A First Time for Everything

My husband and I spent a beautiful four days in the San Juans Islands last week. We came back on Wednesday. Needless to say, I hadn't been on my horse in about a week.

Thursday I readied for my lesson, fully intending to tell my instructor that I was going to try showing next year if my mare stayed sound. So I'm riding around the arena, starting my lesson and waiting for the appropriate time to tell her my plans. We move into a canter and work on half-halts from a school canter to a walk and back again. Gailey was dull and lugging, not really into working hard. We circle at 20 meters in this slow collected canter. Just as we come back to the rail, Gailey leaps sideways and shies. Now, my mare is NOT talented when it comes to shying. She's too big and too slow to unseat anyone.

Until now.

She goes one way. I go the other. All of this plays out in slow motion while I fly through the air. Funny how moments like this slow down time. As I'm approaching the ground, my first thought is "I hope I don't hear a snap." For those of you that have followed my posts, you know my mare is 17-1 hands and a long way to fall. I slam onto my side into the hard-packed arena sand near the rail. My hip hits first then my right arm as I jam my elbow into the ground.

No snap.

But pain. Lots of pain washes over me. Darn.

I sit up and flex my arm. No bones grate against bones. Just the pain. I get to my feet as my instructor catches my horse, who was more suprised by me landing on the ground next to her than I was. She's never had anyone fall off of her before and had no clue what it meant other than she might be in trouble.

I feel my arm. Nothing appears to be broken, but it hurts. I sit in the arena veiwing arena while my instructor jumps on the mare to make sure she doesn't attempt a repeat performance. She didn't. Meanwhile, I'm sweating like crazy and feeling pretty sick to my stomach. Then I find I have trouble breathing. I've never had that happen before, but I guess I now know what asthma must feel like. Shock, I guess.

My trainer calls my husband to pick me up. He breaks all speed records getting there. One of the boarders cools out my horse and puts her away (thanks, Kim).

The next day, I'm better, but then yesterday, it seems to hurt more. Plus, the swelling has migrated down into my wrist. I finally concede defeat and see a doctor. She used to ride, too, and has had lots of falls. They take x-rays. Nothing is broken, but I've sprained my wrist and elbow. I probably shouldn't even be typing this.

I feel lucky to have fallen off at that speed from that height and escaped with only sprains. I'm anxious to get back on my mare and get going again, but it appears it'll be a few weeks before that happens.

I guess it goes to show that things happen, especially with horses, that you can never predict. In the 11 years I've owned this horse, no one has ever come off of her, including me.

There's a first time for everything. So tell us about one of your firsts!

You Should Sell That Horse

Considering the previous subjects of this week's posts and the fact that I went to a horse show last weekend and had lousy performances, I thought this would be a fitting subject for my blog this week.

When I finished my last class on Sunday, I rode out of the arena with those prophetic words ringing in my ears. You see, I've heard them over and over in the past several years from friends, trainers, and casual acquaintances. Though, my very best friends never say those words to me, nor does my current trainer. They all love my mare and understand her.

My previous trainer did, though, which is why she's a "previous" trainer. In fact, she announced during a lesson, "This horse is too difficult. You should sell her and get something easier for an amateur to ride."

Then you have those railbirds and armchair trainers who offer their expert opinions, sometimes to your face, sometimes behind your back but in front of your good friends. "She should sell that horse. She can't ride her. She's too difficult." Truthfully, if I wanted their advice, I'd pay for it. They are still riding as amateurs, right?

Okay, my mare is difficult but not in the way you're thinking. She doesn't buck. She doesn't rear. She's so easy to sit, everyone who rides her thinks she's like sitting on a couch. She doesn't do anything bad. She's great on trails and generally unflappable.

So what's the problem?

She's big, a huge mover, and she uses her movement against me by falling on her forehand and going faster and faster. I respond by pulling. She responds by pulling And so it goes in a vicious endless circle neither of us seem to be able to break. Not a good recipe for winning dressage scores.

And from that comes: You should sell this horse.

I can't sell this horse. Aside from the obvious fact that she and I have a bond forged over ten years of going through all kinds of experiences together, I can't sell her because no one else would understand her idiosyncrasies. If you've read this blog, you know about her trailering traumas and issues with small enclosed places. Would anyone else understand how very real these issues are to her? Would they realize that she isn't just being stubborn?

How about when she gets worried at a horse show and tries too hard by second-guessing what I want next? Would a new owner understand that she wasn't being belligerent, she was actually being the opposite?

And who would look at me with those big doe eyes and nuzzle around for hidden treats in my pockets? Who would wait at the paddock gait for me when she sees my truck coming up the driveway? And who would be there when I just needed a big chestnut shoulder to cry on? Or someone to listen without making any judgements?

So, no, I'm not selling this horse. Not today. Not tomorrow. She's mine. I love her, and I have a responsibility to her to see that she doesn't go to someone who doesn't understand her history or her fears. Owning her has humbled me, and I consider that a good thing. I, too, was once an armchair trainer of the worst kind. Now I know how hard it can be and have sympathy for any rider who is trying their best to do right by their horse.

So that's why I have this talented, though difficult, mare that I don't win ribbons on and don't seem to be able to do her justice. You know what? She doesn't care if we win ribbons. She doesn't care if she scores 50s or 70s. She just wants to be understood and treated fairly. That's all she's ever asked.

There is more to riding than ribbons.

So needing a break, I brought my mare home this weekend from the trainer's and let her be a horse. This is her working hard at eating down my overgrown pasture.