A True Horse Story

This weeks article comes compliments of Patricia Celley (patcelley@cs.com). If you want to tell everybody about a special horse, please send the story to MartaTowne@ArabianHorse.com.

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This story is in loving memory of Misty. Even when the hairs on her face had turned gray, she was still a gorgeous blood red bay mare with a heart of gold.

I was six years old, mounted on my mother's retired barrel racer, Misty. Knowing how quick the horse was, my mother put strict limits on where and how fast I could ride. It was very frustrating. I knew Misty and I could fly together; and Misty would never let any harm come to me.

After all, I had been riding for her for three years already. I watched the older riding students jumping a stack of old tires. My envy and confidence grew. Their lesson ended, and everyone left the riding arena except Misty and I. My chance had come. I would jump it quickly while no one was watching.

I picked up a brisk trot and lined up with the jump. We flew over it! Unfortunately, I flew a little too high, and landed in the middle of Misty's neck. I will never forget the feeling of her neck muscles straining to keep me up. Any other horse would have dropped his head under the weight and let me fall to the ground. Not Misty. I scrambled back down her neck and into the saddle. Above the sound of my pounding heart, I heard the roar of laughter coming from the older students who had watched the whole thing. Misty saved me from a fall, but couldn't save me from my embarrassment or my mother's wrath. By the end of that day all my cheeks were red!

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