It's funny how things in your life seem to connect if you live
long enough. I was on the internet looking for things to do
in October. The usual popped up. Pumpkin Festivals, Haunted
Houses, and Hayrides. Hayrides, hmm. What fun that would be.
Right? Wrong!
In 1969, our club, Tri Hi Y was at a friends house working
on our float for the Forest Park High School Homecoming
Parade. I was 10 minutes late for curfew. That cost me our
Church's Hayride that Sunday. To make matters worse, we
passed the hayride on our way home from Shoney's.
It wasn't until Hawaii that I finally got to do it. It was a
Halloween Haunted Hayride. The funniest " scary" scene
was a Spam factory where they ground up body parts to
make Hawaii's most popular canned food. It made us all
hungry. Then it all went terribly wrong.
The event was held at a decommissioned military base, next
to a horse farm. You have to pass the corrals to get inside.
There was food, games, and you got to ride ponies and horses.
When we left, we passed the same corrals, but this time, one of
the horses was at the fence. He leaned over like the others at
the rides, so I petted him.
He walked along with us, he'd stop, I'd pet him, walk, pet,
you get the picture. Well, we were ready to cross the street,
he leaned over, I said good-bye, pet him, and started to turn
around when he bit me just above my left breast. He lifted me
off the ground, then dropped me flat on my back. I was in
total shock for a minute. I couldn't believe what just happened.
Others on their way home, some with children, had been doing
the same thing with him. They ran over to see if I was alright
and said that I should report it to the event. We went back but
couldn't find security or anyone to help. We waited, then left
and went straight to the emergency room at the hospital.
The next day we went back to talk to the people in charge before
it opened. We told them what had happened and suggested that
they keep the horses at the back corrals because others could get
hurt, maybe even children. Needless to say, they were not in the
least bit concerned or sorry. They blamed me for getting to close
despite the fact that all evening the public had been interacting
with the other horses. Here's the kicker. They said the horses'
name was "Bubba" and that he was a biter. Well, duh! Why was
he allowed out where visitors would come in contact with him?
The bruising, complete with teeth marks lasted for several
months. The pain was incredible and lasted about a year.
I have scar tissue under the skin the size of the palm of my
hand. At that time, The Director of Hawaii 's Humane
Society, said that was the worse reported horse bite.
A claim to fame with pain.
The lesson here is that not all horses are like "Flicka" on T.V.
As a child I entered a raffle for a pony, but didn't win. I've
always loved horses and have ridden them several times.
After that incident , I was a little afraid of them for awhile.
In Colorado, I kept my distance. I started photographing
them, from afar, at first. It was like therapy. I'm still nervous
around them, but, through my lens, I can feel close.
I'll never know why Bubba did it. I'm not sure if it
even matters anymore. The doctors said that I was lucky
that I wore a fleece jacket that night. It could have been worse
if he had gotten the skin. Still, "I've got him under my skin".
Moral. I wish Daddy had grounded me from hayrides
for life.
2013
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