An Everpresent Risk

Riding horses is dangerous.  So is operating an automobile.  So I’m not saying we shouldn’t engage in either activity, but I’d like to point out that when you are around a horse, virtually anything can happen.  I’ve seen good horses in bad wrecks, great riders get broken up, and not-very-cautious riders get away with doing some stupid things around horses and get away with it.  What we all should keep in mind is that there is great risk involved in riding horses and training horses, and a smart rider will do what he can to protect himself and his horse.

A week ago Monday, I got a call from my mom while at work.  Understand, this is never a good thing.  So she said my dad was out elk hunting and had had an accident, but was going to be okay.  He was riding my sister’s mule and I guess it was lunch time and he opened up a can of Mt. Dew.  Well, the mule got all worried at the sound of that pop top opening, and so Dad threw the can down and got the mule settled down again.  Dad’s friend Chuck and my sister were along, and so, not wanting to litter, Chuck got off and picked up the empty can, and handed it to my dad.  Dad crushed the can in his hands to toss into his pack sack, and the mule lit out in a dead run, jumping sagebrush and bucking over rocks…Dad went off and broke four ribs in several places and punctured a lung.

So they were out in the Idaho wilderness on horseback.  Chuck had to ride forty-five minutes up a mountain so he could get cell phone reception to call 911.  My little sister got Dad as comfortable as she could (they tried to put him up on Chuck’s horse, but he was hurt too badly) and covered him in blankets and started a campfire to keep him warm.  A helicopter life-lighted him to Arco first, where he was checked over at the hospital, and then it took him on to Pocatello.  He had twelve fractures and a collapsed lung. 

I called him yesterday.  He had spent the week in ICU, and was just getting released to go home.  I asked him how the hospital had treated him, and he said, “Well, it’s a good place to be, when you need it.”  He said he was off the epidural pain relief, and was just taking oral pain relievers and getting along okay.  He coughed now and then as we spoke, and told me that the doctors told him it was good for him to cough, but that it felt like “wild dogs have sunk their teeth into my rib cage and are fighting over me.” 

So he was pretty happy when he saw my mom and sister arrive with his coat and boots.  Dad is not the type to sit around for long, and has always had too much work to do to sit idle.  I think the hardest part of the recovery will be staying indoors while Mom and my sister go out and move cattle, wean calves, feed all the livestock, and do chores.  Hopefully he will learn a few indoor hobbies.  I keep sending him sudoku puzzles and crosswords.

It was hard for me to think of my dad being in the hospital.  In my mind, Dad is invincible.  Nothing about him changes, he is always the wise and slow-paced person he’s always been.  I picture him in many different scenarios…at the table after a meal with a coffee cup in his hand and a toothpick in the corner of his mouth…his grin when he says something with dry humor and is watching you to see if you get the joke…in church with a hymnal in his hand leading the congregation in a song…his look over the top of his hand of Rook cards as he’s waiting for you to toss your card in so he can play the winning card…but never a scenario in which he isn’t whole and healthy and strong and steadfast was a word my sister used.  We all were shook up by his accident.

As Mom told me the whole story over the phone, it left me baffled.  Dad has been a horseman for over sixty years.  He grew up riding horses, has been working with them his entire life, and knows a lot about their instincts and tendencies.  I just can’t figure out why he would crush the pop can while riding that mule, since the mule had already spooked when he opened the can in the first place.  I’m not trying to be mean to my dad here, after all…he’s my Dad.  But that just doesn’t sound like something he would do.

I remember trying to get off my horse when I was five.  Old Chigger and I were trailing along behind a cattle drive, on a highway somewhere out in Nebraska, and I was getting tired of riding.  I thought I’d get off and walk, but I didn’t tell anyone, didn’t pull my horse to a stop, and just started to slide down.  Well, my foot got caught in the stirrup, and suddenly I was upside down, dragging along beside and partially underneath my sleepily plodding horse.  I guess I yelled, and Dad came running and stopped the horse and got me untangled.  But he told me in no uncertain terms what my mistakes had been.  Tell someone you need help getting down.  Stop the horse and take both feet out of the stirrups before sliding off.  Don’t do that again, you could be dragged and badly hurt!

I also remember my little brother Kris riding Peppy on a roundup.  Kris was four years old.  He got too hot and decided to take off his coat.  He got one arm out of its sleeve, and the coat flopped down on one side of the horse, and the horse spooked to the side to get away from the coat, and started whirling in circles like a reining horse, that coat flopping him on the neck.  Kris was holding the reins in one hand and saddle horn in the other, but couldn’t stop the coat from flopping because one arm was still in it.  He was shouting, “Peppy!  Peppyyyyyyyy!”  And Dad came running again.  Peppy wouldn’t stop and let Dad catch him, so Dad had to calm Kris down enough until he could free his other arm and drop the coat on the ground.  But he told my little brother what he did wrong:  Don’t take your coat off while you’re on that horse.  Tell someone you need help.  Get off the horse first, and then take your coat off.  And we all took note:  Don’t take your coat off while riding Peppy.

About a hundred of those stories came to mind while I was thinking about Dad getting hurt.  And I just want to set him down and tell him:  Don’t ride that dumb mule…stick to the horses you ride every day, you’re seventy years old and you don’t need to be taking chances on a mule that you aren’t used to riding.  Don’t crush your pop cans!  I know you didn’t want to litter, but if it meant keeping you safe, I would have left the empty can lying there on the mountain!  And when your horse gives you a hint that he’s spooky, don’t take chances with him.

In Dad’s defense, he said he had ridden the mule two days prior to hunt, and they had gotten along fine and covered a lot of territory.  So the mule wasn’t really fresh, he just had never really been “sacked out” and that kind of noise was unfamiliar to him.  But it’s just a good lesson for all of us to take into consideration.  Be careful around horses.  If they give you a hint or a signal, try to read it and adjust your plans. 

I remember as a kid we would ride up to the house bareback and yell for my grandma to come out and watch us ride.  Then we’d try to get our horses to rear or take off real fast and show off for her.  I hear her plain as day, saying, “Now don’t take any chances.”  I think it’s good advice for anyone who handles horses.  Enjoy your horses, but understand your risk, and do what you can to stay safe.

Tagged as: country lifestyle, horse advice, horse injuries, horse memories, horse riding, horse safety, Horse Stories, horse training advice, horseback riding, riding horses, riding horses in the mountains