Abandon Ship

I spent four days at the farm last week/weekend and the time was marked by an unusual number of "emergency dismounts." This was a bummer as we are all trying to get back in foxhunting shape because opening cubbing is Labor Day Weekend. Out-of-shape riders the first day of hunting are a recipe for disaster.

First, Robbie took his horse Merlin to a jumping lesson off the property and came back with a bleeding horse and a large number of bruises on his Robbie body. What happened? Merlin gashed a hole in his upper leg taking out a pole over a jump. Robbie said it was "pick ups ticks and tinder flying everywhere, the stupid beast." That will teach him to pick his legs up when he jumps. As for Robbie, he managed to come of his horse three times in an hour. He was dazed and dusty and mystified.

Then, Dale and I decided in the middle of the night that the moon was bright enough to warrant a midnight bareback ride around the property. We pulled two horses out of the fields (Burton and Mac) and set off with no saddles, no bridles, and no hats. Excellent idea! We went down in the woods and walked up the river and out into the front hay fields. All was well. Then we decide to canter. Burton was okay with this except he preferred to trot -- there is nothing worse when you're bare back to have the horse do a fast, very bouncy trot instead of a canter. We call it "the tranter." Dale's horse came up next to me and bumped my leg with his fleshy haunches and that was it -- I bounced bounced bounced slowly sideways and ditched on to the hard ground of the hay field (no rain recently). WHACK! Proving why we are supposed to wear helmets. Burton stood there with the two lead lines that were attached to his halter lying on the ground, looking at me with a disappointed face. I trudged over to the nearest jump and got back on and then we cantered the rest of the way home.

Then we were sitting on our bareback horses near the barn relaxing, letting them eat grass, lying back on them with our heads on their haunches, looking at the moon. Dale started laughing about my "tranter" and then she laughed so hard she laughed herself right off her horse and WHACK she was on the ground too. Then I laughed at her -- much better to fall off at the tranter then to fall off at the halt.

So in one day that was five falls by supposedly skilled foxhunters.

Then yesterday, I go on a leisurely ride with Jonathan and Rebecca across the road into the park. Jonathan's horse was being bonkers so we just walked. Just walked. Down a path we have traversed a million times. Up on the steep hill that borders the Patuxent River. Our home territory, practically. I was in the lead and we came to a part of the trail with a stone in the middle and a fallen log on the side. I alert my friends, "There's a thing here, be careful." But I have confidence in my Irish horse so we start to pick our way through. The next thing I know Burton is down on his knees and then down on his side rolling down the hill towards the river. I instinctively step off of him and land on my feet and start pushing on him to keep him from rolling further. Miraculously, he rights himself and struggles back up on the trial. I stand there, part way down the hill looking at him. He stands up there looking at me. This all took about 3 seconds and the only noise was the huge sound of logs cracking under his weight. We all start to laugh. "Burton fell down!" He was completely calm about it. So I lead him a ways down the trail to a big fat rock and get back on. Only then do I realize that my right hand is in incredible pain. Even though I had never hit the ground with anything other than my feet, I had managed to break/fracture/bruise/sprain my hand.

My pinkie and palm had already swollen up so much I had a hard time getting my glove off.

Hopefully we'll all be in better shape once the season actually begins.