Wish I had that one back...

Looking through old pictures from jackpots back during my high school days make me run the full gamut of emotions--from sentimental to smiling, giggling to bawling. A picture of me on Slick at Nowata reminded me of the first time I ever won the 1D on him---the picture wasn't of that winning run, but of the week before it, when I was a half second off of placing in the 1D. I fell in the crack between the 1D and the 2D that week, but was determined to ride better and not fall in the crack next week when we ran.
I was so proud that my horse was coming along so well! I'd only started him on barrels a few months before that, and was the only one who'd ever taken him through the barrels. Slick was really laid back that evening, and was a breeze to warm up. He'd progressed to the point that I just hauled and ran him, no more exhibitions before we ran. The ground was always good there, and my horse felt awesome under me. He felt waspy, just full of energy. He wasn't trying to run off or buck, but he sure wanted to move! Three or four really tough horses ran before us, but I always made it a point then not to watch the "competition"...I guess it was a mental thing for me then, just like it is now. (I was horrible about not catching the times that I ran then, I always just hung around to see if my name was called.)
When it finally came our turn, we were at the bottom of the ground, but that wasn't much of an issue there because it was always so deep and they watered it so well most of the time. I knew we were going to make an awesome run after he turned the first barrel-I could hardly catch my breath to smooch him around the second barrel! I was carrying a bat, and swatted him once going to the third barrel--I thought he was running hard before, but he grabbed a higher gear I didn't know he had! Just as quick as he had hit that stride, he rated then blew out of the third hard enough that I lost a stirrup. I kicked for all I was worth all the way to the end of the arena. I sat back and quietly said the magic word..."Whoa." ....He slid half the length of the alley way, sending up rooster tails of dirt and groans and grumbles from the girls dumb enough to set right next to the gate and the alley way. I don't think you could've knocked the smile off my face with a baseball bat! I hadn't even been listening for the announcer to read off our time, I was too busy listening to my friends hooping and hollering at me, and let me tell ya, it was a GREAT feeling! I wouldn't let anyone tell me what we ran, I just swung down and started to uncinch my horse. He was in great shape, not even breathing too hard. By the time we got back to the trailer he was ready to graze, not too worried at all about anything. I took his boots off and let him graze around the trailer for a minute. As he ambled around at the end of his lead rope, he started sniffing for a spot to roll in. He rolled in the road around the arena, it must have been just the right type of sand, he seemed reluctant to get back up! I let him shake off then tied him up and went in search of a water hydrant to fill my little pink bucket. After drinking two full buckets, Slick resigned himself to a little hay and a nap before the ride home.
I sat in a lawn chair and tried not to listen to the times as the remaining girls ran-I was so nervous I could hardly sit still! There had been around 30 or 40 girls there that evening, with a lot of them being open caliber horses that rarely placed below the 1D. The last horse left the arena, and the announcer told every one they'd take a minute and have the results for us. They were pretty efficient, just 10 minutes later they started reading off the winners....first came first through third in the 4D...then the same for the 3D and the 2D. I felt like I was going to be sick! They'd read the 4D, 3D and the 2D, and I hadn't heard my name called yet. They started to read the 1D off as I sat on a big railroad tie, Slick's lead rope rested at my feet as he grazed behind me. They took their time to read third and second place, making sure to tell who won and what their times had been, even telling how much they'd won. I was on my way back to the trailer when I heard them announce, "And the winner of the 1D with a 16.43"....ME!!!! I jumped and squealed like I'd won the lottery, to the point of spooking my poor horse. He was sure he was about to get beat for something, after all, the only time he'd ever seen my jump around and holler was when I was furious! I couldn't hardly believe it-I tied him up to the trailer again, then ran all the way to the announcer's stand. Sure enough, I'd heard right! They had the most beautiful white envelope I'd ever seen waiting on me, with my name written across it in pretty blue ink! Let me tell ya, if I'd been able to do cartwheels, I'd have done them all the way back to the truck. I'd placed before, and won my fair share from the 4D all the way to the bottom of the 1D, but I'd never won first in the 1D before. I think I may have used all of my cell phone minutes for the month that night, I called everyone I knew! I was ecstatic!! The only person more excited than me was my Daddy, he'd given Slick to me before he went on a pipe line job the fall before, just as something to keep me occupied. "Keep him legged up for me, play around and take him through the barrels if you want." He'd had no clue that he'd turn into a seriously competitive horse in less than a year, especially with little more than "local" hauling and limited seasoning.
Part of my excitement was due to the fact that I'd trained this horse myself, the other was that I'd just a few months back sworn off barrel horses all together. A little mare that I'd been riding had flipped over backwards with me, ruining me on barrel horses as a collective group for awhile. I'd always loved rope horses, Daddy always had one or two around ever since I'd been born. They were so laid back and easy going, they were such a welcome break from the hot headed, hind leg walking bunch of barrel horses that I went through. To this day, I don't like to buy a "finished" barrel horse. It's too hard to find one that isn't crippled or crazy!
Slick was my dream horse. Something that I could turn out for a month, then catch him and leg him up, then haul him to a jackpot and get the money on him. He was pretty as they come, halter bred of all things. Coosanova and Dontcha Luv Quincy. He'd been in AQHA Western Pleasure classes his three year old year, but obviously hadn't really fit in that world. He was one of a kind, that was for sure. Heading, heeling, steer roping, those were all old hat to him when I started him on barrels. I'd rather take a team roping horse that's been there and done that and start them any day over a goofy 3 or 4 year old that's never been anywhere!
I have no doubt that in the right hands Slick could've easily carried his rider to the NFR. He was just that good. I think about him alot, more than I should I suppose. He was my constant in those last crazy years of high school, the only thing that kept me at home. I knew if I left home that the horse couldn't go with me, so I toughed it all out so that I could keep my horse. My dad would give him to me a few years later, just for me to give him right back after some family problems. He was sold to a family in Arizona back in the spring of 2005, shortly before I married my husband and found out we were expecting our first baby.
For all the happiness ahead of me, I realized that I had a little hole in my heart. I'd gone to the barn and rode him for a week or two, just to tune him up before he went west, and it may have been one of the hardest things I've ever done. As I unclipped him from the cross ties for the very last time, he refused to move, seemingly frozen in place. Naturally thinking the worse, I thought something was wrong, and began to feel joints and legs, feeling for a heightened pulse and everything in between. Nothing seemed to be wrong, he simply wouldn't budge. My emotions got the best of me when I realized that this was the last time I'd ever put him up in "his" stall, and that I'd never get to fill his water buckets or hang his hay bag again. I stood and sobbed into his mane like a little girl, to this day I'm not sure how long he stood there with me. My cell phone rang quite unceremoniously, breaking me out of my stupor. The call was from my dad, letting me know that the folks wanted him there a day earlier, that they'd already sent a bank transfer for the full amount for the horse, and that the trailer to Arizona would be there within the hour. after the call ended, I gave him a kiss on the nose and walked out of the barn. As I shut the door behind me, I heard him nicker down the the alley-and I lost it again. I couldn't go back though, it was time to move on. I kept his halter, that was the one thing I couldn't part with. It hangs in our tack room now. I don't have the heart to put it on any other horse--the lead rope is on my husband's rope halter for his sorrel horse.
*A black nylon halter with leopard trim on the nose band and cheeks isn't something that looks great on a dark gray horse, so for now, I'm happy to look at it hanging on the wall.*