When I was around 5 years old it all started. We were in sheep camp out past Lava Butte. The camp horse needed to be moved from where he was, back to the herders trailer. Ron and I wanted to take a long way and the horse wanted to take the short way. He balked. I climbed off and got a stick, and then got back on. I think I whacked him once and then things got fuzzy. I ended up on the ground with my right ear split open. Of course I howled. Off to the doctor we went. For some reason I blamed the pain on the doctor and I kicked him. Before the dust settled I had been educated to not hurt medical people.

A few years later Jack Shumway brought a young mare to the ranch. Somehow I figured she was for me. I saddled and rode her. I was later told she had never had a saddle on her and she had never been ridden. She was a wonderful horse and I used her moving cattle for several years. She even let my little sister ride her. She was a big horse, half Quarter and half Percheron. Probably 1500 pounds.

One day Ron and I were sent to the east to move or check on some cows. We were getting back to the house and we were tired. I glanced back at Ron and he seemed to be bouncing pretty high. I heard a sound and looked back. Ron was still in the saddle, but the saddle had fallen off and he was on the ground. Lesson learned was to always check the saddle cinch during a day of working.

We had a door entry to the corral. It had a bar over the top. Ron and I rode through that gate a lot. Did I mention we had to duck. One day I heard a thump and looked over and Ron was on the ground. Not injured, but insulted. He forgot to duck.

Then my next steed was Tag. He wire cut himself so we had him in the corral and tied to a snubbing post. The medicine we used was rather hot and Tag would strike at me when I doctored him. It was time to put on a saddle and ride. I saddled him and climbed on. He was not happy. He squalled and bawled. I was sitting up there as he took dislodging maneuvers, which including biting my foot.. I was doing OK until Dad opened the gate to the range. Tag went through the gate and then he stopped and began bucking with a serious bad attitude. Now to stop the bucking I decided to pull his head around to my knee. I gave a mighty heave and the rein broke. Not to be deterred I pulled on the right rein. Yup it broke. Tag bucked until he was getting tired. I made no effort to dismount because the ground was too far away. I don’t think that horse moved two feet. He was pounding the ground. My back and neck hurt for a couple days. He hesitated and I jumped off. Last time I ever used fancy good looking reins. I put cinch straps on. They are heavy leather and about two inches wide. Tag only bucked two more times. The next time was the next day. I was a couple miles from the house. Tag and I were learning to trust each other. All was well until a friend of Dad’s wanted to film a bucking horse. Dad got close in a pickup and blew the horn. The rodeo was on. I was pissed, but I had my hands full. The last time he bucked was when he was loaned to the neighbors to move cows. They saddled him and hopped on. No leading or checking the saddle. Tag took offense and threw the rider in the dirt. They regrouped and started over. He permitted them to ride. My grandfather was in his late 70’s. He liked to ride Tag. They got along very well. Tag knew what to do and Granddad just sat there and enjoyed the ride. Granddad was maybe 5’6” and Tag weighed over 1500 pounds. If Tag turned too quick he would pivot and catch granddad before he could fall. It was fun to watch. Granddad looked like a mouse on a large horse.