The sun was setting over our shoulders. A full moon was in plain sight, straight ahead. John and I were almost back to the pasture with our two equine friends – he riding the quarter horse and I on the wild Arabian, who were both behaving quite well.
Daylight was fading quickly and we were just getting back to familiar territory after riding through freshly plowed fields. Instead of riding to the end of the shelter belt, we both took sharp left turns and attempted a short cut – our horses just happy to follow each other.
Since we were at the neighbor’s farm, both of us thought the electric fence line was a few feet farther West. Neither of us realized how close we were. My poor horse nicked the fence with his front left leg and spooked. Luckily the fence was not on. Even still, he knew exactly what he had run in to.
He bolted, a sharp turn to the right. I hung on for two steps, just long enough to get away from the fence. Then I couldn’t take the momentum. I got thrown off that horse faster than I could say “Whoa!” Though I probably wasted the chance of saying anything, as I screamed like a little girl.
I flew through the air and landed on the ground with a thud…thud…THUD. After one bounce on the ground, the energy of the fall flipped me from my front to my back. I could see John and his horse when my head cracked on the ground. I remember thinking at least I was out of danger of being stepped on by either of the horses.
Count them….one, two, three…eight, nine bruises, one scrapped up back, a knot on my head, a scraped up knee, and a sharp pain in my shoulder. The shoulder bruise took two days to appear.
My horse was just feet away from me. He was fine. If he was at all upset with me, he became content after we took his saddle off and we gave him extra attention. I think we’re okay. Though, he thinks I’m an idiot. All I lost was a little chunk of pride on that cold, hard ground under the light of a full moon – that, and the ability to walk like a normal person for about three days.
John says you have to get thrown off a horse seven times in your life to call your self a cowboy. I might be able to do without such a title. I’ve also heard that cowgirls don’t cry.
Good thing I’m not a cowgirl.