slow. This jump was such a horse-stopper that I just wanted to get Freight Train over it. I didn't much care about the form.
The jump was close after the tunnel of trees, and the three-stride-from-the-jump mark came up quickly. Freight Train still seemed a little off to me, so I squeezed even more to lengthen his last three strides. We weren't going over this pretty, but I'd be damned if we weren't going over it.
Suddenly, from the stand of trees on our right, something white broke from cover and ran right in front of Freight Train. I saw the blur in my peripheral vision and thought "uh-oh," but the whole thing happened too fast to do anything.
Freight Train immediately shied to the left, away from the intruder and, unfortunately, the jump: horses instinctively protect their legs by not stepping on strange things. I was already standing up in the stirrups and leaning forward, and there was no time to get back. Freight Train went left, but I went straight. I flew through the air toward the jump. The world seemed to flip, and I hit the jump hard with my back and bounced over it, landing the three feet down on the other side.
If I'd had any presence of mind, I'd have been worried that Joe wouldn't see Freight Train was loose and would take the jump and land right on top of me. But I was too stunned to worry about anything: I tried to remember what happened, but couldn't. I just lay there. It didn't even cross my mind to get up.
I heard the sound of feet running —Freight Train had gone back down the tunnel of trees, and Joe had seen him and pulled up. Then Joe was next to me saying, "Are you all right?"
I didn't answer for a minute. For some reason I hate that question. People always ask it when you get hurt before you even know if you are all right or not. You're supposed to say, "Yes, I'm fine," even if you aren't, so they can quit worrying. I couldn't seem to find enough breath to say anything, and Joe said again, "Are you all right?"
When I didn't answer he said, "Michael, can you move your legs?" That freaked me, and I said, "Of course I can move my legs," and then tried to move them. They did move, which was very reassuring. I sat up, and then it came to me.
"It wasn't Freight Train's fault," I said to Joe. "Something ran across the course right in front of him." Which was very weird, come to think of it. I had never heard of an animal running toward danger. I got a little more oriented and sat up, asking, "Is Freight Train all right?" The world started whirling when I sat up, and I leaned back on my hands and closed my eyes to stop the spinning.
"He's fine," Joe said.
"Well, go and check him," I said testily with my eyes still shut.
"To hell with Freight Train," Joe said.
"He's a forty-thousand-dollar horse, Joe. Go and check him. I'm all right."
Joe grumbled, but he went off, and I was glad for the moment alone to collect myself. I got up slowly and tried to brush the dirt off my back. I found I had to move very slowly to keep the world from spinning, and I walked over to the jump and leaned against it with my eyes shut again. Joe came back with both horses in tow, and I straightened up. "He's fine," he said.
I looked at the horses. Both had grass coming out from their bits where they had used their freedom to graze on the new grass just starting. Both looked totally unperturbed at my predicament. Horses are not big in the empathy department.
I tried moving again. The world had gotten reasonably stable. I walked over to Freight Train and started to get on.
"Are you all right?" Joe said.
"Of course I'm all right," I responded tersely. "You asked me that already."
"Well, you're getting on the wrong horse," Joe said. "It's the only reason I ask."
I looked at the horse I was getting on, and it was Joe's mare. I stepped back with whatever dignity I could summon —which wasn't much —and moved over to the other horse. Maybe I was in worse shape than I thought.
"We're going home, Michael," Joe said.
"You
The jump was close after the tunnel of trees, and the three-stride-from-the-jump mark came up quickly. Freight Train still seemed a little off to me, so I squeezed even more to lengthen his last three strides. We weren't going over this pretty, but I'd be damned if we weren't going over it.
Suddenly, from the stand of trees on our right, something white broke from cover and ran right in front of Freight Train. I saw the blur in my peripheral vision and thought "uh-oh," but the whole thing happened too fast to do anything.
Freight Train immediately shied to the left, away from the intruder and, unfortunately, the jump: horses instinctively protect their legs by not stepping on strange things. I was already standing up in the stirrups and leaning forward, and there was no time to get back. Freight Train went left, but I went straight. I flew through the air toward the jump. The world seemed to flip, and I hit the jump hard with my back and bounced over it, landing the three feet down on the other side.
If I'd had any presence of mind, I'd have been worried that Joe wouldn't see Freight Train was loose and would take the jump and land right on top of me. But I was too stunned to worry about anything: I tried to remember what happened, but couldn't. I just lay there. It didn't even cross my mind to get up.
I heard the sound of feet running —Freight Train had gone back down the tunnel of trees, and Joe had seen him and pulled up. Then Joe was next to me saying, "Are you all right?"
I didn't answer for a minute. For some reason I hate that question. People always ask it when you get hurt before you even know if you are all right or not. You're supposed to say, "Yes, I'm fine," even if you aren't, so they can quit worrying. I couldn't seem to find enough breath to say anything, and Joe said again, "Are you all right?"
When I didn't answer he said, "Michael, can you move your legs?" That freaked me, and I said, "Of course I can move my legs," and then tried to move them. They did move, which was very reassuring. I sat up, and then it came to me.
"It wasn't Freight Train's fault," I said to Joe. "Something ran across the course right in front of him." Which was very weird, come to think of it. I had never heard of an animal running toward danger. I got a little more oriented and sat up, asking, "Is Freight Train all right?" The world started whirling when I sat up, and I leaned back on my hands and closed my eyes to stop the spinning.
"He's fine," Joe said.
"Well, go and check him," I said testily with my eyes still shut.
"To hell with Freight Train," Joe said.
"He's a forty-thousand-dollar horse, Joe. Go and check him. I'm all right."
Joe grumbled, but he went off, and I was glad for the moment alone to collect myself. I got up slowly and tried to brush the dirt off my back. I found I had to move very slowly to keep the world from spinning, and I walked over to the jump and leaned against it with my eyes shut again. Joe came back with both horses in tow, and I straightened up. "He's fine," he said.
I looked at the horses. Both had grass coming out from their bits where they had used their freedom to graze on the new grass just starting. Both looked totally unperturbed at my predicament. Horses are not big in the empathy department.
I tried moving again. The world had gotten reasonably stable. I walked over to Freight Train and started to get on.
"Are you all right?" Joe said.
"Of course I'm all right," I responded tersely. "You asked me that already."
"Well, you're getting on the wrong horse," Joe said. "It's the only reason I ask."
I looked at the horse I was getting on, and it was Joe's mare. I stepped back with whatever dignity I could summon —which wasn't much —and moved over to the other horse. Maybe I was in worse shape than I thought.
"We're going home, Michael," Joe said.
"You
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