My first hack on "Murph"

I first rode Murphy out in the forest on a sunny Saturday morning in early summer, not thinking that where he came from in southern Ireland there were probably no prams or mountain bikes, no kites or screaming children. He bucked, he spun, he cat-leapt, in fact he went through the whole gamut of horse tricks calculated to get me off. I was intending to ride for an hour, in fact I came back after 20 minutes shaking and white as a ghost. He had not beaten me, I'd stayed on, but to this day I'm not quite sure how! I'm not sure if this was some kind of test, but I suppose I passed as he is never done this to me since. The fear and fury that was Murphy on the ground, concealed a wonderfully forward-going and reliable horse when ridden. Like a schizophrenic Murphy was two different personalities: in the saddle easygoing and considerate, on the ground and in his box, dangerous and unpredictable.
Of course he was "green", but his bravery and level headedness, would have done credit to a horse three times his age. We could truly feel closeness with Murphy on his back, and were able to share in his obvious joy at simply running of the sake of it.
Mounted on Murphy's back at the gallop is like being given the privilege of riding a tornado, your eyes sting with the speed, while you feel the energy surge from his bunched muscles, and for all too brief a time you know what it would feel like to be Superman.