I had every hope of doing exciting horsey things this weekend (as exciting as they could be given our restraint at walk and trot), namely pulling mane so my spotted creature looks less half-wild-cow-pony and more slightly-fuzzy-out-of-shape-warmblood. Or so was the plan.
Instead I got knocked out Friday night with a stomach affliction that made me really grateful I had scrubbed the toilets the week before, since I got many a closeup view of that particular porcelain throne. I was therefore barely able to tolerate being vertical for the next 36 hours, much less bouncing around in the saddle. Oh well, good intentions, and all that.
Since we’re (I’m) talking about my battered body, I thought I’d share how I came to receive the battle scars posted on instagram a couple weeks ago (picture below for those who didn’t see it).
A couple weekends ago the husband and I went to visit my parents, who traditionally keep a large number of dogs, these including a Yorkie and a German Shepherd that get to live inside. You might recognize Sampson from last year, when we did a fun puppy-shoot at the farm.
Sampson looks a bit different now, weighing in over 90 lbs and (in my personal opinion) wreaking havoc throughout the house. Even before this incident, he generally did not win my sympathies nearly as much as Roo, the sweet indoor cat.
So when Sampson went to chase the cat down the stairs, I grabbed his collar instinctively, naively assuming he’d stop.
I think we all know where this is going.
I was dragged halfway down the wooden stairs before the lug realized he had a human attached to him and I bumped to a stop. It all happened so fast, I don’t think I fully realized what happened, I only knew that I hurt. My shins, knees, thighs, and shoulder were all pretty banged up, but luckily nothing was broken, and bonus, the cat got away. You’re welcome, Roo.
I wonder if I wasn’t a rider if I would have let go- looking back I acted the same way I would have had I fallen off a horse. You know, when you pop off but every instinct screams “Keep hold of the reins!”, even if it means you get dragged and eat a little dirt as a result. In any case, I know because I’m a rider that my body is not new to all sorts of bruises, and even though these ones are still sticking with me two weeks later, I know eventually they’ll fade. I hope.
Still, next time, the cat can defend herself.