From Arlene of Grey Horse Matters
This may not be the most entertaining one you may receive (Jane: uh-huh…don’t listen: modesty.), but even though I’ve had some interesting dismounts, the following one is probably the one where I hoped no one was actually watching – because if I had been watching I would have been doubled over in laughter.
The day before I was to take Erik, my 17.2 hand Dutch Warmblood, to one of our first shows, a schooling lesson was in order to fine-tune him and me. The outside arena was visibly under slushy mud conditions with puddles galore from previous rainstorms. Are you starting to get the picture yet?
We were cantering to the wishing well jump (wishing wells on either side with a gate in the center). Perfect stride…perfect distance…in two point ready to take the jump…horse puts in an extra half step…whoops, that didn’t work!
I went over his head…over the jump…he followed…missed me…whew….thank god I’ve still got the reins in my hand…wonder how that happened. NO! Erik…stop! You’re done. Good boy…stoooooppp!
So yes, in fact I found myself dragged through the mud on my stomach…mud encrusted way down inside my full-length chaps, my unmentionables, an let’s just say I had mud in places that had never seen a mud pack previously, and leave it at that.
I looked like a marsh monster reemerging from the swamp.
At least as I slithered through the mud, head held high, I wasn’t the recipient of a muck and mire facial. Finally, the brilliant idea of ‘gee why don’t you let go of the reins, moron’, ricocheted around inside my brain like a pinball machine until it hit TILT, and I let go of my iron grip on the reins. There I was in all my glory: mud from neck to toe, but I had managed to hold my head up the whole time I was towed along behind my horse.
So proud of myself for that one. It was the least I could do to save face, literally.
Not a comfy ride home as I recall, either. Kind of squishy.