It was, for all practical purposes, a beautiful day.
The sun was shining, the breeze was blowing through my hair, and there was a new horse in my pasture. Spring fever had taken over, and I just HAD to get out of the house. "Perhaps," I thought, "I'll take him for an inaugural ride in the back."
This was my first mistake.
I loaded the golf cart with saddle and bridle, reins and leads. Brushes, picks, saddle pads, and sunglasses--all the tools I'd need for the afternoon. I swung the saddle over the front of the cart, heavy stirrups making a thud as they smacked its floor. Barn doors wide open, I raced out into the sunshine and through the pasture gate. I quickly jumped off to close the gate, then back on to continue the short journey to the pasture barn. I pressed the pedal to the floor, but there was nothing. No zoom, no click. No rattle; no beep; not even a little smoke. Nothing. I should have taken note of the warnings.
But I didn't.
Off to the barn I walked, calling my son to fix whatever was broken. I'd groom our new guy at the barn, then walk him back to the cart to saddle up. However, Zak was most helpful in turning the key to the "on" position so the cart would move again. Seems the saddle had covertly knocked it almost to the off position, and the bump out the gate finished the task. So, I mounted the cart and set out again.
Grooming and tacking were pretty uneventful, although our new guy, nicknamed Doc, did seem a bit antsy. I put it off to being in new surrounding with used tack--still smelling of horses past.
Second mistake.
Once dressed, we ran circles and lounged a bit to make sure all was fitted and brains were engaged. After about five minutes, Doc began licking his lips, a sure sign we were ready to begin. With a sigh of relief that the warm-up didn't take too long, we set out on foot to the back pasture gate. Better safe than sorry in the front pasture, I reasoned, since the mares were on the loose. However, they didn't give us a second glance. Lazily grazing on the remnants of last year's grass, the mares delighted in the fair weathered day.
Through the back gate and into the front hay field, we were finally ready to begin our "get to know each other" ride. At this point, Doc began to dance a bit. Now, I must interject, here, that most new horses will try the new owner on; that is to say--try to get away with a little mischievousness. So, I moved him to a different place and attempted to mount. With foot in stirrup, he side-stepped and moved away. I tried again...with the same result. Finally, I moved him about 20 feet, stuck my foot in the stirrup, and started to swing my other leg over him when...
WHOOSH!!!
Something spooked our normally calm guy and he took off at a full gallop. Lightning speed across the pasture. Normally, one would ride it out until the horse calmed down.
Not this time.
You see, I didn't have time to get my leg completely over him before he bolted, and it only took one four-beat of his hooves to rattle my other foot free. No stirrups... I'd still had ahold of his mane and the back of the saddle when he took off, so the reins jogged and jiggled around his neck, just out of reach. Here I sat--or bounced--an afterthought at the mercy of a frightened, 1200 pound prey animal streaking across a field, littered with little holes here and there. I had a very important decision to make: a) stay on, try to regain control, and ride it out, taking the chance that he'd trip on the reins and kill us both, or b) bail off and take whatever punishment the hard Tennessee clay ground could muster.
I chose "B".
Regardless of how accomplished the rider, there will someday be a time when the decision must be made--fight or flee. This was my day. I hit the ground with a dull "thud", rolled a bit, and came to rest looking up into the beautiful blue sky. My whole body was numb. I lifted my head just in time to see the dust as Doc disappeared at the far end of the field. I tried to stand up, but I collapsed back down onto the ground, still reeling from the sudden jolt. I heard hoof beats rapidly approaching, and I knew Doc was on his way back by me. I couldn't scramble to my feet fast enough to get out of harm's way, so without thinking, I threw my legs up in the air to show him where I was.
It worked.
He raced past, turning and snorting as he reached the other side of the field. By this time, I had collected myself enough to stand, unsteadily, mind you, but I was still upright. In a vain effort, I called Doc, clapped my hands, and clicked my tongue. To my amazement, he trotted right to me, bent his neck, and buried his head in my chest. I praised him for coming straightaway, half leaning on him for some composure. It wouldn't have profited anything to scold him, as horses' memories in matters of fear are short-lived at best.
Instead, we collected ourselves, took a deep breath, and embarked on a six-footed walk through the hay fields, past the woods and ponds, around the gates, and back to the pasture again. We passed possums and birds, empty hay cribs and silent paths. Ever faithful, Bob scurried along side, occasionally darting out to sniff out a trail. What should have taken us 20 minutes wound up lasting an hour and a half. And, while I was bruised and battered from one end to the other, no permanent damage was done. We--Doc and I--spent the afternoon not riding, but, rather, learning one another on a much more intimate level. Out of our fear and pain gleamed a small, but discernible, spark of trust.
Like I said, it was a beautiful day.
