Horse-Play

Several years ago, some friends and I went up to the mountains and rented a large house for a week long getaway.  It was around this time of year, cold at night and pleasant during the day. 

 

We all decided to get in as many excursions as possible during this time off from work, so we planned out something for every day. 

 

We spent one day mountain biking, one day riding 4-wheelers, another white water rafting, and one hiking on the local trails.  Then came the fateful day when everyone had planned to go horse-back riding.  I had never been horse-back riding before, and I won’t say I was “scared”, but I was extremely reluctant.  I had previously made it a mission in my life not to ride any living thing that was larger than me.  I didn’t want to break my promise or my face on this day.  So, I did what every smart man afraid of something does.  I faked an illness. 

 

When all my friends headed out that morning to the local ranch, I made the announcement that I had contracted some rare form of taco shagella revenge from the previous night’s dinner and should not venture far from the facilities.  They all laughed at me and went on to the ranch to have their fun, making jokes about my disfunctions along the way. 

 

So, there I was, laying around the house, goofing off, watching a little TV, and chilling.  But, soon my conscience started getting the better of me.  Why should I be here faking a sickness when I could be out having fun? Why should I be afraid to try something new?

 

Proud of my new found courage, I hopped in the truck and headed to my destiny of being a professional horse-back rider. Or maybe even a rodeo champion.

 

After I arrived, I picked out a horse that no one was riding and jumped right in the saddle.  There would be no lessons for me.  After all, I'm a man.  Who needs a lesson, or instructions, or a map?  I'm tackling this fear head on.

 

 Off we went.  It was a slow trot to begin with and it wasn’t so bad. A little rough on the hind end (mine, not his) but not too bad.  We trotted along for a short while...then he picked up speed. 

Things were going great. Birds were singing, fresh air was blowing through my hair, um, I mean hat, when suddenly, I found myself slipping from the saddle to the right. I panicked and tried to pull myself back up with no luck. I started yelling “WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!”  Nothing doing, the horse turned a deaf ear and didn’t even slow down. 

Here I was slipping farther and farther under the horse, closer and closer to the ground.  I tried to let go and possibly fall to the ground and take a few bumps and bruises...but now my foot was caught in the stirrup!  The horse’s hooves grew nearer and nearer to my head!  This was it; this is how it all ends.  My last day on earth would be forever known for being trampled underneath a horse.  Why didn’t I stay on the couch, faking my illness and watching TV? 

 

As if his spidey sense kicked in, the on-duty manager of Kmart saw me from inside and quickly rushed out in front of the store, unplugged my horse, and saved my life.

I thanked the Kmart manager and nicely asked for my 50 cents back, wherein he showed me a finger and asked me to leave.

 

Never again will you catch me horse-back riding.

And I’m not allowed back within 100 yards of that Kmart.