Whoa...Too Fast. A childhood memory. #MFRWauthor
I've already shared a few reflections from my misspent youth. Chasing an errant steer, swinging on a tire hung from the ancient willow tree, or hanging out on the porch at the grandparents are nothing to hide. Then there is the wilder side, learning to drive amongst the strip mines and herding sheep while posing as a hood ornament. But the memory I'll share in this post relates to a time when a large Shetland pony graced our farm.
If not ridden every day, you could swear the pony had mustang blood in his veins. He could buck and spin with the best of the mounts in a rodeo. Well, this one time he'd had a longer than usual hiatus from the saddle. My father had already done the re-break to the saddle and the pony was acting as docile and well-behaved as one could want so I decided to try something new, Indian-style riding, no saddle, just a blanket.
Things started well. At a walk no problem. Then kicked up him to a slightly faster pace, still no problem. Then by mistake, I signaled a gallop. I've been told all that anyone heard was the sound of hooves on the clay dirt, then whoa, whooa....whoooa. Let's just say I found the one piece of shale rock in the entire plowed field and decided to land on it. A visit to the local country doctor resulted in no horseback riding until the arm healed and the cast came off.
That's the tale of my one attempt to ride Indian-style and I'm sticking to it.
Be sure to see what fond--or not so fond--childhood memories are shared by the other authors in the challenge.
~till next time, Helen
If not ridden every day, you could swear the pony had mustang blood in his veins. He could buck and spin with the best of the mounts in a rodeo. Well, this one time he'd had a longer than usual hiatus from the saddle. My father had already done the re-break to the saddle and the pony was acting as docile and well-behaved as one could want so I decided to try something new, Indian-style riding, no saddle, just a blanket.
Things started well. At a walk no problem. Then kicked up him to a slightly faster pace, still no problem. Then by mistake, I signaled a gallop. I've been told all that anyone heard was the sound of hooves on the clay dirt, then whoa, whooa....whoooa. Let's just say I found the one piece of shale rock in the entire plowed field and decided to land on it. A visit to the local country doctor resulted in no horseback riding until the arm healed and the cast came off.
That's the tale of my one attempt to ride Indian-style and I'm sticking to it.
Be sure to see what fond--or not so fond--childhood memories are shared by the other authors in the challenge.
~till next time, Helen
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