Dad's Stories: Sam Rode A Horse

SAM RODE A HORSE

A story like this would just cause my brother Billy, to have a conniption fit, as my Mother would say. On his birthday, Bill would get nice presents, such as a baseball glove, ball & bat, basketball and the like. On my birthday I would get a horse, short-wave radio receiver, tape recorder and the like. Billy asked me one day, “Why do you get all those expensive things for your birthday?” I replied, “Because I asked for them.” Truthfully, that’s the only explanation I could offer. If you’d asked me when we were growing up who the favorite was, I would have quickly replied, Billy! I was a promoter, that about sums it up.

Evidently my brother had forgotten when we were very young, I was the one that would promote trips to the movies or downtown. I recall this one instance in Stillwater, Oklahoma, when we were small children and wanted to see a certain movie. Our folks had nixed the trip for some reason. After several minutes of all out begging by the three of us failed to work, it was time for the little entrepreneur to weave his magic. It was a brilliant idea, if I do say so myself.

To the best of my memory, here’s the way it went down. I wrote out a short little poem about how wonderful our mother and daddy was… that we loved them with all our hearts. Next, I took my plastic army helmets and stood just outside the living room door and yelled the poem into the helmet. This gave my voice sort of a “echoey effect” and it was truly neat. (I would use this same effect in radio, to emphasize a point in commercial copy). Suddenly, my mother heard this little voice echoing from the hallway. “We have the best mom in the whole world! We love you very, very much! Would you please take us to the movies?” Not very subtle, huh?

At about the same time, my little sister Betty, was dispatched with a note that said the same thing, with little hearts drawn all around it. My poor mom and dad, were being blitz with a propaganda campaign that rivaled anything Radio Moscow could ever do. With my little voice wafting in the air (in echo) and a special delivery “love note,” how could you say no! It melted my mother’s resistance and we went to the movies that night. Looking back, I wonder what my daddy must have thought. Oh yes, I was definitely good at getting my way. But my siblings benefited too.

Why did I get such nice gifts for my birthday? I rest my case. Anyway, on this particular birthday I was heavily promoting a horse. I wanted a Shetland pony, but had no idea where in the heck we could find one. Now, if you want a specific item, you need to find out where it can be obtained and at the best price. I recall Billy helping me look for a Shetland pony. We would hear that a certain person had Shetland ponies for sale and go to that address only to discover it was a wild goose (horse?) chase. Undaunted, I continued my campaign for a “birthday horse." At the time, my dad was stationed at Ft Gordon, Georgia, and couldn't help much. So it was up to my mom and granddaddy Smith.

Finally, a few days prior to my birthday, Granddad Smith took me to a nearby farm and we looked at a horse a man had for sale. It was a big, black horse, that had a small white star on its face. I still remember how big it looked to me. My granddad was more concerned about the horse being gentle and broke to ride. The owner told my granddad that the horse had been neutered a few weeks back, but had healed up without any problems. My granddad was assured by the owner, that the horse had been ridden by his own children and should be a good horse for a young boy like me. If not, bring him back and he would return our money.

While we were standing there, a young boy, dressed in overalls, with thick classes and a mop of unruly hair, sided up to me and we started a conversation about the horse. He startled me somewhat by asking me, “Would you like to see where we buried the horse’s balls?” Now, one could live two lifetimes without getting an offer like that, so I answered, “Yea, I sure would.” We walked off and left my granddad and the boy’s dad haggling over the price of the horse.

Going behind a barn the boy said, “They’re buried right there by that post.” Sure enough there was a small pile of rather loose dirt. Don said, “Hold on a minute.” He walked into the barn and came back in a couple of minutes with a “sharpshooter shovel” and stuck it in the ground. A couple of scoops later and he uncovered what turned out to be a horse’s scrotum. It stunk like death itself. We both studied what had to be the most precious of all equine items for a minute and I said, “Man, will you look at that!”

Suddenly, the boy’s daddy yelled out, “Hey boy! Don’t dig up those horse balls again.” The delicate item was quickly stuffed back in the hole and covered with dirt. We walked back to where the men were talking. The boy said, “I was showing him our new calf.” I admired his fast thinking.

My granddaddy finalized the deal and the horse was to be delivered to our house the next day. I was bouncing off the walls with excitement and frenetic energy. My own horse! My brother Billy had mixed emotions. Although he’d help me look for a pony, I don’t believe he thought even a promotion genius like myself could put this one off. He underestimated my entrepreneurial skills, as usual.

Happy birthday! My own horse, I could hardly believe my eyes when it was delivered. Such a magnificent animal and he was mine! I immediately named him Star! The whole family ganged around Star and me to admire my highly treasured gift. Billy was standing there with a look on his face like, “I can’t believe he actually pulled this off.” In reality, my brother should have hired me as his personal promotional manager. My first and foremost problem was… how to get on the huge “equus caballus.” and ride it. I had a bridle for Star, but no saddle.

Heck, that wasn’t gonna slow me up none. There was a stump nearby, so I led the horse over beside it, got on the stump and hoisted my leg over the horse and climbed on. There we sat, looking like something right out of Grapes of Wrath. Well, one thing was certain, Star could be ridden. I was posted proudly on his back like a member of the Seventh Calvary and just as proud, while my bare feet dangling on each side of Star. I could feel the raw muscle power of the beast I was sitting on. I was excited to release this power in a hard run down a long road.

My granddaddy started firing a bunch of “don’ts” at me. Don’t kick him in the flanks, don’t pull too hard on the bridle, don’t forget to grip tightly with my legs, and don’t run him. Okay, I’ve got that part, now how about a few “dos?” The only horse I’d been on belonged to a friend of mine, Dub Hall.

It was a Shetland pony and Dub would let me ride behind him on short trips around town. Whenever I tried to ride the pony by myself, he would turn his head and try to bite my leg.

My granddaddy held onto the bridle and slowly, purposefully walked me and Star around the yard. He showed me how to turn the horse by gently tugging on the reigns across Star’s neck. Next, he taught me how to properly stop a horse by pulling back on the bridle reigns with continuous, but gentle pressure. He advised me, “If you pull too hard, the horse will rare up and you’ll side off.” For the next thirty-minutes or so, I continued to ride my horse around the yard… all the while perfecting my equestrian skills. This was okay, but I longed for the open road and the freedom of just me and Star galloping gaily across the countryside, the “speed driven” breeze flowing through his mane and my hair. A boy and his horse, what a lovely picture. I felt like I was part of a Norman Rockwell illustration.

The first time I took Star on the open road, I discovered that he wasn’t at all familiar with automobiles speeding by. The first car that went by startled the big horse and he reared up and off I went. Remember, I was riding bareback. To Star’s credit, he didn’t run away. He stood stock still next to me lying in the road. It hurt quite a bid and skinned me up some and gave me a few bruises. I couldn’t get back on the horse unassisted, so I grabbed hold of Star’s reigns and walked him back home.

After a little doctoring by my mom, I climb back on top of the old tree stump, and jumped back on my horse and then walked him out on the road. It wasn’t long before another car went by and Star reared up and off I went! It was getting old in a hurry and I was getting beat up by the falls. Although I loved my horse, riding him was going to age me in a hurry and was not much fun. There was a good chance that I could get seriously hurt in one of the falls from his back. After a couple of weeks, granddaddy talked to the man we’d bought Star from and had the horse carried back to the farm. The horse just couldn’t get used to cars roaring past him on the road and I had no other place to ride him. I thought to myself, well, that wasn’t a real fun thing, was it!

A few days later, a pickup and trailer pulled up in front of our house with a beautiful little bay pony in it. Her name was Dolly and it was love at first sight. She had a dark mane and tail and was a reddish brown in color. Dolly was much smaller than Star and I could actually get on her by jumping up on her and swinging my leg over to the other side. However, Dolly came equipped with a saddle, used but in very good shape. All right! Now we’re working on all eight cylinders. We later found out that the horse was fifteen years old and had belong to a family with several children.

Dolly was very gentle and I road that little pony around Meridian for several years, until I simply grew tired of riding her and caring for her. I have so many wonderful memories of my trips on Dolly, that I couldn’t recall them off, even if I tried. Many of them however, I do recall vividly and they inspire a warmth inside me to this very day. I would feed my horse, bathe and curry her. We were very good friends and enjoyed one another’s company. Eventually, we sold Dolly to another family, who was looking for a good gentle riding pony and she was certainly that.

Several years later, when I was in the Army Signal Corps and stationed at Ft. Gordon, Georgia I befriended a young man named Fred Mills. His family lived in the country and owned several horses. We would visit his place on the weekends and ride all over the Georgia countryside. With his help I learned to make jumps and do other extremely dangerous things while riding horses. Of course, I didn’t see it that way at the time. It was just a couple of young men having a fantastic time. I was a good rider, if I do say so myself.