I can’t get comfortable. My neck hurts. As the winters rolled by, it got harder to ignore. My doctor took a series of x-rays just a couple years ago and now I know why; my cervical spine looks like a stack of asteroids. There’s displacement between C2 and 3. When I drop my head, the two vertebrae don’t line up. I owe it all to a horse I once owned.

“Skip” was a grandson of the Hall of Fame QH, Skipper W and was an incredibly handsome horse, colored unlike any horse I’ve ever seen. His body was copper colored and his mane and tail was equal parts black, sorrel, and flaxen hair. He had no white on him at all, and his coat gleamed that copper coloring in the sun. He was magnificent!

His body type was kind of an old-timey Quarter Horse, what I call bulldog type. He was solid as a rock and kind of mutton withered, again, the bulldog look of many foundation QHs. Ironically, because of that deep, barrel chest and little withers, Skip was the only horse that I can recall my custom-made saddle not fitting well.

I was a wrangler at an Arizona guest ranch when I bought Skip. I rode every working day, and with Skip it was necessary to keep him rode down. He was easily the most powerful horse I was ever on in my life. You could work him hard all day and at 4 o’clock in the afternoon he might buck with you—he never seemed to tire. Later that year I was promoted to corral boss, in charge of the horses and riding program at the guest ranch. That started my problems with Skip.

I’ve always said I like my horses to have a bit of “sting” to them. I just think it makes them more useful, fun to be on and around, and just generally higher performance. “Sting” doesn’t adequately describe what Skip had; “explosiveness” is probably a better word; he was like a grenade. In addition to his Skipper W breeding, on the dam side he was descended from Peter McQue and Yellow Jacket, in other words, you could say he was bred to buck. As long as I rode him daily, we got along well. As soon as I took over the corrals and didn’t get on him regularly, he became hard and knotted and prone to bog his head at the slightest provocation.

One day I was giving a riding lesson. The ranch had a regulation arena with bucking chutes and lights—the works, where we gave riding lessons. I had just mounted Skip when I looked over at my student to see him with the reins up around his chin and the horse trotting out the gate from the saddling area. I whirled Skip around, touched his sides, and blocked the horse’s exit. He hit Skip in the flank area on the right side. Skip’s head disappeared from sight and we bucked out of the saddling area, toward the hay barn and the arena. He bucked until he bucked me off and I hit hard, landing on the upper back of my head, what doctors call the parietal region of the skull.

I stood up and walked over to Skip standing quietly now, just a few feet away, stepped up onto his back and led the guest over to the arena. We had just gotten inside and I was beginning the lesson when Susie, one of the wranglers rode up to me. She said, “Let me take this lesson for you; why don’t you go back to the bunkhouse and check yourself out—make sure you’re OK.” I thanked her and rode back to the saddling area.

I thought I dodged a bullet, because it seemed like I was all right, but the next morning I was proven wrong, I could not raise my head or turn it side-to-side. X-rays proved to be negative for a broken neck, which would literally mean a fracture of one or more vertebrae. I began several sessions of physical therapy. Part of that therapy was having my neck “cracked” repeatedly by the P.T., a sound and feeling I’ll never forget. After I mended, the neck was pretty tolerable, as long as I stayed active. It became my weak point though and would get stiff and sore from stress or over exertion.

He sent me back to the hospital again later. I was jingling horses in early one morning. That can be kind of a high intensity task anyway because the horses get amped up and want to run in from the night pasture. I could feel Skip getting a hard twist in his body. His head came up and he was snorting because he wanted to just go! In hindsight, it probably would have made sense to just let him run, it would have made a mess out of the job of bringing in the horses, but I think I would have fared better.

I tried to keep him at a walk instead. Finally, he came to a complete stop. I could feel him deciding his next course of action. Suddenly, he threw himself over backward as fast and as hard as he could. I was able to kick free of my stirrups, but couldn’t get completely clear of him and he landed hard on my right leg. I believe my leg landed in a slight depression that somewhat protected it. It was not broken, but I found out later the impact tore the periosteum from my tibia. The periosteum is the membrane that covers the outer surface of the bone. It is permeated with nerves and blood vessels and it hurts like fire when it gets stripped from the bone.

Soon after this wreck I sold Skip. The wife of a local professional farrier had always wanted him. It may be that she was simply a better rider/trainer than I, but I always thought the horse had a problem with men as a result of some early-life incident or owner. I was able to get him because he hurt the man I bought him from. I later heard of other men he had bucked off in addition to the two of us. At any rate, she competed successfully with him for quite a while in, among other events, hunter-jumper.

I had a series of injections into my C-spine, while we lived near Jackson. The anesthesiologist put 4 shots between the facets of C2 and C3, with a cocktail of an anesthetic and corticosteroid. It helped a bit. Probably would be worth considering a repeat, but it’s hard to get enthused about the idea. They are delivered in pairs. Get one, go back and repeat the whole procedure a few days later, wait a month then repeat the series.

I grew up sleeping on my belly. That’s out. I can’t lay with my head turned to the side like that. I never liked sleeping on my back, but that’s the most comfortable for my neck, as long as I pull the pillow down to my shoulder blades. It’s all part of living life though, isn’t it. Adm. Grace Hopper, once said, “A ship in port is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.” Buy the horse, buy the car or motorcycle, climb the mountain, sail the seas, live your life. When the bill comes due—pay it.

You're a great story teller TMats. As we get older the aches and pains remind us of times past, good and bad. Like most adult men, I have stories attached to each scar, ache and pain but unlike you I'm not good at putting them down on paper or text.

I hope you can find relief from your neck issues.

Jim

They are big powerful animals and sometimes pretty independant. I road double up a narrow path, through a field with my high school girl friend. Choctaw, her Appaloosa didnt seem to comfy with me on her rear. I felt the reins come across both my legs just after I said not to run her. She sent us both to the ground. I landed on the back of my neck and the lights went out. When I came to, Choctaw was at the bottom of the field with her saddle down under. Glad I was young and didnt break easy. I enjoyed reading you TMats.

Good stories. Keep 'em coming.

Until I got on with the Sheriff I figured my retirement would be 35 mama cows and a limp...

Wow.... pride may be an issue, but sometimes age will mellow a horse out where they become the horse of your dreams...instead of the horse of your nightmares...I wish you well. Great story.

General Joseph P. Stillwell said any animal with a head shaped like a hammer can't be too damned smart. Of course, he was an infantry general.

Good story, Tom.
I enjoy your stories.
You should get them in book or similar format for others to read if you are interested.
I am willing to help.

PC

Thanks, Paul, I do think about a compilation of some kind. I would need to write some more, but I do have other stories. A blog occurs to me, but I don’t know if I have the patience to build a following. I actually sent a story to Western Horseman Magazine, but they didn’t respond. Probably not the best publication for what I’m doing anyway. Maybe we can meet for lunch or dinner again when you’re down this way. I appreciate your interest.

Thanks to all of you for offering encouragement. I sincerely appreciate it.

As long as I’ve got the floor... I made reference to Adm. Grace Hopper in this story. We have a daughter, and I pretty well know what women she was taught about in school—who “educators” think are important women in American history. It’s a shame that girls don’t learn about Admiral Hopper. Dads, teach your daughters that there are women other than Gloria Steinem and Maya Angelou.

Great story.

My neighbor has two horses, she was out riding trails last week, a cow moose stepped out onto the trail. The horse took exception to it bucked her into a tree, stepped on her arm and went home minus her rider.

She ended up with a broken arm, messed up ankle, and a bruised shoulder. At first she wanted me to shoot the horse, I said no, then she asked me to shoot the moose, I said no.

She's getting better now and neither the moose or horse are coyote food.... yet.

Christopher Reeve