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Buck was a tall, cool, older, gentleman horse of
bay colouring. He had been a working cow horse most of
his life and had ended up rather lazy and uninterested in
pleasure
riding. And although Buck could be a good trail horse at
times, he had acquired the frustrating habit of grazing while
walking. And, being one of those long-necked running-quarter
horses, Buck was working it to his advantage now. Once his
head went down into the tall grass, it was a struggle to get him back. But the fact was, Buck wasn't my horse, just
a loaner. So one day, while out on a solo ride, the
teenage me
decided to break Buck of his obnoxious habit.
We headed straight down Forester Road,
but being
no temptations of grass along the way, I decided to
swing him
off the trail, up through the orchard till we emerged
through
from the walnut trees. There we stood in the sunlight,
at the
foot of a large grassy hill sprinkled with sweet
yellow
flowers and acres of that green stuff Buck could not
do
without. So, I laid the rein on his neck, leaned
forward and
asked Buck to engage the hill. He eargerly complied
as, I was
sure, the grass was waiving him on.
But the journey was not pleasant. It
was a steep
hill, putting the grass well within his reach, and
every few
seconds I was jerking his curb bit, trying to keep his
head up
and out of the grass. Buck wasn't getting it and he
was
clearly annoyed so I turned him sideways and popped
off to
adjust my saddle on the downside of the hill. But, just as
I slid
to the ground, that brute deliberately yanked the
reins out of
my hands and plunged that long neck down into the
grass. But
Buck was tall, and as he did so, the reins slipped
down
around his ears. I turned to get a hold of them, but
he
immediately adjusted his front downhill footing and he
came
down full force right in the middle of my tennis shoe.
Deliberately or not, yeowwww!
So, now I stood underfoot, facing his rear end
on his downhill side. And he had all his weight on
that
downhill front leg - smack dab on my foot. Luckily,
the ground
was soft, and I could tell that there wasn't much
damage being
done - but it was painful, and now I couldn't make any
move at
all to get the reins. I was pinned, and he knew it. No amount
of punching or pinching was going to move him, and everytime
he adjusted his weight, it hurt more.
I really don't know how long we stood there. I
think I cried a little and tried to conjure up some help. But
we were totally out of sight - and there was no help. Just me
and Buck and the span of time it would take for him to
eat up
the grass within reach and lift his head.
As I stood there pinned to the ground by my
foot, I couldn't help but be patient and calm.and
consider the
way I had frustrated and punished the horse all the
way up the
hill. In hindsight, I can only hope I've made some
good use of
the forced and painful little lesson that a
self-proclaimed,
retired working horse taught me that day.
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