the one where I got a black eye
This sort of dreamy fade-out was one of the effects the photographer did with our wedding shots. Somehow, it feels like it works better with horses. This is Truce, a horse I rode while at Briarwood Riding School–he is now owned by another of Sarah’s students and is an adored member of the family. Besides being gorgeous (and a great mover), Truce also managed to give me my first and only black eye. And I have had the flu for the past week and wanted to relive a funny memory, so you get to hear all about it.
Now to understand appropriately the emotions I felt in this situation, you have to understand Truce. Truce is tall, long-legged, gorgeous. If Truce was a human male, he’d be the sort that turned heads wherever he went. Women would want to be with him; men would want to be him. Then they’d get to know him. Because Truce, you see, has a flaw–he is a flat out, lily-livered, yellow-bellied, pale as a ghost coward. He is afraid of birds, tall people, short horses, and his own shadow. But he is a talented, gorgeous, lily-livered coward, and he was for sale, so we kept trying.
That cross country clinic had actually been a good day; we were jumping high, and he seemed to be enjoying himself. Of course, if this had been an episode of a television show, we would have begun to be suspicious, but it was real life, so it took us by surprise when he decided that really, he didn’t want to finish jumping. He would rather pause half-way over a fence and take a look at the situation. I patted him on his arched neck, look around at the jump, and decide that we would tattoo his nick-name, Chicken Little, on his butt as soon as I got mine out of the saddle.
So… we were stuck half-way over a jump, and I had time to look around. Look down at the jump we had stalled over. Look back at my trainer who was walking, rolling her eyes, and shrugging simultaneously. Watch everyone else in the lesson move that crucial three feet away “just in case”. I had time to listen to the twittering birds and Truce’s apologetic mouthing of the bit. I had time to feel his heart pounding against my legs with the anxiety that was very real, if totally ridiculous. (Wasn’t Chicken Little really afraid the sky would fall? Well, Truce was really afraid the jump would eat him.)
And then, suddenly all I had time for was an emphatic “Crap” as I went sailing towards the ground. Lawn-darting towards the dirt with the accuracy of a Tiger Wood’s putt and the force only the hind legs of a horse suddenly deciding to jump can create. In that fantastically compressed second, I had time to grab the reins, do a full flip, and watch through through the polarized lenses of my sunglasses as the ground came up to meet me. Time to punch myself solidly in the left eye and look blearily up at Truce, slightly confused by how all this had happened.
Honestly? Even though I sported that bruise for two weeks, I think I feel more annoyed by this flu than I ever did by that black eye.