know Freight Train has to go over the jump," I responded. Joe knew you should never let a horse get away with not taking a jump for any reason. No matter what the reason for balking —except maybe sudden death —the horse went over the jump it refused before you went home. Joe knew that.
"Fine," Joe said. "I'll take him over."
"Joe," I said slowly, "I need to go over the jump too."
I could hear him sigh, but he didn't say anything. "Give me your crop," I said. He gave me the crop and a leg up on Freight Train. I held the crop down my leg where Freight Train couldn't see it. Ordinarily, it would be the last thing I'd need with Freight Train, but this time might be different.
We turned and trotted up the hill. I was not going to try to make the sharp turn from the tunnel in the trees again —no point in making this harder than it already was. I wiggled various parts of my body as I went, trying to figure out if everything worked. Everything seemed to, but I did not feel well and this was going to be a major deal getting over this jump. What the hell was it? A Goddamn psycho rabbit? What would cause a rabbit to run in front of a galloping thoroughbred?
Joe got on his mare and positioned himself to the left of the jump to discourage Freight Train from shying the same way he had before. Ordinarily I would have told him I didn't need the help, but this time I kept my mouth shut.
We trotted to begin with, the trees on our right and the jump straight ahead. One thing was for sure: I could throw away the left rein. Freight Train wouldn't shy toward the trees where the intruder had come from. Why had I thought that? It wasn't an intruder; it was just a stupid rabbit. If Freight Train went anywhere it would be to the left, like he had before.
We started cantering halfway down the hill, and I could feel Freight Train's body tense as we got closer. This time I was sitting as far back in the saddle as I could get in case he did balk. I saw him cut his eye toward the trees, looking, no doubt, for another rabbit. I was holding the right rein so tightly he couldn't possibly move his head to the left, but his hindquarters started drifting. Freight Train wasn't even thinking about the jump ahead. He was expecting trouble from the trees.
I had the crop in my left hand, but Freight Train didn't know it. I took the reins in my right hand and cracked him sharply on his left hindquarters. Surprised, he shot forward —the trees forgotten for the moment.
The jump was right in front of him, and he wasn't ready. I hit him again, more sharply this time, and he took off, awkwardly and late, but he did take off.
He wasn't exactly balanced, and I didn't feel like I was flying—more like falling. He stumbled when he landed on the other side and almost went down on his nose. I fell forward on his neck when he stumbled.
Freight Train caught himself, and so did I, and neither of us went down, although it was close. We were over. I pulled him up, more relieved than I wanted to admit, and Joe came trotting up, probably more relieved than he wanted to admit.
I considered whether I could get through the rest of the course. I just hated to call it quits, but I felt like shit. Freight Train would do fine, but could I get through it? Luckily I didn't have to make the decision. "We're going home," Joe said, and started off on his mare before I had a chance to argue. To be truthful, I didn't really want to.
I followed behind, and we walked back to the barn. Neither of us said anything. When somebody got hurt, Joe always got angry —from worry, I think, but it wasn't pleasant to deal with. I'd given him enough flak about it over the years that he'd learned —at least around me —to keep it to himself For my part, the vertigo kept coming and going, and I was working at just staying on the horse.
I Started to unsaddle Freight Train at the barn, but Joe took the saddle out of my hands. "Go home, Michael," he said tersely. "You look like shit."
I
"Fine," Joe said. "I'll take him over."
"Joe," I said slowly, "I need to go over the jump too."
I could hear him sigh, but he didn't say anything. "Give me your crop," I said. He gave me the crop and a leg up on Freight Train. I held the crop down my leg where Freight Train couldn't see it. Ordinarily, it would be the last thing I'd need with Freight Train, but this time might be different.
We turned and trotted up the hill. I was not going to try to make the sharp turn from the tunnel in the trees again —no point in making this harder than it already was. I wiggled various parts of my body as I went, trying to figure out if everything worked. Everything seemed to, but I did not feel well and this was going to be a major deal getting over this jump. What the hell was it? A Goddamn psycho rabbit? What would cause a rabbit to run in front of a galloping thoroughbred?
Joe got on his mare and positioned himself to the left of the jump to discourage Freight Train from shying the same way he had before. Ordinarily I would have told him I didn't need the help, but this time I kept my mouth shut.
We trotted to begin with, the trees on our right and the jump straight ahead. One thing was for sure: I could throw away the left rein. Freight Train wouldn't shy toward the trees where the intruder had come from. Why had I thought that? It wasn't an intruder; it was just a stupid rabbit. If Freight Train went anywhere it would be to the left, like he had before.
We started cantering halfway down the hill, and I could feel Freight Train's body tense as we got closer. This time I was sitting as far back in the saddle as I could get in case he did balk. I saw him cut his eye toward the trees, looking, no doubt, for another rabbit. I was holding the right rein so tightly he couldn't possibly move his head to the left, but his hindquarters started drifting. Freight Train wasn't even thinking about the jump ahead. He was expecting trouble from the trees.
I had the crop in my left hand, but Freight Train didn't know it. I took the reins in my right hand and cracked him sharply on his left hindquarters. Surprised, he shot forward —the trees forgotten for the moment.
The jump was right in front of him, and he wasn't ready. I hit him again, more sharply this time, and he took off, awkwardly and late, but he did take off.
He wasn't exactly balanced, and I didn't feel like I was flying—more like falling. He stumbled when he landed on the other side and almost went down on his nose. I fell forward on his neck when he stumbled.
Freight Train caught himself, and so did I, and neither of us went down, although it was close. We were over. I pulled him up, more relieved than I wanted to admit, and Joe came trotting up, probably more relieved than he wanted to admit.
I considered whether I could get through the rest of the course. I just hated to call it quits, but I felt like shit. Freight Train would do fine, but could I get through it? Luckily I didn't have to make the decision. "We're going home," Joe said, and started off on his mare before I had a chance to argue. To be truthful, I didn't really want to.
I followed behind, and we walked back to the barn. Neither of us said anything. When somebody got hurt, Joe always got angry —from worry, I think, but it wasn't pleasant to deal with. I'd given him enough flak about it over the years that he'd learned —at least around me —to keep it to himself For my part, the vertigo kept coming and going, and I was working at just staying on the horse.
I Started to unsaddle Freight Train at the barn, but Joe took the saddle out of my hands. "Go home, Michael," he said tersely. "You look like shit."
I
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