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[RC] My first horse - Bruce Weary

My first horse was a spring-loaded hobby horse with foot rests extending from his belly, and handles extending from his temples. I would ride that thing while watching the Roy Rogers TV show on Saturday morning, wearing my bodysuit pajamas. The ones with the booties and the rear trap door. I would ride that thing so hard that I could actually move it across the floor. I was so proud of my strength that I would show off to my Mom. She seemed unimpressed, and apparently felt it was no great feat for a 16 year old.
My first flesh and blood horse that I rode was my grandfather's black pony, Smoke. That horse was truly a gift from God, as rumor has it God protects fools and children. We were certainly both, my siblings and I. We rode that thing, tearing mercilessly around the tiny town of Chester, Nebraska, sometimes with two or three of us on his back. He was perfect, never disobeyed or disagreed. No one got hurt. Now I break ribs on horses that cost thousands. If he had been ridden in an endurance ride the way we blasted around on him, he would have surely died. Or at least required fluids and an expensive veterinary hospital stay.
Later on, my grandfather bought a palomino thororoughbred cross (who knows why) just to keep around the farm. My cousin Dick, who was stronger and older at 10 (he could pick up a three wire bale of Nebraska alfalfa and move it to another spot. He had baseballs for biceps. A real farm boy), saddled that thing up and talked me into climbing onto the back of the saddle, while he drove up front.
I should really be dead now.
We rode that horse across a neighboring pasture (what gopher holes?) at full tilt, and it seemed like we were literally flying, except for that uncomfortable instant when his feet struck the ground and pushed off hurtling us forward at ever more dangerous speeds. I remember being scared and giggling at the same time. We never fell off, and made it safely back to the barn. I can remember sliding that great distance to the ground to dismount, and running off to tell my mother all about it. She was fine after some smelling salts and fresh air.


Many horses have come and gone since those times, but these are perhaps the most Technicolor memories I have of my early days as a horseman. Some things linger, though. I still have at least one horse that is spring loaded, and I still sometimes call my mother to tell her when I have had a particularly good day on a fast horse. She's a tough ol' broad, but Dad keeps the smelling salts nearby, just in case.

Yippee-ky-ay, Dr Q

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