Oh wow. Um… I guess that would have to be the first time I rode Zeke. My first horse was a paint gelding named Tex. I’d always been riding but he was the first one that was really, truly mind. I adored him and he was everything to me… and I was thrown off of him nearly every time I got on his back. When we went to test ride him the previous owner had drugged him, sedated him so that he would be easy to control. When I got him home he was a bronc. Finally, after around two years I had to give up on him… we sold him, and I was completely heart broken.
Then my grandmother signed me up for riding lessons. I was scared and hurt and distrustful and riding had started to be something to fear rather than to look forward to. That’s when I met Zeke… a HUGE quarter horse cross with eyes like wild fire. It took everything in me to get up in that saddle, but that ride reminded me why I loved horses so much in the first place. I was flying. I was free. I was home.
I started riding when I was two, maybe three years old. My aunt had this chestnut mare named Debbie and she was my horse, as far as I was concerned. I’m too young to really remember why I got on the horse for the first time, but I kept riding because I loved it. I remember galloping full speed across the field and having my grandmother come screaming after me. Good times.