Friday, August 1, 2008

Not In My DNA

Some people have been bred for generations to excel in the same areas that thier ancestors exceled. Some may excel at swimming, others at math and others at the art ofpaper folder folding.

My genes have spoken to me loud and clear. I do NOT come from a long line of animal people. There is no possible way that my ancestors farmed with animals. No way in hell.

Recently Hubby surprised me with a trip to a horse stable in Litchfield, CT during our tenth anniversary weekend. After going on a total of three trail rides over the course of my life, I have been dreaming about trying riding again.

I had even bragged to hubby about trail riding. "Just sit on your horse and it does the rest." "These horses are trained to walk the trails in their sleep." "They will match us with the sweetest horses."

Brave Hubby had never been on a horse. That didn't stop him from being giving a horse that more accurately resembled a giraffe. He received exactly zero seconds of riding instruction. Stairs were punched over to the horse. "Get on"

I was the lucky recipient of a horse who decided to bite another horse who dared to walk by his stall. Aggressive? stable would pair an aggressive horse with a beginner rider for a relaxing trail ride. Right?

The ride started with the horse biting my captive foot. Yes, I was told the horse was going after a bug. Yes, they were lying in order to make me feel better.

After the shark bite, the horse decided that he didn't get enough breakfast. So he suddenly jerked of down the embankment to munch on some weeds. He munched again and again as I was being told to "pull the reigns harder" and "kick harder." My little horse did not seem to get the horse memo on what pulling the reigns meant and decided not to follow this direction.

And what about this kicking thing? As a person who owns an eight pound cat and a glass full of sea monkeys, kicking an animal repeatedly over a thirty minute period seems abusive.

Next, my horse bucked-up and decided to kick the horse behind it. Luckily the sweet woman behind us was an experienced rider who volunteered to go on this ride. After the face-kicking, the leader then reminded us that I was indeed riding a "mean horse" and everyone else should keep their distance.

By this time my hands started shaking out of pure fear. A first for me. That fear motivated me to demand to turn around.

Hungry, meany horse kept eating and kept veering off down embankments while I held on with my shaky hands. Then all of a sudden he started backing up (who knew that horses had reverse). No amount of yelling, pulling of kicking (while quietly apologizing for kicking) would make this horse go forward.

The woman behind me started screaming "oh no....oh no...oh my God!" Which could only mean that she was completely freaked out. Then my horse started to violently throw it's head back and forth. I felt like I was going to be thrown off.

Cue the ugly crying.

"Let me off!" "I'm done!" Get me off of this thing!"

"Against the rules. No one is allowed to dismount their horses." My rule-loving self complied for maybe three seconds until I realized that this crazy horse lady couldn't force me to do anything. They can't possibly have horse detention. Could they?

"I AM getting off of this thing! Come and hold on if you don't want it to run away!"

I proceeded to get off of the horse, walked by poor hubby stuck on top of his giraffe horse and walked out of the woods. Still shaking and $70 poorer. Leader yelling something about my bit coming unattached.

Not this Gruppie's actual horse. Pretty darn similar.

Here is the kicker (punny huh?), Hubby's boss has a house in the area. He has only visited the house twice this year. The last time he drove to his vacation house he noticed a horse throw a rider and then take-off, saddle and all, down the main road where the trail rides travel.

That crazy, unsafe stable has imprinted a fear of large farm poor ancestors.

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