The first time he was saddled and ridden still lingers in his mind; he couldn't honestly say it was a pleasant experience, but it wasn't the unbearable torture some of the older horses made it out to be. From then on, he learned not all the humans were the same. Some of them were scared, even if they didn't show it to the other humans. They would hold tightly to the reins and sit rigid upon his back like a whole pack of coyotes were staring them down with hunger in their eyes. Then there were the confident humans, the ones that liked to ride hard and take risks. He didn't mind them much, and if they ended up pushing too hard Doc knew it wasn't their fault; humans weren't all that bright anyway. But, there were also the downright cruel humans to deal with, too. They came few and far between in his experience; like he said, humans weren't all that bright, but they were nice enough if you got them where they wanted to go without fussing too much. Usually. Once he was full-grown, a real nasty human became his most common rider. Doc couldn't stand him. He would stab at his sides with his spurs, or yank at his mouth, and not even because Doc was making a fuss. Doc had the suspicion he kicked and pulled just to get him riled up, and give himself a real reason to beat on him.

Then Doc was introduced to guns. He'd heard the cracks and bangs and seen the poofs of smoke, but he'd never understood what it all meant until that human, the real nasty one, ended up on the receiving end of one. It happened one hot, dry afternoon. He and a few other horses were carrying a few humans into town when a group of horses and riders he didn't recognize came charging down out of the prairies. Next thing he knew, the cracks and bangs were starting up, and his human was yanking him this way and that, shouting out to the other humans. When the pulling and kicking finally stopped, Doc was confused when the human slid right off his back and into a heap on the ground. He finally made the connection between guns and death while one of the other ranchers led him and his empty saddle home.

After that, things got better for him. His new rider was one of the most peculiar humans he'd known. He never yanked, and barely used his spurs. He would always mutter things to Doc while they were working, or traveling. Doc couldn't understand a word of it, of course, but he liked the man's tones. They were nothing like the harsh shouts of his old rider. And this human was smart. He knew all the ins-and-outs of the land, and Doc could respect that.

They were partners for a good, long while, and Doc enjoyed almost every minute of it. He learned how to use his body to its full potential; his legs could run faster over longer distances, he could read the land for signs of predators, humans, and other horses, and on one dreadfully hot afternoon he realized he could swim.

And when that human died, Doc wasn't sure he could bear it. They were alone when it happened. Camp had just been packed up, and they hadn't gotten more than a mile down the trail when three men showed up; Doc swore they came out of nowhere. It was the first time he'd heard his human truly afraid. He started talking, and the other men started yelling. Doc was getting nervous, but the other men's horses seemed to know what was coming. The first shot came, and Doc wanted to run. He remembered what happened the last time, and he wanted to get him and his human as far away as possible. He could outrun those other horses, he knew he could. Then the second shot came, and Doc was left with another empty saddle. Now, running was the last thing on his mind. He leaned his head down to sniff his human, and jerked his head back in fright as he got a sharp smack across the nose. He was confused, but he tried again. This time his human began to yell, but it wasn't one of the angry yells he was used to hearing from men. It was frantic, and he couldn't understand it until he felt a sharp yank on his reins, pulling him back. He reared in surprise as one of the men tried to lead him away, but he tossed his head and pulled them right back out of his hands. He tried one last time to reach his human, but he was yelling one of the only human words Doc had come to understand: Run.

So he ran. He ran, and he didn't stop running until his sides were heaving and the sweat was dripping off him in small rivers. When he finally stopped, he realized he'd made it almost all the way back to the ranch. That's when Doc realized he had a choice to make. His precious human was dead, he had no close ties to any of the horses at the ranch, and there was no one around to stop him. So, with the ranch in sight, he turned his back to it and set off in the opposite direction. There was nothing for him there anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~

Doc's been on his own for so long now, he's lost count of the years. All he knows is that he was a young, foolish horse when he made the journey out onto the plains. He was attached to his human, he'd admit, but since then Doc had grown, and more importantly, matured.

Now, he was a quiet, confident stallion living on his own and playing by his own rules. The best part about that was the fact that he didn't have any. Living alone will do that to you; you start to rely on yourself and look upon all others as foreign strangers. But, Doc quickly realized you don't get far in life with that mindset, so he began to hone his social skills. Whenever he came upon another horse, he studied them. It was almost like a hobby, really. The loners he met never really stuck around, so why not learn as much from them as possible while he could? He became quite the savvy horse using this method, and he prided himself on the way he could read and predict the minds and actions of other horses. Of course, others found this quite unsettling in most cases, but Doc wasn't concerned about that. He was fine alone, and whether or not he had company didn't bother him. Not to say he disliked company, no, but he also knew he didn't need it.
Personality:
Doc is an observant, independent, aloof kind of horse. Due to the fact that he never made any real bonds with the other horses at the ranch, he's the self-reliant type. He's not consciously aware of the fact that he ended up like this because of the death of his human. That death broke him more than he'd like to admit, and coupled with the fact that he didn't have many horse friends and was used thoroughly and often as a work horse, he finds it difficult to let himself get attached to other horses. He only took up the habit of studying them because he realized he knew more about humans and their tendencies than he did about other horses.
He has a loosely defined set of morals he follows, but that's not saying much. He's not conflicted about using other horses to his advantage, but tries to isolate that tactic to horses he's not particularly fond of. He likes spending time with mares, as he tends to find them more interesting than stallions.
He likes to speak with as much wit and guile as he can, but doesn't lack the serious side living on your own sometimes requires. Your best bet of getting on his good side is actually to be as playfully manipulative as he can be, seeing that he likes a good challenge every once and a while. His sympathetic side, which he admittedly reserves for very special occasions, does in fact exist, despite the front he likes to put up.
Doc's also somewhat of a liar. He doesn't like to talk about his younger life, and will edit his history accordingly if it ever comes up in conversation. And, if he thinks you're a threat, or is just in the mood for a little fun, he might fabricate a few fantasies for you to work with.
Also, he hates dogs. And coyotes. And pretty much all canine-like creatures. He got his scars from a pack of wild dogs, and nothing pisses him off more than those nasty little beasts. If he never saw another canine again, it would be too soon. The scars on his side are old healed up cuts he got from a pair of unkind spurs back from his life at the ranch.

All in all, Doc's a thoroughly neutral horse, but likes to spice things up with a bit of chaos now and then.