I was on the winning team for Bevo's birthday rodeo during my senior year at UT.
When I was growing up my grandparents owned a combination motel/gun shop in a small town. We would go visit them for a weekend and us kids got to stay in a motel room, which we thought was way cool. On Saturday, Granddad would load up his car with guns from the shop and take me out and teach me to shoot.
There was a pasture next to my grandparent's motel that had horses in it. My parents always told us not to mess with the horses, but of course, as soon as they weren't looking we would be out in the pasture messing with the horses. One time (I was 6 at the time) I was behind one of the horses and I turned my back on him. The next thing I knew I was flying across the pasture. The horse had kicked me with both hind hooves square in the back. My older sisters picked me up and carried me back to the motel and made me promise not to tell Mom. Unfortunately for them, the two massive hoof prints on my back gave us away.