Horses make my skin crawl. They are beautiful, but they're devil creatures I'm convinced. Those black eyes have it out for me. This isn't without reason. I have tried to have a civil relationship with them. You know, an 'I ride them...they don't try to kill me' relationship....but that doesn't work.
When I was 8 or 9, I
rode climbed atop my first horse. My cousin was at the reigns, I was just along for the ride. We did fine for about 5 minutes, and then the horse realized that I was the oil to it's water, the humidity to it's hair. It bucked me off faster than you can say "holycowthishorseishugeandi'mgoingtodie."
Experience #1. NOT so good.
The second time I rode a horse, it was supposed to be the calm one. The easiest one to ride. The one ALL THE KIDS RIDE. Alright, I thought. I can DO this.
Well, the horse stepped in a hole about 2 miles down the trail, and I screamed. Loud. The horse didn't like that, so he decided I didn't belong on his back. Off I went, and after picking my dignity up off the ground, I tried again.
This horse was pissed. We're going to call him George. There have been many George's in my life who have caused me frustration.
George thought it would be funny to bump into tree trunks while I was on him. George thought it would be funny to smack me in the face with tree limbs. George liked to bite me. George ultimately won, and I walked all the way back to the lodge.
As crazy as this may sound, it wasn't the last experience I had with a maniacal devil horse.
I dated a guy in high school who was very engulfed in the horse lifestyle. I, being an IDIOT, decided to impress him and offered to feed his horses while he and his family were gone. It was on a Sunday, and I left early for church so that I could do this.
I got to the corral, and assured myself that it would be fine. After all, it was only a colt and a mama horse, right?
I carefully measured out the hay, put it on the sled, and dragged it over to the pen. Little baby horses are so cute, I thought. How was I ever afraid of them?
I stepped over the fence in my skirt and heels, and began to put the hay in the correct spots around the pen. The mama horse was hanging out on the other side, and I felt safe. This was my mistake. I got too comfortable.
As soon as the colt realized that I came bearing food, he started trotting over to me. My brain sent out signals that told me I was in trouble. My heart started racing, I was sweating, and I FROZE. Apparently, in the question of 'fight or flight,' I pick Freeze. Not effective.
I stood there as the colt started eating the hay in my hands. I threw it on the ground and started backing away slowly. All of a sudden, the colt reared up and jumped at me. I FREAKED out. I tried to run, but one of my heels got stuck in the mud and poop. Frantically trying to grab my shoe, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that mama was curious about the dangerous terrorist near her baby, so I did what any normal person would do. I left the shoe, screamed, and I ran into their pen and closed the door.
Can I just say that stepping in horse poop while wearing pantyhose is not fun?!
I tried to threaten them with a trip to the glue factory, but unbeknownst to me, horses can't comprehend such things. MR. ED WAS A DIRTY LIAR!
I was in that stall for nearly 45 minutes before they got hungry and went over to their food. With Ocean's 11-like precision, I snuck out of the stall and began my 6 day journey across the pen. How fast could I jump that fence with a skirt on? I was pretty good at the hurdles in track, albeit never with a skirt on....
I ran for it. I don't really remember the trip between the pen and freedom, but what I do remember is the sound of my skirt ripping as I elected to dive underneath the fence. My skirt and my underwear, mind you. I DID NOT CARE at this point. I was alive, and away from the horses. Pinching my skirt together, I walked away with a slight limp caused by only wearing one heel, and my hatred of horses was born. I threw up my surrender flag, and headed home.