a funny piece, from the archives. :) Enjoy. Love to you, C.A.
Rosco's Lesson
Doing a headstand a few minutes ago, I pulled something in my neck, and
it reminded me of the only time I got hurt when I was riding
hunter/jumper horses. That's right, from age ten to age thirty-two, give
or take a few years off here and there, of course there were falls
(although not many considering), and there were dangerous rides during
thunderstorms and snowstorms, and there were times when some horses
tried to bite or kick me, and there were crazy, weird happenings like
loose horses or wild animals or dogs tearing across the riding ring or
sirens or anything else you can imagine, including one time when a horse
reared up and flipped over when I was riding her, but through all of
the strange adventures, amazingly, I only got hurt once. And it was my
fault. It wasn't due to a dangerous jumping course or a brand new,
untrained green horse, oh no. It was because I was goofing off...
Let me back up a little. Once upon a time, there was this horse named
Rosco. Now, Rosco and I had a history. When I was little, I rode at a
farm called Red Fox Stables and every now and then, Jimmy, our trainer,
would bring in random horses to use for the lessons. Usually they came
from trainers down South, people he knew through the business I guess,
but it always seemed that the new lesson horses just appeared out of
nowhere. Certain afternoons, usually a Saturday, a truck and trailer
would come rumbling up Red Fox's drive and suddenly, some tough looking
driver would unload a new lesson horse.
Now, for the young riders at Red Fox (they called us the Juniors), this
event was always exciting, because it meant that we had a new project.
See, the horses that Jimmy brought in were never fully trained --
usually, they were young or just hadn't been doing much of anything.
That's why he got a good deal on them. Like a car with no mileage. So
Jimmy's theory of training these new schoolhorses was this: ride the
hell out of them.
Well, from one of these random magic trailers, Rosco appeared to us one
day. He was a chestnut quarter horse around 15.2 h. Full-bodied, kinda
cute. Not bad looking, not fancy. Nobody thought much of him, but he was
new, and that made him interesting. The first person to hop on him was
one of the instructors. Within ten minutes, she got bucked off. The next
person, another instructor. Again, she got bucked off. Then a third
instructor tried. Nope, bucked off. But Jimmy paid no mind to Rosco's
tricks. He just kept telling people this: "If you've got time, go hop
on Rosco." And whoever it was would groan and do it because we did
whatever Jimmy said, whether or not it might mean landing in the sand.
So people kept trying to ride Rosco, and all of the Juniors got bucked
off at least once. But for some strange reason, I never did. I just rode
him, and I didn't really like riding him, because I thought he was too
slow, but I stayed on. I don't know why. It baffled me. It baffled
everyone. Eventually, he chilled out, and he became a superb
schoolhorse, just as Jimmy had planned.
Well, many years later, I was a professional horse trainer at a farm in
Loveland. I was close to thirty years old. At the same time, it just so
happened that good old Rosco was still alive and well, and he had been
sold to a client from Red Fox, a woman who decided to move Rosco and
board him at the same Loveland farm where I worked. So it creepily seemed like he was following me, like he knew I was the "one who got away."
At that Loveland farm, his owner allowed us to use him as a schoolhorse
some, so I dealt with Rosco quite a bit. Since he had aged, he had
mellowed, and he was pretty good to use for the kids. Still slow as
hell, but for the lessons, that was a pretty good deal. He never bucked
with the kids; he just plodded along, doing his job. I couldn't help but
think, Jimmy was right. When it came to horses, Jimmy was always right.
But one day after all of my kids' lessons were over, some of the clients
and I were out in the side yard, letting our horses graze. I was just
kicking back, glad to be finished for the day, feeling overly tired and
goofy. So after I put my horse away, I walked over to Rosco and hopped
on him bareback, just for old times' sake. Then I decided to show off a
little. So I swung my legs around and sat on him backwards, staring at
his tail. The clients were laughing. Usually, being a trainer, I was
pretty serious, so they thought it was pretty amusing. We were all
having a relaxed, good time. At first.
Right at that moment, ancient Rosco started bucking. And it wasn't an
old man, wussy little buck. He bucked like he was back at Red Fox, three
years old, the star of his own little rodeo. I tried to hold on and
normally, I probably would have been able to hang on, but let me remind
you that I was stupidly sitting on him backwards. Now, there is a reason
people don't ride horses backwards, because when you are riding a horse
backwards, there is nothing to hold on to, and if you squeeze with your
legs, they are positioned perfectly to tell the horse this: buck more
please. Suddenly I realized that I was screwed.
So I went flying up in the air a few feet, finally landing on the ground
on my side, horribly kinking my neck. And while I was trying to
recover, covered in grass and mud, I glanced up at Rosco's huge nose and
eyes, which were right in my face. He looked like a red monster. Then I
studied him a little closer. I swear that horse was smiling. He knew
that after all those years of waiting, after trying and trying to buck
me off when I was a kid, in that moment, he had finally succeeded. And
not only had he bucked me off, but he had also done it in front of some
of my clients. Without a doubt, he had finally won.
I looked back at him, laughing. Everyone around was laughing. And I
didn't forget that lesson soon, because for weeks I endured the worst
whiplash I've ever had in my entire life. I should be grateful though;
if Rosco wanted to hurt me that day, he could have. He just wanted to
play a joke and teach me a lesson. And he did. Since then, I've never
let my guard down like that again with horses; that is, I remember to
stay humble when dealing with a 1500lb animal because they are clever,
smart, multi-faceted souls, and they have ridiculously long lasting
senses of humor, as well as a deep sense of memory.
I swear that horse was smiling.
C.A. MacConnell
