Hercules

First, I didn't like his name. If I had not been so pathetically grateful that my dad had handed me a horse, I would have changed it. He was big, very big. I suppose he was a bay, but I don't have a single photo of him. One day he just showed up in the pasture with the cow. I don't know how old I was, 12 I guess. I bought a western bridle and a curb bit from the feed store, and eventually I got a bare back pad. Never owned a saddle, but my friend's dad loaned me a saddle during the winter when they didn't need them all.

I don't recall any boundaries, seems like as soon as I had him, we could gallavant around as we pleased. I day-dreamed about earning money with him, but it only happend once. I took care of a neighbor's place while they were away for two weeks, and I went to their place twice a day riding "Herc."

A few memorable occasions stand out for me. One was the time I rode him into town (via back ranch roads through orange orchards). We were almost into town and he balked on me. Everytime I tried to get him to move forward, he would back up. So, superior being that I was, I backed him the whole distance to where I wanted to go.

Herc was a good horse, he wasn't mean at all. But, once he decided he really wanted to head back to the pasture. He ran through the front gate and made an abrupt right turn to avoid hitting our stucco house. Unfortunately, I didn't make the turn with him--hit the house and slid down the stucco wall to the ground. Back in those days helmets were for motorcycles and I'm just fortunate.

I graduated from 8th grade and joined FFA in high school. I begged to raise a lamb for the fair, and my parents agreed--on the condition that I teach my three-years younger horse loving little sister to ride Herc.

I must digress here to a time immediately prior to Herc--for my birthday (which is in that "great" riding month of January) I recieved a month of riding lessons at Riata Ranch (four). I learned the parts of the horse, the saddle and bridle, and how to tack up. I learned how to walk and trot, and how to mount bareback when you have a lot of other people doing the same thing. Unfortunately (there's that word again), one of the days it rained and we did inside stuff. My month of lessons ended just before we got to lope. So, I could teach my unsuspecting younger sibling all this stuff.

Before I would let her actually ride Herc, I demanded that she be able to mount by herself. Now, he was a tall horse, and she was a little kid, and the stirrups were a loooong ways up. But, by using the strings (it was a western saddle) she was finally able to shinny her way into the saddle. So, done, I got my lamb.

Another digression: What I REALLY wanted was a calf. Bovines were closer to equines. They were big, and could, in a pinch, be ridden. But a calf project was more expensive in every way. So I settled for a lamb. With the assistance of our wonderful student-agriculture teacher, two of my friends and I all bought lambs for the county fair. We trained them and fed them and pampered them with shampoos and haircuts and curls before the fair.

While my folks were away, we even let them wander around the house!

I don't know why Herc left. No one ever said anything to me, and, for some reason I was afraid to ask. I felt that, somehow, it was my fault. Maybe I didn't ride him enough. Some insight to the fact that, often, kids think that bad things that happen are their fault.

A few months ago I was talking about Herc when my aunt, married to my dad's only remaining sibling, was around. She told me that the three brothers had hired some stock for a hunting trip and that my dad bought Herc for me because I wanted a horse so much. So there you go--after all these years. I still don't know why he left, though.

After that I got a summer job, determined to buy my own horse--a 5-year old Appaloosa gelding born on Mother's Day.