You’ve heard of it, right? Goes something like this: “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results”.
You’d think that since I’m still dealing with the physical fallout of my recent attempt to turn myself into a human catapult, that I’d be taking care of myself and not doing anything stupid. You’d be wrong. Nope, I’m still dumb as a box of rocks.
The other day, the Sainted Mare and I decided we needed an easy day and that a wander through the fields adjacent to the barn was in order.
It’s hunting season, but these fields are off-limits so I thought we’d be fine. WRONG. I forgot that all the wee forest creatures are on high alert during hunting season and that this sense of panic pervades all creatures that enter their domain.
We were walking along a hedgerow when the perfect sh$!storm of events occurred: Loud squawking and flapping sounds as a terrified pheasant took wing, and a bugle and crashing of fall foliage as a large buck left his hidey hole and took off across the field.
The Sainted Mare just about crapped herself, took a good look at the buck and said,”That bas@#rd’s got horns, WE ARE OUTTA HERE!” and spun around and exited stage right. Sadly, I exited stage left, dangled from her neck for a nanosecond, and then somehow managed to bellyflop to earth.
The Sainted One was backpedaling as if her life depended on it (in her defense, she thought it did), and I was stupidly hanging onto the reins and letting myself be dragged across the field like a water-skier who had fallen, and forgot to let go of the tow rope. In between mouthfuls of dirt and roughage, I was vehemently threatening greater peril to the Sainted One’s existence if she did not stop her retreat “this instant!”
The mare quickly calculated the risks posed by the woodland creatures (now long gone) and her very irate Mom (still dangling on the end of her reins and cussing up a blue streak), and decided a swift halt and a proactive apology was the safest course of action. She stood still and licked me while I tried to reassemble myself, and continued to stand like a stone while I hauled my bruised tuckus back into the saddle (amidst much groaning and creative vocabulary.) Off we went back to the barn, as if nothing untoward had occurred. We got back uneventfully, I untacked her and immediately tossed back some NSAIDs I keep at the barn for just such an occassion.
Am still mainlining the NSAIDs, as at my age body parts continue to complain long after the offending incident. I have also resolved that I will no longer be heading off on my own, even within sight of the barn, even with my cell phone firmly attached, even thought the Sainted Mare is normally bomb-proof (hence her beatification).
No doubt Einstein would have been proud of me.
(By the way, gotta give a shout out to Blackberry for being able to cushion the landing of a 140lb woman and ensuing dirt drag and come out unscathed! Kudos!)