The Best decision Ever | A Horse Story

By: Keri O’Neal

After years of pleading with my mother, circling classified ads, and annually attending the Scottsdale Arabian Horse Show I finally convinced my mother to buy me my very own Arabian. We already had two horses, a very sweet but slightly crippled mare and an unruly Thoroughbred gelding, both given to us, but I was in love with the proud and beautiful Arabian. I suppose it all stemmed back to Walter Farely’s magical series: The Black Stallion.

I have been riding since I was five years old. The last couple of years I had been training as a hunter/jumper. I was what you would call an experienced rider. I had ridden many horses, some less well trained than others, and many with issues of some sort or another, and I always rode reasonably well. Many said I had a natural talent, whether true or not, I did know that I was born to ride.

So, I decided that when I bought my new horse, it would be a young horse, not yet corrupted by bad or just plain mean riders. The horse would at least be in tune to my idiosyncrasies alone. It would also provide me with an excellent experience. Though never receiving anything less than a 4.0 GPA in school, I did not know exactly what I wanted to do with my life, but I did know that I wanted to eventually breed and train horses.

My mother’s best friend, Jone, has an Arabian of her own that she loves dearly, a very special mare that she shows despite her inherent fear of horses. One day, shortly after my mother finally consented to another horse, Jone informed us that her trainer had a beautiful little chestnut colt for sale. She encouraged us to take a look at him, because she believed that he would be perfect for me. I was excited by this recommendation, yet a bit reluctant all the same.

I had previously decided that I really wanted a filly, one that I could breed when she was older, but my parents and I decided that it would be good experience to take a look at a multitude of horses before buying one. My mother and I went to Jone’s barn with her to point us in the colt’s direction and look at our first prospect.

A little scratched up face greeted me. Jone had warned us that he had run into a tree branch during his turn out time about a week before, so he would have a lot of scratches and blue ointment on his face, all around his eye. It was endearing, to see such a supposedly graceful animal as a klutz. My family is full of klutzes, so he already fit in.

Despite the cuts on his face, he really was quite beautiful. A large colt for his age, he promised to be a large Arab. His coat was amazingly red, in the sun it shone deeper and more beautiful than burnished copper, and his heavy mane and tail like spun gold. He had a big star that led into a blaze that ended in snip. His two left legs had stockings and his right legs had pasterns. I told myself no, there would be fillies just as beautiful. Besides, did I really want a clumsy horse?

While standing in his stall with him, he was friendlier than any horse I had ever met. He wanted to be a part of whatever I was doing. When I held my hand out for him to sniff, he smelled me quickly, then immediately began licking my hands. If I were to turn around to talk to my mother outside the stall, he would gently pull my sweatshirt’s sleeve with his lips until I returned my attention to him. He loved being pet, and scratching him on the top of his withers brought him immense joy. I stopped fighting with myself right then. I needed to have this horse in my life, this 9 month old colt named Bascat.

Four years later, I still believe that buying Bascat was the best decision I have ever made. I do not know if I could have broken any other horse so untrusting of other humans bareback, using only a halter and lead rope. The close relationship between me and my horse, which is so reminiscent of Alec and The Black from Walter Farely’s books, gave me direction in life. With Bascat for inspiration, I decided to become a veterinarian specializing in equine reproduction.