Cowgirls Don't Cry

Steve Holt! had a close encounter with the hotwire...poor baby!

Monday was so beautiful! I hauled Sandy and Steve Holt! to the tree farm and took a short ride in the sunshine. Steve Holt! didn't turn one sweaty hair, and Sandy was only barely damp beneath his saddle after our 45 minute ride. And without a single sign of a cough after climbing the hills on Steve Holt!'s part, I decided it was time for him to get busy under saddle again.

Tuesday I hauled him to the riding club and let him play for a moment in the round pen before tossing his new saddle on and mounting up. Being not entirely stupid, I climbed on in the round pen just in case he had a lapse in judgment and decided to go all three year old on me after his month off. But no reason to worry...Steve Holt! was his normal self. Big trot, responsive, not goofy in the least, so I rode him to the round pen gate, opening and closing it from his back and continued my short ride in the arena. It didn't last more than ten minutes since I didn't want him too stressed. We jogged a lot, did serpentines, practiced some one handed circles. He was fine.

Wednesday morning I hauled back up and since the day before had been text book perfect, I didn't bother to start in the round pen. I led him into the arena, asked him to stand while mounting, and found him walking off as I stood in the stirrup. I thought briefly that this was a bad habit, and as my leg swung up over his back that thought was driven home...and hard...because Steve Holt! took a three year old mental break, ducking his head down to the right as he kicked his heels up into the air.

Had I been all the way in the saddle, the ending would have been different. But I wasn't. I was in the air and launched further by his playful buck. Somewhere in the air I did a somersault, something I'd never managed to do in my gym classes, but the landing was pretty similar. Flat on my back, I watched my boy lope freely to the other end of the arena where he stood admiring his reflection in the mirror.

D*#n horse. Okay, so I may not be entirely stupid, but obviously there was just a little stupid in there somewhere or I'd have been in the round pen again, or had reins shorter at the very least.

I stayed on the ground doing a mental checklist of my fall and the body parts that hurt. My ribs, my back...the inside of my right knee which had slammed into the horn of the saddle; that's where the pain was. The wind had been knocked out of me. My head? Hadn't touched the ground, thankfully. Thankfully from the center of the arena I had cell phone service. I don't in the round pen. But in the center, still sitting in the dirt, I called home and had my son come get me. I managed to pull myself up and get Steve Holt! tied to the rail, removing his bridle and martingale, and by then the Geek Boy was there and took the saddle for me. We left Steve Holt! in the round pen and he drove me home where I laid on ice for awhile; calling a friend to go pick up the horse and truck/trailer.

By evening the pain hadn't subsided so I checked into the hospital. The nurse asked if I wanted a wheelchair. I said no. She told me I didn't need to be tough...I wasn't a cowboy, after all, I was a cowgirl. I smiled..."Cowgirls don't cry, haven't you heard?" Eventually I caved and took the wheels; no way was I able to walk to the back of the building where they were taking me for xrays.

While I was barely functioning yesterday, the xrays showed what I knew deep down...just bruised. And with enough Ibuprofen there is little pain today. So the plan for the weekend remains the same.

What, you'd forgotten my plan? Wild Horse Adoption this weekend, kids! I'll be hauling down Friday, and the Youth And Yearling kids will be picking up their new babies Saturday along with 20 other mustangs being available. So, if you're in the northwest and not attending the Daffodil show in Puyallup, come say hello! We'll be at Black Raven Stables in Arlington.