Horses and traffic don’t mix. I learned that early on in life when my first roping horse, a mare by the name of Tie, died after getting loose at a rodeo. She belonged to my good friend, Jason Thomson, and a car took her life as she ran into a busy highway. Tie taught me how to rope and she was my best friend. Losing her was a really hard moment in my life.
I almost relived that moment this past week when Frenchie broke his lead rope, got loose and tried to cross a busy road. I love that horse so much it was the worst moment of the trip thus far. As a Long Rider, you try to do everything humanly possible to keep your best friends safe, but sometimes things happen that are out of your reach.
“Your horse is loose and about to walk on the road,” is the last thing I hear.
I jump off of my seat and start running as fast as I can. Every step I take my heart sinks deeper and deeper. The sound of screeching tires pierce my ears as headlights blind me. My best friend, my child, my Frenchie is about to walk into the path of an oncoming truck and there is nothing I can do.
As the world stops revolving, everything transitions into slow motion. I hear a horrible tump followed by the bending of metal as Frenchie folds onto the hood of the truck and then hits the ground. Sparks fly from his shoes. I continue running.
As he stands up startled, he takes off into incoming traffic. I am petrified as I see the headlights of transport trucks headed our way. Yelling his name I manage to run over and get him turned around. As he runs back into the pasture where he was tied up, a transport truck nearly smokes me.
Out of breath and with tears running down my face, I manage to grab Frenchie’s lead rope. He is shaking with fear. I run my hand across his body to his neck as I softly talk to him.
“It’s going to be okay buddy,” I whisper into his ear as I pet his neck.
I inspect his body for cuts and broken bones. His lip is busted, his left side is scraped up and his back left leg is sore. It’s dark, so it’s hard to really know how badly hurt he is, but it seems like that’s it.
As I tie him back next to Dude, I go to speak with the driver of the truck. He is not happy.
“The truck needs major work, you will have to pay for this,” he tells me.
I tell him I will pay for whatever the truck needs.
“We can take the truck to a garage in the morning and get it all figured out,” I say.
“No, it cannot be tomorrow. How will I know you won’t run away, I need the money now. At least 5000 pesos,” he exclaims.
I explain to him how I don’t have 5000 pesos cash on me but he isn’t having it. The owners of the restaurant where we are staying try to reason with him as I go back to Frenchie.
Still startled, I scratch his head and talk to him. Blood drips from his lip as tears run down my face. This is a nightmare. It has to be.
I try to think of what to do. “I need a vet to check Frenchie right now,” this is the only thought that surfaces.
I am a strong believer in faith. Sometimes it is hard to understand why you are meeting someone in the moment, but later on down the road it all makes sense. Less than half an hour before the accident, a truck and trailer pulled over where I was cutting grass for the horses. Inside was a group of charros returning from a competition.
“We saw you riding this morning when we were going to the charriada and I knew you were on a long journey. Take my number in case you need anything, I have a ranch right by here,” José de Jesus Figueroa Chavez said to me.
Standing next to Frenchie I call him and explain what has just happened. In 10 minutes my new friend is there to take the horses and I to his ranch.
“Thank you so much José,” I say as we begin our drive.
“We horseman have a universal bond, you need support and I am happy to be here for you,” he tells me.
Taking my mind off of what has just happened José asks me about the trip and the horses. Soon enough we pull into his ranch and unload the boys. He calls a vet, who arrives immediately to look at Frenchie and stitch his lip.
I cannot thank Jose enough for his help. If it wasn’t for him I don’t know what I would have done on the side of that dark road. He got the driver of the truck to stop harassing me and leave. He offered a safe home for my ponies and I. And he treated me like a brother. I will never forget this amazing man.
It is a miracle that Frenchie walked away from this horrific accident with only a cut lip and a sore leg. The more I get to know this horse, the more he amazes me. His registered name is Frenchemans Tru Angel and I am beginning to think that he is just that.
