A DREAM COME TRUE
By Kat

As a little girl, I dreamed of racing on horseback with the wind blowing through my hair. One day it became reality, but not as I’d expected. By then, I was a wife in my 20's and mother of three.

We could only afford to buy two fat, decrepit and retired, part Arabian show horses who had been in all the important parades on the U.S. circuit. I giggled at the fat nags who stared back with disinterest. It was difficult to picture them, in plumed and harnessed array, heads and tails held high, strutting their stuff like majorettes leading a band. The owners quickly assured us, “There are good years left in the old girls!” adding, “We’ll sell with one condition — they go together; they’ve never been separated.” My fingertips caressed the smaller one’s velvet nose; her toothy grin seemed to say, “I’ve been waiting for you girl.” Love at first sight! Besides, it would be nice to have celebrities in our family!

Days crept, as excitement swelled, waiting to pick up the girls. A dream come true! We’d ride the 16 miles from the farm into town and board them at the fairground stables. My husband’s sister joined us. It would help to have an accomplished horse woman along since I, a novice, had never been around horses before.

I chose Queeto, the smaller horse who smiled at me that first day. She sensed my naivety, As fast as I put the bit into her mouth she’d chomp down, preventing it from going into place or she’d wrap her tongue around her bottom teeth and clinch her mouth shut, or spit out the bit as fast as I got it in, slobbering all over me in the process. It became a battle of wills! I persistently and unsuccessfully tried, while Queeto was determined to see me fail. After more refusals Queeto flung her head back letting loose a loud horse laugh, giving me ample opportunity to slap the bit into place and tighten the bridle... winning the first round! Queeto, sneered disgustedly and with her look said, “You won this time ...but watch out, lady!”

My confidence soared as the blanket floated onto Queeto’s sway back. The saddle was different. Queeto, watched me out of the corner of her eye, moving when the saddle got near. Mouth split open in a toothy grin she’d say, “I told you didn’t I?” My undaunted determination must have weakened her counter-attacks; on my next try the saddle hit its mark. Queeto breathed deeply, exhaled, then held her breath making it impossible to tighten the saddle strap over her protruding belly. Waiting patiently she finally inhaled so I could yank on the strap. End of round two... I won again.

The next step was most difficult. My husband explained, “Left foot goes into stirrup while right leg swings over her back... like getting onto a boys bike.” I quickly discovered a huge difference. Queeto was higher and she moved! She kept tromping on my foot in agitation of my failed efforts to mount. On my second try I swung my leg up, but not over, landing a swift kick to her butt. Glaring, she whipped my face with her tail pushing me down. Picking myself up from the ground in humiliation, I dusted off the dirt readying myself to try again. I never realized how difficult it was to lift my 110 pounds off the ground into a saddle! Skittish Queeto didn’t make it easier. She seemed to grow taller as I got weaker. I heard a snicker turn into uproarious laughter, as my husband boosted me up. Sitting in the saddle I felt like a trapeze artist, swinging precariously, as Queeto swayed back and forth making me wish I was still on the ground.

Hardly getting a hand-hold on the reins and saddle horn, Carolyn whizzed past on Marquis with Rich close behind on Trinket. Queeto giving me a bemused look sprinted after them. I felt like a rodeo rider on the back of a bucking bronco, bouncing from side to side, as Oueeto raced down the road in hot pursuit! My feet kept slipping from the stirrups; I’d forgotten to adjust them for my height. My hand was on fire from gripping the saddle horn; my throat was sore from screaming. My heart, bobbing back and forth between my throat and my toes, was in competition with my throbbing butt. I couldn’t imagine Queeto as a show horse the way she stumbled, nearly falling with every step.

Happiness reigned supreme when we stopped to rest and water the horses. I loosened my grasp on the reins, pried my fingers from the saddle horn and started to relax, when without warning, Queeto nearly toppled me over her neck, bending to take a drink from the brown, smelly swamp water. When she turned, looking at me with a glint in her eye, I dared not leave my seat in the saddle. I imagined her racing after the others, leaving me behind in her dust. Lack of faith in Queeto and weariness held me captive on her back.

The second half of our trip was smoother. Queeto calmness enabled me to relax. I let loose of the saddle horn to rest my aching hand. I held the reins in one hand, directing Queeto with them. I wasn’t bouncing as high or flopping, like a fish out of water. I realized when I pushed my legs straighter in the stirrups my weight was evenly balanced, keeping me solid in the saddle. Now, each time Queeto stumbled, I’d lean over to whisper words of comfort and encouragement. She began smiling instead of sneering. We were fast becoming friends

How wonderful it was to see the stables and trees out-lined by the setting sun. The horses galloped the last few blocks, which was the only time I really enjoyed my first ride. I was happy to be home with my feet firmly planted on solid ground.