by Robin Tidwell

Created on: September 19, 2008   Last Updated: March 10, 2011

I still cannot believe that my parents allowed a friend and me, at age 16, to take my Quarter Horse and her Appaloosa on a road trip to her sister's house about two hours away. In spite of our combined years of experience with horses, my parents often considered me impulsive and incapable. They truly had no idea, which was probably just as well!

The first thing we noticed on our arrival at the sister's house was that the yard was not fenced for horses, not to mention quite small for two of them. There was no turning back at that point. We unloaded and unhaltered and hoped for the best. Hogwire, we later discovered to our dismay, was not particularly sturdy - especially when propped up with shaky posts.

Around two o'clock in the morning we, sleeping uncomfortably on a sofa-bed, were awakened by the sound of pounding hooves. Jumping up and yanking on our boots, we rushed out the front door to see two dark shapes leaping the fence and disappearing down the driveway. As we ran pell-mell after those dark shapes, whistling and shouting, we tripped over the part of the fence that the horses had attempted to take with them; we also discovered a shoe, thrown by my mare.

Panting and somewhat wobbly from our rude, abrupt awakening, we trudged back to the trailer for some sweet feed - a guaranteed maneuver that would send at least one horse running back, and probably both. Sure enough, that was all it took.

By the time the fence was repaired and we were resigned to a long day ahead of us, our host called a nearby farrier and we set off, cross-country, to have my mare's shoe replaced. While at the farrier's, we heard of a nearby "fun" show and decided that would be the evening's entertainment.

We arrived at the show and signed in; both of us were used to riding bareback, of course, but usually only undertook those speed classes sans saddle when, um, having imbibed a bit too much. Since this wasn't the case, and we had no reputations to speak of in this neck of the woods, my friend decided to "go for it" anyway.

Naturally she won every race she entered. Or would have; it seems that these folks had never seen a girl start off her horse and swing up all at the same time, while clenching a telephone book page in her mouth - they insisted on holding her horse still while she clambered aboard. It was a sight. And very nearly a fight!

The following day we went on a long ride, over the hill and through the woods so to speak, and followed a very nice creek for part of the way. On the way home we had a tangle with a barb-wire fence.

A horse has very thin skin on his legs, and even minor scratches tend to bleed profusely. Of course it was my mare that got herself into this predicament. In my initial shock and surprise, I whipped off my t-shirt and tried to staunch the blood. Not only did it not work very well, but since I had to put the shirt back on (or ride half-naked) I looked like I'd been in a very bad car accident or had a run-in with an axe-wielding psycho!

Nevertheless, as we approached the house, my friend talked me into lying across my horse's back, a la Ned Pepper, while she, as Rooster Cogburn of course, led my mare up the driveway.

Our homecoming was neither quiet nor drama-free - my friend's sister took one look at me, screamed, and fainted dead away. Her husband looked quite pale, but we stopped him before he could call 911. For some reason, we were never invited back....

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