I picked up horseback riding as an adult. I'm not entirely sure why, or I wasn't at first. I had been scared to death of horses since an accident during childhood. But for some reason, I went to a horse show to see a family member compete and I fell in love with the atmosphere. The bond between horse and rider seemed so unique and genuine. There's no reason these 1500 lbs creatures need to listen to a 150 lbs human being, but they do. And in a world where everyone is on their phones, I saw people interacting with each and with their animals.
Unlike most straight men, I gravitated toward English riding, rather than Western. I was aware of the clothing and general perception, but I honestly didn't care. And I will readily admit to my breeches being the most comfortable pair of pants that I own!
As a single guy, or maybe just as a straight guy, I notice women. And there are a TON riding horses. Unfortunately for me, most of them are either younger than me by too much or older than me by too much. But that's okay- I was here for the sport. I would have loved to have a group of friends to ride with, but being stuck between the teenage girls and the retired women, I wound up largely alone by necessity. That is not to say that anyone was unfriendly- I'd found the horse community to be very welcoming. But what was I going to do, listen to Taylor Swift with the giggling teenagers or eat dinner and bitch about my aches and pains with the older women?
I competed in my first show. I took a first place ribbon in Pleasure, a second place in Equitation, another second in Hunter Under Saddle and a dismal fourth in Command. All in all, I was happy with how I'd done with so little experience. I'll readily admit that the horse I used for the show- a bay gelding named "Turbo"- did most of the work. He'd done so many shows that he probably didn't need a rider to guide him at all.
I trained hard, riding three times per week. I even picked up weight lifting and some abdominal exercises to help me do better. I doubled that training after I volunteered to help bale hay and watched teenagers lifting bales with one arm onto their shoulder while I barely managed using both hands. The girls were kind about it, to their credit. I always felt welcome, if not exactly part of the group.
I have to admit that I love equestrian outfits on girls. The casual wear of sports bra and tank top with breeches and boots; the polished look of their show coats- either way, they looked amazing. Men largely wear the same clothes- the boots are heeled and unisex; the show cuts varying on slightly in cut from men to women, otherwise sporting the same small lapels and three buttons.
One night after riding practice I was out in my car, cleaning mud off my boots before storing them in the backseat of my SUV when I remembered that I'd left my helmet in the tack room. I gave an irritated sigh at myself and got up, trying to ignore the throbbing in my thighs. I bid two of the younger riders good night as they walked by, deep in conversation. They gave me a vague greeted and continued to the van driven by the parent who was taking them home.
I glanced in the tack room as I walked by, not spotting my helmet. I couldn't image I left it anywhere else, but I decided to check the arena. I was glad I did:
There was a woman- not a teenager, a grown adult- riding a horse. Her horse was stunning, a flea-bitten gray mare with a blonde mane. I entered just as the duo jumped, clearing almost 3 feet. The horse landed and broke back into a steady canter, her rider guiding her expertly with just pressure from her leg against the side of the horse. It was easy to see that horse and rider both were well season.
I didn't think much else of it- a lot of the girls here jumped. I wanted to learn but I wasn't quite there yet. I didn't want to gawk so I turned and left, resuming my search for my missing helmet. I eventually found it on the trainer's tack box- someone must have found it and placed it there. I picked it up and tucked it under my arm, stopping to slip a carrot to Turbo. He wasn't my horse- I wasn't leasing him or anything- but I knew I was OK to give him a carrot in his stall. That earned me a few baleful stares from the other horses, who wanted to know where their treat was. I didn't know the horses or their owners so I didn't feel comfortable doling out snacks.
As I held the carrot out, I noticed that Turbo had mud on his leg. That was odd- the weather was dry and warm. I set my helmet down and entered the stall. Turbo didn't care- he was still noisily chewing his carrot. I slowly knelt down and looked at it. I didn't even touch it when I realized it was hot- an injury.
I stood up, biting my lip. It hadn't happened on my watch- I'd ridden a different horse in my lesson today- but i couldn't leave it. I stepped outside the stall to text the trainer, but she had notifications silenced and wouldn't get the text until morning. I bit my lip, remembering there was a cabinet with general supplies, including bandages and wound dressing items. I'd never done that before, but I'd seen others do it. I at least wanted to clean the wound and bandage it if nothing else.
Turbo, sensing my anxiety, flattened his ears to his head and turned one large, brown eye to stare at me, as if to warn me to not even try it.
"Bud, it's gonna get infected," I told the horse. To non-horsey types, this probably seems goofy, but the more time you spend around horses, the more you have conversations with them. You share food with them, cuddle up under one of their spare blankets if its cold- you bond with them.
Regardless, Turbo was not impressed. He turned in his stall, keeping his injured leg away from me. He took a mouthful of hay from his net, one eye staying on me.
I heard the familiar clip-clop sound of hooves on the barn floor. Barns do tend to have distinctive sounds and smells. In this case, I could tell it was a horse being led. This late, it could only be the rider and horse from the arena. I decided to ask her for help. Even if the girl wasn't interested in helping me, she'd be interested in helping the horse.
I waited a few minutes, giving her time to get her tack off the horse and at least brush her a bit. Finally, I ventured over, keeping a respectful distance.
"Excuse me," I said by way of greeting. "Sorry to bother you, but one of the horses is injured. I've never dealt with this before and her trainer isn't answering my texts."
The girl raised her eyes from her horse immediately, her tone all business. "I can take a look. Which horse is it?"
