Shetland Pony Gone Wild(Gordon England) Don't Ride Shetland Ponies

My Grandmother owned a ranch in Kyle, Texas, not far south of Austin. Grandma and Grandpa lived in San Antonio and were weekend ranchers; locals called them city slickers. Grandpa divided the several hundred-acre ranch into three areas. He leased out forty acres of creek and flood land to a farmer who grew cotton, corn, and wheat. Grandma’s ranch house lay on top of a hill overlooking a 10-acre lake down in a valley. Grandpa fenced off the house and lake to keep cows, and especially cow patties, away from the house. A rancher leased the rest of Grandma’s land to run 21 cows and a couple of horses on it.
I was six years old in 1960 when Grandpa bought two Shetland ponies and kept them inside the lake and house acreage to keep them from mixing with the rancher’s cows and horses. He wanted me and my sisters to learn how to ride. He thought small 42-inch Shetlands would be easier for his grandchildren to ride than large horses. Grandpa also bought a coach for the ponies to pull us around the ranch.
He didn’t know Shetlands need constant attention or they grow wild. Initially, I learned to ride King, the larger male with thick black hair, on a saddle with relative ease, but I was too large to ride Queen, a smaller brown female. They pulled the coach at a good pace. We had a lot of fun playing with the Shetlands.
Grandpa drove to the farm to feed and brush his ponies twice a week, but he was too old to ride them. They gradually lost their training, becoming difficult to deal with.
One day my family went to the ranch to ride ponies. Dad harnessed them to the coach, and my sisters, Mother, and I drove around the house and lake for a while, enjoying a summer day and lush green grass fields. We finished our ride and took the coach back to the garage where Dad unhooked it. Mom and Dad drove down to the lake to fish and picnic while I stayed with the beautiful ponies. After tying King to a tree, I fed and brushed him, though he fussed and pulled away from me.
I decided to ride him down to the lake and picnic with my family. I didn’t know how to put on King’s heavy saddle, so I decided to ride him bareback like Indians on TV. I held onto the reins and climbed onto King’s back. He snorted and jumped around a bit, but I used the reins to settle him down. He behaved well as I walked him around the house for a while. Time to go to the lake. I turned him through large oaks toward a gravel road. I loosened the reins and kicked his stomach. King took off like a bolt of lightning. Oh, what fun going so fast. I didn’t realize that my small legs weren’t strong enough to keep me on his bare back. I yelled whoa, whoa, and pulled back on the reins. To no avail. On the gravel road, he found high gear going downhill, ignoring my pleas to stop.
My legs gave out, and I slid off to one side. My reins didn't help, so I grabbed King's long mane as I swung under his neck. I desperately hooked my legs and hands around his neck as he galloped at full speed. I screamed now in fear. I stayed on as long as possible, but my arms and legs finally gave out. I fell onto the gravel road under that crazy pony. I bounced, and a front hoof landed on my chest. That hurt bad, but he's back hoof landing above my eye knocked me out.
Mom and Dad heard me screaming and ran to my scraped and bruised body. When I did not respond, they bandaged my bloody spots and drove home to a doctor in San Antonio. I didn’t wake up for several hours. The doctor cleaned me up and said my head wound concerned him. I stayed in bed a couple of days to recover from numerous scabs and scratches. I recovered soon after, with no problems.
This accident ended my horse riding days for many years. I eventually rode horses on occasion but did not care for it. Grandpa sold his Shetlands, and we didn’t ride horses anymore at the ranch. Many years later, a doctor told me I had what appeared to be six concussions. I know King gave me the first one.

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