RIDING DYNAMITE

 

My heart's desire, my greatest childhood fantasy materialized at age seven. Life at that time felt golden. My father had recently landed a prestigious and high paying job. We moved from Hobe Sound back up the coast to the Sailfish Capitol of the World where his new job was located.

The house we rented was a sprawling one in the middle of a hundred acres overlooking a private lake with several small ponds scattered in the back and a mango grove on one side. To me it felt like paradise!

With all that acreage there was no reason not to have a horse. That's what I kept telling my parents. I had long dreamed of one. I wanted this so badly!

My horse and I would bond instantly and become best friends. Our rides together would be serene as well as treasured memories. In my mind it was all la la rainbows in the sky fantasy.  -- Probably the way a lot of young women imagine their future marriage. 

I was beyond ecstatic when my father showed me the listing in the Miami Herald. A two year old horse was for sale and Dad announced he was buying it for me. I listened with excitement as he made the call.

Late that afternoon my entire family piled in our new Chrysler Imperial for the hours long drive to Miami. The ranch was far outside the city limits and by now it was dark, but we managed to find it. The man was waiting for us.

Of course we wanted to see the horse.

"Bring out Dynamite!" he yelled. -- The name alone should have been a clue.

The man explained the horse belonged to his teenage son and was being sold as punishment. The rotten kid and his equally despicable friends had ridden him with the saddle backwards. The horse was left with sores requiring ointment. I'd need to wait until those healed before I could ride, but that was okay.

The following weekend we rented a U-haul and drove down to Miami to fetch the horse.

I disliked the name Dynamite. The horse's coat, mane, & tail were all red so I renamed him Blaze. We soon learned he had a redhead's temper too! Blaze turned out to be the horse from hell!

Under our care he was treated with kindness and given special attention. Unfortunately, sometimes all the love and tenderness in the world can't undo damage already done. Blaze hated people and there was no undoing that!

After he healed, we purchased a saddle & bridle at the Farmer's Market in West Palm Beach. Eagerly I mounted him and rode, at first being led by my grandfather and then alone. But Blaze wasted no time in acting up. He did not want to be ridden. Also he was a biter as well as a bucker.

My friend Sharla four years older had taken professional riding lessons and was already an experienced horsewoman. She was at our house almost every day during the summer and on weekends. Not because she was fond of me, but because I owned a horse and she didn't. I rode double with her.

Blaze had this habit of brushing up against bushes and low trees forcing us to lift our feet & legs to avoid being cut or scratched. When this happened my grandfather would come over with a switch.

One summer day while we were racing around Blaze made a swift sharp turn darting under a low hanging branch. Suddenly I found myself on the ground with Sharla atop me. Fortunately she grabbed the branch just in time otherwise we would have been killed or at least seriously injured!

Blaze's antics proved so dangerous that I was forbidden from riding him alone. When Sharla wasn't around I'd ride seated behind either my dad or grandfather.

Once when Blaze was being particularly obstinate Grandpa ordered Sharla and me off and mounted the horse himself. He was thrown and left unconscious. Sharla and I were there alone. But that's a memory for another blog post.

Another time Blaze attempted to trample our dog to death and even kicked-in a plate glass picture window! Florida is part of the Bible belt. A few acquaintances declared our horse demon possessed and vowed to pray for him.

In retrospect, I'm pissed at the man who sold him to us! He knew the horse was a gift for a seven year old whose experience with equines was limited mostly to pony rides at carnivals. An ethical person would have refused, with words to the effect, "I cannot in good conscience sell you a horse totally unsuitable for a small child. Find her a gentle pony that won't attempt to do bodily harm at every opportunity."

Instead, he told me, "Honey, stroke his face and speak sweetly to him every day." -- Neglecting to inform me the horse bit and the opposite end kicked!

However I do have a handful of fond memories with Blaze. Nearly every Sunday afternoon I'd hold tight to my father as we ventured thru the wilderness beyond our property. Often we'd end up on a dirt street in Port Salerno, then a small fishing village. People came out of their houses to see us and walk along side.

I felt so proud!

But one afternoon when I returned from school I discovered Blaze gone.

As I stated earlier, we were renters. After the owner discovered we'd brought a horse onto his property our rent was raised dramatically. My parents were angry and decided the time had come to finally purchase a home. They selected one within the city limits on the St. Lucie River.

I was informed my horse had been sold to a family named Lord. Later, Mr. Lord told my father he was training Blaze to become a jumper and was having difficulty keeping him away from the fillies.

Blaze was in a better place as far as we were concerned.

I was telling a friend (a Sunday school regular) in my third grade class of our recent move.

"What happened to your horse, Blaze?" she was anxious to know.

"He's at the Lord's now," I told her.

"Oh poor Blaze," she replied, clasping a hand to her cheek. "When did he die?"