High Ho Silver

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High Ho Silver

One of the most traumatic events of my youth occurred when I was eight or nine. I had been given my first horse which was all mine. It was a grey Shetland pony who I think was named Flicka, but that may just be too much adolescent television talking. I think I may have tried to forget this particular pet's name subconsciously, and the why of that statement will become evident in a moment.

I had experience with horses from when I was younger. I've been told that one night I was out in the barn while Dad was working on one of the horses. I walked too near the backside and received a complimentary kick across the barn. Apparently the horse caught me right in the chest, and since I couldn't have been more than 5 years old, was promptly deposited against the nearest barn wall. Ouch.

But back to the Shetland pony. This particular horse was not very nice. I remember being bit several times, even when trying to feed the stupid horse. I had hay fever, so I didn't have to worry about feeding the horse too much - my dad had other horses which he fed at the same time.

I was allergic to the horse a bit, but it was still too much fun to ride to let that get in the way. After saddling up the mini-saddle on the mini-horse, I could pretend I was galloping through the Wild West. Mostly though I was galloping through my still developing neighborhood. I did have the sniffles for a while after every ride, but it was glorious fun until the day we jumped the ditch.

If you have never been on a horse, one of the important things to remember is that you often have to straighten your legs in the stirrups of the saddle or you may wind up on the ground. This includes when the horse might buck, jump or when the ride is just too rough.

This is especially true when jumping ditches.

We were tooling around the small fields which hadn't been turned into building lots yet, and there was this small ditch which ran across the center of the fields. It was probably only a foot deep, but it was a serious enough jump for the small horse that I should have had the sense to stand up briefly in the stirrups and avoid getting dumped off the back.

You guessed it. I bounced when the horse landed on the other side, fell off the back of the smallish horse, and continued to follow.

My right foot was caught in the stirrup. This meant that the pony, which didn't like me all that much to begin with, was now dragging me across the fields which contained various rocks, tall weeds, and other exciting stuff to scrape my back upon.

My shirt had immediately shot up around my armpits, which made it difficult to try to reach up and disengage the boot from the stirrup. The brambles and the dirt were scrapping up my back pretty well, and the stupid horse showed no sign of stopping.

I don't know if the horse was enjoying the romp or was just scared since it was dragging this big weight behind it. It didn't seem to matter which was the reason. The horse just kept running.

Every once in a while the horse slowed up a bit and I could try to reach my boot again. The worst news is that every time I got close to being able to get the boot out of the stirrup, the horse would kick me right in the forehead.

I must have been kicked in the head seven or eight times. Ever since then I felt I was destined to be a performer.

Finally the horse came too close to a home which was being built nearby, and a neighborhood father was able to grab the reins and stop the mayhem.

I sat up slowly and released my boot. I stood and pulled my shirt down my now scratched and bleeding back. I took the reins from the man who stood looking at me like an alien. Here was a kid who had been dragged across the field and had been kicked in the head several times.

And I was still walking upright.

Double ouch.

I walked home very slowly, unsaddled the horse and put it back in the pen.

When I went inside, I told my mom I wanted to sell the horse. She looked at me and the horse was gone in a week. It almost makes me wish the urban myths about people who like to eat horse flesh were true.  I don't hold that grudge anymore, but then I haven't ridden many horses lately.

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