I mildly sprained my ankle yesterday leaping off the back of a small half-Arabian mare who was convinced the trees on the trail were going to eat her. I’m far past “hero” stage in my life, and I know when and where to pick fights with large animals. In the middle of Mountain Home road with cars speeding by is not the opportune place to beat sense into a horse. We were hardly to Larry Ellison’s new house before I had to jump off again because she didn’t want to walk through a small mud puddle and nearly fell off the edge of the trail. How this horse would cross the deserts of Saudi Arabia if we were to actually transport her there is beyond me. Of course, maybe there are no trees or mud puddles in the desert so she’d do just fine.
I still went to hockey last night, because of course, my ankle wasn’t really sprained, and my boot would keep my ankle from bending anyway, right? I had a pretty good game until my bum knee popped out (and back in again) and it was about that time I decided I had to make a choice. Show my favorite Sharks fan’s horse this week up at Rancho Murieta, or kill myself playing hockey and call her to inform that I’m in the hospital with my leg in a splint.
I’m taking it easy until the horse show is over, but I’m still bringing my skates to work on Monday, because you can beat sense into a horse but not into me.
