Mike & Les: Horsing Around

Up to this point in our story I have left out a significant detail about Mike that has to be revealed....he was a "cowboy"....I know, but let me emphasize the word was....he wore a big cowboy hat, cowboy boots, and a denim jacket (although a very popular article of clothing now....in the 70's a denim jacket was only worn by cowboys). But most importantly, Mike had a horse. His very own, bought and paid for by himself....horse. She was a Thoroughbred and Arabian mix and her name was Persian. Mike really wanted me to go horseback riding with him....but I really didn't. I have always been afraid of horses, they are so big and powerful and if you stand behind them they will kick you (at least that's what I was always told). But he was my boyfriend and I didn't want to appear....scared. So I agreed.

The day of the horseback riding date came. It was with much courage (really fear) that I got on the back of that beast. Mike was in the saddle and I was right behind hanging on to him for dear life. Things got off to a smooth start as our adventure began. Mike was certainly knowledgeable and experienced where horses were concerned and I must admit that I was impressed; but in the few months that we had been dating Mike hadn't ridden Persian as often as he used to. Being a female herself, maybe she was a little jealous of me, or maybe she just didn't like me at all, but as we were riding along 800 West in West Bountiful (basically the "Main Street" of our community), and right as we were in front of City Hall, Persian started to get a little excited. She started to hop and jump a bit, keeping in time with the hopping and jumping my heart was doing. Hopping and jumping quickly became bucking. I was hanging on to my boyfriend for dear life as his horse BUCKED like crazy, but the next thing I knew, I was flying through the air and then landing on the road as the horse continued to jump all around me. At some point the horse stepped on my left arm at the inside of my elbow. It's amazing that it wasn't broken and it is truly a miracle that I wasn't more seriously hurt. It was humiliating. Cars were screeching to a halt and people were running out of their houses to see what they could do to help, including a woman who came with strips of clean sheets to wrap around my arm.

Our Moms miraculously appeared on the scene and I was driven to the ER where my arm was scrubbed (literally) with a scrub brush to remove tiny pieces of gravel that were embedded deep into the open wound. It was an extremely painful process (I was very brave....I was). I left the hospital with my arm wrapped up so professionally, to the onlooker it would appear that it was much more serious than it was (I liked that part). For many years I had a huge, bumpy, purple scar with the horses hoof mark imprinted on my arm; it has faded now (a benefit of aging) but is still there as a reminder of my adventure underneath a bucking horse.

Epilogue: As the years have passed and I've occasionally reflected on that day, I'm still amazed that I wasn't more seriously hurt. It seemed like I was on the ground for an eternity as the horse bucked and jumped all over me. It could have kicked my head or even stepped on my head, but all I received was the wound on my arm (not even a break). Several months after the incident Mike sold Persian to a young husband and father in our ward by the name of John Salmon (now President Salmon in our stake presidency), he frequently reminisces with Mike about Persian and says that she was the best horse he ever had.

30 years later I got on a horse for the first time since the bucking experience; and I had a great time.

Next time: A two week separation