Legends of the Falls
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Those of you south of the border have to wait for your turkey dinner a few weeks, but my family got together for Thanksgiving recently. It was hot, so I decided there was no way I was going to cook a turkey. We’d have BBQ in the backyard instead. And, like many holidays when family gathers, the old family legends are rehashed. Since a good number of us are riders, horse stories are often rolled out. And somehow, we started to talk about falling off. Now my sister has had some spectacular dismounts. She rides much more difficult horses, and more often than I do. But I’ll leave her to tell her own fall legends. I’ve quite enough of my own.
When I was about five or six, I had a pony named Dolly. She was a demonical little monster I rode without saddle, helmet or footwear. I struggled to get on her. But dismounting took no time at all, and she was glad to help. My mother always encouraged me however, and told me that you had to fall off seven times before you were a real rider. I think Dolly would have been glad to make that happen in one day.
Then there came Dorothy, aka Royal Warrior. There was nothing royal about her warring, as her tactics were downright dirty. She was clever at finding low tree branches or wiping me off along fences or farm wagons. Clearly, I became a ‘real rider’ very early in life.
Mitzi G was my first registered pony. She was as diabolical as she was pretty. This pony taught me that beauty is indeed skin deep, because she was bad to the bone. Hawthorne trees were her favourite weapon. It’s surprising I had to leave home to get my ears pierced. Looking back at my pony years, I get the feeling I spent more time sitting in the sand than on my ponies.
When I was quite tiny, I also rode my mother’s 16hh gelding, Manitou. This guy hated men, but was so careful with me. If I fell off him, he’d come back to check on me.
My first real hard fall, not just a flop into the sand was on my Morgan x Welsh pony Caramel. We often would bring the horses in to feed by riding one in, and the rest would follow. One day Caramel spooked at something. I don’t know what, and I don’t know how, because I was knocked semi-conscious and spent three days in hospital with a concussion and whiplash. I vaguely remember leading him, being met by my sister at the barn door, and then losing my breakfast. That was the fall that convinced me helmets were very important.
I think my next hard fall was as I was riding in a group along the gravel shoulder of a road. We were all riding at a working trot when my horse stepped into a hole. I went over its shoulder and skidded onto the pavement on one arm. I still have a scar below one elbow from my road rash. Thankfully, the horse stayed with the group. I mopped up my abrasions, and carried on.
My most embarrassing fall was after a 30 mile trail ride. My little Arabian was the spooky sort. I’d come off on trail, softly landing on the sponge attached to my belt loop, and kept hold of the reins. It was almost a non-event, and no one saw it but the woman I was riding with. But after the ride, as we were leading the horses back to the trailer, he spooked again. This time, he knocked me off of my feet, and I ended up beneath him. This of course happened right in front of a large group of people, who all offered to help me most solicitously, but I’m sure were sniggering behind their hands.
Of course, there have been many ‘partial dismounts’. Those are the ones that leave you clinging like a baby monkey around the horse’s neck, or draped awkwardly over the front of the saddle. Those are the ones where you grit your teeth and tell the horse, I am not coming off, so give up... NOW!
Related: Should You Ride Alone
My last fall, the one that proves I can still do it, I’ve already told in Should You Ride Alone. I’m sure I’ll gather a few more legends yet. What’s your best legend of the fall? |
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