You would think that growing up on a farm surrounded by proper work ethic and responsibility, I would have been more well-behaved. Nothing quite blows that out of the water than the time that I got pulled over by the cops while riding my horse. 

My best friend and I decided that we wanted to go for an overnight ride. My dad owned a section of land north of us, and so one weekend we got all organized.  Friday after school we started saddling the horses, and I had the brilliant idea of stealing some beer from my dad’s stash. Dad brewed his own beer, so it was strong.  

We weren’t quite sure how to carry the beer bottles without them breaking, but I came up with the idea of putting each bottle in a sock and tying two socks together. Once that was done, we hung the socks over the back of our horses.

A piece of cake!

Except that Dad came home while we were finishing up and just about ready to head out. He came over to talk to us and help us finish getting ready, and noticed the socks. He had to have known. There’s no way that he was that gullible, but for some reason he let us go anyway.  

Riding up to the property was easy enough—and fun. But once we arrived, we started drinking.  We had to have been about 12 years old at the time, and we should not have been drinking at all. Instead of setting up the tent, we sat around, chugging beer and laughing a lot. By about midnight, we were feeling pretty damn good, and we decided to go for a ride.  

I was wasted, and my friend wasn’t in much better shape. 

Somehow we managed to get the saddles on, but I’m pretty sure that my horse was super annoyed with me. I don’t think I had the saddle on the right, and it must have been irritating him something fierce.  

We rode up the ditch just north of the property.  Now, keep in mind that in this community, the nearest police station is 20 minutes away. And yet, here was a cop, driving down a secluded back road in rural Alberta at midnight. What were the chances?

I’m sure it was obvious we weren’t completely with it, and sure enough, he turned on his lights to get us to stop. Thank God he didn’t put the siren on—my horse might have bucked me off at that point. And so, a drunk 12-year-old me had to talk to a cop on the side of the road. My horse was not happy to begin with, and usually had a bit of an attitude problem as it was.  He was prancing all over the place, and it was all I could do to keep him under control, all while trying to convince this cop that I was fine. 

I’m certain he believed me. 

Somehow, we managed to get the cop to let us keep going, with a promise to go straight back to camp and settle in for the night. Problem was, there was no camp. We still hadn’t set up the tent. 

And so, I found myself bright and early in the morning, laying on the ground, a little wet from the dew, very cold, and sleeping under the stars. My horse was right by my head, sniffing at me to make sure I was still alive, and the saddle was hanging off his side.  

I don’t know why my horse forgave me for that trip, or why my dad let us go when it was obvious he knew what we were up to. I also imagine that cop going home to his family and telling the story of the drunk teenagers he found on the side of the road, attempting to ride their horses.  

There were to be a lot more other shenanigans on the back of that horse. Player and I had many adventures, and our relationship was just the beginning of my understanding of how rebellious I truly am.