It has been approximately twenty-two years since I have been on a bucking bull; I admit I miss it.   I miss the feeling, the adrenaline, and those starry nights in the middle of nowhere.  I also miss the days of riding horses with Pop.  I will tell you how I became an experienced rider: the first four or five horses I got on ran away with me, and that is how I became experienced; I learned to anticipate whether he or she would spook or if they wanted to run back to the barn.  Horses are smart and like children; if you let them they will run all over you.  When a horse runs away with you, it is a frightening thing; all you can do is hang on and hope you do not end up on the ground.  When it comes to bull riding, the rider knows he or she will hit the ground before or after eight seconds; the only question is will they land on their feet or land somewhere else?  One thing is for sure, neither riding horses or bulls is a safe activity, yet I did it.  Why?  I have been told people with my mental illness take risks; Hmmm interesting!

After my bull riding days, I once bought a horse from a lady I knew at work; she was a gray quarter horse, but she had white hair with little brown specs; her name was Jasmine, and she was pretty, but she was not use to being ridden a lot.  She was use to being in the pasture and living free within the fence.  So, I decided to buy her at a great price because I wanted to buy a horse.  It would be something to do, since I was not riding bulls anymore.  I kept her where Pop kept his horse, Champ; it was at Everette’s place.  I started working her in the round pen, so she could get familiar with me.  Eventually, I would get a saddle on her and ride her in the round pen; Pop had taught me how to put the saddle on.  Most horses use a bit, but Jasmine used what is called a basal; it is not much different than a harness except a basal is made of leather and if fits on the horses nose, and it also has reigns attached to it so the horse can be guided.

I started riding Jasmine in the round pen; mostly, I just walked her, as her hooves were not in the best of shape after being in the pasture so long.  When I did start getting Jasmine up to a gallop, she would always stop suddenly at the gate of the round pen, and it would thrust me forward; I had to grab on to the saddle horn every time she did it to keep from falling off.  I did not know what to do about it, so I let it go.  As it turned out, Jasmine was a decent trail horse, but she never ran on the trail.  One day, I was tightening the cinch on the saddle after I put it on Jasmine, because Everette, Pop and me were going trail riding.  I pulled on the cinch once, and Jasmine turned her head back and bit me right in the chest, and I can not lie: it hurt!  After Jasmine bit me, it looked like I had a breast implant on my left side for about two weeks.  It is funny now as I look back.  Jasmine was around ten years of age, and if you know horses at all, you know she had some decent chompers on her.

So yeah, after Jasmine bit me, our relationship was damaged beyond repair; I ended up moving to Winston Salem shortly after that, and I got a job at a show-horse stable cleaning stalls and feeding the animals.  I eventually sold Jasmine to the guy I worked for at the stable; after she bit me, I never rode her again.  Bite me once shame on you, bite me twice?  Well, you will not have the chance because I will sell your butt.  I do not know, I kind of felt bad for her, and it occurred to me that I had simply bought the wrong horse for myself; however, Jasmine was my first horse so maybe it was a good experience after all.  Owning a horse was somewhat harder than bull riding.  I had to pay to keep her, and I had to pay to feed her.  I do not know if you have gathered at this point in my blog or not the fact that I did not have a lot of money.  That is why I never got into roping, because you have to have money for a good horse and to keep them healthy; in some cases you have to pay board for them when traveling from rodeo to rodeo, and that does not include entry fee.  I had my chance to make money at bull riding, and I blew it!

In bull riding, all I had to pay for was the entry fee; well, I also had to buy a bull rope, bull bell, a protective vest, some fancy chaps, a glove, and rosin; this gear cost close to 1k.  I still have all my bull riding gear; I could sell it but I do not want to.  It reminds me of the days I will never get back, and the memories that will not die.  When I look at my bull riding gear, I see the time I broke my arm in two places in Creedmore, NC, and I was not even wearing a protective vest because I could not afford one at the time, and I remember the time my right knee was stepped on in Dallas, NC, and the time I nearly got stomped to death by a large bull called Danny Boy; well, I have a bad back and left knee to help me remember that ride.  I guess all in all, I miss the good ol’ days, and I know I can never get them back nor do I want to get them back.  This blog is like my time machine, so all I have to do is come here and read, and I am back there again.  I hope you enjoyed this particular ride going back to around 1996.  Have a great night!

Take care and God bless,

Chris