The horse from hell…..
We had another entertaining animal when I was a kid. A horse as mean as a Saturday night, but some fool had named him Sunday. First of all, that’s just a crazy word for a name, regardless of the animal, but it couldn’t have been more inappropriate for this particular animal! He was a big, brown quarter horse with a head as hard as the 2×4 that eventually brought him down.
Brought to us by the preacher….
Our local preacher, a friend of the family, had a horse for sale. He had three boys and they loved this animal, but due to an imminent move, they were desperate to find a good, new home for him. Our house was at the edge of town, had lots of room, a barn and pasture. In a moment of weakness, Dad decided, “Why not? We plan to stay here, Jeane has begged for a horse forever, it will be a great thing for the kids.” He was right, I thought there was nothing in the world as grand as having a horse to ride. Neither Dad nor I had any idea how wrong we would be. The deal was done and one fantastic day, I came home from school and there was THE HORSE, standing by the fence in all his glory. I was in Heaven! We actually had our own, rideable, beautiful, big horse named Sunday.
Sunday sets us straight….
It soon became apparent that Sunday was not the amazing dream horse we had all imagined. He had no intention of living up to the hype that sold him. He may have loved the preacher’s boys, but he was not the least impressed with the sign painter’s kids. In fact, Sunday decided he didn’t like any of us and had no intention of letting us pet him, much less actually get on him. Not to mention, I’m sure he recognized a bunch of boobs when he saw them.
Dad, bless his heart, had grown up in town and wasn’t exactly a country/farm/horse kind of guy, but felt certain that it didn’t take a rocket scientist to ride a horse, so with faith in hand, set out to correct Sunday’s bad behavior with a little riding and “handling”. Sunday, on the other hand, being a horse with an ass-like nature, believed Dad was full of crap, had no idea what he was doing, and set out to prove it.
Yippee cai yah……!
I can remember seeing Dad sitting tall in the saddle, him and Sunday at the top ridge of the hill, backlit by the setting sun, looking for all the world like a real cowboy, (minus the hat, of course. He had his limits.). Just sitting, no movement at all. Well, Dad was moving plenty, the horse, not so much. Not at all as a matter of fact.
Sunday would stand all cooperative down at the barn, let Dad saddle him up, climb astride, and then mosey to the top of the hill like he was about to take you on an enjoyable evening ride. Once there, however, he would come to a stop and refuse to move, no matter what. Poor Dad would be sitting up there in the fading light, flank kicking, tugging reins in every direction, throwing his body around to try to get a response, urging the damn horse to move. Sunday was like a statue, never twitching even a nose hair. At least until Dad would give up and turn his head toward the barn. Then it was Katie-bar-the-door!! Sunday came alive and bolted like he had been poked with a hot rod! He ran like his rear-end was on fire! Dad would be leaned back like a bull rider, hanging on for dear life, “stop-dammits” and “whoas” trailing out in the whirlwind behind him as Sunday charged for the barn at full speed, only to come to a sudden, jarring stop just before hitting the barn door, promptly tossing Dad forward into the horse, fence or ground, depending on his trajectory at the moment.
Keep your mouth shut….
We kids did not make comment regarding these “training rides” (never was sure who was actually getting trained). Dad would go in the house mumbling about spending a little time talking to God, since he had just spent the last hour with Satan.
Thesignpaintersdaughter 