15 Filho da Puta
I never gave a proper name to the horse that I had in my Brazilian Peace Corps days (1964-66 Pedro Gomes, Mato Grosso, Brazil) but since that was what Milton called him, I decided it was appropriate. Peace Corps would not allow me to have a motorized vehicle at my work site and since I was an agricultural extentionist, I needed transportation out to the farms. I tried a bicycle, but it was limited on the dirt roads, and someone stole my bike anyway! Peace Corps then agreed to buy me a horse.
My Peace Corps site, Pedro Gomes, north-central part of map. Source free dictionary.
Milton, one of the shopkeepers in Pedro Gomes, had a difficult horse that he wanted to sell. He said the horse was too unruly for him and he had been trying to sell it for some time. That sort of spurred my interest and Milton took me out to his nearby pasture to see the horse.
The horse walked up to us to eat the grain that we offered. Milton quickly placed a bridal over the horse’s head, and we went over to a shed to get a saddle. Once the horse was ready Milton suggested that I go ahead and try him out.
Milton held the horse’s head while I began to mount, but out of some stroke of meanness, decided to strike the horse hard on the nose just as my leg started to swing over the horse’s back. The horse bolted, of course, but thanks to those years of riding Flicka, I managed to finish mounting and gain control of the horse. I also managed to keep my temper at Milton who just grinned at me. I rode the horse around the pasture to find that he was not well trained and was skittish! I knew he would take some work.
I saw the horse as a challenge and agreed to buy it if Milton would let me use his pasture and would buy the horse back for the same price when my tour in the Peace Corps was over. The double-digit inflation of the Cruzeiro made this profitable for Milton.
“Filho da Puta” was another Flicka, but much more skittish and would shy at anything that moved. Some of the townsmen took derisive pleasure at suddenly throwing their arms in the air when I would ride up. This would cause the horse to bolt, and I would have to regain control. This made me angry at first, but I realized that this was a bit of their culture. I put a stop to it when I invited a few of these jokesters to ride the horse. When one of them finally accepted my offer, he did not last long in the saddle. Because I was the only one who could ride him, I gained the reputation of being “um bom cavaleiro.”
Bugre and me with our horses on the main street of Pedro Gomes, Mato Grosso, Photo by Rick Bein 1965
Actually, Filho da Puta became attached to me, and he decided that he liked going places and he became easier to catch in the pasture. He was a very strong horse with lots of endurance. Once we were out away from the town, we made good time.
One rancher invited me to his distant ranch fifty miles away. His son and I spent the night on the trail. After a few days out there, I headed back into Pedro Gomes. I made it in one day by myself. This horse was not even tired, and he began acting up as usual when we finally neared town.
Motorized vehicles
Motorized vehicles terrified him, and Filho da Puta would go into a panic and became very hard to control. Fortunately, very few vehicles made it to Pedro Gomes. However, there was one occasion that I remember well. I was going to a farm and was following the gravel road that connected Pedro Gomes with the outside world. A four-wheel drive diesel approached us. I looked for a place to take the horse off the road, but the sides were too steep and there was no escape route. I decided I would try to control him anyway and moved him to the side of the road so the vehicle could pass. That did not work!
Filho da Puta bolted, lunging, and spinning! He slipped in the loose gravel and fell on his side to the ground. My right leg was trapped beneath him! He kept kicking and trying to get up, but could not do so as long as my other leg was on top of him. I was afraid to move that leg because I could not see if my trapped foot was stuck in the stirrup. If that was the case, the horse in this panicked state, could drag me to death!
After what seemed an eternity, I realized I had to decide as the kicking horse began to tear up his legs in the loose road gravel. I decided that if I let him up I could keep hold of the reins and have a better chance of maintaining control! I took the chance and when he jumped up, I found my foot was free, and I was able to hold onto the reins and angle my body so that in his panic he actually pulled me to my feet! He was forced to move backwards as I controlled his head with the reins. I talked to him and gradually he calmed down.
The driver of the vehicle had turned off his engine and came over to see if I was alright. He explained that he was planning to shoot the horse and then pull it off me! But everything happened so fast and now I was free and the horse under control. My hard toed boot had spared me any injury to my foot as he apologized for causing any problem, I explained that the problem was the horse, not his driving!
Breaking lines
Filho da Puta developed a bad habit of breaking his lines whenever he was tied up. He would do this by sitting back until his weight would break whatever was holding him. He was always getting loose by either breaking his halter or his lines.
Later the very same day that Filho da Puta had fallen on the road, I stopped at a rancher’s home to take a rest from riding. There was a stout looking hitching post in the middle of a corral where I tied him. I used the new halter and rope that I had just bought hoping that he would not been able to break it.
I went inside to enjoy a cup of coffee and a little conversation. That did not last long as someone came running in yelling, “Tem uma problema com seu cavallo!” (Something is wrong with your horse!)
Filho da Puta tried his favorite stunt of leaning back to stretch the lines until they broke. Well, the rope was strong, and it did not break, but that fifty-pound hitching post came right out of the ground and went right for the horse! What terror he must have experienced! Filho da Puta ran away with the six-foot post following him and when he saw the post coming at him, he dodged to the side and the post sailed past his head! The post would go as far as the rope would allow and then be pulled back to go after the fleeing horse again. The horse soon found himself backing in circles, with the flying post orbiting around him!
The lady of the house came out and started screaming, “Santa Catarina, Santa Catarina, Santa Catarina!” This endlessly litany to her patron saint filled the air only to be disturbed by the sound of the log bumping into the sides of the corral. The situation was completely out of control! I wanted to try to stop the panic but there was no way I could approach without being clobbered by that flying log! I had to wait until the horse wore himself out.
He kept dodging the heavy post until the corral fence got in the way and there was no place to escape. “Clump!” the log crashed into the horse! Off the horse charged again, this time rotating the post in a counterclockwise direction! On one of the collisions with the post, it bounced off the back of the horse and came down on his other side, the rope winding over his neck! This shortened the distance between the horse and the post, and it became harder to dodge.
The log socked the horse more frequently and the rope wrapped around his neck again and again until finally it was so short that log actually hung right against his ear. There was no escaping now; the post was virtually attached to his head. The weight of the post now bore down on his head, and he finally accepted that escape was impossible, and he stood exhausted for a moment. There was my chance. I reached over with the lady’s kitchen knife and cut the rope. As the log hit the ground, the horse lunged away again but finally, Filho da Puta was free of that monster-post!
Before it was over, the post probably hit every part of that horse’s body! Riding back into town that day, Filho da Puta was the calmest I had ever seen him. He was exhausted! He did not shy from anything! The adventures of that day were enough without him creating any more.
When I finished my tour in the Peace Corps, Milton was happy to buy the horse back form from me and was even happier now that Filho da Puta was much more manageable! When I got back to the States, my adventures with horses were over since Dad had sold all the horses! I went off to finish my bachelor’s degree at the University of Colorado