Horses are beautiful animals. Some of them have a grace and form that is striking. I love to watch them when they run across the field with their mane and tail flowing in the wind. It is almost poetic. Then there was Bonnie, our old brown work horse. There was nothing graceful about her. Of course, I only knew Bonnie when she was old and blind in one eye. But she is worthy of a short story. Being the youngest in my family, I had heard many stories about the good service Old Bonnie had given over the years. My dad said it seemed as if she knew what to do without being told. My older brothers and Old Bonnie worked hard helping Dad on the farm. They plowed and prepared the ground for planting crops and garden. Then came the harvest. They hauled the yield to storage in the barn, granary, corn crib and cellar with Bonnie pulling the sled.
Old Bonnie helped get our wood supply for winter. My dad and the boys would go up the hill behind our house and cut down some trees using cross cut saws. Then they trimmed the limbs off and the log was hooked to Old Bonnie. She pulled it off the hill to the woodshed. There, it was cut into sticks of wood for heating. When my four older brothers were drafted into the military during World War II, my youngest brother Carl and my sisters had to take their place. They worked with Dad and Old Bonnie and never had a problem with the horse. Orba, Carrie and Pearl hooked her up to a wooden sled and went to our upper pasture land in Virginia. There, they picked buckets full of blackberries, loaded them on the sled and Bonnie took them to Great Uncle John’s store to sell. Mom expected them to buy clothes or shoes. Nope! They went straight to my Great Uncle Isam’s house and bought a big pump organ from Aunt Lanta. Old Bonnie brought that home on the sled, too.
My sister, Pearl, used to put a sack of corn that she had shelled off the cob across Old Bonnie’s back. And then rode her quite aways down Helton Creek to a mill where the corn was ground into cornmeal. It was a little coarse and had to be sifted, but it made good cornbread. I loved to eat the crust with butter while it was still hot. Old Bonnie’s reputation remained untarnished until she ripped the seat out of my brother Clarence’s pants. She got a hold with her teeth and just pulled. I don’t know if she was paying him back for something or what? Pearl said Old Bonnie laughed about what she had done. But I don’t think Clarence laughed at all.
After my brothers and sisters left home, it was my turn to work with Old Bonnie helping Dad. My experience with horses was none. I always avoided Bonnie because she looked at me with her good eye like she didn’t like me. Old Bonnie had worked hard all week. On Friday, Dad had her hooked to a big square metal harrow to work up the ground on the hill. At twelve years old, I thought I was big enough to guide Bonnie around the field with the harrow. Wrong. The horse went too far up in the corner before I pulled on the reins. She turned to the left too sharp and the harrow stood straight up on its side. Dad had to straighten that out and he was not very happy. Later that evening Dad said Bonnie was hitched to the fence post up at the barn and for me to ride her up to the lower pasture land in Virginia and turn her loose. That was a first for me. And the last, but I didn’t know it at the time.
Old Bonnie watched me suspiciously as I approached. She stood there with only a bridle on her head and a sack thrown over her back. When I climbed up on the rail fence, I was able to throw my leg across Bonnie’s back. I unhooked the bridle and we were on our way. Bonnie walked nicely around our narrow hill road. She had gone that way hundreds of times before. Then when we reached the little dirt road and turned right, Bonnie knew where she was going and I just had to hang on. The horse took off running as fast as she could. First I would be up in the air and then hanging off one side or the other. That old dirt road looked hard and it was going to hurt when I landed. But I hung on. My wild ride would have put the headless horseman to shame. Somehow I did manage to keep my head. When we reached the gate that opened into the field, Bonnie stopped. Her sides were heaving and I was pretty shook up. When I got ready to slide down off her back, Bonnie turned her head around and tried to bite me on the leg. I attempted to slip off the other side and it was the same. Here came the teeth. That went on for awhile and I believe she really enjoyed it. Finally I got off, left her standing there and came home. I cannot write here what my dad said. He was just worn out. He had to walk a mile up in Virginia to take care of Bonnie and walk back. I was in the bed by the time he came home. I thought that was the best place to be. Everything seemed better the next morning. Dad didn’t say anything about Old Bonnie and I didn’t either. I still think horses are beautiful animals, but I will keep my distance and admire them from afar.
