It was the first time I’d had him out since we’d moved to our new home. He was still just green broke but I knew, like me, he was ready to let go.
I took him to the field where my hubby was picking up hay bales for my uncle. I was there to give him some much needed ride time and maybe for me to show off a little for my hubby, we were newlyweds after all.
I took a few laps around the field first a walk then a slow trot. Each time passing my cute hubby in the tractor and waving.
I was so proud of him. He was doing well on his first outing away from the barn. We’d had a few jaunts close to home that hadn’t turned out so well. He was headstrong and young, still not sure of that bit in his mouth. He often lived up to his name “Rebel.” He had been a rebel from the first day I laid a saddle on him. But he was doing better and today we were out for a “real run.”
As my hubby dipped out of view below the hill I was on, I decided it was time.
I gave his neck a pat and said “let’s go.” And go we did. Man could he run. We flew across the hay field. I remember smiling and feeling as if I was on top of the world, on top of that hill.
And that’s the last thing I remembered until I saw my new hubby on the road below talking to a woman in a truck with MY horse. I looked around and saw that I was in the cab of the tractor. Boy was I mad! I climbed out of that tractor and went out to hubby and that lady. I started yelling at them wanting to know just what they thought they were doing with MY horse and in the middle of the highway no less!
They looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. Donnie yelled at ME to get back in the tractor and the lady took off with my horse.
Once back in the tractor hubby was shaking and almost crying and I was wondering what the heck was going on. Why was he yelling at me? Why did he have my horse out? Who was that lady? Where was my horse’s saddle?
He pulled the rear view mirror toward me and said, “Look.” My face was full of dirt, my hair was a mess, and my teeth and lips were swollen and bleeding.
Huh? I wondered how that happened, and then the pain set in.
I discovered later we had been in a full gallop when the cinch broke on the saddle. I hit the ground face first out cold, and my poor green broke horse was as terrified as my new hubby when he found us.
This is a picture of the hay field we were in that day twenty sevenish years ago. Yesterday as I was taking pictures with my daughter I told her the story of that day. I told her although Bill Picket the first African American rodeo cowboy was buried there, her mother had her own rodeo memories made there!