Death Stalks a Corn Field

I was on my way to Denver yesterday when I spotted a huge skein of geese coming in for a landing in a field. As rotund as geese usually are, I wondered if they were worried at all about landing in the midst of sharp, dry corn stubble.

We once owned a small farm in Ohio. After living there a short time, I went looking for a horse to buy. I was basically broke. One day,  I located a skin-and-bones mare for sale. She was an ex-racehorse who hadn't made the cut. Someone bought her at auction and put in a depleted pasture with a large number of other horses who picked on her. Being at the bottom of the pecking order kept her away from the hay, and she was covered with injuries from being bitten and kicked. I bought her because she was so passive, helpless, and had such sad eyes. Her name was Ima Tyson.

Despite getting lots of hay and grain, she had trouble gaining weight. She was a cribber. Cribbing is a compulsive behavior where a horse bites on something, arches its neck, and sucks in air.  She also chewed wood. Both behaviors are bad for the horse's health. Sport horses are fed a diet that will give them high energy, then they are locked in a stall with no way to expend the overdose. They learn the behavior from other horses, too. I did all the usual things to prevent Ima from cribbing, but she usually found a way to indulge herself.

By fall, she was healthy enough to ride off the property. A neighboring farmer said I could ride in his 300 acre corn field. There was a dirt road running around the perimeter of the land, and it would be safer to ride someplace besides the side of the road. Steve was at work and the children were in school so I saddled her up and off we went.

It was a corn field that had already been harvested. The soft rustling noises from the breeze bothered Ima and she danced around a little until she got used to it. I remember hearing lots of birdsong as we walked along. I had never done anything but walk Ima while riding because she was still underweight.
My saddle was a slick English saddle and I was using a simple snaffle bit because it was the only type she had ever been ridden it. I was having a nice time.

That's when a pheasant burst out right in front of us.

Ima spun and took off at a dead run straight into the corn. The spin had thrown me off to one side. I still had my left foot in the stirrup but my right leg was across the top of the saddle. I was eye level with Ima's shoulder. The only thing keeping me attached to the terrified horse was my grip on the reins. It occurred to me that I had to be hurting her mouth, but I could see the sharp stalks of corn beneath me and didn't want to get impaled. She was running for her life, thundering across the field, away from the scary pheasant, convinced her death was imminent. Somehow, I slowly pulled myself back up into the saddle. Once I was vertical, I began calming the horse. Even a lousy racehorse is plenty fast, especially a horse bred to be the fastest in a quarter-mile sprint. She was wearing out and I was finally able to stop her. I tried to stand in the stirrups to slow her down, but my legs were shaking too bad to support me.

I walked her home in the cold air. She was exhausted and soaked with sweat. I thought about how all of my weight had been pulling on her mouth, but had no effect on her at all. A horse's mouth is supposed to be soft and sensitive. The hardness of her mouth was more evidence of her previous abuse.

She went on to become a good trail horse and gave many people their first ride on a horse. I had to sell her when we moved to Italy. She went to a good home with some ladies who wanted to continue using her as a trail horse.