A few times a year I have an urge to go horseback riding, and this past weekend I was ready and roaring to jump on the saddle and ride across the desert.
My fascination with riding horses seems to stem from my recurring Paul Revere fantasy of me galloping through the streets of Los Angeles warning everyone that “The Aliens are coming! The Aliens are coming!” But that, I’m certain, is something I should be discussing with my therapist, and not going into detail here.
So off I went with my friend Tom to the nearby stables, some twenty miles outside of Los Angeles.
I was given a horse named Smokey, which is the same name of a dog I once had and loved dearly. I took that as a good sign, not the omen it would turn out to be.
We were out trotting about five minutes when Smokey farted rather loudly, followed by bucking back and forth and up and down. I was completely unprepared for this gaseous eruption and as Smokey jumped up I fell down. That’s when Smokey’s left rear hoof landed on my foot. There was sudden pain as my right foot felt his crushing weight. Not wanting to be the wimpy-non-cowboy I got back in the saddle and finished the ride.
Maybe Smokey ate some bad grass that made his gas a painful blast?
When we got back to the stables my foot was throbbing and swollen. My toes felt like they were broken and I hobbled home. I spent the rest of the day icing my toes and keeping them elevated. Broken? Yeah.
This is a not-so-good picture of me just before that fateful fart:
Will I ever ride again? Oh yeah… yippie kai ay.
My fascination with riding horses seems to stem from my recurring Paul Revere fantasy of me galloping through the streets of Los Angeles warning everyone that “The Aliens are coming! The Aliens are coming!” But that, I’m certain, is something I should be discussing with my therapist, and not going into detail here.
So off I went with my friend Tom to the nearby stables, some twenty miles outside of Los Angeles.
I was given a horse named Smokey, which is the same name of a dog I once had and loved dearly. I took that as a good sign, not the omen it would turn out to be.
We were out trotting about five minutes when Smokey farted rather loudly, followed by bucking back and forth and up and down. I was completely unprepared for this gaseous eruption and as Smokey jumped up I fell down. That’s when Smokey’s left rear hoof landed on my foot. There was sudden pain as my right foot felt his crushing weight. Not wanting to be the wimpy-non-cowboy I got back in the saddle and finished the ride.
Maybe Smokey ate some bad grass that made his gas a painful blast?
When we got back to the stables my foot was throbbing and swollen. My toes felt like they were broken and I hobbled home. I spent the rest of the day icing my toes and keeping them elevated. Broken? Yeah.
This is a not-so-good picture of me just before that fateful fart:
Will I ever ride again? Oh yeah… yippie kai ay.
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