'Christmas past' gobbles up Thanksgiving
December 16, 2009
Just before the mashed potatoes needed to get started this Thanksgiving, my daughter’s phone jingled with a text message: “Leslie fell off Duke (names changed to protect the innocent) and they can’t find him on the trail.”
Another client on Leslie’s emergency list had sent the message, and was out searching for the missing horse. Had “Christmas past” returned on Thanksgiving?
We raced out of the house, my daughter running to get bridles, me grabbing my erstwhile pocket halter, and slipping on my Mucks (the world’s best bad-weather, cold-weather, wet-weather boot).
Dell, my gelding, who has no plans to become a heroic movie star, backed away when he saw me coming with the pocket halter dangling off my shoulder. He sensed were having a crisis, and thought he was it. A couple of seconds later, Dell grudgingly lowered his head, and allowed himself to be bridled. I ran with him trotting alongside, to our personal gate to the bike trail.
My daughter waited at the gate, and as soon as I unlocked it, she gave me a leg up. (At 16.2 hands, Dell is one of the tallest Morgans around!)
We cantered down the Poudre River bike trail and soon found the husband of our client leading Duke. Someone on the trail had found the horse, riderless. The husband did not know where Leslie was.
We cantered down the trail another quarter of a mile, and discovered Leslie, limping, but walking, thank goodness.
Everybody gathered and headed back to the stable as an equestrian caravan, Duke in the middle.
The story: Duke spooked and spun when a fisherman, kitted out from a horse’s perspective in odd-shaped, threatening, dangling gear, approached on the trail. Duke reared and Leslie leaned forward to keep Duke from falling over backwards. When Duke hit the ground and spun, Leslie was still in the forward mode, and fell off. The poor fisherman felt terrible.
Leslie’s pride and her hip took a hit in the fall. Otherwise she was unhurt, thanks no doubt, to the fact that she was wearing a helmet. Also, luckily, Leslie had thought to ride with A) her husband as a buddy, albeit on foot, and B) with her cell phone.
Since then Leslie has considered the possibility of a bridle tag for Duke that reads: If found call: xxx-xxx-xxxx. (Good idea!)
And if anybody is up there listening – we are done with the historic holiday shenanigans, thank you!
Another client on Leslie’s emergency list had sent the message, and was out searching for the missing horse. Had “Christmas past” returned on Thanksgiving?
We raced out of the house, my daughter running to get bridles, me grabbing my erstwhile pocket halter, and slipping on my Mucks (the world’s best bad-weather, cold-weather, wet-weather boot).
Dell, my gelding, who has no plans to become a heroic movie star, backed away when he saw me coming with the pocket halter dangling off my shoulder. He sensed were having a crisis, and thought he was it. A couple of seconds later, Dell grudgingly lowered his head, and allowed himself to be bridled. I ran with him trotting alongside, to our personal gate to the bike trail.
My daughter waited at the gate, and as soon as I unlocked it, she gave me a leg up. (At 16.2 hands, Dell is one of the tallest Morgans around!)
We cantered down the Poudre River bike trail and soon found the husband of our client leading Duke. Someone on the trail had found the horse, riderless. The husband did not know where Leslie was.
We cantered down the trail another quarter of a mile, and discovered Leslie, limping, but walking, thank goodness.
Everybody gathered and headed back to the stable as an equestrian caravan, Duke in the middle.
The story: Duke spooked and spun when a fisherman, kitted out from a horse’s perspective in odd-shaped, threatening, dangling gear, approached on the trail. Duke reared and Leslie leaned forward to keep Duke from falling over backwards. When Duke hit the ground and spun, Leslie was still in the forward mode, and fell off. The poor fisherman felt terrible.
Leslie’s pride and her hip took a hit in the fall. Otherwise she was unhurt, thanks no doubt, to the fact that she was wearing a helmet. Also, luckily, Leslie had thought to ride with A) her husband as a buddy, albeit on foot, and B) with her cell phone.
Since then Leslie has considered the possibility of a bridle tag for Duke that reads: If found call: xxx-xxx-xxxx. (Good idea!)
And if anybody is up there listening – we are done with the historic holiday shenanigans, thank you!