Thursday, Nov. 14, 2024

Bad Habits Can Kill You

In early May, a dear friend in Las Vegas sent me scurrying to my electric typewriter to tell her frightening tale as soon as I hung up the phone, as other memories of much younger years came flooding back

from the very dark recesses of my brain. I hope these stories will make at least one person reconsider the way they do things and, I hope, save a life.

What happened to her left her shaking and re-evaluating her life (which flashed in front of her) for days.

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In early May, a dear friend in Las Vegas sent me scurrying to my electric typewriter to tell her frightening tale as soon as I hung up the phone, as other memories of much younger years came flooding back

from the very dark recesses of my brain. I hope these stories will make at least one person reconsider the way they do things and, I hope, save a life.

What happened to her left her shaking and re-evaluating her life (which flashed in front of her) for days.

It was just a commonplace day. Vegas is a sprawling city, but it’s still the desert, which can get very hot very early. Consequently, everyone rides early in the morning. The prediction that day was for temperatures in the 90s, but what wasn’t predicted were strong winds, which can come out of nowhere and create dust devils.

She was meant to ride with a friend, a mother with two young children, who had to beg off at the last minute with babysitter problems. In a hurry to ride all three horses before the heat, she shortchanged herself, as we all do at times, and used her friend’s dirty saddle, along with the small stirrups that were on the saddle.

To add to the situation, there was a city clean-up crew pruning trees along the road near the ring, which is behind an adobe wall, so they couldn’t be seen, just heard. She was riding a dear, 6-year-old Quarter Horse who’d been a pack and trail horse and is usually unflappable.

After a brief hack’remember, she’s in a hurry’she decided to pop the mare over some jumps. Her helmet was back at the barn, two minutes down the road, but she wasn’t going to jump much’or high. So, like so many before her, she just decided to get it over with. And then it happened.

Trotting toward the second crossrail, a dust devil sprang up from nowhere. At the same instant, the work crew snapped a large, dead branch from a high tree. The unflappable mare saw and heard it about two strides from the jump. Surprised, she just left from there and stumbled on the landing side. This dislodged my hatless friend, who decided to bail out (and off). As she was dismounting, as she’d been taught in her youth, her foot stayed trapped in the too-small stirrup.

She’d lost or thrown her reins away and she felt her knee pop/wrench. Of course, all this happened in fewer seconds than it takes to tell.

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If this were an old TV melodrama, it would pan out and say, “Continued Next Week,” but I won’t do that.

She had a guardian angel looking out for her. As the mare landed, and before the agony of pain was felt, she had the presence of mind to say, “Whoa,” and talk to her. The mare stopped, as she’d been trained, and stood’and stood and stood’ until she’d clawed her way back up into the saddle from the off side.

This sounds like a parable, but it’s a true story. Many equally good horsemen and women have thought, “Oh, nothing will happen to me…”

Believe me, that someone else can be you! Please, please dear, reader, always wear a helmet’preferably with a harness’every single time you mount to ride.

And I have this advice to professionals: Please set a good example for your students. It shouldn’t be, “Do as I say, not as I do.” People, especially children, are going to emulate you because they idolize you and think everything you do is “cool.” You must set the correct example.

Of course, this incident brought back memories from my youth. I can recall when I was an apprentice (now called a working pupil) to one of my mentors, Gordon Wright. It was during a lesson in the cold indoor ring in winter, and I was schooling a horse before a ladies side-saddle group lesson, wearing a hunt cap that didn’t fit. It was only the third time I’d ridden side-saddle’which is not something a man should do’and my balance was, at best, precarious.

The horse, named Shadrack, was part draft horse of some type, and although he was 17 hands, he had the stride of an inchworm. Gordon wanted me to get him moving with more pace, so he had me use the hunting whip to encourage him.

I did so, behind the girth, but Shadrack left the ground in midstride, throwing me completely out of balance, and with no side-saddle instincts I fell toward the wall, which scared him, so he shied inside on landing. The horn stopped me from falling completely off, but both spurs raked his one side and scared him thoroughly, so he started to clumsily gallop away from the fright. Gordon shouted, “Whoa!” And like the good schoolhorse he was (read: saint), he stopped, which was his favorite thing anyhow, thank God.

Even though I’d won the AHSA Medal Finals the year before, I was trembling from fright. Did I mention my hunt cap also fell off and hit him on the rump?

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I never rode side-saddle again, and I decided to always train my animals to voice aids. I also decided to always wear my own hunt cap that fit well (no harnesses yet, two decades later) because that arena’s sideboards were just inches away from my upside-down face.

Two years later, and now Gordon’s paid assistant (read: professional), I was at a big winter recognized show at Gordon’s, watching from the viewing room. One of Gordon’s top amateur riders, a gal some 15 years my senior, had four mounts in the very competitive open working hunters.

Shows didn’t hold up for anything in those days, so she would hand her mount over to the groom, who was holding her next ride, get on, and go right in the ring.

I can still see this nightmare unfold as if it were yesterday. Riding a very fancy, big-moving Thoroughbred, she came round the corner to the second fence. He took off boldly, and in midair she and her saddle started to slide to the outside. She was under the horse by the first stride, still in one of the irons as her hat was kicked off. The horse started to run as she bounced like a rag doll, hitting the ground and being pummeled by his hooves as he raced faster and faster. She finally came loose after a full turn of the ring and lay limp, as if dead.

I’m glad to report that she lived, with a broken arm, many facial contusions, and a massive, long-lasting concussion. But she never rode again.

This gruesome story could have ended much worse. What did I learn from it? Always check your own girth (he was a bloater), no matter how much of a hurry you’re in.

We are not invincible, as so many think, especially our youth. We need people with wisdom, and good common sense, to guide us and advise us. No matter how much of a hurry we’re in, in anything to do with horses, have a set of priorities and rules you always follow. How many arms have been broken or faces kicked by exuberant equines being turned out or playing on the longe line?

Always wear a properly fitted helmet, preferably with a harness, whenever you ride’even if it’s just to hack to the ring. Always check your tack before you mount, and then again afterward.

And, finally, don’t jump alone, because, as I said earlier, the life you save may be your own.

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