Wednesday, December 5, 2012

...And No One Can Talk to a Horse, Of Course

A few years ago, my friend Jess and I took riding lessons at a stable outside of town. We spent the first few sessions in an enclosed arena just going over the basics. Jess was a natural since she had a horse when she was a kid. I started out a little shakier because I never had a horse. But I got the hang of it soon enough.

On about our third lesson, we rode outside down a gravel road. Everything was going according to plan when all of a sudden, my horse freaked out and took off back toward the barn. I tried desperately to regain control with the reigns, but he was not having any of it. In all reality, it was probably little more than a trot, but I was bouncing all over the place, barely managing to stay upright. It was terrifying. I actually remember thinking, "I can't believe this is how I die. Ridiculous."

As we neared the stable, my horse slowed down just a little. It was my chance to finally get the fucker to stop. I dropped one reign and used both hands to pull hard on one side. That jerked the horse's head back, forcing him to stop.

Jess rode up in a hurry behind me. "Oh my God, Marie!" she gasped. "Are you okay?!" Before I could answer, she added, "Your hair looked really pretty.  Like a Pantene commercial."

Thanks Jess.

Also, remember when I mentioned how my dad's a fairly interesting guy? Well, he has a runaway horse story, too. Except he ended up falling off of his horse. And his foot got caught in the stirrup. And he got dragged for a little while.

I obviously come from a long line of equestrians.

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