Excitement!!!!

I rode Chantilly for the first time!

All went well……………..super-di-dooper, even!

 

 

 

………..well, except for the big dump truck and his even bigger air-horn honking………

***(I’d like to think that he was just joyously trying to share in our happiness and gayety of the moment with his truck’s massive, auditory belching of compressed air through some-such automotive tweeter.)***

 

……………….I’d like to think that………………..yes, I would.

 

The honking seemed to be meticulously planned to occur right as he passed our horses’ haunches.

 

Under normal circumstances, I would have managed a rapid-fire-yet-common-hand & digital salute…………..but let’s face it, I had a death-grip on the reins and I wasn’t about to let go of them for love nor money.

Chantilly was cool with it.  Poppy was cool with it.  So were Mouse, Melvin, Shorty, and Blue Velvet……………….but their riders……………..not so much…

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Warning———-Digression Happening———-

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Completely & thoroughly off the subject…………….

Here’s a fun little game.  My older daughter (who’s sitting across the kitchen table from me) suggested it…………..

Pick your alias N.P.R. Radio Host Name:   First—–choose your favorite pattern.   Then choose the name of your favorite, deceased singer/song-writer.

I just picked Paisley Hendrix…………..my older daughter just chose Houndstooth Houston.

………………….I have no idea why my daughter had me pick an alias for National Public Radio……………but, who am I to question the game…………………and, should I choose to become a host on NPR…………………well then………I’m all set, aren’t I?  Now I have a radio handle!)………………

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———-Digression Ending———–

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Everyone survived the ride down the road.

Our horses weren’t bothered one bit by the casual stares of the cud-drooling, relaxing Brahman cattle, the sprinting/curious cutting horses who zoomed us from their pasture along the road…………….or even Mr. Mischievous/Musical Dump Truck.

………….But…………you just can’t count yourself home-free until the fat lady sings………….

…………And my aria was still to come………….

 

We made it back to Mary Constance’s barn…………..we all started dismounting…………easy-peezy………..right?

Nope……………………….sigh…

Apparently, poor ole’ Chantilly was not anticipating my old-lady-slither-of-a-dismount down her side…………….

Apparently, I poked her in places she didn’t approve of, nor had okayed ahead of time……………

 

Somewhere between the pommel and the ground, she bolted away from me.

Huuuuummmmmpppppphhhhhhhhh………..

And considering the age of the minors I was riding with, that’s a good thing that was all that I was able to get out of my mouth.

 

I did my best, previously/multiply-rehearsed dismount-tuck & roll——–and then scrambled and took off after my horse……………she had already stopped inside the barn…

 

Mary Constance had a wonderful young girl mount and dismount Chantilly over and over and over again.

Her instructions were to:……………get on and off like an old lady………..

……………….I like it………………(in case you missed it………….she was talking about me).

Limber, agile young people………………………ancient memories………………….but, I was so grateful for this youngster’s abilities right then.

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It all goes to show that you can’t count yourself as having survived a ride unscathed and lucky until you have completely untacked your horse and put him or her safely back in a stall.

***********Let the games begin, Chantilly.

Tag, you’re it***********