I was 14 years old when my parents moved our family away from Bay Village, Ohio, to settle in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Unbeknownst to me, my parents secretly devised a plan to purchase my first horse for me when I was 14 years old. The horse was to help me transition when my father’s work moved my family away from Bay Village, Ohio, to Indiana, where we settled in the city of Fort Wayne. At the time, I was grieving the loss of Bay Village, a city I still love and hold dear, and my departure from a growing career as an actress.
For 53 years, I remained under the impression that I stumbled upon Missy, or Miss Hard Rock 27, by accident, until I year ago when I heard the full story. The wonder of having my very own horse, indeed erased my grief and fed my fanatical horse crazy love. Most importantly, this beautiful horse helped me through some pretty difficult years. She was a friend I could lean upon, balm for my hurting soul.
I first met Missy on a sunny, but cold winter morning in early December. She was a stunning bay, appendix Quarter Horse. A two-year-old, meaning she was still a baby and growing. She had suffered a life-threatening bout of shipping fever (a potentially life-threatening infection) during her transportation from Amarillo, Texas to Indiana, and had suffered a bad injury to her right back pastern. Her countenance was sad, detached and she was horribly neglected. I approached her gently, fearless, drawn to her delicious horsey smell. And as I petted her neck cooing quietly, she brought her nose to my side.
I was shocked and thrilled when the next day my mother agreed to drive me over to see Missy again. This time I was allowed two hours with her.
Nickle size burs had tangled the strands to Missy’s mane, into tight masses that gathered along the growth line running along the top of her neck. Instead of taking a suggestion that I shave her mane off, I removed my gloves and patiently untangled every single bur from her mane revealing long silky strands of thick, black hair. Her heavy winter coat was also thick, with her ears particularly fluffy and I nicknamed her “fluffy ears.”
When my father, who is seriously allergic to anything with fur, said he would buy Missy for me, I was shocked and absolutely ecstatic. Dad paid $200.00 for her (at least that’s what I was told)! A week later, my family traveled back to Bay Village to celebrate Christmas. I carried with me a photo of my new horse. When we returned to Indiana, we moved Missy into a small stable, where my adventures with her and a used saddle and bridle began.
I was told that Missy was “green broke.” I was “green broke” too. I didn’t have much experience working around or with horses. However, my book knowledge on horse care really came in handy. I was even able to detect Missy’s first colic, a serious condition usually caused by an obstruction in a horse’s gut.
Because Missy and I quickly bonded, she allowed me to saddle her up and accepted the bit, but once I mounted—that became a different story. Skills I had developed while studying ballet in Cleveland, Ohio, sculpted my natural balance. Still, I rode under saddle, stiff and unsure, because I didn’t know how to ride and because Missy had the tendency to do the unexpected. Like the time, she reared up, hit my forehead with the poll of her head, and knocked me out. When I came to, Missy hadn’t moved, and I was still sitting in the saddle.
Several months later, I moved Missy onto a sweet little barn, nestled on the property of a wonderful family. The new barn had a good-sized pasture where Missy could graze, and I could ride. Adjacent to the barn was a wood that we could explore, in addition there were fields and plenty of dirt roads at our disposal.
One day in the early spring, while Missy was grazing, I vaulted onto her bare back. Immediately she broke into a canter and promptly, bucked me off. I vaulted back on. She sent me flying. This repetitive process continued for several days. Then, like a miracle, one afternoon I rode her as she cantered the diameters of the pasture. She ran until she was spent. What’s more I didn’t fall off! It was an exhilarating sensation and great sense of accomplishment. I spent the next hour and a half sitting on her under the Indiana sun while she grazed.
As the summer months progressed, I spent many long afternoons simply sitting on Missy, surrounded by a beautiful field growing corn. When the sun made me drowsy, I turned around and sat backward so I could lower my head to rest on her ample rump. There were occasions when I fell asleep. Missy and I had developed that kind of relaxed trust!
By all accounts, Missy, was my first riding instructor because of the long hours I spent sitting on her bareback. I began to pay attention to how my body responded to every movement she made. A shift of her weight also adjusted my weight. Every step she took in turn moved my legs and hips and seat (an equestrian term for bottom). I began to walk with Missy’s steps, which smoothed out the ride into a rhythmic harmony between us. Once established, the skill easily transitioned into her other gaits. Because of the close contact, bareback became was my favorite way to ride.
It wasn’t long until my adventurous side prompted me to saddle up so Missy and I could explore the woods, roadways, and fields around us. We spent our autumn’s riding through harvested fields. We began to have close encounters with wildlife. Such as the late afternoon we entered a field and Missy suddenly stopped moving. Pinning her ears attentively forward, she stared across to the other side where a stag and doe stood at attention watching us as two baby fawns frolicked carefree. That’s when I discovered that wildlife allows people to draw closer when they’re riding a horse.
I often rode Missy over to my house! And I swear if I had let her, she would have walked right through the front door. Twice while she and I were riding along a road, someone stopped me and asked if I would sell her.
“Absolutely not!”
One man replied, “Well there’s always a price.”
I firmly countered, “Not for this horse.”
My favorite memories with Missy, were the rides that we took in the woods after a heavy snowfall. On such occasions I drove to the barn to saddle her up, before the snow could be disturbed. We entered the woods at a walk, into the folds of an enchanted winter wonderland. It was like walking through the wardrobe in Narnia. The canopy of branches was encased in ice. Everything in sight was covered with heavy snow. The bitter temperature enhanced the experience. The only sounds were of Missy’s hooves crunching against the frozen ground and her occasional snort. In silence, together, we drank in the tranquility. These rides were gifts, unique to that stage in my life. I’ve never experienced anything like them since.
For twelve years, Missy and I shared many carefree ventures in the vast playland that was richly accessible to us in the 1970’s. Sadly, just a few months ago (fall 2024), I revisited that place and discovered that all of the land has been developed into housing additions. The barn and the woods are now gone and the dirt roads rerouted and paved.
In 1977, I married my husband, Jeff. We moved Missy to a barn closer to our new house. I was busy working at a department store during the weekdays and often rehearsing or performing in a theatrical production at night. Jeff was finishing his degree in Business Administration and studying for the CPA exam. And then, our world took an unexpected turn; I became pregnant.
Immediately I fell in love with the tiny being growing inside of me. Suddenly, all of my goals and ambitions for the future now included motherhood. Shortly after my son Christopher was born, Jeff and I could no longer afford the luxury of having a horse. I had to sell Missy and passed her on to a young girl who mirrored my younger self and needed a horse to show. However, I deeply grieved her loss and vowed to never sell a horse again! I never did!
Chris was fourteen months old when Jeff and I moved from Fort Wayne to the city of Indianapolis. One of the first things I did after we set up our home was to find a stable where I could ride and take lessons. At least I would be around horses, but it wasn’t the same. I needed the companionship of a horse in my life that I could call my own. It would be about five years before my next companion came my way.