Confession: I’m Afraid of Horses

by Rease Kirchner

I said it. I am afraid of horses. Those strong, majestic creatures everyone seems to adore so much? I don’t want to be anywhere near them.

I wasn’t always this way. I, like every other young girl, loved horses at one time. I combed the hair of My Little Ponies and occasionally slipped “pony” on my Christmas list. This was all before I met Princess.

I Love Princess

Princess was a gorgeous white pony. My family did not vacation very often, but when I was around 7 years old, we got to venture out to a ranch and go for a horseback ride. My brothers were excited, but I was ecstatic. I bounced about, asking my mother a thousand questions, dreaming of finding a pink pony with a purple mane and perhaps a sparkly butterfly stamped on its butt. When we finally arrived, my whole family received their horses before me. I was ready to put on my best pouty face when finally, I was shown to my very special pony, named Princess. The guide assured me that she was just for little girls like me. I was in love.

Princess Pisses Me Off

I tried to remember that love when Princess started misbehaving during the ride. It started out small, she kept stopping to snack on the plants and ignoring my insistent pulling on the reigns. But hey, I was a pudgy kid, I knew that sometimes you just get hungry. However, Princess began to shun the plants on the edge of the trail and venturing into the woods. The guide continuously had to circle back and wrangle my pony back onto the trail. I was now being whipped in the face by branches and I had burrs in my hair. Princess was getting on my nerves.

We finally got near the end of the trail, and that is when all hell broke loose. These horses were so used to the trail that they knew when they were towards the end and tended to speed up their trot just a tad. Princess, on the other hand, took off like a bat out of hell. One second she is snacking on some greenery and the next she is running like a race horse gunning for the win.

Flying Through the Air

I was small and unprepared, so I nearly flew right off her back. I grabbed wildly, pulling at her mane, which only made her run faster. My hat flew off my head and I began to slide right off the saddle. I was scared so I did what any 7 year old girl would do in that situation- I screamed like a banshee.

Now, you might guess that my screams did not bode well with dear Princess. She sprinted faster, putting more distance between us and the tour guide who was racing after us trying to calm us both down. By the time we got back to the ranch I was bawling, screaming and clawing at the pony for dear life. Princess was home, but she was not finished. She kept on running, almost as if she were doing sprints. She began bucking,trying to rid herself of her oppressive rider. In the end, the tour guide had to pull his horse in front of Princess and allow her to run into him head first.

Fear Ingrained for Life

Once I was free, the tour guide sheepishly handed me my Aladdin baseball cap that had flown off during the debacle as if that would make up for everything. He tried to explain that my screaming had made it worse, which is of course true but in no way comforting to a scarred 7 year old girl.

I spent the next several years of my life trying to get over this fear. One of my closest friends was a competitive equestrian who often took me to the stables. Each time I came close to a horse they sensed my fear and began braying and kicking like mad. I did not ride a horse again until 2006, in Mendoza, Argentina. Based on the fact that the title of this article is “I’m Afraid of Horses” and not “I Used to Be Afraid of Horses” I think we all know that something went wrong.

Back in the Saddle Again

I was in Los Andes with a group of students. We had just gone on a hike and were told there was a part of the mountain that we could only visit if we rode a horse. I quickly declined and parked myself near the desserts leftover from lunch. My friends, however, scoffed at my silly fear. They assured me that there would be no Princess disasters this time. They threw out crap like “it’s Argentina!” “Once in a lifetime!” “It’s just a quick ride!” and eventually, I agreed.

I explained to the gaucho that I would require the most mild-tempered horse he could offer me. I don’t know if my Spanish was really that bad or if this guy just loved a good joke because he set me up with a horse named Camarero, which means bartender.

My Horse Might Be Drunk

It certainly seemed like my horse had a drinking problem, because didn’t make it too far before he went crazy. As we approached a steep path, he decided to take the steeper side with a stream running down it. As my horse galloped and slipped up the steep mountainside I heard the gauchos screaming at me to lay down. It took me a minute to register the words “vas a caerte!” (you’re going to fall!). Once I came to my senses I laid down and clung to Camarero’s neck. When we made it to the top I was fairly shook up and hoping this whole godforsaken ride would be over soon.

Camerero was a loner, so he stood on a precarious-looking edge of the mountain and grazed by himself. When another horse came into his grazing area, he immediately became agitated. He huffed and brayed at the horse and started kicking his front hooves. Let’s just remember that I am on this angry horse’s back and if the front hooves are being kicked, I am basically being dumped off his back and looking over a bunch of rocks that are meant to catch me should I fall. I told the other student to kindly get his horse the hell away from my psychotic one immediately. I’d had enough. I called over a gaucho and asked to get down. I walked the rest of the way, occasionally shooting glares at Camarero and my friends who had given me false hope.

Alas, horses and I simply do not mix. I will never again listen to a well-intentioned friend try to convince me to give them another shot and I pity the man who thinks he can win me over with a horse-drawn carriage.

Rease Kirchner a staff writer/Travel Advisor for Travelated. She is a US citizen currently living the ex-pat life in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She is bilingual and an experienced traveler. She loves gaining and sharing knowledge of local cultures, customs and adventure. Her blog Mi Vida en Buenos Aires documents her life as a foreigner.

Featured image by Squeezyboy