Patches

I will always ride because the necessity of a flat-out gallop across a cut hay field on a cool spring morning outweighs any risk that comes with it. I have owned three horses since fate stepped in and I started riding again--I am an addict. It is a love that either you have or you don't have: there is nothing in-between. I have nursed sprained ankles and wrists from falls, and broken toes from being stepped on. And I have gotten smarter; especially about safety since I don't bounce as well as I did in my younger days.

As a teenager, Patches was my best friend; and I had few. Upon going what my mother called "boy crazy," I stopped riding. One day I walked into the kitchen after a week of hitchhiking around the countryside. Completely nonchalant, my mother said, "Go and see your horse." Patches nickered and trotted up to the fence when I called her. I was her best friend too, and she missed our frequent rides through the woods where we could share our most private thoughts without ever saying a word. I brushed her and fed her, and we took a bareback walk around the pasture. I left that afternoon and never saw her again. My beloved Patches was sold. A lifetime later, I had the chance to redeem myself and somehow make amends to the best friend that I abandoned to a life that I can only hope ended peacefully.

In 2000, I was 40 years old and thought my life was settling down after the trauma of cancer treatments. I had survived a mastectomy, chemo-therapy and radiation, and should have been on top of the world; and, for the most part, I was; until I came across an old photo, and fate reached out and woke me up with a smack to the back of my head. In the past year my world had been shaken severely; but, even as upside down as this new world was, it was about to be completely toppled by one small picture. I was a skinny kid dressed in loose-fitting breeches and a black show coat, and Patches and I were flying over a four and a half foot jump made to look like a brick wall. I held the picture delicately and made sure not to let any tears fall onto the yellowed masterpiece. When the sobbing stopped, I knew that I had to have a horse in my life. Now, I had only to get one and then never again let it slip through my fingers like the reins of a runaway. Having faced my mortality eight months earlier, it was time for me to steal my life back from The Reaper's grasp.

~~~~

Monday morning came too early. After a restless night filled with narcotic nightmares, I cleaned myself up as best I could, hoisted myself onto my crutches, and had my husband drive me to meet my new co-workers. As I crutched up the stairs and into the office, my new bosses stared with open mouths at my scraped face and black eyes. I introduced my husband and, with half a smile, tried to act like this was my normal condition.

The inevitable question came in short order, "What happened to you?" I gave the short answer. "I came off my horse yesterday." In a thick county twang, the company president was first to reply, "Sounds to me like you didn't have no business bein' up on that horse!" I knew he was right. The statement has become a standard around the office for anything that turns into a disaster. The room erupted and someone asked, "Do you want to go home?" Inside I was screaming, "YES!!" But I heard myself say, "Oh, no thank you. I'm alright."

I sat in an unyielding office chair through nine hours of instruction on the paperwork that had to be filed with county offices and a blur of education on what would become my new career. The next day, I didn't remember a thing. Not that it mattered since I had stiffened up overnight and couldn't get out of bed. I called the office and begged to keep my job but to have the day off. Fortunately, my new employers were good people with compassion and a sense of humor ... they gave me the week off.

~~~~

After watching me endure cancer treatments, my 13-year-old daughter, Jessie, now watched me mourn the memory of a horse. And it was Jessie who helped me find some comfort. A friend of hers lived on a farm and had horses; we could go and visit. I decided this would be a perfect opportunity for mother/daughter/horse bonding and healing. Jessie invited her friend over to the house and, as we talked, fate twisted yet again. This girl's mother, Lisa, was an old riding buddy from my youth. We were 50 miles and 20 years away from the farm where we rode together as teenagers.

I called Lisa and, after some excited catching up, arranged to visit. Of course, Jessie went with me to meet Lisa, and see the farm and the horses; but my true, though unspoken, motive was to talk to Lisa about getting a horse. For weeks, I had secretly been looking at the horse-for-sale ads on the internet late at night when everyone was asleep and I could grieve quietly over having let my sweet Patches go without so much as a thought all those years ago.

Lisa met us at the barn and showed us around. The smell of sweaty horses, fresh hay, and old leather was overpowering and rejuvenating. My daughter winced as I took in deep gulps of the wonderful stench. I was swimming in my element and I never wanted to get out of it. While Jessie was exploring the barn's hidden mysteries with her friend, I talked to Lisa about the cost of field board. I told my old friend that I would have to consider it; but, in the front of my mind, there was not a doubt.

When I got home, I began openly searching for a horse to buy but quickly discovered that the initial cost of the horse and tack was simply too expensive. I could budget for monthly board, annual vetting and bimonthly farrier bills, but I simply did not have the money to buy a horse outright. I called Lisa for advice.

Once again, fate intervened. It happened that one of her boarders had a very nice little gelding that was just started under saddle and, being strapped for cash, the boarder was looking for a shared lease. Basically, it meant I could have all the bills that go with horse ownership without actually owning the horse. Of course, I could ride it, too. I jumped at the chance. The next day, I was at the tack store buying breeches, boots, and brushes.

I loved wearing the perfume of horses and hay. I rode the little gelding around the arena every couple of days, but never exceeded my internal speed limit of trotting just a few steps before slowing back to a walk. As I groomed and rode and mucked, I started, little by little, to come back to life. And that is the real beauty of horses.

~~~~

One sunny Sunday afternoon, I firmly established that that horseback riding is not like riding a bicycle. Knowing that I had been an accomplished rider in my youth, Lisa assumed that I could ride like I did when I was 15 years old. In my pride and stupidity, I thought so too. That day, in front of Jessie, Lisa and a barn full of riders, I revealed how much I had forgotten about the mechanics of staying on the horse.

The nice little gelding was green and just learning to canter under saddle--so was I. As any experienced horseman will tell you, it is a bad combination. At Lisa's suggestion, I pushed my heels into his sides and pushed him from a trot to a canter. By the time I admitted to myself that I no longer knew how to ride, it was too late. We were out of control and headed for the fence. With my hands in the air, I could hear Lisa yelling, "Put your hands down! Put your hands down!"

The gelding had his head in the air as I pulled mercilessly on his mouth. I was already in trouble when I lost a stirrup--now, I was in big trouble. I had no control of his head and no base of support for what little balance I could assemble. The arena fence was looming and I knew when he got there, he would either halt abruptly or turn sharply. Either way, I was coming off.

I decided to be the master of my own fate for a change. Rather than continue flopping around on a runaway horse, I kicked my other foot out of the stirrup and launched like a pilot in an ejector seat. As he ran out from under me, I somersaulted over the horse's rear end. It hadn't rained in more than a week and the ground was dry and hard and dusty. My left hip took the initial impact; I skidded across the ground, bounced off the bottom of the fence, and the rotation of the earth stopped.

I knew I was hurt, but I couldn't imagine that I was hurt too badly. After all, I had taken a few spills when I was a teenager and popped up like a fishing bobber. I laid there assessing the damage: my arms and legs were bruised, but I could wiggle my toes and fingers--so far so good. I had scrapes on my elbows and knees, my nose was probably broken, and I had blood and dirt in my nose, mouth and eyes. "Okay," I thought, "It's not too bad." I had to salvage what little pride remained.

As help arrived from across the riding ring, I rolled onto my knees and hands and made my first attempt at getting onto my feet. My hip gave out and I was nauseated. I dropped back to my knees to regain my composure. My second try was no better. I would not be walking across the ring or up the hill to my car. Humiliated and in pain, I lay on the ground while my traumatized daughter was comforted and an audience stood over me asking if I was alright. I assured everyone, like the Monty Python character, that it was "just a flesh wound." I would be fine... really. I just couldn't walk at the moment.

I felt every bump as the ambulance slowly drove up the hill and out the gate. The emergency room doctor declared that I was "lucky" when x-rays showed that my hip was not broken. I could not picture myself as lucky when I left the hospital emergency room with crutches, pain killers, and a hefty bill. But stress replaced my pain and humiliation as it dawned on me that the following day was Monday--and my first day at a new job.

~~~~

After months of lessons on an "old schoolmaster," I bought an older horse and kept her at the schooling barn where I regained my confidence and my balance. Then, I went back to Lisa's farm, gathered up my brushes and walked into the field where the nice little gelding was grazing. He nickered and trotted up so I could scratch his neck and give him treats, and I said goodbye to the nice little gelding that brought me back to life by almost killing me.