I thought the elusive ride that would make me a famous bucking horse rider would never happen. There are several reasons for this, the primary one being that I can’t ride a bucking horse. Not that I haven’t tried. I’ve been farted off a good many crow hoppers from the time I was a little kid until I was well past the prime of my youth. That not withstanding, as a ranch cowboy I was determined to one day make a ride so remarkable that whenever cowboys and buckaroos came together the subject of ‘yours truly’ riding a snaky bronc would dominate all conversations as it had my own daydreams. But, as I matured I slowly outgrew my fantasy of becoming a respected bronc man. Somewhere along the line I decided to re-channel my efforts into becoming a horseman of finesse, a trainer of fine reined horses. Gentle horses. There were several reasons for this change of heart, the main one being that I never really got used to the hideous bawling, grunting, snorting and squealing that occurs when a horse is throwing a bucking fit. It scares me to death to hear those noises coming out of me. I don’t mind a few playful bucks but anything more really gets on my nerves, sometimes causing me to rip my saddle apart in search of a good solid hand holt, which to my way of thinking is entirely appropriate. I’ve often been asked about all the spur marks on my saddle, ha! The amount of people who can’t tell the difference between a spur track and a fingernail claw mark is staggering!
A self-respecting, big outfit buckaroo will hardly do a thing unless he can do it from the back of a horse. But, I had given up on the dream of being a big outfit buckaroo let alone a self-respecting one. As it turned out I was working for a reining horse trainer when I finally did perform my famous bronc ride. I was the, ahem, assistant trainer. My job description now included, but was not limited to: Feeding, washing tails, mucking out stalls and chauffeuring illegal help. It wasn’t all glitz and glamour though. Sometimes, I had to ride horses.
It was springtime in Texas. The seasonal monsoons had subsided for a couple of days so the pool of water that all but filled the round pen was only a foot deep. Perfect. A customer had brought in a small black colt that needed broke and I thought I could squeeze him in between chores. Here is how I had my afternoon scheduled: 1) Water the horses, 2) fix tractor, 3) wash tails, 4) saddle the black colt, 5) ride a few futurity colts, 6) feed, 7) prepare to carpool, which by the way has nothing to do with the round pen. I give such a detailed description on my job, not as a subtle form of complaining but only so you’ll understand why on the day of my glorious bronc ride I was wearing big, huge, ill-fitting rubber boots.
I had originally planned on just saddling the colt and continuing on with my busy day but the head honcho and his wife showed up just as I was about the throw the saddle
on. He had in his possession a used saddle he had just bought. Of course he wanted me to try it out. It was a ‘treeless’ saddle, full double rigged, but missing the rear cinch. It was equipped with what appeared to be children’s-sized stirrups adjusted to accommodate a child who was approximately seven -foot tall. A man would have had to be a complete gunsel to even think he could ride a green colt in an outfit like that.
“Sure!" I said. “I’d be more than happy to try out your new saddle."
I saddled the black and turned him loose in the round pen without much of a fuss. He bogged his head and bucked in earnest except through some of the deeper spots where he dog paddled. For the sake of time I had not intended to ride the black colt that day. But...since the head trainer and his wife were handy I decided instead to show ‘em how a real bronc man handles that first ride. Unfortunately there wasn’t a real bronc man around, so I l had to do it myself. The colt wore a halter with a lead rope, which was fine, because I figured he was through bucking for the day. He probably wouldn’t do much but trot around a little and that would be it. Gross miscalculation.
When I slipped up on him his head dropped out of sight. Instantly the colt exploded into a violent bucking fit. It was then that I discovered the benefits of the tree-less saddle.
The idea behind a tree-less saddle is that it’s flexibility doesn’t restrict articulation in the horses back. It’s lightweight, yet during times of rigorous use maintains the strength of wet cardboard. This facilitated extreme freedom of movement for the young colt whereupon bogging his head the saddle flopped up like the trunk lid of a car causing the saddle pad to be ejected out the back while pitching me forward, neatly inserting the saddle horn into my navel.
The only way to ride a bucking horse in this particular saddle was to jam your feet into the stirrups and lean way back. This is impossible to do if you’re wearing big, huge, rubber boots that barely reach the stirrups anyway. I made it approximately two jumps before switching to what I call semi-survival mode which means anything goes but appear in control if possible. I began to claw about the saddle for a hand hold while maintaining some margin of dignity. This was made even more difficult because my calves were developing tremendous cramps from trying to grip the tiny stirrups with my toes. I soon made the decision to go into full boar survival mode. This means panic of necessary – just don’t cry.
So here it was, my big ride: A small but agitated black colt who seems to be experiencing some kind of seizure is bucking fiercely across a round pen that is in serious need of a mote. On top of the horse, there bounces what appears to be a wildly distraught human clad in enormous rubber boots. The human is performing unspeakable contortions with his mid-section in order to keep pace with the contemptuous floppy trunk-lid saddle which has just pooped out a saddle pad.
My boss and his wife stood by with their jaws dropped in amazement throughout the brutal ride. The shocked woman gasped in horror and I heard the terrified man mutter, “Oh my Gaaw!"...But only because I was ripping his new saddle to shreds while groping for the saddle horn which was roaming around inside my shirt popping all of the buttons off. Now this is not the ride I had planned on but it did contain certain rare features that many of my bucking horse rides lacked, the primary one being that I hadn’t fallen off yet. In light of that encouraging development, I decided to make some minor adjustments the instant Blackie showed signs of weakening.
Suddenly, he did. As a matter of fact he stopped completely and just stood there. I immediately kicked both my boots off and finished the remainder of the ride in my socks. Fortunately the remainder of the ride involved nothing more than getting off the stupid horse before he killed me. But before I could step down the boss blurted out, “I’ll be darned! Did ya’ see that? He bucked both the boots right off him!" I looked down at the socks dangling halfway off my feet. Thinking it unnecessary to point out that I had actually kicked out of my boots to survive, I chose not to argue with the boss at that time. I just stepped off nonchalantly...right in the middle of the big mud puddle. In true form I never once changed my expression. I just nodded cooly, tipped my hat and said “Yawp."
Due to the gabby nature of people it didn’t surprise me that the story got blown way out of proportion. It happened almost overnight. The small black colt of the story became a huge bronc the size of an adult workhorse, never touched by man, although he was a man killer. The cowboy, a tough sinewy, incredible specimen of a man had slipped up on this wild beast and rode the bronc to a standstill, all the while never changing his smug, almost playful yet stony expression. The horse had bucked so violently that when the bucking stopped the man’s boots lay on the ground. The boots by the way, had been mysteriously transformed into handmade Paul Bonds with a three inch riding heel. The story spread like wildfire throughout Texas, which is fast for a story to be spread by anyone with a workload like mine.
» left by Nancy Z. from Saratoga Springs, NY (3 years 229 days ago.)
Thank you for some hearty laughs! By the way I just experienced my first bucking--courtesy a normally mellow, mild-mannered but today spring-fevered trail horse. I did NOT find it fun! To each their own. Respond to this comment
» left by Nikki T from United Kingdom (3 years 189 days ago.)
I couldn't help but smile when reading this. My huge 16.3hh monster is bucking as of late as he's learnt that he can get me off his back by doing so. He's black too - must be something about the devil in those blacks. I'm hiring a bronc rider to ma Respond to this comment
» left by Jessia from New Zealand (3 years 180 days ago.)
This caught my attention and made me laugh. I have just been 'given' a black (something about those blacks, all right!), fifteen hand partly TB mare named Dolly. Dolly is sweet, gentle, friendly. I can groom her, lunge her, put her in a cart harne Respond to this comment
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Article added to SearchWarp.com on Wednesday, January 05, 2005 View other articles written by Timm(15)
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