When Karma Bites You in the Butt
I'm sure this is something many of you have experienced in your life. If you laugh at someone else's misfortune, you will inevitably run into some of your own... and it will usually be worse. With me, this happens with horses.
The set-up: Some of you may remember me asking about how to teach a 19-year-old novice how to ride. Well, said novice (Emma) is doing pretty well. She can safely catch, lead, and tack up her horse more or less without my help (which is good, because I often have my own horse to attend to). I usually check her work over, and I usually do the girth up for her as well. She has learned how to take her stirrups down a hole or three and how to pick hooves. She even keeps her heels and hands down!
...honestly, she was about due for a mistake.
We took out a pair of gelding on Thursday, for what will probably be the last long trail ride of the season, since the snow just started coming down with a vengeance. When it snows in Ohio, that's it - Winter's come, and there's nothing you can do about it. I had Murphy, a great big wonderful Appy who I want to take home with me, and she had King, a hilariously fuzzy small Quarter Horse. I tacked up quickly, as per usual, and then went to keep an eye on Emma. I did the girth up as tight as it would go, and then we headed out.
Outside, she mounted up while I adjusted my stirrups. I heard a yelp, a thud, and getting-up noises, but couldn't see over the horse's back. I came around just as she had gotten herself back together. Emma had not bothered to check the girth - like I keep telling her to! - and when she got on the saddle slipped right down his side, dumping her on the stone mounting step. Owch, I know. She took Murphy, I fixed the saddle and showed her the proper way to mount - she'd been putting too much weight in the stirrup, if that makes sense. On she got, off we went. The ride was uneventful after that, and I laughed at her about it for two days. I thought it was hilarious.
I should not have been laughing.
On Saturday, I took my girlfriend riding to de-stress us both. I took Kia, a psychotic little bay Section B Welsh (as far as I can figure out - she has the right look). She sucks for ring riding, but is great (mostly) on the trail. She took a bomb-proof, long-backed paint mare named Sunny - a husband horse if there ever was one. We headed out after being warned about the hunters in the back woods; since we were wearing bright clothes and talked the whole time, we were fine. Deer shot past and a gun went off, neither horse blinked. Yay! I'm all about keeping the girl safe.
We were half-way back when Kia started to jig and I knew I might be in trouble. The last bit of the trail - the part you can't skirt and have to ride in order to get home - is a hill. Not a steep angle - maybe 40 degrees? Or 30? - but long. Then you go down a little rise, then across a small field to the barn. I tried to keep Kia at a trot up the hill but she was having none of it... I had just enough time to scream back to Sarah to hold Sunny in before she absolutely floored it.
You know how you can feel horses change gears from a canter into a flat-out, stretched-out gallop? A quarter of the way up the hill, that's what happened. And Kia - surprise! - has no brakes. None. I was standing up in the Western saddle that was the only reason I stayed on, reins pulled straight back to my hips/thighs, one foot out of the stirrup and she didn't even slow down. She had her little head tucked down into her chest, well behind the bit, and was merrily ignoring everything I did. I could steer, so I ran her towards a wall. No slowing.
Hmm.
I eventually got her circling, and that stopped her pretty quick. Sarah and Sunny came trotting up the hill cool as could be. We finished our ride, and I got off and had a small panic attack. I don't panic on the horse, but once I'm on the ground all bets are off. It took an hour and a half to calm down.
The instant I got home, I apologized to Emma for laughing at her and told her what happened.
Emma said I deserved everything I got, and I agreed.
Karma, my dears, is a b*tch.
The set-up: Some of you may remember me asking about how to teach a 19-year-old novice how to ride. Well, said novice (Emma) is doing pretty well. She can safely catch, lead, and tack up her horse more or less without my help (which is good, because I often have my own horse to attend to). I usually check her work over, and I usually do the girth up for her as well. She has learned how to take her stirrups down a hole or three and how to pick hooves. She even keeps her heels and hands down!
...honestly, she was about due for a mistake.
We took out a pair of gelding on Thursday, for what will probably be the last long trail ride of the season, since the snow just started coming down with a vengeance. When it snows in Ohio, that's it - Winter's come, and there's nothing you can do about it. I had Murphy, a great big wonderful Appy who I want to take home with me, and she had King, a hilariously fuzzy small Quarter Horse. I tacked up quickly, as per usual, and then went to keep an eye on Emma. I did the girth up as tight as it would go, and then we headed out.
Outside, she mounted up while I adjusted my stirrups. I heard a yelp, a thud, and getting-up noises, but couldn't see over the horse's back. I came around just as she had gotten herself back together. Emma had not bothered to check the girth - like I keep telling her to! - and when she got on the saddle slipped right down his side, dumping her on the stone mounting step. Owch, I know. She took Murphy, I fixed the saddle and showed her the proper way to mount - she'd been putting too much weight in the stirrup, if that makes sense. On she got, off we went. The ride was uneventful after that, and I laughed at her about it for two days. I thought it was hilarious.
I should not have been laughing.
On Saturday, I took my girlfriend riding to de-stress us both. I took Kia, a psychotic little bay Section B Welsh (as far as I can figure out - she has the right look). She sucks for ring riding, but is great (mostly) on the trail. She took a bomb-proof, long-backed paint mare named Sunny - a husband horse if there ever was one. We headed out after being warned about the hunters in the back woods; since we were wearing bright clothes and talked the whole time, we were fine. Deer shot past and a gun went off, neither horse blinked. Yay! I'm all about keeping the girl safe.
We were half-way back when Kia started to jig and I knew I might be in trouble. The last bit of the trail - the part you can't skirt and have to ride in order to get home - is a hill. Not a steep angle - maybe 40 degrees? Or 30? - but long. Then you go down a little rise, then across a small field to the barn. I tried to keep Kia at a trot up the hill but she was having none of it... I had just enough time to scream back to Sarah to hold Sunny in before she absolutely floored it.
You know how you can feel horses change gears from a canter into a flat-out, stretched-out gallop? A quarter of the way up the hill, that's what happened. And Kia - surprise! - has no brakes. None. I was standing up in the Western saddle that was the only reason I stayed on, reins pulled straight back to my hips/thighs, one foot out of the stirrup and she didn't even slow down. She had her little head tucked down into her chest, well behind the bit, and was merrily ignoring everything I did. I could steer, so I ran her towards a wall. No slowing.
Hmm.
I eventually got her circling, and that stopped her pretty quick. Sarah and Sunny came trotting up the hill cool as could be. We finished our ride, and I got off and had a small panic attack. I don't panic on the horse, but once I'm on the ground all bets are off. It took an hour and a half to calm down.
The instant I got home, I apologized to Emma for laughing at her and told her what happened.
Emma said I deserved everything I got, and I agreed.
Karma, my dears, is a b*tch.