It has been pointed out that I have been having way too much fun at the expense of my family. Although, anyone who has been following this, knows that fun is way down on the list of adjectives I'd use to describe my life. To be fair, I can take it as well as dish it out, so here goes.
We were visiting our aunts, one of whom owns Belgian horses. For you non-horsey people, Belgians are a really, really big breed. It is suggested on this particular visit I take a turn at riding. Now I haven't got on a horse in over 30 years - if I say it really fast, it doesn't sound so awful, but my kids love it (except Sid who took a face plant into a manure pile) so surely it can't be too bad.
Getting on is the first hurdle, and after much snickering about "get yer leg over" I'm finally able to haul myself up. So far, so good, until I look down. Add my height to that of the horse and I'm a really long way off the ground. I'm now starting to doubt the wisdom of this decision. We take off at a slow walk, Rob with the lead rope, and I did OK, managed a few laps on my own, and starting to feel pretty confident. Yay me !
Convinced now, I know what I'm doing, I head over to the mounting block to get off. This is where the fun begins. Apparently, sometimes after you have saddled up a horse they will suck in their gut, and all of a sudden that saddle isn't so snug anymore. Rob and (Aunt) Ann proceed to tell me how to dismount. Sounds simple enough, keep your left foot in the stirrup, swing your right leg over the top of the saddle and hop off.
The first indication that something has gone horribly wrong, is as I start to swing (ha ha - drag was more like it) my right leg over the back of the horse, and the saddle moves with me. Uh, oh, I'm pretty sure this isn't supposed to happen. Hurried conversation between Rob and Ann, "Did you tighten the girth?" "No, I thought you did". A bit bloody late to ask that now.
Meanwhile the saddle is still moving, I have momentum and I'm heading south fast. Ann, holding the horse's head is frantically yelling at me to grab the saddle and get back up, she is worried the horse is going to bolt and drag me behind. Rob is too busy laughing at my predicament (the SOB), and Lindsay, bless her, is filming, apparently so she can show the paramedics what happened. So I'm on my own.
By this time, the saddle has slid right round to the side, and there I am, with my left hand on the fence beside the mounting block and my right hand grasping for anything that's not moving. My right foot is still caught in the stirrup which by now is on the back of the horse. Anne is yelling at me to get back up, and and I'm yelling a few choice words at her. Does the woman not see what is happening ? I'm not a bloody contortionist. It's no good telling me to get back up, there is only one direction I'm going, and that's straight down.
Things at this point can only get worse. The fence beside the mounting block ? That's part of the pen that houses two donkeys, who attracted by the commotion come over to check it out. The first object they see is my hand clutching on for dear life, and the next thing I know, my bloodless fingers, the only part of my body that is preventing me from hitting the ground face first, have become a donkey's lunch.
By now, my husband, known henceforth as the Rat Bastard, has sobered up enough to come to the realization if by some miracle I survive this episode, he may not, and so finally offers his assistance. Meanwhile my life has flashed before my eyes and I'm ready to make peace with my maker. All I can do now is whimper "Please hurry, the donkey is eating my hand". I have no memory of this, but apparently I was talking in my very best English accent, and that was the final straw for all concerned. No help is forthcoming as everyone is falling about, pissing themselves laughing.
I'm a little foggy on the details, I think it's called Post Traumatic Amnesia, but at some point I must have managed to lower myself to the ground, and it's a pretty safe bet, I didn't have any help. Amazingly, other than teeth marks in my hand, a bruised wrist, and a totally shattered ego, I came through this unscathed.
So this goes out to Ann, who was there, and Tim and Tracey who weren't, but wish they were. As for Lindsay's video ? She keeps threatening to post it on you-tube.
: Next installment on Monday. Have a great weekend everybody.
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