I Am Scared of Horses... again

(Cheekeye and I. (and that is a dirty spot on my shirt! Promise! *grin*)

A few of you have asked now about my knee and these injuries/accidents I keep referring too...so I thought I would clear things up in today's post. Grab a java, it's along one. Actually, one of my first posts told this story and was titled, "I am Scared of Horses"....

And I was (am).

From the age of twelve through eighteen I was a pretty fearless rider. I rode a lot of different horses and had my fair share of bumps, scrapes and bruises along the way but none of my (many) near death experience made much of an impression on my resilient and stubborn little adolescent mind. But then I didn't have a horse for a year or so between when I sold my old Arab (at 18) and when I rescued a little colt and mare (at 20) ....so when I found myself with horses again I was not quite as cock sure as I had once been but still pretty confident. I had raised my little colt from near starving to a fat and shiny beautiful dun yearling but (as he was cryptorchid (one nutter:)) I was forced to wait to geld him (hoping for his other nut to drop and avoid an expensive surgery). And so I had a feisty little long yearling that was starting to feel his oats and I was a little rusty and inexperienced with young ones. One day I was cleaning his paddock while he tore around the field- frolicking and frisky- when he came flying up beside me and reared up in my face. I tried to step back but was caught between the handles of the wheel burrow and was unable to avoid his front hoof as he came down.

I was lucky! Well, at least in that I wasn't more seriously hurt- he had only caught me a glancing blow as his hoof slip off my (rather round) head, avoiding the full concussion.... but it was hard enough to knock me unconscious.....and to knock some sense in to me.....

For the first time I recognized how quickly and easily things can go wrong with horses.... and how little room there is for error.

But... as mentioned in yesterdays post, I have always itched to ride the horse above and beyond my ability...

As such, it was only a month or so after that little incident that Tonto ne Cheekey ne Loachan stepped into my life.....

.... and that is where I can pick up my old post to tell you his story (slightly edited from the original).....

I am Scared of Horses....

July 13, 2008

I am going to step right out there and just say it like it is. I am scared of horses. I love them in a way that is unhealthy, spend most of my day with them or thinking about them and use the majority of my disposable income supporting them....and I am unequivocally, absolutely, undeniably scared of them.

I've finally concluded that admitting you are scared of horses is the proverbial "first step".....

"I, Chelsi Pitt-Jolie *wink*, am scared of horses."

You might ask, "Why? What happened?"

Well, let me tell you.

His name was Tonto. Stop laughing. I changed it the day I brought him home.

I went with Cheekeye. (cheek- eye)


Cheekeye was the word that my father would use to get me to stop doing something naughty or dangerous.... like running with scissors. As luck would have it, I ran into a "friend" one day that I hadn't seen in a few years.... she told me about a three year old bay gelding she needed to sell , ASAP. She said how she was in a "tight spot"....and "would I come and look at him?....He's worth five... but you (my dear sweet long lost friend) can have him for two! He's green but really athletic. Reg Breeding stock paint. You dont have to pay for him right away, just come get him, I'm moving to Alberta and need him gone"

So I bought him.....and yes, as a matter of fact, I am a class one, triple A, fell of the vegetable truck yesterday- sucker!!)

The first sign I was in for trouble was that this 15.1HH blood bay gelding had not been weaned. He was three. (Yes, I said three!) The second was that he tried to kick me the first day. He bunched up that big square quarter horse ass and let both back feet rip. Thanks to a slow-motion matrix style move, I walked away unscathed. I wasn't worried. I was good hand. Fugly doesn't even begin to describe the nags I had ridden. I had been in my fair share of wrecks, paid my dues and still had an grip on my iron nerves.....

I had also watched all the Natural Horsemanship clinics and videos I could find. Gawani Pony Boy and Monty Roberts were my heroes..... Checkeye and I were going to become one in the round pen.

Cheekeye had a cute little dished QH head with a big eye. He would have been sweet looking if only his ears hadnt been permanently stitched to the back of his neck. He carried his stocky square built body with the bravado of a stud and when I turned him loose he could twist himself inside out. I longed to ride him. We started in the round pen. Things seemed to be going well. Pony Boy would be proud.

I didn't see it coming. As far as my memory serves, Cheekeye had stopped and faced up, ears pricked forward and was starting to walk in. "Join up" was moments away. I smiled. In a split second he changed his mind and covered the 5 feet between us. He hit me square with his chest! I was sent flying- ten feet backwards- stopped by the rail of the round pen as it hit the centre of my back with a load CRACK! I managed to get to my feet in time to see Cheekeye peel away, his back feet a torrent of rage. I can still vividly recall what he looked like, a moment before he hit me...his eyes were rolled back into his head so far, all I could see was the white.

I didnt understand what in the heck I had done wrong! I blamed Pony Boy. We tried a different approach but I was weary and he smelled fear. The hands at the barn were becoming scared of him and wouldnt go in to his paddock without a pitch fork to drive him off. He tried to run me over a few times. I learned to watch over my shoulder at all times. He bit, kicked and had a nasty temper. But I had faith. And so I kept working with him. It seemed like we were getting somewhere... until.....

On a bitterly cold January day I mounted Cheekeye for the first time. He stood quiet, ears forward....which was good enough for me. As lightly as possible, I stepped off. My right foot was on the ground, left foot in the stirrup when he blew up- He lunged forward and cut in front of me.... my body was forced to follow him to the left but my right foot stayed wedged in a tight divot in the hard and frozen ground. I felt the cartilage in my knee tear at the same moment I managed to free my foot from the stirrup. I fell to the ground in a breathless heap, my heart as frozen as the ground beneath me and watched Cheekeye tear around the pen, puffs of white steam billowing from his nostrils like an enraged bull.

In the days and weeks that followed I didn't worry too much. I had broken bones before- the body heals... you go on. I went to a doctor but he was unconcerned, told me that I had likely tore something and sent me home with some pain killers, a crutches, and strict orders to stay off of it completely for a week (and nothing strenuous for four months). I was an idiot! Instead of going to my family doctor I trust some anonymous guy in a walk-in-clinic! I didnt get a second opinion, didn't demand treatment, physical therapy or even to be property diagnosed. My injury was not nearly as serious as others I have heard of...

But four years later I still have a bit of a limp in the morning... all because I didn't let it heal properly. It didn't take me long to figure out that that moment changed my life. I could not ride, I could not hike, I could not run (the only means I had ever found to keep my weight in check.) The pounds piled on, compounding the injury. I didn't sell Cheekeye .... as I felt responsible....I talked to the "friend" I had bought him off of and she claimed it was my fault.

So.... I sent him to a trainer I trusted, not just a good hand but a true Guru. I didn't so much as talk to the trainer or see Cheekey in three months. My mother and I made the trip North to see him on a beautiful summer day but the horse that my Guru pulled out was not Cheekeye. Everything about him, including some of the finer points of his conformation, had changed. His neck was loose and throat latch soft. His hind quarters seemed to have sunk into his hocks. Everything that had been held tight for so long had let loose. He jogged, loped and moved with any easy, carefree gate. The Guru suggested a new name, for a new horse. I called him Loachan (pronounced Low-kin) a Scotts Gaelic word I have since forgot the meaning of....I am sure it was something positive and optimistic. I cried the first time I rode him.

My Guru pointed to a gouge on the horn of his saddle and told me how it had gotten there- his spur had caught it the first time Loachan bucked. This guy used to ride broncs for a living.... and he said "this horse can buck..." The Guru figured that whoever broke Loachan had tied him up and broke him (physically and mentally), taking away a horse's first defence-flight. Loachan had learned to depend on his ability to fight instead- which was the reason for his aggression and the blind fear he displayed while delivering it. Much later, by chance, I learned the name of the cowboy that broke Loachan and how true that theory was. The stories I heard about his breaking methods turned my stomach.

I brought Loachan home and for the next 8 months I rode him and handled him without much event but I never trusted him. I did not look forward to riding him or even going to the barn. I started to get the shakes on the drive over and my stomach would be turning by the time I got to his stall. I told myself I was being ridiculous... to Cowgirl Up !!! My iron nerve was a thing of the past. I was mortified.

One day, the barn manager was pulling Loachan's herd mate out of the field but he kept crowding the gate so- as she had her hands full- she tried shooing him away by kicking dirt at him. He charged her. (I doubt she flew backwards nearly as gracefully as did). It was then that I realized how I had been tip toeing around Loachan, not giving him a reason to react. I had been walking on egg shells and letting the fear and anxiety build within me. I remember driving to the barn one night, crying like a baby at the idea of having to halter my horse, hating myself for being such a "panzy" and mad as hell that I had let it get that far.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I wasnt just scared of Loachan... no horse could be trusted. And horses started looking at me funny too. They didn't like my jumpy nervous energy, which only compounded the problem.

Finally a good friend put her foot down and told me I needed "to get that crazy horse gone!". I was forced to agree. One fine March day she picked him up. I never saw him again.

I was without horses for over a year. Many misadventures followed. I bought Ellie, Ghala, and Shaunti.... then finally my Abby.

Four years later, I am at Step Five in my Ten Step "I am scared of horses" recovery program.

What are the steps?

Step One- Admit that I am scared of horses....

...and that this is a rational and healthy survival instinct designed to ensure that I always put my personal safety first.

*note* never, ever, ever, let a horse know about Step 1!! Its our little secret....


Step Two- Promise yourself that you will not buy, ride or handle horses that are insane.


Step Three- Learn and adopt the tools and methods you need in order to be able to handle horses safely.

Tune in tomorrow to find out how I accomplished Step Three.