palace of winds

Friday I got off work a bit early — giving me just enough time to squeeze in a barn visit before my weekend guests were due to arrive. I thought it was lovely riding weather, blessedly warm after our snowy April, but it was muggy 70′s coming off a few cooler days, and apparently Ev was feeling a bit sluggish.

His gaits weren’t horrible; he was moving out when I asked. I was concentrating on steady hands, trying to bridge over the two side-rein sessions, and I thought he felt pretty good — had some nice moments of softness, though I suspect half of him going forward into contact was really him schlumping around on his forehand. He had a few trips at the trot; any horse will have an occasional bad step, but it happened enough that I wondered about it, briefly — if the footing was bothering him (it’s a sand arena that tends to be a bit rocky), or if he was a bit body-sore, or what. After a half hour or so I decided we’d go have a nice stretchy canter on the grass track and call it an evening. I’d even practice my jumping seat. So I pulled my stirrups up a few holes, and decided I’d give him a lap around the arena to get him used to my feet up higher before we ventured out.

He picks it up fine and we are going along, hunky-dory, up one long wall, the shorter end, round the corner, and we are coming down the other long wall when he stumbles again; I have a momentary impression of the ground coming very fast, and scraping along it a bit before stopping; I freeze, briefly, all in a flash thinking that I should roll out of the way, wondering if I am about to be landed on, and then thinking — not better, really, but otherwise, envisioning rolling away straight into his oncoming path. It is all only a moment, this decision; I lie still for a breath, waiting. When nothing more happens I push up and turn to see him having just gotten fully upright again, looking a bit shaken, a bit confused. I go to him immediately and he seems fine, all dusty in the face and up the neck but otherwise okay.

I lead him down to the indoor arena (we are done with the outdoor and its rocky footing for today). One of the moms comes to check on us, having heard but not seen it. She kindly brings wet-wipes for my face, which I’m sure is a sight, and for the scrape on my shoulder. I take them and spend maybe longer than necessary wiping up, keeping my hands moving, wondering if they might be shaking a little and not wanting to know. I’d decided almost instantly — not quite while flying toward the ground but certainly while lying there — that I was going to be entirely unruffled by this. Not the first time I’ve fallen, and I’m sure won’t be the last. No big deal.

Inside I lunge him both directions, walk trot canter, and he is (thankfully) moving fine. I let my stirrups back down and hop back on, just some easy walk trot. When we are finished I discover sand between his saddle and pad. I put the same antibiotic on the little scrape on his nose and above his left eye and on my right cheek and shoulder. I inspect his legs, his chest, his neck. All seems well.

My trainer called it laziness; cited the weather; said it happens with the young ones and he will probably never do it again. I like to think it’s a lesson he’ll need just once. I was out yesterday, riding in the outdoor, and he was fine — nary a trip. A little more careful about his feet, I like to think.

That makes two falls in two weeks (the first due to a horse-eating picnic table). I hope we can be done for a while now.