When I was 15 years old, I was passionate about horses, but I didn't own one. I always bought horse magazines that I would read over and over again. I desperately wished for a horse of my own, and one day that wish came true.

I saw an advertisement for a horse for sale. It said "Thoroughbred chestnut stallion. Stands almost 17hh". My mom was very reluctant to see this horse, but eventually I convinced her to take me, "just to look". The stallon was about a two-hour drive away. The directions were easy to follow and in no time we were standing outside the paddock, looking at him.

The woman called Mrs. Curriben was the owner of the stallion, Bo. He was easily 17hh, and very skinny. His ribs poked out; I could cound all of them. He had a rough coat that looked more like a bay than a chestnut. He had a thick whiteblaze and two socks-- one on the front right, and one of the back left leg. His paddock looked like a bomb site -- it had old cars strewn about, and I couldn't even locate a water trough. There wasn't a shred of food, only dust.

I felt so sorry for the poor old... no wait, he was only four years old! He had been a racehorse but wasn't very fast so he never made it far in the racing business. He was very docile, but looked depressed and lonely. I just couldn't leave him there, so I purchased him right then for $200.

The massive stallion almost jumped out of the trailer and wouldn't stop prancing. He nearly knocked my mom over, and he succeeded in knocking me down. He had absolutely no respect for humans! I unloaded him after a long journey home into a small paddock at my neighbor's house. I watched him eat as the sun disappeared.

Early the next morning I went to go see my new horse-- but the paddock was empty! I searched desperately for him. I spent half the day looking for him, and finally found him grazing next to a small Shetland pony about 5 miles down the road. He knew he had dome something wrong and wouldn't let me catch him. After a struggle, I finally got him home-- but not without being bitten twice.

Bo was a devil. I tried my hardest to be his friend-- but he always would charge at me, kick, bite me, and push me around. He had no interest in being friends at all. After five months, I gave up on him. He had turned into a fat, huge massive stallion that couldn't care less about me. He was dangerous, and I didn't know what to do with him, so I sold him.

Two years later, I still didn't have a proper horse. One morning while reading the paper, an ad caught my eye: "Very lovely correct stallion. Bay thoroughbred." It was Bo! I knew it was him-- when I went to see him, he was quiet, well-behaved, and listened! The owner, Mr. Trifton, was pleased to hear that I had owned him. Once again, I bought Bo.

I was a fool. He hadn't changed. He had the same bad habits! I hired a trainer, Mr. Edwards. He taught me what was going on in Bo's mind and after five months of steady work, Bo finally was behaving well. Bo had never really been taught to be ridden properly, but with the hellp of Mr. Edwards we b roke him in.

One sunny afternoon I went for a slow ride down the raod. I spotted a dead rabbit laying in the road. So did Bo. He freaked out and began to buck, and I fell off. I expected Bo to run off and leave me there in the road, and he did. But an amazing thing happend next. A cattle truck came flying down the road at me, and I was still laying there. Bo saw the truck and turned back toward me, and grabbed my clothes in his mouth, dragging me off the road. The cattle truck didn't have time to stop and as it went by, it clipped the back of Bo's leg. I was safe but I saw Bo fall from the injury.

The truck driver finally slowed and stopped, and I used his phone to call the vet. With a shattered leg, Bo had no chance of recovery and was put down that day. But he had saved my life.

When Bo's last owner, Mr. Trifton, heard about the incident he called me. He said he had a filly that looked exactly like Bo for sale. I told him I didn't need another horse. But then he told me the filly didn't just look like Bo-- she was Bo's daughter. I quickly jumped on the offer and bought the weanling. He was right; she was a young version of Bo. I named her Jesse, and when she was old enough began competing on her. To this day, she is a wonderful horse. But my heart still holds a special place for that crazy stallion that saved my life.

Jesse, Bo's daughter