The first time I saw Rebel,
he was just a tiny little weanling, scooting away from me when I reached
out to touch his bright bay side. His dam belonged to my aunt and my dad
laughingly offered her $20 for the colt. Of course, my aunt refused. The
year was 1968, and I was 10 years old.
I saw quite a bit of Rebel
over the next couple of years. He grew to be at least 16 hands, and was the
spookiest horse I ever saw. He shied violently at any little imaginable thing.
He bucked. He jigged. He scared me, and though I preferred the safety of
a smaller horse, my more foolish cousins would ride Rebel. They usually got
bucked off. I remember thinking how glad I was that I didn't have to ride
him. He was a huge handful of horse. But oh, he was so damned
beautiful.
When Reb was two, my dad
bought him for me. I wanted a horse, but not this one. Still, beggars
can't be choosers, and I took Reb home with me. We boarded him a rented pasture
with a lean-to. It was right next to the railroad tracks and was nothing
but a very, very steep hill. He was there by himself.
I always rode bareback,
and didn't change for Rebel. He never threw me off. I fell off doing foolish
young girl things, but he never bucked me off. He went sideways a lot, and
still shied at any mailbox or guardrail he saw - even the ones he saw daily.
He was just playing with me.
For the next 3 years, I lived on that horse. We were together every day,
for hours at a time. No piece of land was left unexplored, no water was left
unforded. I took him in parades - he was fine but refused to cross the bridge.
So, if I needed to get into town, we would swim the river. We swam in ponds
together in the summer (he loved the water!) and loped through huge snow
drifts in the winter. We jumped 5 foot tall obstacles for the fun of it.
I taught him to rear on command too - not the brightest thing to teach a
horse I now know, but back then, it was just so darned cool!!!
When he would get loose (which was often), he would follow the railroad
tracks to my backyard and hang out around the house till I saw he
was there. Whenever the phone would ring in my first period 9th grade English class, all the kids would turn around and say, "Donna, your
horse is loose.". And usually it was my mom, saying she was coming
to get me so I could go catch Rebel. When he got loose and I wasn't
home, he would either go up to a dairy farm to hang out with the
cows or, yikes, he would trot up to the snootiest section of town,
the hill we called 'Snobs Nob'. The grass was really much greener
and richer and tastier there. My mom would be so upset when he went
up there, but who could blame him? The lawns were so large and manicured.
Besides, as soon as he saw me get out of the car, he would start
walking towards me, knowing the gig was up.
No one was safe on that horse except me. If anyone tried to ride him, he would take off on them, then stop and put his head down so they'd fall off. Used to be good for a laugh.
I had Rebel for 3 years, and I can easily say that they were
the best 3 years of my life. However, it was to end way too soon.
The people who owned the pasture sold it to be used as a landfill.
I could not bear losing my friend. I went door to door, trying to
find a farmer who would hire a skinny teenage girl in exchange for
letting her horse stay there. No one was interested. So I rode Rebel
the 15 miles to my cousin's farm, where he got in trouble for jumping
the fence and chasing the milking cows.
Finally, I rode Reb back home and kept him with an older girl who
I often rode with. She was abusive to her own horses, and, sure
enough, the day came when I went up to hug my horse and he was head
shy. It was over.
Rebel was sold to my best friend, who could not handle him. He was sold again to a girl about 50 miles away. I visited him when I could but wasn't old enough to drive there myself. In a couple of years, he was sold again to a woman even farther away who made it clear I was not welcome there.
Rebel was my best friend, my rock during some tough teenage years.
Not a day goes by that I do not think of him and miss him. Though
he would be almost 37 years old now, if I could find him I would
bring him home to me in a heartbeat, even if it was just to say goodbye
again. I am sure my old friend is gone, but he will always have a
special place in my heart, and own a huge hunk of my
soul.
Rebel, I love you, and hope you are waiting for me at the Bridge.
I hope when I get there that I'm once again able to vault onto your
shiny red back. Thank you for everything, my big bay man. See you
around.
Donna
