Once Upon a Horse

by Bob Goddard

I do not ride horses. But my daughter Jamie kept bugging me to try it. I don't know why. Maybe she thought that if I got on Bruiser, the experience would magically transform me from a reluctant, irritable horse dad into an enthusiastic, wide-eyed horse addict. Or maybe she just discovered how life insurance works.

Horse girls are the most persistent people in the world. I know of no force on the planet Earth that can withstand the terrible, relentless pressure exerted by a horse girl who is determined to have her way. They beg. They plead. They promise. They tell their mother. And they never, ever give up. Sooner or later, I would be up on that horse.

Before I got on Bruiser, I tried to convince myself that this was something I wanted to do. I know that many adults ride horses because they secretly fantasize about being a cowboy. This would not work for me. While I respect cowboys and admire all that they have done for society, I never wanted to be one. So, instead of John Wayne, I chose Genghis Kahn as my role model. Genghis Kahn was the leader of the most feared military machine in history: the mighty Golden Horde of Mongolia. The Mongols, I'll have you know, were the finest horse riders the world has ever seen. With Genghis Kahn in mind, I bravely mounted my fine steed. Then I begged Jamie to please, please not let go of the lead line.

Let me tell you what I learned. If you get on a horse from the right side, you should not try to put your left leg up first. If you do, your right leg will be left dangling in mid air with no reasonable place to go. Think about it. Now, I suppose that if you were agile enough (and not over 30), you would have the option of swinging your right leg 180 degrees over the horse's head and that would put you on the horse. You would be on backwards, but oh well, nobody's perfect.

I always thought riding a horse would be simple. You get on, you say "giddyup" to go, you say "whoa" to stop, and then you get off. Boy, was I dumb. Riding a horse is as complicated as piloting an F-14 Tomcat. Jamie provided me with a litany of instructions that would make the most dedicated IRS bureaucrat blush with envy. According to her, I was suppose to keep my heels down, point my toes in, look straight ahead, don't look down, put my weight in my heels, hold on to the reins (but not too tightly), go easy on his mouth and talk gently but firmly to my horse. And that was just the first step. I thought that getting off the horse would make a dandy second step.

Despite my growing desire to bring the whole process to a speedy conclusion, I knew that I couldn't get off yet. The fact that I didn't know how was beside the point. It was a matter of pride. I realized that other 4-H fathers ride their kids' horses and that some of them even have horses of their own. If they could do it, so could I. I had my ego to protect.

We started out walking. Piece of cake. I whistled a little tune that I thought could pass for the Battle Hymn of the Mighty Golden Horde. Jamie suggested it sounded a bit like Happy Trails. No matter, I was on a horse and everything in the world was just fine.

Then Jamie spoke the words that bypassed the higher functions of my braingoing directly to the part that contains the survival instinct. I never knew the word "trot" carried so much emotional weight.

"You want me to do what?"

"Trot, dad. I want you to trot."

"You mean right now?"

"Yes, right now. It only works when you are on the horse."

I explained that I didn't know how to make a horse trot. I wasn't ready for this.

Jamie tried to reassure me, "It'll be okay, dad. Just give him a little nudge with your left leg and say 'trot'."

"But, Jamie..."

"Don't worry. Just remember that you're in control. You're the boss."

"Okay, fine. I'm the boss. Okay. That's fine. Okay, I'm the boss. Everything is okay. I'm the boss. I'm the boss. Okay..."

"Dad!"

"What?"

"Make 'em go!"

So I did. I gave him a little nudge with my left leg and sure enough the horse began to trot. At that moment, it seemed as if the entire surface of the planet came unglued. I bounced in the saddle so hard that my hat fell over my eyes. Couldn't see a darn thing. I was not enjoying myself.

At first, all I could say was: "uh-UHH, uh-UHH, uh-UHH, uh-UHH." Then I remembered what Jamie said about being in control and who's the boss. I tried to point this out to the horse:

"I-UHH am-UHH in-UHH con-UHH trol-UHH ... I-UHH am-UHH the-UHH boss-UHH ... I-UHH am-UHH Geng-UHH his-UHH Kahn-UHH ... mighty-UHH lea-UHH der-UHH ..."

As I slammed around in the saddle, a few things occurred to me. First of all, I realized why so few young males take up this sport. (I often wondered why 4-H clubs are dominated by girls. Now, I knew.) Second, I found out that I do indeed have something important to protect. And I'm not talking about my ego. Finally, it dawned on me how 'Bruiser' got his name.

The entire episode lasted about 20 seconds. By the use of various phrases which I do not wish to repeat here, I convinced Jamie to make the horse stop. As I got off and hobbled away, I silently gave thanks to Henry Ford and auto makers everywhere.

I do not ride horses.

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