There is better than stupid, bad horses

(Mike and Annette Tolbert have a small horse farm in west central Florida that sits on 55,000 acres of the Withlachoochee State Forest. Annette is a retired grammar school teacher and Mike is a consutant for strategic marketing communications. They have too many horses, four dogs and a cat).

Well, I don't know about you, but when you get to be my age, sometimes you get tired. Sometimes you get tired of just about everything. Even if you love your career and work, a rest would be good. Even if you love everything outside your work, like family and friends and riding horses, you get to a point when you just want to stop for a while, sit down and take deep breaths. I think I am at that point. But, even if I knew for sure that I was there, I am not certain I would know exactly what to do.

After all, both my wife and I have built our lives around doing stuff...always doing something...sitting still is hardly an option.

Maybe that is why I have so much loved riding my horses. You aren't really sitting still because the horse is moving. But, you are sitting. You still have to think, although I must confess that being in the saddle has often caused me to day dream, which I suppose is some form of thinking. I think of winning the Lotto and what I would do. I think about my clients and how we can do more and better. I think about my children and how I miss seeing them. But, it is not all day dreaming. When I am riding my horse, for sure, my pulse and heart keep beating and a lot of the fun is when I can get that adrenalin pumping pretty good by getting my horse to move along at a rapid pace.

But, mostly I love getting on my horse and breathing fresh air; moving along trails on him, up hills and into valleys in such a smooth way that you almost feel as if you are floating. If you, too, have a great horse, you know what I mean. On the other hand, if you are so unfortunate as to have one of those horses that is a chronic pain in the ass--and there are lots of them out there--I hope one day you can enjoy riding on the back of the best. If you put up with a nutty horse, you certainly deserve to ride one that is wonderful.

The first horse I rode was a black stallion. I talked about him in an essay a couple of days ago. But the first horse I owned was a chestnut and white paint mare named Deal, Painted Deal. What a great way to get started. She took very good care of me, understood my limitations and seem to make exceptions for my inexperience. There was a time when I staged a horse show inside the Gator Bowl at Jacksonville before a football game. There were 70,000 people in the stands and as I sat on Deal I was scared to death. Man, that was a lot different that strolling down quiet trails. But Deal took care of me...my adrenalin hit an all time high...but she took care of me.

And, there was another time I rode an iron gray quarter horse mare named Purdy in a parade on New Year's Eve, just before one of the big football games. She was prancing on the pavement and along the riverfront when some drunk with a huge balloon stuck in a pin and burst it right at Purdy's face. Oh shit! It scared me out of my jeans. But, Purdy took care of me.

Of course, there are always exceptions. There were a couple of occasions when Purdy could have done a better job of taking care of me. The first was back in 1992 around Halloween. I was riding her out where I boarded early one morning when the 12 year old girl who lived with her parents at the ranch came running out and said she was going to be late for her school bus, which was about to stop for her about 1/2 mile away. Get on, I said, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her onto the horse behind me. My good intention was to race her up to the bus stop. Now you have to know that this child was an excellent rider. It didn't matter. She tightly wrapped her legs around Purdy and pushed her feet up close into her private parts. That's all it took to set off this horse. Yahoo. High into the air and down. The force of it all threw me off and the child as well. She landed on top of me. The pounding of it all broke three ribs. Again. Damn.
I don't know to this day if the little girl made her bus.

Then, there was the time in 1995 when I hauled Purdy out to this ranch where later in the day there was going to be this huge barbecue for a candidate for mayor, who was also my client. I thought I would take advantage of the opportunity to enjoy a morning ride in a beautiful spot. All was going fine until a strong gush of wind blew dust and leaves everywhere, and in the process, blew off my cowboy hat, right over Purdy's neck and under her feet. Okay, here we go again. Up in the air and down on the ground, this time in an ant bed. Besides the bites, I broke my collar bone in four places.

You'd think that I would learn.

Actually, that is the last time I have had broken bones. Trust me. I remember each and every bit of pain every time it has happened. And, as hard as I try not to, I still think about those breaks and pains every time I am in the saddle. Not enough to keep me from riding. But, enough to keep me from riding stupid, bad horses.