Horse people are tough. We can discuss the effectiveness of different wormers over pasta with marinara sauce. We don’t bat an eye at the intricacies of treating abscesses, EPM, pigeon fever or even discussing the latest colic surgery.
And our own boo-boos? Ha. Break your arm yesterday? Oh yeah…that’s why I have this cast. If you say out loud: Huh. that’s going to make riding a bit awkward. 17 people will immediately tell you exactly how you can successfully ride your horse while wearing a cast on any limb. What do doctors know? Cast-schmast, that shouldn’t interfere with your riding. Stupid doctors.
Gore, pain, injury…major horse melt-downs: all in the line of duty. Yawn. There is however, one thing we can’t handle. Does anything clear a room full of horse people faster than one person wailing…I’M NEVER GOING TO LEARN HOW TO RIDE…?
Right. Tag. I’m It.
Since Dr. Freud is not available, I call my friends.
Because our world is resplendent with virtual interconnectedness, calling my friends consists of text, email, IM and even a phone, as a last resort. In other words, I can bombard them with every contact tool in my arsenal, either serially, or in a mass send of self-pity, that sends every electronic device around them into spasms of beeping, bleating and ring tones.
This does not make them popular with their co-workers.
I used restraint. I did serial wailing. Unfortunately for everyone involved, I’m quite good at it. I wail about not being able to ride with a lot more competence and finesse than I have ever been capable of bringing to my riding. If I followed my true spark of genius I’d be a professional mourner. Olympic level.
In an effort to dump me on Dr. Freud in person (uh, in spirit?), Daisy is going to hold a séance/intervention. How do I know this? She accidentally included me in her mass IM. The one that starts out: JANE IS DRIVING ME BONKERS: séance, my house, bring Vodka.
I um, had a less than stellar ride yesterday. On a stellar horse. You know. The Rare Opportunity Horse? I had her on my catch ride list. I rode her last year too, before she went up two levels. For one shining moment, I thought I could ride this horse. Oh I could sit her, and deal with what she came up with, no problem. I can sit real good. It’s the actual riding part that is problematic. We had an brilliant trot extension, a perfectly elegant flying change, and an breathtaking extended canter. Problem? I was asking her to HALT. All three times.
Me: Halt please.
Princess: Sure. I can snap my hooves out at the trot like you wouldn’t believe…hang on!
Me: Halt please.
Princess: Change leads and counter canter on a 10 M circle? Look at THIS. Smooooooth, huh?
Me: HALT PLEASE
Princess: Extend? Canter or hand gallop? Hand gallop? Whole arena? Okay. If you insist.
Me: SIT ON YOUR BUTT NOW
Princess: Hey! You’re scaring me up there. If you don’t stop telling me I’m doing it wrong every time I follow your directions I’m gonna melt down. Seriously. You’re scaring me, lady.
Me: Fine. Go forward.
Princess: Halt? Why didn’t you just say so?
(Warning: This is the part where you put your fingers in your ears.) The following is a test of the emergency broadcasting system. For the next 60 seconds you will hear rending and ranting. Please stand by.
I’M NEVER GOING TO LEARN HOW TO RIDE! I TOTALLY BLEW IT ON A GREAT HORSE (sob…sniffle…sob) Not only can I NOT ride, I’m not as fit as I thought. I’m out of shape! I couldn’t keep my legs draped. I broke at the wrist! My arms were stiff. I rode off my upper body! (rending, wailing, sobbing) When am I finally going to learn how to ride? I couldn’t even keep her straight! Gaaaahhhhhhhh.
This was a test of the Jane Emergency Broadcasting System. If this had this been an actual emergency, all of your electronic devices would’ve gone off, and we’d ask you to tune to the Public Service Channel for more information. And bring Vodka.
We now return you to your regular programming.