Horses I've Ridden and Wrecks that Almost Happened

The plan was to corral the yearling steers.

Simple enough, except ice surrounds the corral at the moment.

Snow from the two blizzards last fall melted last week, creating streams and islands that usually only show up in April. Then they froze.

I led my daughter’s athletic horse to the corral and watched in horror as he ice skated, legs flailing, head tossing as he tried to stay upright.

I don’t mind killing myself, but my first priority is to keep Abby safe. Ice skating on shod hooves is not particularly safe.

But her horse reminded me of a few other horses I’ve ridden.

Those of us who ride horses know wrecks can happen quickly. We ride anyway.

Once, when I worked on a ranch in Utah, I was hired to train a Tennessee Walker.

Tennessee Walkers don’t have a lot of cow sense.

I had ridden that horse for 24 of the 30 promised days when I took him out on the desert to gather cows and baby calves.

I discovered a sleeping newborn curled up far from a group of cows. I let the horse nudge the calf, knowing it would probably follow the horse so I could lead it to its mother.

Calves tend to tap their mama’s hocks as they follow.

I had no idea a Tennessee Walker could react so quickly.

I was flying straight up into the air when a rear hoof nailed my ribs.

The ground knocked my breath out of me.

As I gasped for air, I caught movement on my left. A fully-loaded longhorn cow was loping my direction, head down, slobber spewing. I looked around. The calf bellowed on my right.

No rodeo clowns materialized to distract the intent bovine.

The horse ran.

I pressed my arm to my ribs and crawled out of the cow’s way.

Eventually, my boss, Ladd, noticed a hunched-over cowboy hobbling across the desert, caught my horse and rode over to me.

We drove the 12 miles back to the ranch headquarters so I could trade horses and get back to gathering cattle.

Good old reliable Nick had not been ridden for 24 days. He wanted to trot.

As he pranced over sage and shrubs, I felt my left ribcage disconnect and reconnect with every bounce.

That was a long day.

That fall, we drove into the mountains on a hunting trip.

Wild horses roamed those hills and we often caught a glimpse of them as they wandered through the pinyon and juniper trees.

As we watched a band trot past us, Ladd spotted a beat up gelding wearing a halter.

Not many wild horses wear halters.

We decided to catch him.

We had a bucket of oats on the truck and the gelding looked hungry.

Within a couple of miles, Ladd had snapped a lead rope on his halter.

He tied a loop in the lead rope and boosted me on to the gelding’s bare back.

I rode him to the horse trailer and loaded him up.

When we told the sheriff about him, he said several people had spotted this horse over the last few years, but nobody could catch him.

Eventually, the sheriff took him off our hands. I liked the poor horse, but after he had enough to eat, he was a bit hard to catch.

Another time, I spotted a mare at the auction.

Amid all of the chaos in the pens, she stood calmly so I jumped on her back. She moved well and didn’t flinch even when a stinking billy goat ran by.

I tracked down her owner and asked what he had to have for her.

“$300,” he said. “I don’t need much. She’s never been ridden.”

I waited until after my hand was the last one in the air to correct his faulty assumption.