Horse Creative Writing

It was just me, my horse, and the four judges, who were there to critique my every single move. I probably looked like an ant standing alone inside such a large area. My heart was pounding so hard that I could hear it beating in my ears. Thump. Thump. Thump. I tried to block it out in order to concentrate on the task at hand. The announcer calls for 805, which was my show number, and up to the first cone I went. I knew that pattern better than I knew my own name. The arena smelled so fresh and clean. I could see the perfectly straight drag lines from the tractor, since I was the first one to go in my class. This was the moment that I had been waiting my entire life for. While waiting at the first cone, the pattern was soaring through my head. Trot to the first cone and stop, then do a turn to the right. Over and over again I kept repeating it silently to myself. Finally, the judges nodded for me to begin, and I started the best pattern

I was thirteen, and I had just come home from a school softball game. My friend Dalton had invited my sister and I to come and swim at the neighborhood pond. My sister stayed home, but I got permission to go. After a while of swimming, Dalton looks at me claims that he’ll jump out of a tree near the bank if I jump out. Of course, I accepted my friend’s little dare and climbed into the tree, focusing on the seven-foot-deep drop-off off of the bank. Regrettably, I didn’t jump far enough. My right leg landed in the drop-off, but my left leg hit the clay, which caused all of my weight to shift to my left foot. I felt an immense pain in my ankle and started screaming while crawling over to the bank as Dalton ran to get my mom. After I finally made it to the emergency room, I found that I had broken my fibula at an upward slant, which caused the upper part of the bone to slam down into my ankle.I had completely blown out every ligament and tendon on the left side of my ankle. I had to have a plate and four screws implanted into my fibula along with the surgical repair of all of my ligaments and tendons. The entire ordeal left me extremely interested in the human body, and this interest was heightened when I had to get my appendix removed a few months later and again when I took Anatomy and

I approached the spirited horse with confidence because I was experienced with these types of shows in which all the riders are assigned a random horse to ride. I could sense his tension as soon as I was in the saddle. He furiously pawed the ground and shifted his weight around. Before I knew it, we entered the arena. Almost immediately he began prancing like a deer around the ring, my fear growing with every misstep he took. I desperately looked to my coach for advice, but there was nothing she could do. It was between him and me and he knew he was in control. The spectators lining the outside of the arena fell into an eerie silence each time we passed by. I was masquerading, pretending I had him under control while the situation continued to worsen. In my mind years passed before the judge finally called for all of the riders to line up in the middle of the arena. As we turned to line up, he stopped. I convinced him to take one reluctant step forward before he reared up onto his hind legs. He rose up higher and higher, turning into a skyscraper towering over all others in the arena. Then, everything went quiet. I frantically grabbed for his white mane, trying to maintain my balance, but to no avail. We both fell backwards, all two thousand pounds of his body crushing

Every day I would lug myself out of my bed while my alarm clock flashed 5:30 AM in bright red. I would forage though my dresser for a pair of worn out Wranglers, which I would match with an old button down shirt. I would slink down the stairs and out into the garage where I kept my aged boots and hat. I would restlessly pull the black square-toed boots over my tried feet and position the old dusty brown cowgirl hat on my head before I made my way to the barn. When I got to the barn I would gather up the eight main horses and lead them into the barn three at a time, and into their stalls. While the horses were preoccupied with their morning grain and hay, I would try to groom the young, untamed horses without getting my face kicked in. Once, they finished their meal I would lead them out to the pulling fence that was made out of large log telephone poles. The pulling fence was the site where these young horses would learn some hard life lessons. When I had fed all the older horses I would move on to the north pasture and gather up the colts and yearlings. I would repeat the same feeding and grooming regimen with them. All in all before I had my own breakfast, I would have seventeen horses curried, fed and tethered to the fence of the

It was just another beautiful day at the stables. I was 10 years old at the time. My younger sister Kelsey and I were scheduled to have our usual horse riding lesson that day. However, we were completely unaware that our ordinary afternoon would soon take a turn towards disaster. The lesson started with us warming up and taking turns going over a series of jumps. But in an instant, Kelsey’s horse spooked and suddenly my 6 year old sister was desperately clinging to a 1,000 pound mare that was galloping out of control. I watched the flurry of hoofs and sand in shock as my sister clung to the mane that clearly could not support her weight. Time seemed to slow down in that moment as I helplessly watched her slide from the saddle, to the front

A. One time I was showing in a horse show st Columbus, Ohio it was congress. While I was showing my horse Sonny he ran down to a stop a hit the ground really hard and I about fell off so I grabbed the horn. The ground at congress is not very good, it is really deep and heavy. I hate grabbing the horn because it does not look good and it makes you look like you cannot ride. When he hit the ground real hard I lost my stirrup while he checked the ground. When he got back in the ground he hit it even harder and thats when I grabbed the horn.

When Amy Kelley’s barrel-racing Quarter Horse, The Special Stuff, went down in his Minnesota pasture, she thought the worst about the gelding. “First I noticed him standing parked out and looking very uncomfortable. The next thing I knew, he dropped to the ground. He did not lay down, he fell down. He hit the ground so hard, I thought he had a heart attack,” she recalls.

In the dusk of a summer Saturday evening, a trickle of light streams through the overhead leaves. One particular horse poses beneath a canopy of towering Adirondack oaks, most of which are only rivaled by the antique racetrack in age. Only a few fans are all that remains of the crowd that adorned the grandstand the hour before, with dreams to witness history. The few that linger lean enthusiastically over the barn barricade that had once struggled to restrain the appreciative masses and masses, only for the opportunity to catch a glimpse of this particular thoroughbred in the distance. But this horse didn’t win today. Today’s victor grazed out of his stall rows down, seemingly unnoticed. The sky, once a brilliant blue, has turned darker with

This ghost wound has stayed with me for my entire high school career. The most difficult times changed something inside of me. I realized that my back would never be the same, and I had nobody to blame but

“Tough times never last, but tough people do.” The refusal of my arm made me discern this intimately. It all started as I stepped onto the soccer field, ready to win. Approximately thirty minutes into the game, the opponent’s attacker was charging towards our goal. All I could think about was stealing the ball from him, which I managed to do, but something terrible happened. I fell and landed on my left shoulder. I was immediately rushed to the hospital, where I went in and out of consciousness due to the extreme pain. Keep in mind that this is in Ethiopia, where medical care is not exactly timely and pain control is not a priority. After what seemed like forever, the diagnostic test confirmed that my clavicle was completely shattered.

Standing on his hind legs, this rare andalucian stallion is fearless. His ears are turned back while his noble looking head is held high. His all black coat glistens in the late afternoon sun. His face displays a strong confidence with his nostrils flared, his veins bulging from his cheek bones, and his fiery black eyes burning holes into the souls of those who stare into them. His neck muscles are tensed and thickened with adrenalin. His black main is thrown into the wind like a flag rippling in the winds of a tornado. His muscular front legs are brought up to his chest displaying his flashing gray hooves that could crush a man's scull with one blow. His backbone and underbelly are held almost straight up and his hind quarters are tensed.

My heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. I was excited to ride the horse, but also nervous. I had never been around a horse before so I didn’t really know what to do. I knew horses kick or buck when frightened and I kept having to reassure myself that I was going to be okay. As we were walking up to the horse barn I shook those thoughts from my head. I could already hear the horses breathing and the smell of the fresh hay was oozing out of the building. My Uncle opened the barn door and my Aunt walked out with Striker, their oldest and nicest horse. Striker was very tall for a horse and all black, except for his nose, which had white

Throughout my life I have lived and breathed with horses. They are a part of me and I wouldn’t be myself without them, but it wasn’t until I got my horse Brush that I fully formed a unified connection with them. Some family friends had recently had a couple of colts born and let me take one home so I could begin training them. There was three different horses that I could choose from, but only one connected to me. His name was Brush. Looking back I never would have thought we would have the relationship we have now.

At the 2016 Kansas State Fair, I was the leader of my small show team. The eldest and most experienced, Madeleine and Rylynn were cheering me on through each class. I had already had a wonderful time, winning reserve champion in my equitation class, making pleasure finals and placing fourth in hunter under saddle, horsemanship was my last class. There were 40 in my class, and I was twelfth in the working order. Maddie and Ry sat on the other side of pen happily eating soft pretzels, eating up pattern after pattern. I walked in the small warm up arena as much as I could, I was terrified that my horse would turn up lame, as he had gotten a cut on his coronet not but a few days ago, and I had scratched him out of trail and hack because of it. Though there had been no sign of soreness from him, I was terribly worried.We worked on our spins, I backed him to the gates more times than I could count, and his trot offs were prompt and rhythmic. Our gatekeeper called my number to tell me I was on deck.

Although, Straight Line was hurt, I refused to give up, I endlessly searched to locate a replacement horse. Thus came Princess, a buckskin mare that I borrowed from an acquaintance of my sisters. My mother and I traveled to Goodland for a little test run and at the end of the day we hauled her home. Thrilled is not a word I would use to describe the idea of running on her, but what choice did I have. I needed a horse, any horse to ride at the finals, since Straight Line was no longer able to run. Princess and my personalities clashed, there is only room for one princess and I already occupied that position. Trust me when I say that typically mares have bigger attitudes, than most teenage girls. Even though, I gave it my best shot, considering my situation, we just could not find a rhythm together. Despite of my efforts, I knew it was going to be a long week as I unsaddled her after the worst practice that I had ever had. Consequently, I remember walking to the barn from the arena and feeling the blood run down my leg from clobbering the barrels. I had bruises, all up and down my legs, from plowing into barrels during our one and only practice. Finals were approaching fast and I could