The horse drawn sled was occasionally used for moving things around the farm, but Susie (yep, a boy named Sue. It's true) used the sled as a country hot rod. Susie and his family lived through the woods up the hill behind the barn which was a short walk from our house. We used the path between Susie's house and the barn as the race track. If you've never hung onto a sled being dragged behind a horse running wide open through a trail in the woods, then you haven't lived…….and it's a miracle we did.

Susie had a way with horses and his brothers did, too. One of brothers broke horses for M.H. Stevens, Sr. the mule and horse dealer in Danville, about 18 miles from Myrick's Mill. I never saw a horse that Susie couldn't ride, even if it had not been broken to a saddle. Susie usually rode bareback and he taught me by letting me ride double behind him by holding onto his waist. I thought Susie had a mean sense of humor because he took such delight in striking the horse on the neck with the reins and making it run as fast as he could while I screamed and bounced around like a ball on the back. It didn't take but a couple of those kind of rides to learn real fast how to ride bareback……….and to stay off the horse when Susie was in charge of the reins.

Eventually, I tired of riding a farm work horse and I began to pressure Daddy to get me a real riding horse. Horses trained for pulling wagons were not too spiffy for riding, especially pleasure riding. Eventually, we took a trip to Danville to see Mr. Stevens, the areas mule and horse trader, who had just the horse we needed. It was a small, high spirited horse that was gaited. This meant that the horse had been trained to provide a smooth ride, we were told. I didn't know much about horse lingo and still don't, but Mr. Stevens said that this horse was a real riding horse. He was sleek, trim, held his head high, and his tail stood out a bit instead of hanging flat. He had a certain classy look about him. I convinced Daddy that this was the horse that I wanted. I named him Sport.

It took a while for me and Sport to become comfortable with one another by riding around the cattle lot. Sport finally allowed me to ride without a fuss. After mutual familiarity developed, it was time to take a ride to Ophelia's house that was across the creek about a mile and half from our house. As Sport lost site of familiar territory, he began to balk and just didn't want to go. I continued to cluck, slap on his shoulders with the reins, and kick with my heels, all in an effort to make Sport go where he didn't care to go. Persistence finally prevailed. Sport got the message and began a rough trot, followed by a sudden change of gears………Sport was in a smooth riding gait; something between the work horse bouncy trot and outright gallop. Sport had speed with style and delivered comfort to the rider's saddle. It was a grand experience. No more bouncy work- horse-trot for this boy. Sport was something else.

Returning home required only a soft cluck, a gentle nudge with my heel, and Sport was off………… WOW! The horse began to pick up speed and moved into a full, wide open gallop. Nothing that I did would slow him down; He was headed for the barn with no intentions of slowing down and I hung on for dear life. I just knew he would slow down as he approached the old wooden plank bridge crossing big sandy creek but he didn't. It was wide open over the bridge, across the dam of the pond, around the curve, by the store, and up the road through the woods finally coming to a stop at the barn. I had a real riding horse even if I couldn't get the fool to slow down and maintain that smooth gaited trot. With time, practice, and more respect for each other it all came together. I had a fine horse in Sport.

Now that the horse and I had bonded, Daddy thought it was time to hook the horse to the wagon. Big mistake! Working horses pull wagons, but riding horses don't want any part of a wagon. Sport pranced, jumped a bit, but finally allowed Susie and Daddy to collar him, apply the backband and cinches it tight. The chains were being attached to the wagon when all hell broke loose. There was nothing to do but back off and out of the way or get trampled. When Sport finished the tirade, the tongue of the wagon was broken and it was clear that Sport was not going to pull a wagon.

Several days later, my friend Dennis came to the store with his Daddy as I was riding. Dennis wanted to ride. There was a discussion about Sport being a bit high-spirited and all that, but Dennis insisted that he wanted to ride and could handle Sport. With a lift from his father, Dennis' left foot hit the stirrup and his right leg begun to swing over Sport's back when he broke and ran. Away he went………..wide open heading toward the barn. Dennis had one foot in the stirrup while the other hung loose. It was all he could do to hang on. We all took off on foot running behind the horse, and then heard Dennis whining and crying, even though as 12 year olds we too grown for such thing. As we rounded the curve in the woods road leading to the barn, there was Dennis in the sand bed road, covered in sand and shaking in disbelief. Sport, completely out of sight by now, had thrown Dennis while speeding around the curve. A quick inspection of Dennis revealed nothing but a bruised ego. We continued to the barn to see Sport standing in the corral as if nothing had happened. Then Daddy says, "I'm gonna sell that --&%^$&-- fool before he kills somebody." I never convinced him otherwise.

Mr. Stevens saw us coming. With a smile, he said, "I bet you're here to trade that horse for one that will pull a wagon"? Mr. Stevens knew what was going to happen when we left his stable with Sport a few months before. But, why should he talk us out of the experience. After all, Mr. M.H. was an accommodating gentleman and a first class mule and horse trader.

©2003 - William C. Humphries, Jr.