Notes of Concern…

   …Jack Blair

THE SPORT OF PHARAOHS

Horse racing has long been called the “Sport of Kings.’  I looked for a king for a long time at Belmont but could only find a Pharaoh.  So perhaps as in all things we may have arrived at a new designation for horse racing.

Seriously there are few things more beautiful than watching undulating  muscles of race horses traveling that fast and look both beautiful and dignified.

I hate horses.

Well, not really hate them in the common sense of the word. I love looking at the, I hesitantly pet one now and then, I never mucked out a stall and it is not on my bucket list.

My extended family purchased some land in the country and we all went there every weekend to picnic, play and enjoy one another. I met a neighbor lad there, his name was Wayne, and his family actually owned a farm. In addition to other animals they raised goats and they drank the milk of those goats. So I got an early lesson in milking goats. Because he and I were under twelve we reached selected a goat to be our “horse.” His was a large white goat named Lightening. My goat was was called Chocolate and was about the size of a Great Dane. I remember we did not have saddles but we did have reins to guide the goats. I also remember when you want your goat to move forward you had to pull its tail. 

Those were fun, carefree days and falling off a goat was hardly possible. Pretty social creatures.

I came close to a horse for the first time when dating my wife, Pam. She liked to ride and had a friend with horses so up onto the back of this horse I climbed. Pam got onto her horse and explained we would just ride slowly around the pasture.

Horses don’t speak English and mine definitely did not hear the suggestion of a slow ride round the pasture because he took off at high speed with me holding on while looking for a brake pedal. I was terrified. When they tell you just to pull on the reins to stop a horse: do not believe them. I could have pulled the reins on my steed from between his teeth clear back to his tail and he wasn't stopping.

I  did not fall off. The horse finally slowed. I dismounted promising myself I would never again mount a horse, or anything without a brake pedal or handbrake.

Fast forward to after our wedding. We both had positions at Culver Military Academy which had, to the great happiness of my wife, a School of Horsemanship. So she had lots of opportunity to ride. One night I got a call that her horse had taken a jump, Pam was thrown, and taken to the hospital by ambulance. I raced to the hospital and found she had been transferred to a larger facility in another city because of concerns for her spleen.

I reminded myself I would never mount a horse and I prayed she wouldn’t either. 

Fat chance where she was concerned. She continued to ride throughout the summer. On weak moment she suggested I try it again as the evening riding was going to take place indoors, at a large riding rink, and would consist of a column of two, horse and rider, simply circling the arena. I admit it was a weak moment but I said OK.

All of us were assigned a mount, paired off in twos, and a column of horses and riders began to encircle the arena.

I suppose I should have assumed something could go wrong. Seems they paired me with a horse who really hated the horse riding along side us. They spoke a few profane horse words then began to fight. Enough instructors around to get me safety off the horse that was now definitely the last horse I would ever ride.

My wife’s sister also liked horses. She resided on a farm in Ohio and loved to ride. We got a call one night that something had scared her horse, it reared up and toppled over backwards and landed with full weight between ger legs. Hospital again.

Now my wife still likes horses and I know she would accept an offer to ride anytime. My sister-in-law gave up horses for cats.

It might be possible if my sister in law were to saddle up one of those cats I would give it a try. But as for horses, I bet on them. I don’t ride them.