Horses

I received an email from an old friend who, in writing about his fears, mentioned his life-long fear of horses.

I started thinking.

I, personally, am not afraid of horses. I don't mind patting one, brushing one, feeding one a carrot.

I am afraid of what happens when I'm on board a horse--that moment when I use super-human strength to fling myself atop.

Take as proof my last horse-riding experience. It happened in Ruidoso, New Mexico, many years ago. It was a paid ride--the kind where you dish out a large amount of money to "borrow" a horse for a few hours and ride a trail in a mountainous area with a guide and a handful of other city slickers. It started out well enough; I made it on top, positioned myself with confidence, clicked my teeth and pressed in my heels and tried to look natural.

But horses--like children and dogs--can smell your fear. They know when you don't know what you're doing. My horse got about halfway around the trail and refused.to.go.one.step.further. Folks passed me on the right, the guide hollered back some useful tips, and there we sat. He wouldn't budge, no matter how how begged, pleaded, cajoled, whistled, and made deals. Not going.

My other most vivid horse memory happened in childhood. Growing up on a farm and around a myriad of animals does not make one the least equipped for horse-riding. (I got the same instructions for riding a horse that I did the first time I went snow-skiing--"just get to the top, and you'll figure out how to get down. No lessons required." You can just imagine how well that turned out). I digress.

Once on top of the horse, because I had no idea how to guide or position it, it walked me straight into a thorn bush, where I had to be extricated by my dad. In tears.

That my friends, is the tale of two horses. Or is that tail of two horses?

Jana