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.