Horse Sense - safety precautions for riding horses - Brief Article

Combat Edge, August, 2001 by Rebecca Colaw

Since my arrival here at The Combat Edge as the new Executive Editor, my staff has been reminding me to write a "Passing the Pen" story for the magazine. I must admit that I was not too thrilled about the idea so I bribed them with promises of days off to, instead, let me tell a story about something I dearly love: horse-back riding.

When I was growing up in the middle of suburbia in Knoxville, Tennessee, I longed to be in another place, living another life. You see, I always wanted to be a cowgirl. From the time I was 6 years old, I would stand on our back porch with my mother and point out a farm located high on a hill in the distance. It had acres of pasture and a white fence that seemed to stretch for miles around the most beautiful horses I had ever seen. Yep, that's what I wanted: horses and farm.

As I grew up, I would spend hours on Saturdays watching old movies like, "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valiance," "How the West Was Won" and, of course, anything with John Wayne. I quickly realized that I should have been born more than a 100 years ago -- back when the west was wild, the buffalo still roamed in herds and, naturally, horses were the main mode of transportation. I know in my heart that when the land speculators started advertising "Go West Young Man!" I'd have gone.

My grandparents fed my wild-west desire by leasing me ponies to ride during summer visits -- you've gotta love grandparents! That's when I began wearing cowboy boots -- this was long before they were considered "in style." In my teenage years, I was fortunate to have a friend whose family owned a 650-acre farm with horses. Needless to say, I spent every available weekend playing "Bonanza" or trail riding until dark -- and sometimes after. So you could almost say that I've been riding horses most of my life.

It was not until I hit "near" middle age that I finally got my own horse. It's amazing how one horse leads to others. Now there are five in my herd with hopefully two more "babies" on the way. I show horses in Reining and Working Cow Horse events and love to work cattle. Yep, I've finally made it to my goal of being a cowgirl. Now I'd like to share with you some of what I've learned along the way.

A couple of years ago, I determined that there was only one notch I had left to add to my belt. I wanted to "start" a young'un, which means teaching it the things it needs to know in order to be ridden. A friend of mine down in North Carolina has a whole herd, and we decided that I would "start" one of her horses. For those city folks out there, "start" is the same thing as "break"

without all the bucking and fighting. So at 38, I began my next western adventure by training my first colt.

Now, you'd a thought that I would've wanted to wear all of the protective gear ever made for this great adventure. With helmets, vests, knee pads and back braces, I could have protected myself like a knight in shining armor instead of the cowgirl I imagined myself to be. Of course, I did not -- that stuff's for sissies! That being said, I was not a complete fool. I did insist on one safety precaution. I decided not to ride the horse unless my friend was there to watch me. And that one decision is the one that probably saved my life.

It happened on my fifth ride. I had been successfully working the horse in a large round pen and everything was going well. The horse was responding and my confidence was beginning to grow. I squeezed the horse into a slow trot and we began to move around the round pen. With each circle, however, the horse picked up speed until he was running as fast as he could go and accelerating with each turn. The sheer force of his gallops caused the saddle to slip to the side. Any second, I knew I was a goner. I held on as long as I could, but then decided to bail off to keep myself out from under his feet. When I bailed, I grabbed my head with my arms to protect it. As I was flying through the air; all I could think was "this is going to hurt." It did.

When I left the horse, he was probably traveling about 25 to 30 miles per hour. I was spun backwards and my back led the way as I traveled through the air. Suddenly, I was not moving any more. My back plunged into a fence post, and I ended up face down, embedded in the ground. I remember my friend yelling for me to get up. She feared the horse would come around again and trample me. He didn't. Thankfully, he had stopped as soon as I was off. I was lucky. Again my friend asked me to get up. All I remember saying in a weak voice was "just a minute." I has never been in such pain in my life.

I was down for more than 30 minutes and had gone into shock. If I had been alone that might have been all she wrote. My friend was more than a concerned onlooker. She was a nurse and her son, a paramedic, lived next door. As luck would have it, his ambulance just happened to be in the yard so, once they stabilized me, they took me to a local hospital. The diagnosis: I had "" fered blunt force trauma -- ya think? -- torn my kidney, dislocated and bruised my ribs and, basically, bruished my entries body from my left shoulder to my knee. I hurt. It was 5 months before I was able to ride again. But, just like the cowgirls of the old west, I did get back in the saddle. You can't stop doing what you love just because of a little incident: however, I did learn a few things from that traumatic day.