Even Demons Have Their Moments

Manure Happens

There is a moment in every stride of gallop when all four feet are off the ground. I like to believe that in that moment the horse can fly.

In that moment, all worries flow out my body, through my horse, and into the air beneath us. They blow into the wind and disappear.

In that moment, all thoughts of falling and being careful slip my mind and I feel truly free.

In that moment, my horse knows exactly what I am feeling.

In that moment, he bucks and sends me soaring through the air.

For the briefest of moments I feel exhilarated as I feel the wind in my hair and I know that I really am flying. Then, I see the manure heap that has magically appeared in front of me.

It could be worse. It could be the fence he threw me into last time. My back still hurt from that one. This, at least, would be soft. But there is something just inherently unfair about being thrown into a manure pile.

Eyes tightly closed, mouth sealed, I brace for the inevitable squelch.

Squelch.

My horse, his name Monte is but I was still only considering renaming him Demon, whinnies happily and I can hear his hooves dancing around on the dirt as I lie face down in his droppings. Resisting the urge to growl at him, I get up, wipe the brown stuff off my face, and turn around. I swear the thing is smirking at me.

Jerk.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I demanded at the horse.

I got silence as a reply. What more could I expect from a non-vocal animal? But somehow it was more annoying. He could at least have snorted!

Breathing deeply, I got a control on my temper, grabbed his reins, and lead him back to the barn. It was all the way across the field but there was no way I was going to get back on my saddle new dressage saddle covered in manure.

I don’t care if all the text books said you should get back on after a fall; the text books never had to clean a saddle, the text books never had to spend hours trying to hold a horse still while they tried to get their foot in the stirrup that was just a little too high, and the text book never had to take a hike across a two acre field covered in horse poop. So the text books could go and shut up as far as I was concerned.

But Monte had come far. At least he had waited after ditching me face first in the manure heap. At least this time I did not have to spend an hour chasing a galloping horse around a field while my legs, already sore from two hours of straight riding (I had ridden a mare before him. She was nice and well mannered and I was being paid to ride her while her owner was on vacation. Paid to ride a horse that was calm and offered a frame. I had laughed out loud when I heard that. I would have paid the woman for the ride!).

I looked up at Monte thoughtfully. He was still here. It was a really long walk back. The books did say that you should get back on.

I made my decision then and there. The saddle would have to be taken off and put on a fence—there really was no way I was grinding manure into my saddle. I could come back and get it when my legs did not hurt so much.

I would love to say that it was the training aspect of teaching my horse he could not beat me that made me get back on, but it wasn’t.

It was the thought of sitting on him and grinding that hard, rough crap into his back. Each stride getting more into him. Each stride getting me a little bit more revenge. That was what did it.

So, yeah, I’m a vengeful person that decided to punish her horse with his own crap because he threw her off. So, what? I’m sure you’ve had the same thought once or twice.

I made quick work of taking the saddle off, and was glad to see that he was sweating up under it.

Good. You had to work to ditch me, you jerk.

Leading Monte to the fence, I put the saddle on it, climbed onto the first rail, and before he had time to dance away, leapt onto his back.

The response was instantaneous.

With a scream that pierced my ears, Monte reared up, and kicked the air.

When he came back down, I was lying on his neck. He knew that I was unbalanced and did what I knew he would do but hoped he wouldn’t.

He kicked up with his hind legs with all his might.

I went flying, did an triple summersault in the air that would have made any trapeze artist throw in the towel, and landed on my back gasping for air.

As I lay there, staring at the sky, unable to quite comprehend what had just happened, that horse trotted over to me and stood there, sniffing my face and covering me with drool.

Still, Monte had come far. At least he was not dancing around and doing a little Irish jig over me with his hooves. That had hurt. And resulted in a rather embarrassing trip to the hospital. Not to mention the weeks that followed.

It’s hard to pull off a bikini when you have a horse-shoe shaped bruise on you ribs.

This time, at least, had followed a weak straight of rain so the ground was soft and I didn’t have to worry about cracked ribs or damaged spinal cord or the ever threatening concussion. Just the me-shaped holes in the ground and the threats my mother will make when she sees the mud on my breaches.

So I wasn’t going to complain about the grass-filled drool he was happily coating me with.

That’s a lie. I was going to complain.

No, that’s a lie. I wasn’t going to complain. I was going to make him pay for it.

I growled, pushed his head aside, and stood up, barely noticing the bruise forming in my back. With stubborn determination, I lead him back to the fence and repeated what I had done earlier.

He didn’t ditch me right away, but he did ditch me.

I know that the logical thing would have been to just say ‘right, that does it. I will not ride this horse bareback in a field with bruises all over me and mud and manure covering both of us.’ But I wasn’t going to.

I had reached that point that every rider knows. The point where anger and frustration morph into sheer determination and drive. When the weakness and desire to scream become a strength that makes you grip your teeth, and use your legs like you’ve never used them before. It’s when suddenly everything that’s been going wrong really has made you stronger and you can push through it.

And by God I was going to push through it with this horse.

Whether it killed the both of us.

So, I got on him, pointed him towards the yard and rode until I fell off. And I did fall off. I’m not going to lie. I had no saddle, a horse intent on dismounting me and experience in that area, and a slippery seat from all the mud and manure, so it’s no surprise that I fell off five times.

But I did stay on for most the bolting, spinning, bucking, and cat leaping that he did.

Eventually, we reached the gate. He charged at the fence at a full gallop and slammed on the breaks at the last minutes. But I was ready for that. Last summer, I had retrained a Western horse who thought whenever I applied leg I was telling him to do a sliding halt. I sat it, then saw I was in trouble.

How was I going to open the gate while sitting on him?

Sometimes, the universe teams up with your horse and defeats you.

With a sigh, I dismounted…okay, I slid downwards…opened the gate and walked onto the yard.

That’s when I noticed who was waiting at the other gate.

Just when I think my life can’t get any worse.