Horses

I'm not sure if owning horses was something my dad always dreamed about as a child or if the opportunity just presented itself, but when I was 12-13 years old my father began collecting retarded horses. I say retarded because each one of them had an interesting mental capacity or personality disorder that made riding them a lesson in fear/idiocy. Just to name a few, there was a horse named Ho that was not only temperamental but she would fart every time she would startle. There was an Arabian horse that was blind in the left eye, which freaked him out any time something approached him from the left side. Another horse ate dog food and was then struck by lightning not too much later. The horse Ho had a colt that was fairly well behaved but could spook easily. Last of which was the horse named Satan.


My sister Brittany was riding Ho, who apparently didn't want to be ridden. Ho decided the best way to get Brittany off was to take her through some trees with low-lying branches. Sure enough the plan worked and Ho came galloping back from the stand of trees with an empty saddle.

The Arabian horse wasn't too bright. On a trail ride where my dad was riding this horse, there was a large embankment on the right side and a large drop off on the left (the horses blind side). In order to avoid the embankment the horse veered to the left and down the drop off, taking my dad with him. Stupid horse!

So, after our horse named Midnight was struck and killed by lightning my sister Brittany became very concerned anytime a thunderstorm occurred. Ho just had a baby colt and was out at pasture when a forecast for a thunderstorm occurred. I was instructed by my father to go and get the baby colt and his mother (Ho) and put them in the stalls.

Upon arrival Josh and I soon learned that we could easily catch the colt, but Ho was a bit more difficult. We finally caught Ho but she didn't want to listen to two 13-15 year old's and wasn't about to go easily into the stalls. So . . . we tied her to the metal fence post and focused our attention on the colt. The colt was easy to catch and was small enough to carry. I picked him up and began to carry him towards the stalls.

Now . . . for those of you who aren't familiar with getting between an animal and her young you should know that this isn't a good idea. Ho saw me with her baby and became infuriated. She broke the thick horse rope that we used to tie her up and she came charging at me. Fortunately I looked back in time to see her coming. I threw the colt to the side and ran like H#$$.

Josh and I had enough, we called our dad who was able to coax Ho into a stall, the colt following dutifully behind. Stupid horse! Apparently horses were a privilege. Our price to pay for this privilege . . . Josh and I mucked out horse manure every week!