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1 Year Ago
About a year ago I lost my dwarf pony to supposed pneumonia. I'm not going to say much about her, because this story is not about her. I had owned a pony who I often rode a few miles on for about two years. It's about the horse we bought to replace her.
We had arranged with black people we knew trained horses to fetch the young srallion they told us about from the town close to our farm they had brought it to. It is a large dark brown stallion with large, intense dark brown eyes. He stood like a frightened soldier tied to a long thin rope; only dashing around a little at a walking pace upon the sight of a buggy stopping close by, with three people climbing out and a ton of sheepdogs who had not yet begun to bark in the canopy.
I wasn't particularly scared, neither particularly impressed when I got out the buggy to examine the face and build of that horse. We noticed that the horse's face was quite young and pityful looking. He was also rather thin. My older brother who had ridden with me and my dad had told me that we could mount the horse and ride him around the place a little if he was tame enough.
My brother quickly realized the situation, untied the horse, and was the first to mount him. His eyes were large and terrified, his nostrils blaring in the fear that seemed to explode from inside him. But despite this, he stood still like nothing had happened and no stranget was about to throw their entire weight on him as they climbed up him, maybe kicked him in the sides or even pulled the bit halter he was wearing so hard that his mouth couldn't handle the pressure.
We didn't dare do anything like that. But my brother was the first to mount him and he successfully got him to walk and trot around at a controlled pace with a graceful style. Everything was going fine and I was walking after the horse being ridden at a trotting pace. We had no particular fears until I got the devilish idea into my head to frighten him. I didn't know why I planned on doing what I was doing, because I had an instinctive feeling telling me not to. But, me being myself, I went ahead and did it anyway. I started jogging a few paces behind the horse and rider.
What happened was quite predictable. The horse quite suddenly picked up his pace to that of a gallop's speed, and within about seven seconds flat was running as fast as he could. My brother tried his best to move along with him, but that didn't help anything. I was standing petrified with guilt and fear, my father held his breath, and sure enough, about two hundred yards away from us my brother was nearly flung headfirst onto the ground. I wasn't ptoud of myself for that one.
Luckily, he got up after about two seconds, still holding the horse by one rein of his bit halter. The horse had given a few bucks just after or before meeting the ground himself, but now jumped up a little limply and stood looking at his rider without moving. His rider mounted him again, steered him and rode him back to us at a controlled speed.
I was sick with relief. I thought my brother was going to die because of my purposeful craziness. But somehow, he didn't. Perhaps it was a miracle. My brother had been shouting a thing or two at me a few minutes ago and I didn't know what it was about, but apparently it wasn't about it being my fault and asking why I had done such a stupid thing.
Soon after, I placed my hands on his back, jumped and landed in the middle of his back after a few lame attempts that frightened the wits out of him, though he never moved.
The guy who had brought the horse to town for us was apparently intoxicated, bit still gave some instruction as to how we were to ride him. He could apparently be mounted from both sides and was used to be ridden without a saddle. So that's just what we did.
At first, I couldn't even get him to walk forward. But then my brother led him by his halter's rope and soon I could move and steer him by myself. I even got him to canter around big holes in the ground, large thorn bushes and a ton of junk laying on the ground. Once I let him charge off at a canter speed towards the little black children sranding nearby, who jogged of laughing and screaming. Luckily, my family didn't make a big deal out of it.
We brought the horse after some discussion and hesitation. I think I pretty much thought everything was going to go right after that, but it didn't. I made it go wrong, and it was all my fault, but I hope I learned my lesson for the most part.
At first, my brother rode him and led him by the halter a few times when nothing went wrong. He had ridden him all the way from town to our farm in the evening light to get him home that first night. The stallion had also met our beautiful Palimino 5 year old mare and fell in love with her at first sight. My brother named him Bolt, because he said he gallopped away like a lightning bolt that was unstoppable. This was quite true.
I herded our Angorra goats once or twice by riding that horse. I also rode him several times where everything was okay, until the first day the thing my dad had been fearing would happen to me actually happened. I had no idea something like that could ever happen to me. But it did. I remember thinking I never knew I was going to die like this.
The fear was incredible and could not be described in words.
The moment I truly lost control of that horse, everything inside my heart went black. My head was empty besides for a feeling of unmentionable terror and shock that could not be described in one sentence, yet it might as well have been a lifetime for me at that time. He flew forward as fast as a wild racehorse like himself could possibly run. I knew that if I were to lean forward an ounce, I would fly over his head and struck my skull open from the impact force as soon as I hit the ground. I can only be grateful that God decided to spare my life. Apparently, I still had a purpose to follow in this thing I was going through you call life.
I knew it was a miracle. It could not be described in words. It was impossibls for me to ride that well - I wasn't the type to manage to cling to a runaway horse at that speed. Assuming anyone even could cling to a gallopping horse who was trying anything to get me off his back. I was leaning back as the wind blew through my ears so I wouldn't fly over his ears and hit the ground at thigh shattering speed.
Eventually, he lost speed until he started walking. He was tired; and I was contemplating why I was still alive. How was this even possible? What had just happened? This had to be just some sort of horrible nightmare, I thought. This couldn't possibly be real. Watching it happen to someone else was one thing. Having it quickly and unexpectedly happen to you in real life was another.
I led him to level ground and mounted him again after a few seconds. He walked a mile or so after that and then back home like nothing happened. Bolt would have turned out to be a great horse if I didn't mess it up.
If I didn't make a ton of little mistakes, like dashing around before mounting him, kickim him in the sides and tying his lead halter to a fence when he wouldn't stand still so I could mount him, he wouldn't have turned out that way.
But I decided to do it all wrong anyway and that was it. It's been a year since I last rode him and that wasn't the last chance I took with him. With some horses, you don't have to make the wrong move many times for it to be unforgettable for him. But it was still all my fault.
© @elsastrauss7
We had arranged with black people we knew trained horses to fetch the young srallion they told us about from the town close to our farm they had brought it to. It is a large dark brown stallion with large, intense dark brown eyes. He stood like a frightened soldier tied to a long thin rope; only dashing around a little at a walking pace upon the sight of a buggy stopping close by, with three people climbing out and a ton of sheepdogs who had not yet begun to bark in the canopy.
I wasn't particularly scared, neither particularly impressed when I got out the buggy to examine the face and build of that horse. We noticed that the horse's face was quite young and pityful looking. He was also rather thin. My older brother who had ridden with me and my dad had told me that we could mount the horse and ride him around the place a little if he was tame enough.
My brother quickly realized the situation, untied the horse, and was the first to mount him. His eyes were large and terrified, his nostrils blaring in the fear that seemed to explode from inside him. But despite this, he stood still like nothing had happened and no stranget was about to throw their entire weight on him as they climbed up him, maybe kicked him in the sides or even pulled the bit halter he was wearing so hard that his mouth couldn't handle the pressure.
We didn't dare do anything like that. But my brother was the first to mount him and he successfully got him to walk and trot around at a controlled pace with a graceful style. Everything was going fine and I was walking after the horse being ridden at a trotting pace. We had no particular fears until I got the devilish idea into my head to frighten him. I didn't know why I planned on doing what I was doing, because I had an instinctive feeling telling me not to. But, me being myself, I went ahead and did it anyway. I started jogging a few paces behind the horse and rider.
What happened was quite predictable. The horse quite suddenly picked up his pace to that of a gallop's speed, and within about seven seconds flat was running as fast as he could. My brother tried his best to move along with him, but that didn't help anything. I was standing petrified with guilt and fear, my father held his breath, and sure enough, about two hundred yards away from us my brother was nearly flung headfirst onto the ground. I wasn't ptoud of myself for that one.
Luckily, he got up after about two seconds, still holding the horse by one rein of his bit halter. The horse had given a few bucks just after or before meeting the ground himself, but now jumped up a little limply and stood looking at his rider without moving. His rider mounted him again, steered him and rode him back to us at a controlled speed.
I was sick with relief. I thought my brother was going to die because of my purposeful craziness. But somehow, he didn't. Perhaps it was a miracle. My brother had been shouting a thing or two at me a few minutes ago and I didn't know what it was about, but apparently it wasn't about it being my fault and asking why I had done such a stupid thing.
Soon after, I placed my hands on his back, jumped and landed in the middle of his back after a few lame attempts that frightened the wits out of him, though he never moved.
The guy who had brought the horse to town for us was apparently intoxicated, bit still gave some instruction as to how we were to ride him. He could apparently be mounted from both sides and was used to be ridden without a saddle. So that's just what we did.
At first, I couldn't even get him to walk forward. But then my brother led him by his halter's rope and soon I could move and steer him by myself. I even got him to canter around big holes in the ground, large thorn bushes and a ton of junk laying on the ground. Once I let him charge off at a canter speed towards the little black children sranding nearby, who jogged of laughing and screaming. Luckily, my family didn't make a big deal out of it.
We brought the horse after some discussion and hesitation. I think I pretty much thought everything was going to go right after that, but it didn't. I made it go wrong, and it was all my fault, but I hope I learned my lesson for the most part.
At first, my brother rode him and led him by the halter a few times when nothing went wrong. He had ridden him all the way from town to our farm in the evening light to get him home that first night. The stallion had also met our beautiful Palimino 5 year old mare and fell in love with her at first sight. My brother named him Bolt, because he said he gallopped away like a lightning bolt that was unstoppable. This was quite true.
I herded our Angorra goats once or twice by riding that horse. I also rode him several times where everything was okay, until the first day the thing my dad had been fearing would happen to me actually happened. I had no idea something like that could ever happen to me. But it did. I remember thinking I never knew I was going to die like this.
The fear was incredible and could not be described in words.
The moment I truly lost control of that horse, everything inside my heart went black. My head was empty besides for a feeling of unmentionable terror and shock that could not be described in one sentence, yet it might as well have been a lifetime for me at that time. He flew forward as fast as a wild racehorse like himself could possibly run. I knew that if I were to lean forward an ounce, I would fly over his head and struck my skull open from the impact force as soon as I hit the ground. I can only be grateful that God decided to spare my life. Apparently, I still had a purpose to follow in this thing I was going through you call life.
I knew it was a miracle. It could not be described in words. It was impossibls for me to ride that well - I wasn't the type to manage to cling to a runaway horse at that speed. Assuming anyone even could cling to a gallopping horse who was trying anything to get me off his back. I was leaning back as the wind blew through my ears so I wouldn't fly over his ears and hit the ground at thigh shattering speed.
Eventually, he lost speed until he started walking. He was tired; and I was contemplating why I was still alive. How was this even possible? What had just happened? This had to be just some sort of horrible nightmare, I thought. This couldn't possibly be real. Watching it happen to someone else was one thing. Having it quickly and unexpectedly happen to you in real life was another.
I led him to level ground and mounted him again after a few seconds. He walked a mile or so after that and then back home like nothing happened. Bolt would have turned out to be a great horse if I didn't mess it up.
If I didn't make a ton of little mistakes, like dashing around before mounting him, kickim him in the sides and tying his lead halter to a fence when he wouldn't stand still so I could mount him, he wouldn't have turned out that way.
But I decided to do it all wrong anyway and that was it. It's been a year since I last rode him and that wasn't the last chance I took with him. With some horses, you don't have to make the wrong move many times for it to be unforgettable for him. But it was still all my fault.
© @elsastrauss7
