Unplanned Dismount...

Praying to the Dirt God. Buying Real Estate.  Whatever euphemism you use, it all means falling off your horse.  Which I did.  Last night during my lesson.  I'm still annoyed about it, and keep replaying the whole sequence of events in my head to see what I could have done differently.  You know, kind of like when someone says something that bothers you, and you can't come up with a good response right away, but once you're home you think of 30 perfectly scathing rejoinders?

So, about my unplanned dismount...Sugar and I had a difference of opinion on the approach to a Liverpool that required a tight right turn afterwards.  I half-halted hard, then nagged at her some more; we argued to the base of the fence and she took a HUGE LEAP.  I landed badly and accidentally goosed her with the spur, adding insult to injury. She let me know her displeasure by uncorking a hellacious series of bucks while we were trying to turn, and off I went. I'm not sure if I landed and bounced into the wall, or landed on the wall, slid down, and then bounced. Either way, I can attest to the fact that we have damn fine footing -- VERY soft and cushy.  It doesn't taste too bad, either, though it's perhaps a bit gritty.

So you can imagine how perfect it was to find this post when
I visited EQUINE INK, one of my favorite blogs, this morning.  Apparently it did the rounds on Facebook and then the last stage was added on the Chronicle of the Horse Forum.  I darn near fell of my chair laughing -- hopefully you'll get a kick out of it as well.

The seven stages of aging on horseback, plus one

Stage 1: Fall off pony. Bounce. Laugh. Climb back on. Repeat.

Stage 2: Fall off horse. Run after horse, cussing. Climb back on by shimmying up horse’s neck. Ride until sundown.

Stage 3: Fall off horse. Use sleeve of shirt to stanch bleeding. Have friend help you get back on horse. Take two Advil and apply ice packs when you get home. Ride next day.

State 4: Fall off horse. Refuse advice to call ambulance; drive self to urgent care clinic. Entertain nursing staff with tales of previous daredevil stunts on horseback. Back to riding before cast comes off.

Stage 5: Fall off horse. Temporarily forget name of horse and name of husband. Flirt shamelessly with paramedics when they arrive. Spend week in hospital while titanium pins are screwed in place. Start riding again before doctor gives official okay.

Stage 6: Fall off horse. Fail to see any humor when hunky paramedic says, “You again?” Gain firsthand knowledge of advances in medical technology thanks to stint in ICU. Convince self that permanent limp isn’t that noticeable. Promise husband you’ll give up riding. One week later purchase older, slower, shorter horse.

Stage 7: Slip off horse. Relieved when artificial joints and implanted medical devices seem unaffected. Tell husband that scrapes and bruises are due to gardening accident. Pretend you don’t see husband roll his eyes and mutter as he walks away. Give apple to horse.

Stage 8: Go to see horse. Momentarily consider riding but remember arthritis won’t let you lift leg high enough to reach stirrup — even when on mounting block. Share beer with grateful horse & recall “good old days”.