Kentucky Derby Narrative

I slipped my left foot into the stirrup and pushed off the ground swinging my right leg over the back of the horse. I took a moment and a deep breath in thinking back to a month before when I had taken a bad fall in a show, landing on my head, and getting a concussion. Sitting in the saddle I could feel my stomach turning and visions of falling off again kept reappearing in my mind. I had fallen off a handful of times before, but never that bad. I took grip of the reins and put pressure to the horse as I signaled for him to walk on. My confidence level had taken a toll, but step by step I was becoming less nervous and back to my old riding self.

“I had been driving by for a couple of years,” said Danielle. “I’ve always loved horses and I just wanted to call and see if I could volunteer here, mucking stalls or just learning about horses in general.”

Tanka was a stubborn and sassy sorrel mare. I really didn’t ride her on my own because she probably would’ve taken advantage of me being a beginner. Since I couldn’t ride her on my own my sister Lisa usually rode along on Tanka while I sat behind the saddle, holding on to the edge of it for dear life. One cloudy mid September day my mom decided we should go on a trail ride. Since we didn’t have enough horses for everyone who wanted to come on the ride, my mom came up with a plan.

The next day Papaw talked to the preschool lady and set a date for the field trip. The kids were so excited and and happy about getting to meet some horses. It made me feel so happy to be able to give the kids an experience like my own.

Once we brought Dugan home, I quickly discovered my ardour for horseback riding. Every morning, I would groggily roll out of bed at five o’clock, just as the beginnings of a sunrise hid between cracks of the tall pine trees on the property, and ride him until my mother summoned me inside for breakfast. Before long, I began entering riding competitions at the local fair, from which I received many bright purple participation ribbons that I proudly displayed on the otherwise empty wall space in my dull

Morgan had not a clue how to ride the four legged real barn animal. She was very comfortable with pretending that she was the best competitor in the world with her plastic barn animals. We stepped into the barn where you can see stall after stall of neutral colored horses. My horse, Austin, was black, and a little undersized, and perfect for a beginner. She couldn’t wait any longer, so as soon she got on the horse, she told me It felt natural, she wasn’t scared. It did not take her very long to learn how to steer the majestic earthly creature. The more she coiled around the barn the wider her smile got. After a while she settled getting her own trainor.

Quietly, Dustin pulled his medium-sized steer rope around the steer and tied it loosely. Soon, the time came. Adrenaline rushed, everything blurred. Hastily, he let himself down onto the back of the steer. He tied his shaking hand onto the soft rope. He slid forward onto his hand. Shaking, he said, “I’m ready.” His mind spoke the whisper through his tightly pressed lips. “Okay!” he yelled.

“The horse was brown and had a star on its forehead. The bid started low. I was very close to buying her because I was sent here by my wife. Her and I were in love with horses. I loved horses because I used to watch the old western shows. She loves them because she was into collecting Beanie Babies. One beanie baby that she keeps on a top shelf was called “derby”. So, my reason for being at the auction house was pretty stirred.”

There are very few people alive who do not like horses; in fact there must be only a few dead who hated them. A horse galloping in a green meadow with its hair tossing up and down is always a soothing image to the eyes. An image only farmers could afford to envision every day. Since it would be nonsensical to expect seeing a horse running up and down a street, there exists a sport called horse racing to quench such thirsts of a horse lover living in the city.

I reiterated in my mind I’m a failure as I made my way past the arena’s exit. My conscience told me I couldn’t think like this whilst riding a horse, and that it was time to start thinking like a real rider. I had to find a way to control my nerves, or they would control me. I reminisced on what just occurred. First, I was too nervous, past the level of my normal function. Second, I was more in my head than in reality. Third, it was time to think about my actions instead of worrying about the past. I lost the class; did that really show that I was a bad rider? As I began to doubt my talents my thoughts provided me with an epiphany; to succeed I needed to start riding like the talented rider I knew I could be. I needed to try again to prove to myself that I really can ride

“Yay!” me and my cousin said loudly and happily yet scared but we were going to overcome our fear of the ride and do it.

It all started on a cold and rainy day. I arrived at the barn, slamming the door behind me the warmth of the barn brushed my face. The tack room door creaked as I pulled it open. It was fairly quiet. I began rummaging around for my tack. I piled it all up on top of my saddle like a misbuilt tower. Struggling, I managed to open the tack room door and headed towards Turbo’s stall. I dropped my stuff down and slid his stall door open. I fed him a treat and he whinnied with glee. I pulled my hair back into a low tight ponytail, and placed my helmet on my head. Paige was standing in the aisle tacking up. She was around my height 5”0ft, with light brown hair. Paige nicely helped me finish tacking up. Anna gave us permission to bridle, and we walked into the arena. Turbo had been amazing now that I was big, it made it easier to ride a small pony like him. I walked into the arena towards the mounting block. It was barely an effort getting on Turbo; he was so small that I could have mounted on without the block. Warming up was a breeze. Turbo stayed ahead of my leg and had a smooth and steady tempo. Turbo cantered along happily and soared over the jumps. By the end of the lesson I could not have been more proud of my pony! I hopped off and gave him

My heart no longer beats as hard at it had 357 days ago, when Alistair first took me out to practice on the track. Holding my hand each step of the way, he guided me around the track until my bare feet

It was the day after Christmas of 2011, my dad and I were driving out to the horse barn I had ridden at for a few years. My trainer had just bought a horse from a horse trader and we were off to see if this horse was the one I would make memories with. Of course every nine year old, like myself at the time, thinks that the “one” is every horse they ever see. I walked down to the barn and noticed in the first stall nearest to the door, was the

"Tsk" I said and tapped my foot, signaling Massey, my horse, to go. She began to run and I signaled for her to go faster, my brother, Mike was timing us back at the house. We made it to the course of logs she had to jump over, she always slowed down at this part. Massey was a rescue that I made with granddad before he passed, she had trauma from previous experiences. Massey saw the logs and jumped skillfully and we made our way back to the house where Mike was waiting for us.