A few years back I used to joke at the end of a ride that no one came back bloody. Generally the blood was from opening cowboy gates and managing to get scratched on the barbed wire. Not so on a recent ride.
My friend Carla and I were joined by another friend. For this story we’ll call her Sandy and dub her horse Charlie, not their real names.
Carla’s horse Pacho is 28 years old and rock solid. My Paco is 14 and a good trail horse. Charlie on the other hand is both nervous and headstrong, difficult for Sandy to control.
We rode a typical trail in the National Forest, out to what we call Red Rocks, down and across the road, then back up the opposite side to the trailers. We’ve done it too many times to count without any problems.
Charlie had been determined to take the lead, and we let him. Big mistake. We were riding along through trees when ahead of us a dog popped over a hill, alone for a bit but followed quickly by two horses and riders. If only one of our other horses had been in the lead things might have been different.
Charlie panicked, whirled and bolted like his life was at risk. Sandy decided to bail off. Paco and I were next in line. I’m not going to tell you Paco has never spooked. When I first got him a few years back he was prone to spook at new things, jump sideways and stand still. He’s never been inclined to bolt and run bucking, and he’s learned to trust me and gotten over his startle reaction.
This day didn’t go like that. A huge cascade effect began with Charlie. Paco whirled, bucked, and bolted. I was staying on till he went under a tree, my head hit a branch and I went flying off. Meanwhile, Pacho, 28 years of never panicking, took this all to mean our lives were all in danger, whirled and bolted. There are no bomb-proof horses. All it takes is the right, or wrong, circumstances.
By now we had two loose horses, two riders on the ground, and the other riders and dog had come on down the hill. I was a bit concussed and not getting up quickly, having landed hard on my left side and taken a good whack to the head. Carla got Pacho under control and rode back to us. People, probably all of them, kept telling me to take my time getting up, while I was asking, “Where’s my horse, is he okay?”
I managed to get to my feet, blood dripping, still looking for my horse. The other riders rounded up Charlie and Paco; someone handed me tissue to slow the bleeding; and everyone was upright.
I said something to the effect of this starting with a loose dog. Oops, the female half of the other duo quickly got defensive and said their dog had nothing to do with this, it could have been a wild animal, and it was up to us to control our horses.
True as far as it goes. It is likely that if one of our other horses had been in the front and Charlie in the rear this might not have happened. However…
Those of us old enough may remember the poem “For Want of a Nail”
For want of a nail the shoe was lost,
For want of a shoe the horse was lost,
For want of a horse the rider was lost,
For want of a rider the battle was lost,
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost,
And all for want of a nail.
The theme is unforeseen consequences. May that rather snarky rider with her dog never encounter a child on their first trail ride, another less friendly loose dog, or whatever. May they only meet perfect riders on perfect horses.
Riding often in the National Forest, I’ve run into everything from bunnies to bears. They turn and run at the sight of horses and riders. Dogs don’t. (By the way, I have three dogs, love them to pieces, but they don’t go riding with me.)
Anyway, we remounted, me still bleeding, and I quickly figured out that with blurry vision, etc., I was not fit to be on my horse. The other two rode and I walked Paco back to the trailers.
Sandy, a retired nurse, kept wanting to call 911. I knew that I could walk, breathe, etc., and would recover; and I’m pretty stubborn. Sandy took Carla and Pacho home, and I drove myself. I did call my husband and ask him to meet me at the gate to the pasture. Frankly, I wasn’t sure I could handle getting the heavy western saddle off Paco.
Scott’s first question: “What the *!#@ happened to you?” Cuts and scrapes on my scalp and face; bruises and scrapes all down my left side literally to my foot, still bleeding. My left hip was especially painful. Just to add to the fun, I had a spinal ablation three days before to help with problems in my lumbar spine. I was wearing a support belt just cuz. Well, that turned out to leave a huge hematoma from hip to belly button similar to that left by a seat belt in a car accident. Two and a half weeks later, that still hadn’t fully healed.
Let’s just say I’ve been pretty sore. The good news is that by landing on my side, my lumbar spine was spared.
So, old ladies and horses… does this mean I’ll quit riding? Heck no! I’ve been out several times since then. I will however, quit riding with any horse known to be spooky. And, I’ve ordered a helmet. At 77, bones are not as strong as when I was younger, and it takes longer to heal.
Scott took a photo, saying, “You have to smile.” Why not, it’s better than crying.