Hardscrabble Times

A few more words about Friday’s near disaster with Harrison and Spike . . . First off, Harrison got back on a burro the next day, riding Redbo for a short ways, about a mile total on the dirt track over to the west of here.

“Spike is bad behavior,” he said from the saddle. “Redbo is better.”

Rehashing the incident, it had been in the back of my mind that Spike was actually bucking during Friday’s rodeo episode. Everything happened so fast I wasn’t certain.

However, Spike’s bucking was confirmed by Lorie Merfeld-Batson, a neighbor and one of the moms that witnessed Spike’s blow-up at the arena. Lorie said she was amazed at how well Harrison stuck in the saddle as Spike ran away bucking.

Lorie also mentioned how surprised she was that a burro would do something like this. She said the behavior was more like something she’d expect from a horse. I would agree. Rarely do burros spin, run and buck like this, especially when there is no apparent reason for spooking. As I previously wrote, Spike’s meltdown bordered on psycho. Never say never when discussing equines.

I also was reminded that my first horseback riding experience was on a Shetland pony that ran off with me when I was about Harrison’s age. This was at my great uncle Glen’s farm in Missouri. I have a dim memory of the horse running fast across a pasture and stopping short of a fence. Somehow I stayed on. When I visited the farm as an adult shortly before Glen’s death in 1997 none of the landscape was how I remembered it but I sure remember that ride.

So now we have some new rules around here. First, Harrison won’t ride Spike anymore. Secondly, nobody will ride anything around here without some serious hardware — a bit — in its mouth. My apologies to the bitless bridle crowd — I know if I had been able to turn Spike the situation Friday never would have gotten so out of control. And a bit would have made a big difference.

Today I took Redbo out with my friends Peter Hedberg and Jeff Gillingham. I rode along with them on their horses, and did some hiking, running and thinking as well. We were out for nearly four hours. We took some of the rugged trails on Bear Basin Ranch up a rocky hill known locally as “Grouse Mountain.” It’s also called “Camelback” by some. And on the USGS topo map it’s “Bears Ears.” A rock formation that caps this mountain actually looks like the ears of a bear. The trail, one of the few that is snow-free around here, winds up the south-facing slope dotted by Gambel oak and mountain mahogony. The view from up there was stunning.

It was a fine outing, and between Harrison so readily returning to riding Saturday and this time spent outside today, I felt the weekend had indeed been salvaged.

It happened so fast I had no time to think, and perhaps that explains why even now I can’t really piece it all back together. Harrison was on Spike, and I had the lead rope. We were watching the 4-H kids practice their equine drills in the neighborhood arena.

Suddenly Spike spooked for no apparent reason. The next thing I knew I was sprinting down an embankment, trying to keep a grip on the rope. I found myself “climbing” the lead rope hand over hand as I ran trying to gain control of the berserk burro, who was running away with my son.

A split-second decision — I knew that I had to somehow get a grip on Harrison and pull him out of the saddle before the whole thing got away from me. I remember getting my arm around him and pulling him off the burro just as I lost my footing. Then, for what seemed like forever, I wrestled in mid-air, flying, twisting and contorting in an attempt to hit the ground first myself and break Harrison’s fall.

We landed in some shallow snow, and miraculously nobody was seriously hurt. Harrison appears completely unscathed. I have a chunk missing from a middle finger down to the meat (I think from rope burn), my lower back is really torqued, and I feel pretty beat up in general.

And then there’s the bruised psyche.

All the magic of the connection between animal and child can come undone in only a few seconds. And then the second-guessing sets in: Is this therapeutic riding thing really helpful, or is it merely my ego at work? Is this just too dangerous? Spike should be a “dead-broke” burro, but one can never fully know what goes on in the mind of an equine. What he did today bordered on psycho.

Despite today’s rodeo I’m hopeful Harrison will get back in the saddle soon.

My friend Mad Dog has lost a friend, an older gent who lived next door to him. Speaking from experience, it’s a hell of a thing when you are in middle age, or maybe a little bit on the other side of it, to lose an older friend, someone you really admire. I know because I went through that when Virgil Lawson passed on a few years ago. It takes a while to come to the full realization that this person is really gone. For a long time the notion of his death would strike me . . . I might be driving somewhere, out running or just outside working. I would feel a deep sense of loss and just think, “Damn, I can’t believe he’s gone.”