THIS INVOLVES ACTUALLY PUNCHING A HORSE.
For all you Britts who love animals (all Britts BE ADVISWED that the horse got the better end of this confrontation.

When I was 16 years old (1945), stood 5' 3" tall and weighed 106 lb (7 stone 7) I sometimes taught little rich kids to post to the trot at a stable run by a guy named Kennedy. I don't know his first name, except, "Mr."
He had a strikingly handsome Irish thorobred named, "Sligo". Sligo was a whole horse, (as opposed to a gelding) about 4 years old, and my choice of mount. I struck up, so I thought, a friendship involving mutual respect, and a lot of apples.
Sligo would whinny when I came into the barn, because he knew I had a couple of apples for him.
Kennedy had advised me, when I first began riding Sligo, to use a check rein as Sligo was very high spirited and somewhat rambunctious.
This was fine for about six months, until one day, (yes here it comes)I was sure that Sligo was my buddy and would not betray my confidence in his friendship. (Yup, slight mistake) So, I decided to take him out with a single straight bit.
This was, by the way, in Brooklyn New York, and the "taking out" involved a nice ride around the Prospect Park bridle path, including the half mile straightaway with a dead end known as the "Flatbush Avenue Extension" One usually let the horses go ful;l out along this straightaway, pulling the horse to a stop before one reached the iron picket fence, five and one half feet high, on the other side of which was the intersection of Flatush Avenue and Empire Boulevard.
I suppose that most of you who are familiar ewith thorobred horses and their reputation for "being trustworthy" are anticipating what transpired as I left the main bridal path, tickling Sligo's sides with my cavalry spurs to urge him into a full gallop. This part proceeded perfectly according to my plans. However, when we reached the point at which we started to slow our mounts into a canter and then stop., Sligo ignored my efforts, which became more and more frantic as we approached the end of the extension, with the bit firmly in his teeth, and hit the fence at a full gallop, thereby tumbling slightly up the hill ar one side and throwing me bodily out into the intersection of Flatbush avenue and Empire Boulevard, whilst at the samee time knocking himself silly when his head hit the fence or a tree or something. I'm not quite sure, nor does it matter.
Luckily for me, there was no traffic in the intersection at the time. Gasoline (petrol) was still rationed and there was seldom any motor traffic at all. This does not happen any more. I climbed back over the fence, and soothed poor Sligo's trembling. I got back on, and we walked and trotted back down the extension. At the point where the main bridle path and the extension intersect, there is a footpath which arches over the bridle path, made of brick and concrete. Wherepon, my trusty steed slammed his flank against one wall of the underpass,. cracking my ankle nd knocking my foot out of the right stirrup.
He then decided to chew on his bit some more, and once again took off at a dead gallup.
I hung on to the pommel of which there is very little on the Maclelland saddle (cavalry) with only one foot in a stirrup. he charged out and around the bridle path wuith people scattering before us as I screamed out a warning. then he left the bridle path and proceeded down Ocean Parkway which has a pilon type traffic light in the middle of each intersection along the way. My trusty pal slalomed down Ocean parkway, working himself into a lovely foamy lather. Around one on the right, and the next on the left, et. etc. etc. With me hanging on for dear life.   About three blcocks from the stable, he slowed to a walk and calmly walked past Mr. Kennedy, and into the barn.
"Did you take him into the lake, Joseph"? Inquired Kennedy.

No says I, he did everything else, but.

"Well said Kenned, you'd better walk him to cool him off before you put him away" Kennedy's remarks were in a fine "County Cork" accent, sort of like Barry Fitzgerals withou the smirk.

Now I must tell you that I was wearing a pair of cavalry boots that I had purchased with a month's pay, for the first time. I had the reins over my shoulder as I limped along with my cracked ankle. As I turned, for the last time, Sligo the treacherous bastard that he was, stepped on my foot, neatly slicing the toe of one boot, clean down to the sole, and missing my big toe by a scant millimeter.

AT THIS POINT i YANKED SLIGO'S HEAD DOWN TO MY LEVERL HAULED OFF AND PUNCHED HIM IN THE NOSE AS HARD AS i COULD. HE SAT DOWN AND Kennedy fired me.

I MUCH PREFER MULES TO HORSES (except for pure bred Arabians, which are trustworthy)


wherepon, my trusty steed