So….Fury was a horse. A horse from HELL! A gelding that fooled me into thinking he would be a placid ride. Black as midnight, and probably a direct descendant of Daredevil (if Daredevil existed outside the legend), the horse the headless horseman rode in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, now that I look back on it. Rearing up and bolting down the ditch bank like a bat out of hell just because a farmer plowing his field honked at me. Our neighbors were friendly so I don’t think it was the farmer’s intention to spook old Fury but he did, and away we flew, hooves throwing up dirt and me hanging on for dear life. No matter how hard I jerked back on the reins, or how loudly I yelled, “Whoa!” (which only seems to inspire Fury to pick up more speed), or how much I begged God to stop the crazed animal, Fury continued tearing down the ditch bank like he was on a suicide-murder mission. I wonder if the farmer laughed or thought I was showing off, which I definitely wasn’t.
My high school years were spent attending a mission boarding school on the Navajo Reservation. I returned home only for Christmas and summer vacation. I think it was the summer of the end of my junior year that I had the misfortune to encounter that terror named Fury. I hadn’t been home for more than a few days when I went outside to find my father and an older brother saddling up a horse. I had ridden horses before and since they had a black horse ready to go, I ask if I could ride it. Did they mention the name of the horse? No! Or its temperament? No! So on I got and the horse and I headed out at a gentle pace. The reins were loose in my hands, even when we climbed up the incline of a smaller ditch and made our way to the larger canal that carried water to the fields. So far so good. Just before we reached the irrigation gates I wheeled the horse around to begin the journey home. The horse was just walking and I was thinking I was really cool riding a horse on such a great morning, then the honk blasted out. Total and instant whiplash! Like the one old Ichabod Crane had suffered in Disney’s cartoon movie when his horse spooked and took off like a bullet. I don’t care what I tried, that horse just kept on running and I held on for dear life. He stopped running only after he had expended his energy. I had nothing to do with his stopping.
I made it home a total wreck and dismounted all wobbly like. My dad, the cowboy, praised me, “Wow, I didn’t know you could ride that good.” They had been watching the entire scene believing I was a great rider. Traumatized, I went into the house and when Mama saw my ashen face she asked what was wrong. I told her what had happened and then broke down crying. Wrecked nerves! Mama wasn’t happy. “They let you ride Fury?”
Fury? What the heck?
“That darn horse bucked Sweetie off just two weeks ago. What is the matter with those men?” And when my dad and brother came in, Mama bawled them out. My brother thought it was soooo funny. He left the house laughing. He thought I was showing off. Well, I wasn’t. I was so traumatized that I didn’t ride a horse for years, not until I went to Sedona and my daughter talked me into going on a trail ride.
***Photo is one of the main canals that runs throughout the reservation. The one I’m writing about is a smaller canal but very similar. It’s not my photo but appears on the C.R.I.T. site.
