Let's just say a) really don't want to do that again anytime soon. b) it wasn't as bad as my adrenalin and panicky mind told me it would be. c) I had a strange compulsion to bring it home with me. d) I'm glad it's gone.
But while I was dreading the upcoming tooth extraction at work yesterday we started talking about horses.
Honestly, I don't know how the subject came up. But, one of my co-workers and I were friends in high school. Weird. Anyhoo. We began reminiscing. When we were 16 or 17 she spent the night one night and we decided to go horseback riding. First problem, one horse between the two of us. Ha, that's no problem. We'd share a horse. Second problem, said horse liked to hold it's breath when being saddled. Ha. Patience and intelligence, we'd wait the horse out and keep tightening the-thing-on-the-saddle-that-holds-the-saddle-to-the-horse-that-I-used-to-know-what-it-was-called-thingy...cinch maybe?
Problems solved, we set out on the dusty trail and met up with our friend and her horse. A few miles from home we also met up with some boy classmates, also on their horses. Did I mention we were 16 and 17? The boys said, "Hey, wanna race?"
I also mentioned I possessed a fair amount of intelligence, my friend, who was glued to my back in a death grip, and I, in unison, said, "No WAY!" Our other friend had a crush on one of the boys. So. Three horses began an epic race, thundering away.
Did I ever mention that I have very little experience with horse whispering? I believe a horse, no matter how mild and tame, will see me and immediately sense the need to either stomp me, blow snot on me, kick or throw me, or bite me...(in case you are wondering, I've experienced all of the above, some more so than others). This horse happened to have a bit of a naughty streak. Not a good combination. The horse wanted to race. And race it did.
As we tore, at full canter, miles from home, on the gravel road, pulling with all our clueless girl might the saddle began to slip.
Trust me, this is worse than getting a tooth pulled. A few seconds of that day are burned forever in my mind. The slow crawl, the pounding hooves, breathing, screaming awareness that the ground grew closer and closer and closer.
The impact was probably less horrific than the impending promise of impact. We each probably did two or three endos. I remember lying on the road (yes, a road, where cars drive) aware of every square inch of my skin and all of my bones, doing a quick assessment of life. A voice, mine or hers who knows, said something along the lines of "Are we alive?"
Then we gingerly stood. Did I mention that we were at least two hilly miles from home? Limping, we set out. The horse, gaining it's freedom from our oppression was home, waiting, patiently eating grass, saddle upside down around it's belly. Our rotten friend, who knows.
We took turns washing gravel out of our hair and counting gravel burns upon our bodies.
And, that, my friends is why I prefer time in a dentist chair to time in a saddle.
By the way. Our co-worker of five years laughed until she cried yesterday when we ping-ponged the story. Never seen her laugh so hard. Then she told me to have a nice dentist visit.
