Horses and I Don’t Mix — By Tommy Purser

I’ve told this story before but it was a long time ago so faithful readers have probably forgotten and younger readers weren’t old enough to read when I shared the story a long time ago.
Anyway, here goes:
Horses and I don’t mix. I had a bad experience with a horse many years ago and I haven’t forgotten it.
At the time, I was the sports editor at The True Citizen in Waynesboro, which is in Burke County, the “Bird Dog Capital of the World.” Every year, one of the big events in Burke County is the bird dog field trials where folks from all across the country bring their dogs to participate in quail hunting competition.
As a young, wet-behind-the-years newspaper person, impressed with his “title” of sports editor, I felt the Citizen needed to properly cover the field trials and I went to my editor to tell her I was planning to give the event proper coverage.
“Don’t go out there, Tommy,” she said. “You’ll kill yourself.”
“Kill myself?” I thought. What was she talking about? I would soon find out.
I got up bright and early on the morning of the first day of competition and headed for the field trials. Having called field trial officials a few days before, they were ready for my arrival. Unfortunately, so were the two men who ran the horse stables. Horses, in case you don’t know, are needed by spectators, judges, etc., to keep up with the dogs during their competition.
I’m going to make a long story short here by telling you that the two men who ran the stables — they were brothers —- were notorious for their penchant for practical jokes. Learning that a young, whippersnapper newspaper boy was coming for a visit was just the kind of inspiration the two men needed to put their heads together and come up with a practical joke that would provide them with many hours of laughter for years to come.
When I arrived, they already had a horse picked out for me … it was wild.
After a few minutes in the saddle, with the stirrups a good foot below my feet — intentionally, of course — I was making a complete fool of myself, or rather, the horse was making a complete fool of me — and I apologetically announced to one of the brothers that I hadn’t ridden very much in the past and really wasn’t sure HOW to ride.
“That’s okay,” he said. “The horse hasn’t ridden much either.”
For the next two hours, I found out how true that statement was. Throughout the competition, I suffered personal humiliation and physical abuse at the hands — or hooves — of a not-yet-saddle-broken horse. It was awful,
The experience peaked when the horse decided to take off across a field and see how fast he could run. I would have nothing of it …. I thought. As I pulled hack on the reins, the horse just started running faster. The harder I pulled, the faster he ran.
I was a gentleman in distress.
Finally, hearing my desperate screams for help, one of the aforementioned brothers pulled his horse beside the wild horse and grabbed the reins much as the Lone Ranger would grab the reins of a damsel in distress. When he finally got the horse stopped, we were less than 10 feet away from a fence which, I’m sure, the horse had every intention of jumping over. Something told me that when he landed on the other side of the fence, I wouldn’t be aboard.
Hours later, I slipped into my editor’s office and sat down quietly while she completed a telephone call. When she hung up, she took one look at my face and started laughing hysterically.
“I TOLD you so,” she gleefully announced,
I have not been on a horse since.