No Easy Ride: Reflections on My Life in the RCMP by Ian Parsons Read Free Book Online Page A

bands in North America. I said that if they assigned me to the RCMP band, I would return to the regimental army band. No doubt my response caused some irritation, but I heard nothing more about this and was allowed to continue on my path to a law-enforcement career.
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    LIFE SAVER? I THINK NOT!
    His name was Willie George. Willie was one of two “stallions in waiting” in the RCMP stables. He was as black as his heart and stood 17 hands high; his eyes burned with hatred. He resided in a box stall, and when there was a mare in heat nearby he created unimaginable havoc. He would bang his stall constantly, and his snorts and screams would fill the entire barn. Recruits ceased to be assigned to groom him as he had injured so many of them. Only two of the most experienced riding instructors would saddle and ride him.
    Having owned a horse prior to joining the Force, I fancied myself something of a “horse whisperer.” I discovered that Willie had a weakness for Wint O Green Life Savers, so I would stop by his stall from time to time and give him this treat. As time wore on, I noticed he would look for me. He seemed almost civil as I fed him the Life Savers, and my confidencein dealing with him was growing, as was the admiration from my troopmates. I eventually gathered the courage to open his door and feed him the Life Savers face to face. Things were going quite well for Willie and me, and my fame as a horse handler was spreading.
    Occasionally, recruits were assigned stable orderly duties. This meant that two of us would be in the stables all night, cleaning gutters and feeding and watering the horses. On this particular evening the horses had just received their nightly ration of oats. This was obviously the highlight of the horses’ daily routine, and their anticipation was palpable as the oats were doled out. Willie George had just been given his share and was munching contentedly. I opened his door and approached him with my stash of Life Savers. We shared a bond now. But when I held out my hand, he nudged it away. I must have totally forgotten whom I was dealing with. I approached him again with the Life Savers. I cannot recall precisely what happened next, but suddenly I felt a searing pain in my upper arm. Then I flew through the air and smashed against the stall, crumpling in the corner. I looked up at four long black legs and the stallion’s head as he quietly munched his oats, then I quietly crawled out of the stall. Willie George had bitten through my pea jacket, inner jacket and shirt and thrown me across the box stall. Our relationship was over, as was my brief career as a tamer of stallions, and I was left with feelings of abject humility. I never bought Wint O Green Life Savers again.
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    As the troop moved through the equitation program, we developed some semblance of rapport with our instructor. Christmas was approaching, and we asked Corporal Landers if we could buy him a holiday drink. Amazingly, he invited the entire troop to his home one Saturday afternoon. His wife was absent when a large number of us arrived there, liberally supplied with bottles of Christmas cheer. As the afternoon went on, several of the revellers became inebriated. Eric Crampton developed an infatuation with the corporal, depositing his six-foot-three-inch, 230-pound body in his lap, hugging him enthusiastically. No amount of coaxing from the victim or troop members would sway him from his drunken fondness. Another guest fell over the large ornate Christmas tree, knocking it down. Still another staggered down the basement steps, spilling a drink and putting a dent in the washing machine. By the time the troop departed, we knew we had overstayed our welcome.
    Even though several troop members immediately returned to the scene of the crime to clean up and make things right, it was glaringly evident that our rapport with Corporal Landers was forever sullied. When “A” Troop returned to the riding academy to continue our