You may recall that I adopted a rescued Belgian Draft mare last fall. At 18hh, she’s by far the largest horse I’ve ever been up close and personal with, but her mammoth size is tempered considerably by her calm demeanor. Her personality is low-key, and she asks for little. She’s only just recently discovered that she likes peppermint treats, as well as apple chunks. Given that her previous situation was…shall we say unfortunate…I’ve made it my mission to ensure that she knows she is loved, and that she has a human she can trust.
It positively melts my heart that, upon arriving at the stable, I walk in to find that big red head with the blond mane staring intently in my direction. I believe that by now, she knows the sound of the engine in my car because she’s already looking my way before I even round the corner and walk through the door. I always greet her with an enthusiastic, “Good morning, my beauty queen!” and a handful of treats. Then I walk her out to the pasture so that I can muck out her box. It’s our everyday routine.
I held off getting on her back until just recently; I wanted her to get acclimated to her new surroundings and her new person before I started asking for things. After much thought, I decided against getting a saddle for her. In the first place, I wanted as little gear on her as possible (due to her age, which is 20, and possible arthritis), and in the second place, I felt that she was wide enough to comfortably ride bareback.
But spring began to call, and other boarders were already out riding, and I seethed with envy every time I saw them. So I decided to see how hard it would be to mount her from a mounting block. To my considerable surprise, I mounted easily the first two times on previous days. But when I made my third attempt, I hesitated. And hesitated more. I couldn’t pinpoint why I was suddenly hesitant, and after many minutes in which my girl stood perfectly still for me, I made my attempt. And promptly broke a rib when my chest landed on her withers.
“Well, bugger!” was my first thought. I stood on the mounting block and tried to assess my level of pain. Surprisingly, I didn’t hurt as much as I have with previous equine-related broken ribs, even when I waved my arm about. Frustrated, knowing it would take a good six weeks for my brittle bones to heal, I cast about for a higher mounting block, and spied the old picnic table near the outdoor arena. I led Gertrude over, climbed up onto the table, and what do you know? – I mounted easily in spite of the broken rib.
I only rode for a short while. I think Gertrude and I both need to build up our stamina before attempting actual trail hacks. But to be on her back at all was glorious, and I thoroughly enjoyed the ride. Naturally, I didn’t tell the hubs about the getting on and riding with a broken rib. He already thinks I’m too old for horses, an opinion to which I say, “Rubbish!” If HM Queen Elizabeth II could ride in her 90’s, then I can bloody well ride in my 60’s!
And so I managed in spite of my stupid bones, although most people would counsel against riding with a broken rib. So I want to take this opportunity to urge all of you ladies of a certain age to be mindful of how aging wreaks havoc on our bones, and suggest that you begin getting yearly scans, as well as embracing weight-bearing exercise, and adding Calcium supplements to your diet*. There’s nothing more frustrating than dealing with broken bones when you could be outdoors being active, not to mention the pain involved every time you sneeze, cough, inhale, exhale, laugh, yell at your hubs, bend over, reach for….just about anything, really, will be painful until you heal, and who wants to deal with all that?
*Which is the author’s opinion, and is in no way endorsed by The Sussex Newspaper. So see your doctor!
