Thursday, August 15, 2013

Horse Crazy


Joke:

The doctor told my friend that if she didn’t stop riding horses, she was going to need a walker.

So she went out and got the Tennessee kind.


That joke, and all of the posts on a medical board by people who fractured their spines in accidents, a shocking number of them from falling off a horse, whose main concern was not whether they would need surgery, or even be in pain for the rest of their lives, and not whether, but when they could ride again, illustrates that we cowgirls are not just tough. Some might say we’re crazy. And perhaps they’d be right, because most of us don’t even wear helmets, never mind protective vests, when we climb onto the backs of thousand pound animals who are unpredictable at best, who really don’t want us there to begin with, no matter how much we like to think they love us, and then perform daredevil acts like race around barrels on said animal at forty miles per hour. That’s a little cra-cra if I do say so myself.

My father said for years that I was going to break my back. He said it like fathers of daughters who hang around with the wrong crowd say, “You are asking for trouble, young lady.” He said it like the mother on “A Christmas Story” said, “You’re gonna shoot your eye out.” I don’t know if he really believed it was going to happen. Not literally. I like to think he is amused by my dedication and passion, how I have to leave every family shindig early because I have to go home and feed the horses, how I have indents in my upper arms from the muscle even though I am 53-years-old, how I report the number of circles I’ve ridden and how heavy my horse was breathing. How I got back on the horse after I fell off that night.

That one through him for a loop. I said, “But Dad! You’re supposed to get back on when you fall off a horse! How was I supposed to know I was hurt that bad?”

He heard enough tales over the years—Kelly falling and getting dragged; a friend whose horse reared up and fell over backwards on top of her, causing her to get half her intestines removed; a friend who lost her ear (the whole ear—they had to scoop it up like a clamshell from the shavings on the floor) when a horse tried to scramble out of the trailer in a panic. He even saw me fall one time. But back then I was still bouncing. I got back on the horse and finished the race. I don’t think I even had a hair out of place, never mind a broken bone. In all honesty, I was kind of happy about it. It was a good story to tell. And then Shada slammed on the brakes and I went over her head and landed in a garbage can (true story) and she stood there looking at me like, what are you doing down there? She’s so good. She didn’t even run off!


I haven’t fallen lately. It’s because I’m very cautious and I don’t even get on my horse if he’s been sitting around for any length of time until I work him in the round pen a few times first. I’m talking I’ll work him for a week, knowing that I’m getting ready to blow off the cobwebs and start riding. Then when I finally get on, I’ll only walk. Another week. Then I’ll start picking up speed. Some nice easy jogs. Another week. I don’t know how long it takes me to lope the first circle.

People laugh at me. And that’s the problem. I succumbed to peer pressure. I heard people’s voices in my head (Kurt), Let him go! I heard snickering from the girl I’m always trying to catch. You know the one. She looks like you, she has a horse the caliber of yours, she’s all decked out, and she puts the pedal to the metal and beats you every time. (She wasn’t really snickering but she was there.) And so I ignored my normal mode of operandi and when I was coming out of the keyhole obstacle, I stood up in the stirrups and gave him his head. The rest is history.

Every time I ignore my gut and listen to someone else, I get into trouble. I might as well be the daughter who’s hanging around with the wrong crowd.

When I got my first pony when I was a teenager, it was what kept me from hanging around with the wrong crowd. While my girlfriends were smoking cigarettes and standing outside Evan’s Liquor store waiting for someone who would buy them a bottle of Boone’s Farm strawberry wine and kissing boys, I was on my pony. I got on that pony first thing in the morning and didn’t come home till it was dark. No saddle, a bridle that hung on by a thread, shorts, bare feet, and of course no helmet. Sometimes I had a stick to make him go because otherwise he wouldn’t. I’d meet the other girls in town who had ponies and we’d ride from Port Monmouth down to Highlands on the dirt trail where the railroad tracks used to be, parallel to Highway 36. We’d race, miles and miles, first one way, then the other, stopping every time we came to a street and then we’d hurry across. Click, click, click, click, click, went the ponies’ feet, then quiet, onto the soft dirt again. People in cars on the highway waved at us. Nowadays it’s a paved “nature trail” and the only running that goes on is by joggers in Spandex shorts and pink t-shirts that say something about breast cancer. I don’t know if anyone waves at them.

Seeing all those posters on the medical board wondering, not when they’d be able to walk again without a walker, but when they would be able to ride, made me think that this is not unlike the trouble the bad girls get into after all. It’s an addiction. They get addicted to drugs and alcohol, pills, piercings, abusive men. We’re addicted to horses. It is crazy. But at least I’m not guzzling Boone’s Farm strawberry wine.

12 comments:

Cynda said...

Good morning Debi. You have a lot of love for horses. It's a wholesome activity and much better than drinking wine although nothing wrong with a glass or two of wine once in a while! But not Boonesfarm strawberry wine! Good story as usual.

CountryDew said...

This is a great piece. I fell off my pony when I was about 8 and busted a rib, never got back on her again even though my father stuck me right back on the pony's back even before I got my breath back. I haven't ridden since.

Leonora said...

I only know about this addiction because I see it in my daughter. She broke an arm though, not her back- God forbid! As I see it, she was born with this in her blood. Trying to stop it would be like trying not to breath.

Chris said...

I know this addiction, it could be lots worse. I gave up horses only when I went on the road full time as an artist and couldn't give them enough attention. I'm now too old to be falling off a horse but I do still love them.

Gilly said...

I love your stories of you crazy horse-riding people! Coming from a totally horseless family (though I didn't stand outside 'liquor stores' in UK speak 'off licences') I wasn't against the boys bit! I think you are great!

Greener Pastures--A City Girl Goes Country said...

It's never too late Anita!

Leonora, you are a wise mother.

They do need a lot of time and attention Chris. You actually went on the road to sell your artwork? How exciting. What kind?

Gilly, I had to crack up when you called us crazy horse-riding people. Funny and true!

Thanks everyone!

Nancy said...

I enjoyed reading your story Deb,as usual and yes you are one tough Cookie

Cape Coop said...

This is such a touching post! What you say about the horses not really wanting someone on their backs, is the thing that has kept me from ever attempting to ride, although I adore brushing and petting(and of course feeding treatts to!) other folks' horses.

Anonymous said...

I have been reading for the last two hours. Your stories have touched my heart, whether I was laughing or had a tear in my eye. I connected to so many of them. I'm so glad Sue from Gone Again told me about your blog. I will be back.

Bonnie Jackson

Chris said...

"On the road artist" sounds exciting, and it is in parts. I really should write about it sometime. The scenery changes but one's basic strengths and weaknesses remain the same. And it can have the "lonely in a crowd" feeling. I've been an artist of many types over my lifetime, dancer, painter, fiber artist, gardener, musician... I gave up horses when I hit the road full time as a shibori artist, and silk painter, clothing primarily.

I'm loving retirement, I'm still learning new art forms, just bought a nice old piano recently and am practicing scales, new instrument here I come! All this to say that should prudence dictate that you give up horseback riding, you may find another love.

Greener Pastures--A City Girl Goes Country said...

Chris, you really should blog about it. It's been a long, long time since you graced us with a story.

Well, I am very lucky because I do have other passions--writing, reading, and antiques and decorating. I always realized how lucky I was because I knew that chances are pretty good that if I couldn't do one, I could surely do another. And even if I couldn't ride, I love them just to look at them and groom them, etc. BUT, I think I'm going to be able to ride eventually. It's only been three months and my back is getting better every day!

Greener Pastures--A City Girl Goes Country said...

Chris, you really should blog about it. It's been a long, long time since you graced us with a story.

Well, I am very lucky because I do have other passions--writing, reading, and antiques and decorating. I always realized how lucky I was because I knew that chances are pretty good that if I couldn't do one, I could surely do another. And even if I couldn't ride, I love them just to look at them and groom them, etc. BUT, I think I'm going to be able to ride eventually. It's only been three months and my back is getting better every day!