Winnie The day he almost died
WINNIE
The day he almost died
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
"I'm the furthest thing from unturned / But if you wanna see the dust, well, get ready to run"
- Garth Brooks
***
We started at a walk, leaving the creek behind as the shadows stretched long and purple across the grass. I could feel Bandit’s energy building beneath me, a coiled spring ready to snap; his ears flicked forward, catching sounds I couldn't hear.
After a hundred yards, I gave him the signal—a barely-there squeeze of my calves—and he transitioned smoothly into a trot.
The rhythm was steady, a one-two, one-two beat that vibrated through my bones.
The world blurred a little at the edges, the breeze cooling the sweat on my neck, and I let out a whoop of pure, unadulterated joy.
"Come on, Beau!" I called over my shoulder. "Keep up!"
He hesitated, looking at Daisy like she was a ticking bomb, then kicked her into motion. She followed Bandit’s lead, trotting along gamely, but Beau... well, Beau looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
He bounced. Violently. Up-down-up-down, his teeth audibly clacking together with every jolt, elbows flapping like a chicken trying to achieve lift-off.
"This—ow—is not—ow—as smooth as it—ow—looks!" he shouted, his voice vibrating with every impact.
I laughed outright, the sound carried away by the wind. "Post! Rise up in the stirrups on the 'up' beat! Find the rhythm!"
"I don't have a rhythm! I have a bruised tailbone! It feels like riding a jackhammer!"
Pops’ laughter rumbled from behind us, warm and rich. "Keep at it, son. You’ll find your seat eventually. Or you'll just go numb."
We crested a small hill, the trail opening into a wide meadow dotted with wild grasses and the occasional cottonwood tree. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting everything in shades of copper and gold. It was too perfect not to run.
"Let’s canter!" I yelled back. "Just a light one—give 'em their heads!"
Before Beau could protest—or figure out how to stop—I leaned forward.
Bandit didn't need to be told twice. He surged into a canter, his gait smoothing out into a powerful, rolling motion.
The wind whipped my braid behind me, the ground eating up beneath us, and for a moment, it was just me and him—flying free.
Daisy, sensing the fun and refusing to be left behind, picked up speed to keep pace.
"Winnie!" Beau let out a yelp that was equal parts excitement and sheer terror. "Slow down! I think I’m gonna—"
His words were cut off by a blur of brown fur.
A massive jackrabbit burst from the brush, shooting directly across Daisy’s path like a missile.
The mare spooked hard—head throwing up, eyes rolling white—and bolted sideways.
She broke into a full, panicked gallop, veering sharply off the trail and straight toward a cluster of jagged limestone rocks.
Beau didn't stand a chance.
He lost his stirrup instantly. His hat flew off, tumbling into the dust, and his body slammed against her neck as he clawed desperately for the saddle horn, the reins, anything.
"Beau!" I shouted, the name tearing from my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs.
This wasn't funny anymore. Daisy’s gallop was uncontrolled, her panic feeding off his terror, and she was heading straight for a low-hanging oak branch that looked suspiciously like a guillotine.
One wrong step. One hit. This is how people died.
Fear knifed through me, sharp and cold, but instinct took over. I shoved the panic down deep. Bandit sensed the shift in me immediately, his muscles bunching as I wheeled him around in a tight, aggressive circle.
"Easy, boy—go!"
I dug my heels in, and he exploded forward.
We closed the gap in seconds, the wind roaring in my ears, the meadow blurring into streaks of green and gold.
I kept my eyes locked on Beau—hunched low over Daisy’s neck, face pale as a sheet, yelling something incoherent that sounded a lot like, "I'm too pretty to die! "
He was slipping. Gravity was winning.
"Beau!" I screamed over the thunder of hooves. "Let go of the horn—grab the reins! Pull back!"
"I can't—ahh!" He was listing dangerously to the left, one foot kicking uselessly at the air.
We were close now. Close enough that I could see the whites of Daisy’s eyes. Close enough that Bandit bumped her shoulder, a physical check to herd her away from the rocks.
I leaned out of my saddle, trusting Bandit with my life, and snagged Daisy’s loose rein with my free hand. My shoulder wrenched with the force of it, but I held on, yanking her head toward me while pulling Bandit into a wide, slowing arc.
"Whoa!" I commanded, putting every ounce of authority I had into the word.
The force nearly unseated me, my muscles screaming, but Bandit held steady, acting as a brake.
Daisy faltered, her gallop breaking into a choppy trot, then a walk, her sides heaving.
I kept the reins taut, murmuring nonsense to calm her—"Shhh, girl, easy, you're okay"—until she stopped completely, Bandit flanking her like a bodyguard.
The second she halted, Beau gave up the ghost. He tumbled off the side, landing in a heap on the grass with a heavy thud and a groan that vibrated through the ground.
"Oh god..." he wheezed, staring up at the sky. "I’m dead. I am currently deceased. Tell Z I love him. Tell my father he was right."
I dismounted in a fluid slide, my knees shaking from the adrenaline crash, and dropped to his side. "Beau? You okay? Talk to me."
He sat up slowly, grass in his hair, shirt twisted, looking like a rumpled scarecrow that had been through a tornado. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, breath coming in ragged gasps.
"That... that was..." He pointed a shaking finger at the brush where the rabbit had vanished. "A rabbit? A fucking rabbit almost killed me? It was the size of a toddler!"
Relief crashed over me like a tidal wave, so intense it made my head spin. I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing. Hard. The kind of laugh that bent me at the waist, tears pricking my eyes.
"You should've seen your face!" I gasped, wiping at my eyes. "'I'm gonna die!' Like Daisy was a bucking bronco at the NFR!"
"It is not funny!" he protested, but his voice cracked, and then a smile tugged at his lips.
A second later, he was laughing too—shaky at first, then full-bellied, clutching his side.
"I thought we were done! She just... exploded!
And you—holy shit, Winnie." He looked at me, eyes wide with awe.
"You came out of nowhere like some kind of cowgirl superhero. "
I wiped my eyes, still chuckling as I checked him over—no broken bones, just bruises and severe ego damage. "Had to. Can't have you dying on my watch. Pops would never let me live it down. Think of the paperwork."
Speaking of—hoofbeats thundered from the trail. Pops came galloping up on Thunder faster than I’d seen him move in years. His face was tight with worry, pale beneath his tan, but as he reined in and saw us both upright and cackling in the grass, the tension drained out of him.
"What in the hell happened?" he demanded, dismounting with a wince he didn't bother hiding this time.
"Jackrabbit spook," I said, standing and brushing dirt off my jeans. "Daisy bolted. Beau here forgot how to pilot."
Pops looked from Beau, still sprawled in the grass, to me. His gaze lingered, proud and appraising. "Damn fine riding, Winnie. Saw you from the hill—snagged that rein like a pro. Bandit too. You two saved the day."
Warmth bloomed in my chest, chasing away the last of the fear. "Just doing what needed doing, Pops."
He clapped my shoulder, a heavy, grounding weight, then offered Beau a hand up. "You alright, son? First spook's a doozy. Changes your perspective on gravity."
Beau took the hand, hauling himself to his feet with a groan. He dusted off his jeans, wincing. "Alive. Terrified. But yeah, alright. Thanks to Wonder Woman here."
We all stood there for a beat, the horses grazing contentedly now as if they hadn't just attempted murder, the meadow settling back into peace. Then Pops started chuckling—a deep, rolling sound that set us off again.
Beau doubled over, wheezing. "I looked like an idiot, didn't I? Flailing around like a drunk cowboy."
"The drunkest," I agreed, snorting. "But you didn't bail until she stopped. That counts for something."
"Next time," he gasped, "I’m taking the pony ride. The one on the carousel."
Pops shook his head, swinging back onto Thunder. "Come on, heroes. Let's walk 'em back. And Beau? Keep practicing. Can't have our ranch hand falling off every time a bunny sneezes."
As we led the horses home, the adrenaline fading into a pleasant exhaustion, I glanced at Pops. He was moving easier now, color back in his cheeks. The ride had done him good—done us all good. Even Beau, who almost died, dusted off his pants with a sheepish grin.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the grass.
Temporary or not, moments like this? They stuck. They became the stories you told years later. And for the first time, I found myself hoping Beau would be around long enough to tell it.