I got my first paying job when I was seven years old.
My dad was a horseman and he bought me my first horse, a yearling Shetland pony that I named Dynamite, when I was five years old. We kept him in a corral that Dad built in the back of the yard of the house that we rented. When Dynamite was big enough to “break,” Dad would come home in the evenings and work with me to get him started. It was a lot of fun, and Dynamite became my constant and trustworthy companion. Other kids would ride their bikes around town and I rode my horse everywhere, usually accompanied by my Collie dog, Pepper. (Here is a photo of me on Dynamite, along with Pepper).
My first job contract
In our small community everyone was aware of everyone else’s activities and they saw me riding around on my pony. During that time in the late 1950’s there were still live pony merry-go-rounds in the area. You could find them at county fairs and other public events. Parents would pay a small amount (I think about 10 cents) for their children to ride on one of four to six ponies hitched together and walking around in a circle.
An owner of one of these merry-go-rounds found out about my ability to handle a horse and he asked my dad if I could break some new pony colts that he wanted to add to his group. Dad told him I could and so we contracted with a handshake for me to start one per month.
After school and on weekends I would work the young colt under Dad’s supervision. None of the colts were very wild or hard to ride. I don’t remember any of them ever bucking. By the end of the month, I would have them gentled and easily accepting a bridle and saddle. I could mount them with no trouble, rein them in any direction and have them walking, trotting, loping and stopping easily. They were ready to be added to his merry-go-round stock.
I think I started four or five ponies for him, and he paid me $5 per horse. That certainly doesn’t seem like much now, but for a seven year old kid in 1958, I thought I was making good money! I don’t think I’ve ever had another job since that was that much fun.
There was another man in our town that heard about my colt starting ability. He had an older horse that he wanted his kids to be able to ride. The horse had been ridden but had been running free for several years and no one had been on him during that time. He asked my dad if I could get him back in shape. Dad told him yes and so I got another job. But, this horse was much bigger than a Shetland, though smaller than a regular full sized horse. He was also much older, fiestier and uncooperative.
I was completed intimidated
I learned one of the greatest lessons in life from my Dad with that horse. The day that he was to be delivered to our house, I distinctly remembered Dad telling me not to get on him until he got home from work. But, since I thought I was such an experienced hand in breaking colts, I ignored his advice.
Immediately after he arrived, I bridled him and threw my saddle on his back and cinched it tightly. The horse didn’t seem to mind any of that, so I confidently put my foot in the stirrup and pulled myself up into the saddle. Still the horse didn’t move. I then gently kicked and smooched at him to make him go, but he didn’t budge. I tried this several times but there was still no response. I used a little quirt with my horses then, so I reached back and tapped him on the butt with it. I was completely unprepared for what happened next.
Unlike the gentle Shetland colts I had worked with before, this one exploded into violently bucking and in about two jumps I found myself in a pile on the ground. Though very surprised, I picked myself up and more cautiously stepped back up into the saddle. The second that I started kicking him, he again went into a furious buck and I was soon on the ground again.
I didn’t want this horse to win so, once again, with a lot more reluctance, I got up, placed my boot in the stirrup, pulled myself up and swung my leg over his back. Before I could even sit in the saddle, he commenced bucking and I hit the ground hard. I was dirty, bruised, and, most of all, completely intimidated by this new horse. I lost all confidence that I could ever succeed with him.
So, I pulled the saddle and took off the bridle and waited for my father to get home. When he pulled into the driveway I walked out of the house sniffling and said, “Dad, I’ll never be able to ride that new horse!”
He asked me what happened and wasn’t at all happy that I had started without him. He said, “I’m going to change clothes and then let’s go see what’s going on,”
We walked into the corral, caught the horse, bridled and saddled him again, and then Dad told me, “Get on.”
As my lip trembled and I was on the verge of tears, I protested, “I can’t ride him. He’ll buck me off.”
He insisted that I try, so I reluctantly got on, and sure enough, before I barely got in the saddle, he started bucking and off I came. I sat there sobbing but my Dad sternly said, “Get up and try again.”
I lamented loudly, “I can’t do it. He’ll buck me off. I can’t ride him. Let’s send him back to the owner.”
An unforgettable life lesson
Then Dad did something that shocked me. He got down on my level, put his hands on my shoulders, looked me straight in the eye and said, “Son, you’re going to get back on that horse and you’re going to ride him. If you come off him again you’re going to have to deal with me on the ground and that will be far worse than anything you experience on the back of that horse!”
I got up whimpering, but fearing my dad's displeasure far more than getting back on that horse. I started toward the horse but, before I could get on him, Dad said, “Wait a minute.”
He took a leather strap and made a nightlatch for me by running it under the pommel and tying it together. It provided a grip that I could hold on to. Dad then took hold of the bridle reins, helped me into the saddle and told me to grip the nightlatch with my right hand. He then handed me the reins in my left hand and looked into my eyes again and said, “Don’t you come off that horse!”
He stepped back and the horse once again commenced bucking. This time with Dad’s warning ringing in my ears and my hand gripped tightly to the nightlatch, I made it past the first couple of jumps. The horse kept bucking until he finally tired and then came to a complete stop and just stood there.
I looked over at Dad with tears still running down my cheeks but a big smile on my face and exclaimed joyfully, “I did it!”
He walked up to me with an equally big smile on his face and said, “I knew you could! You see, that horse had you defeated in your mind. I saw how you were when you first got on him. You were just looking for a place to fall on the ground. You had convinced yourself you couldn’t ride him.”
Dad did me a great favor that day. He didn’t let me walk away from defeat. He taught me to get back up and face my fears. He showed me that repeating an action with the same bad results was not very smart. He gave me some tools to help me succeed, and encouraged me to persevere until I accomplished it. Mostly he taught me that fears and doubts in my own mind are sometimes the biggest obstacles to overcome.
That lesson has helped me get through other very difficult times. He knew that if I had let that intimidation defeat me then, I would not have been able to handle tough times that I would inevitably face again and again throughout my life.
That horse never bucked with me again. We did have other issues with him, but we worked through those, too, until the end of the month when I was riding him without any difficulty and he was responding well.
The owner came to get him and I demonstrated what I had accomplished with him. He seemed pleased, payed me $5 and drove off with the horse. Unfortunately, I heard that he just put him back out to pasture and no one rode him for many months after that. When they eventually did try, he went back to his old bucking habits like he had never been ridden before.
Apparently he didn't remember the lessons that I taught him, but I have never forgotten the lesson that he and my Dad taught me.
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