In the Still of the Night

John went to work today, the boys were with friends and I was home alone. I don't have to be back to work until Monday and had really hoped to get some horse time in. The temps did reach the mid-forties, but once again, the wind was so strong that I was not even tempted to saddle up and ride. There are nothing but baron fields around here now; no break from the wind.

I made a quick trip into town. My Black Friday shopping consisted of going to Bomgaars farm store and buying a package of ten hand warmers for $10, a Mr. Heater for the trailer ($59.99), some miscellaneous light bulbs and wintergreen mints. When I got home, I put the new tires that I had picked up on Wednesday on my little Sundowner trailer. I'll need to have John tighten the lug nuts in the morning and then I'll plan to haul out and ride tomorrow. It's supposed to be near 50 degrees.

I was going crazy sitting in the house tonight. Nothing on tv except stupid football to which I have NO interest in (zilch, nada, none). No one to chat with online. (They must all be watching football!J) So I put on my coat and headed to the barn. Wow. No wind. It was almost pleasant.

I didn't see the horses by the barn, so I called for them. I love when I hear the thundering hooves before I catch sight of the horses. I put a couple bales of alfalfa in the near empty round bale feeder and they quickly jockeyed for their spot. I stood between Ginger and Butter, giving Butter, who is at the bottom of the pecking order, the opportunity to eat undisturbed. Windy was on the other side of her. In the distance, a dog barked. They all quit chewing and looked in that direction. After a few moments, Ginger put her head down and started eating again, the others following her lead.

Later, I went back to the barn and put some more alfalfa in the hay bunks. Eventually, Windy and Butter will be pushed from the feeder and hopefully they will find this second stash of hay. The rooster had already found his spot on the stall wall and was not too pleased I turned on the light. Two of the cats were in the tack room; one of them lying on a saddle pad I had strategically placed for just that purpose. As winter progresses, I'll have fewer nights like this. The temperatures will be so cold that I will rush through the barn chores without savoring the moment.

The Bucket Brigade

On another subject, have any of you followed "Kathleen's Wild Ride"? Kathleen left Oregon in May with two of her horses and for the last few months has traveled across the U.S. to her final destination, New York City. Now her friends are putting together a "Bucket Brigade" and are asking for volunteers to trailer Kathleen and her horses back home. I have volunteered to haul from the Omaha area to Grand Island or Kearney. She will need help in every state, most generally following Interstate 80. If you would like to be a part of her Bucket Brigade, visit her Facebook Page. You can read her story on her blog, You Might Think This is Crazy.

Losing Gunner

I was going through some old pictures the other day and found one of Windy's sire; Watch Creek Starr, aka "JC". JC was owned by a friend of mine and she offered me a breeding in exchange for John working on the chimney of their house. (Funny how that works out – he does the work, I get a colt.) So we bred Ginger that summer of 2001.

Did I ever tell you how the first few years we got into horses; we got in way over our head? Well, we did. While we initially bought Ginger, Blue and an old mare, Peggy, for the kids, before long we had a thoroughbred gelding, some yearling colts and a couple more bred mares. It's like we were hooked on the equine variety of crack. We needed to get some control….

So almost a year after those foals were born, it was time to start cleaning house. One of the babies went to Wyoming, another to a local sale. And you all remember I sold Windy to a friend of a friend. We got rid of the broodmares and the young untrained geldings and were trying to get our herd to a manageable number. However, one slipped through the cracks; Gunner.

Gunner, owned by the same friend who had Windy's sire (different dam), was the same age as Windy. Although I didn't need another colt; I was trying to get rid of our own, there was just something about him I liked. Maybe because I had regretted letting Windy go and he was a close match. Who knows? In the end, I traded my friend a side of beef for that young colt.

Gunner was a good boy. Friendly, easy and a bit of a Houdini, always slipping into somewhere he shouldn't be. He would sneak up behind me without me realizing it; I swear he played games with me. By his three-year-old year, the kids would sit on him in the pasture. When John saddled him the first time, it was really a non-event. I rode him for the first time on Mother's Day that year. And ten days later, he was gone.

As is common in the spring, heavy rains flooded the creek that runs through our pasture. Some dry timber had washed up and was lodged in the fence. Somehow, perhaps running by the fence too closely, Gunner was impaled by a dead tree branch. I found him standing alone that morning, off from the herd. I slipped a halter on him and he stood quietly while we waited for the vet to arrive. Any hope of saving him ended when it was revealed the stick had penetrated his stomach wall. We lost him that morning, the spring of his three-year-old year.

This isn't meant to be a sad post. Although it broke my heart to lose that colt, things turned out in the end. A few weeks later, I had the opportunity to buy Windy back and started the next phase of my horse journey on what would become my favorite horse, my dream horse.

I had a picture of Gunner on the screen the other day and Case walked by the room and commented about it being a picture of Windy. I said no, it was Gunner. He looked closely and said he was surprised they looked so much alike. When I pulled up a picture of JC, we were even more surprised how much Gunner resembled his sire. They both have the long, narrow nose, where Windy's is shorter and more like her dam's. Although you can definitely see the resemblance in the first three horses, I think Windy favors Ginger more so than she does Gunner or her sire. It would have been cool to have raised them side by side.

**All pictures above are of Gunner

*** I just realized this was not the first time I told this story on this blog. Sorry for the repeat. The purpose of this story was to show the pictures and how much they resembled each other. If it weren't Thanksgiving yesterday, I probably wouldn't remember what I had for lunch, so not surprised I had forgotten I had posted about Gunner once before. Just goes to show, a good horse is hard to forget! ~TV

Happy Thanksgiving

Herd Dynamics

It’s hard to tell if Ginger or Blue is the herd boss. I always think its Ginger, but there are times I see Blue moving her around, too. They are very attached to each other and probably, in some ways, share the role. We brought Ginger home when she was three and bought Blue, a then four-year-old gelding, a few months later. They have been together for ten years.

We bought Baby as a weanling from the same place we got Ginger. So really, Baby and Ginger have been together the longest. But due to the age difference at the time, Ginger has always been the leader over Baby, the boss mare. Baby took on the role as the “guard”. Blue and Ginger do not get aggressive with Windy or Butter because they have Baby around to do their dirty work.

Had Windy not been separated from the herd for those two years, I often wonder if she would have ended up higher than Baby in the pecking order. After all, she is Ginger’s baby. She’s a scrapper, though, and I think she has worked her way up to at least being an equal to Baby. Oh, she’ll back down if Baby comes at her with ears pinned. Heck, I would, too. That big girl is scary looking when she’s mean! But as long as there is room to get out of her way, Windy is not shy about bellying up to the bale with Baby and many times, will eat next to Blue and Ginger at the bunk in the barn.

Then there is Butter, the poor girl. She joined the herd a couple months before we brought Windy home again. But her ranking remains at the bottom. The first weekend that Windy returned, we turned her out with Butter and they never had any “getting to know you” wars. I think Butter was glad to have an ally. I see them fight sometimes like siblings. I recall one time when we were riding, Butter kicked out at Windy. Windy spun and double barreled Butter before I even realized what was going on. Windy is an earpinner, but for the most part, she isn't a kicker. But something about Butter can bring out the worst in her. But when we travel, its Blue and Ginger in one pen and Butter and Windy in the other; that’s what works. Baby doesn’t usually make the travel team.

Last night it was raining and cold; snow was in the forecast. Ginger, Blue and Baby were in the barn and Windy was standing in the lean-to going into the barn. Poor Butter was left out in the rain. I dropped some hay down in the front of the barn which is separated from the area where the horses were standing and moved Butter and Windy to that side of the barn. I filled a tank in the run, hoping it wouldn’t get too cold that it would freeze. It didn’t. This morning, I found both of the young mares standing in the doorway to the barn with the east sun warming their backs. I think they all had a good night.

Five horses are a manageable number when making arrangements to keep everyone dry. It worked okay when we had six, but when the numbers were higher, it was more of a challenge. Someone always was left out in the cold. I appreciate how easy horsekeeping is with the smaller numbers and enjoy my time out in the barn keeping harmony among the herd.

The Touch

Last evening, after my youngest son about took me over the deep end, I wondered out to the pasture for a little peace and quiet. The horses were eating along the edge of the pond, Blue on the other side crossed over and stopped beside me. I rubbed the flies off his back and scratched around his eyes where the flies had gathered and then turned to continue my walk.

It wasn't long before I heard their hoof beats behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, they had formed a line of such, following the same path as I just took; none of them in any more of a hurry than I was. When I reached the cottonwood grove, I sat down under one of the trees. The horses stopped and watched. I am sure confused as we usually continue this walk up to the barn.

Ginger was the first to approach me. She stood in front of me and brought her head to mine. She smelled my face, my hair and my neck. I reached up to touch her nose. Being around the horses every day, I sometime think we forget their softness.

Blue hung to the left of my shoulder, his eyes closed and bottom lip hanging low. I reached up and touched his nose, too; again taking in its velvet feel on my fingertips. Baby moved her big self between Ginger and Blue and put her head down by mine. Her huge feet scare me and I picked up a cottonwood twig so that I could move her away if she crowded me too much.

I felt her soft breath over my right shoulder before I saw her. Windy had made her away around the right side of the tree. Like her mama, she smelled my hair, my neck and put her nose to my lips like she often does and I rubbed my face next to hers. I scratched her chin, her neck and the inside of her ears. I reveled at how soft her neck is right now and how brilliant her color is with her winter coat coming in. A few times Baby tried to bully her away, but Windy held her ground.

It wasn't long before something else got their attention and they stopped fussing with me. I got up and went to Butter, who wouldn't approach with the alpha horses nearby. I scratched her neck and ran my fingers down her dorsal stripe, bolder right now with the thickness of her coat. We walked side by side until we reached the rest of the herd.

Moments like this are as important to me as the ride itself. This is why I have horses.

A View from Below

The other day
I meandered out to the corral
I didn’t plan to ride
Just hang out for a bit

I plopped down on the edge of the bale feeder
And leaned back in the hay
Harvested last summer
It still smells so fresh


I though perhaps I could nap for a bit
But it wasn’t long before I was spotted
Blue was a little unsure of the situation
But that is just Blue


It must have been lunch or snack time
Because they all started eating around me
Kind of a fascinating view
From below


I remembered then
That I had my camera in my pocket
So snapped a few shots
With this blog in mind.

Eventually each of the horses
Made their way around the bale
To get a closer look
At what I was doing

I didn’t get a nap like I had hoped
But horse time
Just doesn’t get any better
Than this.

Isn't She Beautiful....

Well, I’ll try this again.

Isn’t she lovely? Isn’t she beautiful? Or were the actual lyrics “wonderful?” Either way, bet that song will be going through your head the for the rest of the day.

As horse people, do you ever tire of watching them? I don’t.

"They just love to watch her strut!" Do you think Bob Segar had a horse in mind when he sang those words? If he ever watched a horse in play, he might have.

Yesterday, I let the herd out in the arena to stretch their legs. I took the camera and set it on "continous" action. When I scanned through the pictures later, songs kept playing my head.

“Every morning at the mine you could see him arrive. He stood 6 foot 6 and weighed 245." Blue wintered well. “When he hauls ass, it takes two loads,” one might say of Blue. Look at the dust fly!

Baby is not my favorite ride, but "she's a smooth operator" when she gets going.

"She's getting ready to fly. Fly away, fly away, fly a-way...." Look at this shot: I laughed when I saw Butter, the horse in the back. It looks like the other horses separated as she is either being rocketed up or was dropped from the sky. If you click on the picture to enlarge it, you will see her right hooves are not touching the ground.

“And the race is on," sings George Jones. Stay out of the way of the big girl!

“Tramps like us, baby we were born to run!” (Isn't Bruce Springsteen's daughter an equestrian?) Ginger joins the fun. And no horse runs faster than Ginger.

Rollin, Rollin, Rollin (by river….. )

Well I've been gone a long time
I really haven't been any place at all
Now two more days the same old ways
Where it really doesn't matter at all
But you could make the difference
About the way I feel today.
We'll have some fun but I gotta run
If Im gonna live I gotta play
But I don't know, where you've been
And I don't know who you've had in
But I know you've got exactly what I need

(Name THAT song & artist.)

If you are still with me, this post was so random…. I had no idea where it was going and I’m not sure if I ever got there!

The Horses are Loose!

The snow has started to thaw pretty well. Although the pasture is still snow covered for the most part, the corrals are getting muddy. There was about an hour of daylight left when I got home yesterday. I thought I would give the horses a break and let them stretch their legs in the pasture for a few minutes. I wasn’t worried about bringing them back in again. They know the sound of the grain can.

They trotted out when I opened the gate but even though Ritz was right on their heels urging them on, they never really took off like I thought they might. They would charge at the dog occasionally, but mostly they ignored him as they rolled and pawed for grass. Really, I was quite disappointed they hadn’t given me any show for good picture opportunities. Three of them had even gone back into the corral.

Windy and Butter were still in the pasture near the corral gate as I made my way around the barn to help John with the calves. I was well aware that about 10 foot of fence on the other side of this 10 acre pasture was down. John had to get through it to get to the hay bales as they were drifted from the other side. But most of the horses have been in the pasture for ten years, the youngest for almost 6 years. They know the boundaries. Even when I open a fence to let them through, if it isn’t one they are familiar with, I have a hard time getting them to cross. They respect electric wire very much.

Not five minutes later, I peeked around the barn to check on them. I saw all five at the far end of the pasture: the end with the downed fence. I hollered at them in my “get food” voice. It was then I realized they were on the other side of the drifts. They’d gone through the downed fence. But even so, I wasn’t panicked. They had heard my voice and I saw them trotting around the house coming back toward the barn.

Something (Ritz?) made them change direction and I first heard their thundering hooves going down the driveway and it was seconds later I saw them galloping down our county road, full speed toward the highway a quarter of a mile away. I screamed at John that the horses were out and to come help. I was torn for a moment between running for the tack room for halters and ropes or my truck. Without much hesitation, I ran to the Durango. I grabbed some twine in the garage, jumped in and sped down the road.

A neighbor must have just passed our driveway or was coming up this direction. I found them stopped at the highway, criss-crossing the road. Another car had stopped on the other side. There is about a mile of flat highway so I knew we were spared from any traffic. As the horses were standing not 25 feet from me, I opened the highway gate to our pasture, but before I could move them in, they got spooked again and trotted away.

My neighbor’s wife got out of the passenger side of the car and approached Baby and she stopped. I was within 10 feet of her when the other horses went around their car and took off further down the highway. I ran back to my Durango as the neighbor took his car after the horses. Not speeding after, but alongside to try to get in front of them or to push them off the highway. There was only a ½ mile of highway left until it crested a hill. Luckily, the horses darted off the highway and onto a field road.

It was dusk now. I watched them as they galloped across the field and continued heading north. By now, John had passed me in his truck and he headed to the next mile road. I called the kids and told them to get halters, leads and come down here with the ATV. Our neighbor on the corner joined us in his truck and he and John stood guard as I drove back to the nearest farm to get closer to the field. I saw the horses had stopped in the driveway of the next farm and got out of my truck and started walking toward them, talking softly as I walked so they could recognize my voice. When Windy approached me, I slipped some twine around her neck.

Case arrived on the ATV and McCain in the truck. I was disappointed to find the only halter they brought was a nylon halter that was slightly bigger than yearling sized. The other tack? A rope rein (not "roping reins" – ONE rope rein), an old rope and another rope that looked to be an untied rope halter or a dog leash. I barked at McCain about not bringing the right halters and he said it was all he could find. I later found out he went to the tack room of the living quarter trailer which has been pretty much cleaned out for the winter. He could have found a dozen halters and leads in the tack room of the barn. Definitely does not have my horse genes.

I slipped the tight halter on Windy. John and McCain put the ropes around Ginger's and Blue’s neck. With Case using the ATV to keep Butter and Baby with our herd and the neighbor escorting us in his truck to keep traffic slow and at bay, we walked our little herd home. Three quarters of a mile down the highway and another quarter mile up our road.

It was really about as much excitement as my brittle winter heart and bones could endure.

Horse Scents

As I have been working on rebuilding Horsetrailriders.com: The Website, I have been reading old posts I wrote for the Stable Talk page. I especially liked this one and it is so fitting right now.

February 28, 2004: Horse Scents

Until this past weekend, January 24th was the last day I had my butt in a saddle. If you recall from my prior Stable Talk, Kathy Newberg and I rode in the cold! When I got home that day, I left my saddle in the trailer. Not unusual during the riding season, but in winter, I prefer to have it inside.

Then the storms hit. Our trailer was drifted in. Every now and then when I was tucked away warm in the house, I thought about my saddle – how I hated to leave it out there. I hoped the trailer wasn’t mysteriously springing a leak and my saddle falling victim to water damage. I would think about my saddle as I pulled out of the driveway to work each morning and think, “tonight I’ll bring it in”. I never did.

This morning I was home when John was leaving for work. For some reason, I thought about my saddle and asked if he would rescue it for me. (What a trooper that John is. I should of thought of him earlier!) I heard him come back in the house with it and never leaving my desk, hollered at him asking if it was okay. It was fine – no worse for the wear, he said. He put it in the corner by the stairs and I didn’t think any more about it.

After finishing my work, I headed down the stairs to the rec room. Something stopped me in my tracks. In that moment - the smell - you know the one I mean. The wonderful smell of leather and horse overloaded my senses. And just for a moment, it was no longer February in Nebraska. The essence of that moment swept me off to warmer days! Is there anything else like it in the world?

Remembering Gunner

Another post about horses past.

In 2001, Ginger was bred to our friend’s stud and Windy was born the following year. My friend had also bred her own mares to that same stud and also had foals that spring. One of those born to her mare was a bay colt she called Gunner. He looked a lot like Windy; just a bit more of a star and a short sock on his hind foot, where Windy had none. Windy was willowy built and Gunner was stockier. I liked him from the moment I saw him.


As I mentioned in a prior post, My Dream Horse, I sold Windy as a yearling. One of the many times we downsized and I regretted it the moment I let her go. But later that year, my friend offered me Gunner in exchange for a ½ a side of beef. I certainly didn’t need another horse, but had a weakness for this young colt. So I took the deal.


Gunner moved in and was easily accepted by the herd. He didn’t really fall into a pecking order, just squeezed in whether he was invited or not and the other horses were okay with that. He had a likeable personality and was a favorite among humans and equine alike. He was a cross between a class clown and Houdini. We’d often find him on the other side of the fence and as soon as we’d go to fetch him, he’d be back where he should be. To this day, he was the only horse that could do that.



John started him the fall of his two year old year. As we predicted, it was pretty uneventful. He was going to be an easy ride. On Mother's Day the following year, John, the boys and I loaded up and went to a nearby lake. I rode Gunner for the first time that day. Startled only once by a beastly looking culvert, he moseyed along the trail like he did it every day. I was beginning to come to the conclusion that it wasn’t working with my appaloosa gelding and I wondered that day if perhaps Gunner could be “the one.”



It was now late May, 2005. Looking back, the last 15 months had been pure hell. McCain had broken his femur and laid in traction for a month. We lost John’s dad and after reeling from that, my own mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died a mere three months later. And now I had broken my ankle just as riding season was about to kick off.

Wrapped in a temporary splint until the swelling could go down enough to cast, I glanced out my home office window. As usual, my attention was focused on the horses, always counting heads. That morning, I found it unusual that Gunner was standing off by himself and even mentioned it to John as he walked by. I went back to what I was doing but a few minutes later, swiveled my chair back to the window. Gunner was still standing alone. A little voice said something was wrong. I asked John to drive me to the pasture.

I hobbled on crutches out to John’s Honda. Tossed my crutches on the seat and settled in. This wasn’t the first time I had broken my ankle, so I knew the drill pretty well. I cautioned John not to hit any bumps. As we got closer to Gunner, I could tell something was terribly wrong. It looked like he’d been shot with an arrow! And as we pulled up next to him, I realized he was impaled by a dead tree branch.

The spring rains came fast that year and a lot of timber washed down the creeks. When the water subsided, it left debris along the edge of our pasture. In my mind, I could see Gunner running down to the pasture and turning the corner quickly and coming in contact with this big dead branch that he didn’t expect to be there.



Leaning on my crutches, I waited with Gunner until the vet arrived. I petted him softly as the vet removed the branch. The doctor examined the it and the wound. He sighed and told me the bad news. The branch had penetrated Gunner’s stomach. It was a mortal injury.

Gunner was in shock and his body was starting to shake. John arrived with the trailer and helped me slip a stable blanket on the colt. We lead him to the trailer and he loaded like a trooper. The vet recommended I put him down. But I wasn’t ready yet to let him go. I wanted a second opinion. And a third. He understood and told me to call him when I was ready.

I left Gunner in the trailer as I hobbled to the house. Surely I would find someone to fix him. I emailed the Horsetales group for support as I started to make calls. And all of those who answered, concurred with the prognosis. The doctor who gelded Gunner quietly told me, “I could have him on the table right now, Tammy, and couldn’t save him.” It was over.

I made one more phone call to the treating veterinarian and asked that he come back to put Gunner to sleep. John and I unloaded him and walked him to the barn. John made himself scarce as I sat down in the doorway of the tack room, looking out into the stall. My heart was breaking. I’d wait with Gunner until the vet arrived. But Gunner’s time was up. I watched as he went down. And just like that, he was gone.



Call it coincidence or opportunity that Windy happened to be for sale shortly after I lost Gunner. There was no doubt I would buy her back. Windy and Gunner were the same age and although they shared the same sire, in the horse world, you don’t call them siblings even though biologically they were. Their personalities were nothing alike but their resemblence was uncanny. As I glance through pictures, I sometimes find myself wondering if it is Windy or Gunner, looking for the white sock to give it away. As I watched Windy mature into a beautiful horse, I can’t help but wonder what Gunner would have been like had he lived? Maybe not as pretty as his sister, but I'm sure he would have been an awesome ride.

A Ride Down Memory Lane

In 2003, we owned a thoroughbred for a brief time. A 12-year-old off-the-track thoroughbred named U R Nice. “Nick” was supposedly retrained for trail riding and barrel racing but no one was using him for either activity. John bought him for all the reasons I didn’t think we should. He was flashy and fast. And tall. John already had Ginger that fit the flashy and fast bill. He certainly didn’t need another one.

I get “new horse fever”, too, and didn’t put up much of a fight about buying UR Nice. The boys were riding the horses I had bought for myself and although “fast” and “tall” were not necessarily traits in a horse I was looking for, I have always been fond of thoroughbreds. Despite harboring deep riding fears, I started riding Nick that spring.

From the day we picked him up, Nick was never easy to load. Even in our big 4-horse trailer, he wouldn’t go in first, middle or last. He just plain wouldn’t go in. So anytime we took him anywhere, John had to run his repel rope through the inside trailer ties and “pulley” him in. And it usually wasn’t very pretty or easy. But it worked. When it came time to come home, we’d make sure no one was looking and go through the same process. Once when he was loaded, he got his front hooves stuck in the mangers. I recall wondering “how in the heck did he do that?” and thinking “now what in the heck do we do about this?” I don’t recall how we freed him, but he came out of it no worse for the wear.

As summer approached that year, I decided we were going on our first big organized trail ride. I don’t remember if I knew there would be close to two hundred riders when I made this decision or if that part was a surprise to us when we got there. All I know is I could now write a book titled “What Not To Do On Your First Big Trail Ride.” Our experience definitely falls under the “live and learn” category with an emphasis on “live”.

When preparing for the ride, I made the following (what turned out to be pea-brained) decisions:
(Strike) 1: I would ride Nick
(Strike) 2: John could take our young 3-year-old gelding, Bo.
(Strike) 3: The kids can ride Blue & Mikey! Won’t they have fun!

I learned quickly that a ride such as this is no place for young kids, who were 6 and 9 years old at the time. My only consolation was they were riding good horses because we quickly found out that John and I would be no help at all to them should they need it!

The morning of the ride, we headed out toward the end of the group. Things were going pretty well, all things considered. The kids’ horses were good, Bo seemed pretty level and Nick was causing me no grief. The feeling of ease quickly ended when a buckboard pulled by drafts or mules (or both) came up behind us.

Nick heard the chains before we saw the wagon. He started to spin. And dance and hop and shake and sidepass. And then he hit reverse. He backed and backed and backed! He backed away from the buckboard. He backed away from our group. He backed with no regard to what was behind him and he backed into a barbwire fence. Even with blood running down his butt cheek, he still tried to escape the terror while too scared to turn his back to it. Only grateful that he backed instead of bolted, I dismounted and did the only thing I could do. I traded horses with John.



I bought Bo as a yearling at the Sutton sale. He was a solid chestnut with no white. Halter bred on the top, race bred quarter horse on the bottom side. He was as pretty as a copper penny. He bucked hard the first time he was saddled as a late two year old, but since then, had settled in pretty well. Although he had no real trail rides on his resume, so to speak, I wasn’t overly concerned about riding him. Unfortunately, the more John worked with Crazy Nick who now seemed to be a Kentucky Derby wannabe; I believe Bo was starting to feel the stress of that plus the two hundred riders. So he started to buck. Not with a lot of gumption, but enough to unnerve me a little more. I felt like I’d gone out of the frying pan and into the fire.

It seemed like it took forever for the team to pass us. We hung back until it was out of view. Nick got his wits about himself and Bo settled down somewhat, so John and I traded horses once more. We had a pretty nice ride…. For about 20 minutes.

Our plan was to stay at the back of the ride. There were just a handful of people further behind us and then the safety riders. Not much time had passed when we heard some commotion and saw that a rider behind us had been thrown from his or her horse. Broken bones were involved. The safety riders radioed ahead to stop the ride and requested transport for the rider. You guessed it. Bring back the buckboard! Ah, jeez….

We needed to leave the scene of the accident. Get the heck out of Dodge. Now! We slowly made our way around the waiting horses and started to ascend a hill off to the side of the trail when Nick saw them. He put on his brakes and started to back down the hill. There were people at the bottom; there was a creek at the bottom. We were NOT going down. In my best effort to change his mind, I whacked him on the butt with the reins. In his best effort to free himself of me, he reared straight up on the incline of that hill. As I fell to the side, I saw all 16 hands of that chestnut horse coming down with me.

Nick landed on his side with my right leg and hip under him. Luckily, he didn’t have the momentum to go on over me, but instead got up and high-tailed it out of there. I met John’s eyes. He quickly turned his attention away from me and took off on his colt in hot pursuit of the racehorse while two men whom I never met before, tended to me.

“Don’t move,” they told me as they pulled ice and Advil out of their saddlebags. Really, I could move and was more embarrassed to be lying there on the ground in front of two hundred riders. And God forbid someone call for the buckboard. So after I convinced them nothing was broken, with their help, I pulled myself up just as John rode back with the steed in hand.

I was always told “If you fall off, get back on!” (Yeah, like this wild-eyed horse was going to acknowledge my moxy.) I climbed back on, but in my heart and head, I was done with him. Then and always. After a short ride, I told John I would take my chances with the colt. John got back on Nick and I settled in on Bo. He felt strong and steady like a quarter horse should and a welcome relief despite his youth. There was no bucking this time. And the four of us headed quietly down the trail.

Shortly after the ride started moving again, the skies opened up and the rain began to pour. We put on our slickers and we rode on. My hip was throbbing and the kids were whining and we rode on. We were going so slowly, the safety riders finally gave up on us and passed us by. But we rode on. We finished that damn ride on the young colt and the racehorse.

I sold Nick not long after that ride. It must have been a good sign when he loaded like a pro in his new owner’s two-horse trailer. We kept in touch for awhile. It was a good match.

Most of the time if asked “Did you have a good ride?” I smile and say “Yes, the best!” and even when it wasn’t necessarily the easiest ride, anytime on a horse is a the best time for me. There were good things about this ride – the kids taking care of themselves and their horses taking care of them when John and I had no control whatsoever. The people who helped us along the way; friends I met on that ride who are still friends today. In that respect, the worst ride of my life was still a good ride.

I’ve grown a lot as a horseperson in the seven years that have passed. From how NOT to load a horse to how to best set myself up for success. Had I known then what I know now, Nick may have been my dream horse. I think of him as the one who got away. Bo, too, for that matter, as he sold the next year. I guess it wasn’t meant to be.

I have no pictures from that day. It took all my effort just to ride.