I was eleven at the time; it’s been a full two years ago since
I got my first horse. I hadn’t known so much about horses
then. But I loved them, loved him, and that seemed all that mattered.
His registered name was Bit A Flit, and we called him Bit. A gorgeous
sorrel gelding, with a fiery coat that glowed in the sunlight, complete
with his own stubborn personality—that was my Bit.
My parents were buying
me a horse for my birthday. We had been driving all over the state,
it seemed like, (though not really) looking at horse after horse,
but none seemed the right one. Bit was actually the first horse
that we went to see, but we decided to have a look at a few others
before deciding.
When it came to the final
choice, we were on the verge of getting an old horse named Rusty.
But then I I thought of Bit, and I knew I just had to have him.
Rusty just wasn’t the right one.
My mother was a bit concerned,
since he was a retired barrel racer and probably apt to run, but
I convinced her otherwise.
She had good reason to
worry.
We drove the two hours
up to the farm where he lived to get him checked out by my horse
instructor, (for health problems) just to make sure, and then came
back once more with a trailer to pick him up. I’ll always
remember that day. I’d never been so excited in my life. I
could hardly sleep all night, and woke early in the morning, practically
prancing around with excitement the whole time until we left—and
the whole time in the car, too, if prancing is possible in the car.
Bit was nineteen years
old at the time, and my instructor said it was good to get an old
horse for your first one. He checked Bit out, and said he was surprised
at how young and healthy he looked. Said he’d been expecting
quite a different horse for one of nineteen. Bit loaded like an
angel, and then home with him we went! When we arrived, we backed
him out of the trailer and led him around to get him used to his
new surroundings. I was overcome with joy; I hadn’t thought
that it was possible to be this happy until now.
Well, we hadn’t gotten
any tack yet, so until we did my sister and I took turns being led
around on his back with the halter and lead rope. We did this for
several weeks.
But as soon as we got saddle
and bridle, I was ready to really ride! I saddled him up, (and,
then, being not-so-knowledgeable, didn’t check to make sure
he hadn’t bloated up his stomach while I was tightening the
cinch—which he had) and swung onto his back. We walked up
the trail, to start, then trotted a little. But when we turned around
toward the barn, Bit knew where we were going, and wanted to get
there as fast as possible! I was unaware of this, however, and clucked
him into a trot.
This was all the encouragement
he needed to bolt towards home. Once again, my lack of experience
was the ruin of me. I had never been on a galloping horse before.
It was all I could do to hold on for dear life as we raced down
the hill. Here’s where the worst part happens: the cinch was
loose, and the saddle slipped down low. It would have gone all the
way underneath his belly if not for the breast collar. I fell off,
skidding along my side, and ended up with painful burns down my
shoulder and leg, and an awful headache which turned out to be a
concussion. Fortunately, I didn’t pass out. Well, at that
time, I’d never been told to get right back on when you fall
off a horse. Even if I had, I wasn’t about to mount that thing
again! I was screaming and crying, and ran all the way back to the
house in a sort of daze. My mother took me directly to the doctor,
who promptly told me I was not to ride for two weeks. I have to
say, I wasn’t really disappointed. I still loved Bit, and
spent hours with him every day, grooming him, petting him, being
with him. But I was terrified to ride again. And in those two weeks
that fear built up…when they had passed, then so did two more
and still I hadn’t ridden. I was putting it off, and I knew
it. So finally I rode him again, this time, making sure the saddle
was on tight before mounting.
He took off as soon as
I was in the saddle, practically. Before I even had my other foot
in the stirrup he was at a lope, passing the fence on the way that
I banged my knee against. He galloped this way, that, over there,
over here. I was clutching so hard to the saddle horn that my fingers
were turning white. He flew around the pasture crazily, but finally
he slowed for a little bit and I leaped off.
Whew!
I wasn’t trying that
again for awhile.
So this time, it was more
than weeks. It was months and months before I dared try riding him
again. This time I took him in the round pen. My sister and I worked
with him every day, and slowly he got better, though I still didn’t
trust him outside of the round pen. We’ve been working with
him since July 2006, and he’s doing wonderfully. I’ve
become a much better rider and horsewoman, and he’s improved
as well. I now ride him bareback in the pasture all the time. I’m
still working with him with the saddle, though. When I put it on,
it seems to trigger something in him and he thinks he’s supposed
to run—like in his barrel racing days.
I have to give a lot of
the credit for Bit’s success to my best friend and fellow
horse lover, Micaela. She helped me a lot along the way, especially
when my older sister got too much into being a teenager to do it
with me anymore. “Horses are so over-rated,” she told
me.
Of course, I got furious
at that!
Micaela lives just down
the road, and would come over as often as possible. The whole time
we would ride, ride, ride! Bit’s doing great. I owe him a
lot, too, for teaching me all I know about horses. Now I have lots
of experience behind me; I’ve been on a horse that bucks,
rears, bolts, and even been kicked by him—for, indeed, it
is all the same horse, my Bit.
