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| Photo Credit - Vixs |
Often after a long days work, a few of us would saddle up and go for a relaxing ride along the beach. There is nothing more quaint, than a ride on a pristine white sandy beach with crystal blue water washing on the shore. The continual roll of the waves caressing your inner soul peacefully.
That day, I decided to ride bareback so I could take my horse, Bindi, in for a swim. Swimming a horse is an amazing experience, you put your feet on the horses chest and hold on up near the bridle. Their power in the water as is out, is awe inspiring and the way they propel you through the water like the bow of a ship is pure unbridled strength.
Six of us were experienced horse riders, but one girl was a beginner and no one seemed to take heed except me. I kept a close eye on her, as the horse she was riding could be a handful.
We got to the main beach and the tide was out, which meant we could cross the river with ease. However, none of us were aware that within minutes of us crossing, the tide turned and turned into a raging torrent, leaving us stranded on the other side.
We were unaware of our misfortune until I noticed the waves were crashing further up the beach than normal. A panic surged through me like the tide and I stopped everyone.
“We have to go back, I think the tide has turned and we are going to get trapped,”
Everyone agreed although a little disappointed that the laughs and fun were cut short.
A boy of fourteen began to panic, he said that he couldn't swim and was scared of the river being in full flood to cross. I assured everyone we would be ok, as the eldest of the group they all looked to me. However the young boy spooked himself and took off at a mad gallop. The young boy's horse was a tall ex racehorse with an unusually high wither. As I galloped along side him, I noticed his saddle slipping back, but by the time I could tell him, it had slipped all the way back to the horses tail and the boy fell off. The horse gripped by fear changed direction and galloped directly into the sea. The saddle fell off down his back legs and tripped the horse, who fell beneath the waves. He was found several hours later eating grass at the local caravan park. He was ok, less his ordeal.
I pulled my horse up to check the boy was ok, the others had stopped to help, he was badly winded but no broken bones.
My ears filled with the screams blowing on the wind and I saw the beginner rider having no control over her horse as it bolted. Now the rule is: you never chase a bolting horse, as the bolting horse thinks it becomes a race and goes faster.
Afraid she would fall off, I sensed a disaster about to happen and cringed at the thought. I made a split second decision knowing the rule of chasing down bolting horses. This was an exception and I had had experience chasing bolting horses and knew Bindi could catch him.
Bindi reared as I dug my heels into his flanks and did my horsey noise...”sssssss,”
Within a few strides we were in full gallop.
As I was approaching the beginner rider I could see the river swollen with the high tide. I knew this wasn't going to end pretty.
“Pull on your reins...pull on your reins,” I continually shouted at the frightened girl. But fear gripped her and she could not hear me.
To be continued...
Read part two
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| Ranger |
I lent on the timber yard rail and recalled the story the farmer had told me. I was still mortified that people could be so cruel.
I first saw him, in the middle of summer, standing under the shade of a old gum tree. His tail swishing to and fro and his ears flickering back and forth at the annoying flies. For a short stocky little pony he had an appeal about him and when I looked in his eye I could see the pain.
He was named Ranger and his story is amazing.
Ranger was sold to a family. They were green when it came to knowledge of horses. They had an old dirty, rat infested stable and decided to buy a horse to fill it. Ranger unfortunately became that horse and he spent his days standing in the stable. Day in day out. The stable was never mucked out so he stood in his own waste. The only time he was allowed out was when the family wanted to ride him and pretty quickly the novelty wore off.
Their ignorant lack of horse husbandry became Ranger's worst nightmare.
Occasionally they fed and watered him and during the winter months the family put a rug on him. The rug however, was never removed until summer and by then it had rubbed his skin bare, open wounds fested on his chest, wither and rump, he was also heavy infested with lice.
Ranger was stumbled upon by a local farmer and when he unbolted the stable door he was hit with a stench of urine and rotting flesh. The farmer was gobsmacked by what he saw - a saddened stance of head hanging low from despair and rats crawling all over him. They were literally eating him. He was weak from lack of food and had severe muscle deterioation.
When the vet saw him, he said that 'the kindest thing to do was shoot him', but the farmer wouldn't hear off it.
"I'll take him home and he can spend out his life there, peaceful and free,"
It took over twevel months before Ranger's wound's could heal but unfortunately he was psychologically damaged.
He would stand as far away as possible from people and he was impossible to catch. To avoid it he would run into barb wire fences and since the farmer didn't want him to get injured any more, he ceased trying to catch him.
"I had no intenion of riding him," I told the farmer oneday.
During spring, the paddock was a wash of yellow daisies. I was sitting about forty meters from Ranger and feeling relaxed by the sunny day, nodded off. When I woke I rolled over on my side to stretch and there relaxing in the shade of a tree a few meters from me was Ranger. I held my breath and dare not move thinking I would frighten him. But he lifted his head from his sleepy slumber looked at me and let out a heavy sigh before going back to his afternoon nap.
The next day as I walked towards him he noticed me coming and he began to walk towards me. I stopped shocked by what I was seeing, the jewbelation I felt for this horse's break through bought tears to my eye's. He nuzzled into my arm as if to say where's my carrot?
I spent one year working with Ranger and his confidence grew. Before long I knew he needed to spread his wings and made the tough descision to sell him. He was sold to the riding for the disabled were he thrived. He was the favourite among the kids and adults alike. He lived another fifteen years and was twenty six when he died. I never forgot that plucky little pony and one day I saw him at a local show and when I looked in his eye's his pain had gone.
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| Me on Ranger |
