THE HORSE
I always called him “The Horse”. He belonged to me
as my father had given him to me on my tenth birthday. His actual name was
“Tony” but to me that was a silly name for a fully-grown horse.
From the day that he was
delivered to our farm, as much as I thought of him as mine, Tony had other
ideas. He would never take grain out of my hand, was very difficult to catch in
the mornings, and would always graze in the far corner of the house paddock. So
Tony became known simply as “The Horse”.
Every time that I went out with
the halter to catch him he would wait until I was very close and then gallop
off to the far corner of the paddock. Here he would stare at me and snicker as
if to say. “I am the boss here. You won’t catch me unless I let you.”
He would play this game sometimes for nearly
half an hour. The strange thing about him was that as soon as I had saddled
him, and climbed aboard, he became a most obedient and docile animal.
One morning nearly a year ago my
father wanted me to ride over to one of our neighbours to check on his
homestead. He and his wife were away at the coast on a few weeks holiday and we
had promised to keep an eye on the place while he was away. So straight after
breakfast I walked out into the house paddock to catch The Horse.
He was grazing alongside the
small dam in the centre of the paddock but as soon as he saw me he was off to
the far corner. I had no alternative but to trudge after him as I had done many
times before. Forty minutes later I had him saddled and we were on our way.
There was a rough four-wheel
drive track that leads from our homestead to our neighbours but it was a
beautiful day and I decided to take the scenic route. It was considerably
further than the track but it followed the river as it carved its way through a
low range of rocky hills and, most importantly, I could make a short detour to
check out my favourite fishing spot.
There was no real track, just a
series of cattle paths that climbed over the hills. At times the path was in a
valley right beside the river but was mostly high up on the steep slopes and
cliffs above the river. My fishing spot was on a sort of peninsular that jutted
out into the river where it rushed around a sharp bend and over some rapids.
There was no path to the spot and
it was quite steep and slippery with loose stones. I should have left The Horse
tethered to a tree on the main path but I was in a hurry as I was probably
already in trouble with my father for taking the long way to the neighbours.
We were nearly at the flat rock
that I used as a platform to fish from when with a loud flapping, and its usual
whistling sound; a crested pigeon flew out from a bush almost at the horse’s
front hooves. The Horse immediately reared up and then shied violently to one
side. I had no chance and was catapulted over the back of the horse, and over
the steep slope down to the river. I hit the ground hard and my head must have
slammed into a rock, as the next thing I remember is the freezing cold of the
water as it closed over me.
I tried to stand up but could not
feel the bottom. The current was sweeping me along. I tried to swim but my
right arm would not work properly. Then I realised that as I tried to kick there
was a horrible grating sensation in my right leg.
For a moment blind panic gripped
me. I was about to scream when the current pushed me up onto a half submerged
boulder close to the bank.
It took me many minutes to get my
breathing and my mind under control. I looked up to see if I could see The
Horse but he was nowhere in sight. I could see that my right arm was broken
between the elbow and the wrist. Slowly turning around, as I was afraid of
being swept off the rock I looked down at my right leg. My trousers had been
ripped open and I could see a piece of bone protruding from the skin just above
my ankle. It was then the pain hit me and I passed out.
When I came to I had no idea how
long I had been unconscious. It was then that the real desperation of my
situation hit me.
My parents would not come looking
for me for many hours and then they would start looking along the four-wheel
drive track. There was no way I could move from the boulder without being swept
away by the river. I was already shivering violently from the cold of the water
and if I was still there when night fell it would get very cold.
The pain was really bad and I was
only just barely conscious when I thought I heard my father calling my name. I
opened my eyes and saw him scrambling down the slope. Behind him was my mother
talking into a satellite phone as she carefully descended.
I was in hospital for two weeks
and had two operations on my leg but now a year later I am fully recovered.
Apparently very soon after I had
fallen off and rolled down into the river The Horse had galloped back to the
house and had kicked up such a fuss at the gate into the house paddock that he
had attracted my father’s attention. Realising what must have happened my
father had alerted my mother and had then, not wanting to waste any time,
ridden The Horse out to look for me. The Horse had refused to go along the
track and after struggling with him for some time my father had let him have
his head.
He had led my father directly to
me.
Well! Now Tony is no longer The
Horse but is now “My Horse”.
The damn thing is still hard to
catch in the mornings though.
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