It was a clear and unseasonably warm late January afternoon in 2015. I had decided it would be a good day to ride my horse, Megan. She was a registered 11-year quarter horse mare and stood at 16 hands. I was 63 years old.

She had a good disposition when I purchased her in the Flint Hills of Kansas in late 2013. She was advertised as a pasture ornament, nice to look at, but another horse to feed. That disposition would change.

I had grown up riding horses, including galloping. Unbeknownst to me and the very experienced horseman who came with me to look at her, Megan had an issue with anything beyond a walk.

Megan’s registered paperwork was impressive, and the purchase price seemed to be a bargain (later to become a very costly bargain). So, without taking a “test ride” (first mistake) we loaded her on a trailer and brought her to the corral I had built near Denison, Kan. It was at the home of our daughter, Lindsey, and her family. We all loved ...