Handling Injuries Sustained at the Barn

I looked in the mirror this morning, inspecting the puncture wounds and scratches on my chin and face.  I wonder if they’ll scar?  At least I was wearing a helmet.  It could have been much, much worse.

Like the time at the beach, when I slogged barefoot through the sand to go read an important looking sign…important enough it had it’s own little roof… and knocked myself out cold when I hit my head on the important sign’s roof.  Walked right into it, and yes, I saw it.  What can I say?  It’s a mystery.  Nice stars, though, and cute little circling bluebirds.  They really do tweet.  By the way, the sign said: Most Dangerous Beach in California, BEWARE. Yup.  It was dangerous all right.  And I was only ten feet from the parking lot.  Couldn’t even see the water.  Nasty concussion.

Yesterday when I got home from the barn, Shaun squinted at me, then suddenly grabbed my chin in her hand and turned my head this way and that, to get a better angle in the light.  What?

“Do you know you have scratches on your face?” she demanded, absolutely certain a horse had fallen on top of me.

“Uh.  No.  I didn’t” I said.

“Go look.”  she said, “then tell me the TRUTH.”

I think the truth in a marriage – when it comes to horses – is overrated.    I did have a horse simply trip, in the arena, at a canter, and fall on top of me.  We were both pretty stunned.  I looked at Sunshine laying on top of me, and he looked at me.  Huh.  It took me a full second to think I probably should get out from underneath him.  I hope my foot isn’t in the stirrup under there. Luckily it took him two full seconds to think, gee maybe I should get up.

I walked away from that accident with A SCRATCH.  That’s it.  Not even a bruise from 1100 lbs landing on top of me at 15 mph.  I did whump my head, but I was wearing a helmet, so didn’t feel much.  (I should have worn one on the beach.)

All this goes through my mind as I make my way to the bathroom mirror.  Lord, please do not make me have to tell her the truth.  I will DIE.  Let it be no big deal.  Nope.  Four little puncture wounds on the side of my chin.  Scratches up above.  Blood.  I have to tell.  It’s not going to be pretty.

Shaun marches in with her arms crossed.  She’s given me enough time to look at the evidence, but not enough to come up with a plausible story.

“So?”  she says.

“Um…you’re never going to believe this…” I say, thus inadvertently ensuring that yes, now she will never believe this.  “I mean,” I say, trying again, “it was a freak accident.”

“They’re all freak accidents.” she says.

“Okay.” I say defensively, “It’s really no big deal.”

“And…” Shaun says, rolling her hand in the air, in a continue motion.

I stare miserably at my boots.  “It’s not even horse related”  I say.  How do you say this to someone?

“So you just happened to get injured at the barn, where there are a lot of horses, after you’ve been riding, and it’s not horse related?” Shaun says, skeptically.

“Um, yeah.  See, Lilli brought a cake…” I say

“I remember – she called, forgot the plates and stuff.  You ran out of here with plastic forks and Christmas napkins.  What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, we were, uh, eating cake in the tack room, and I sort of missed.”

“Missed what?”  Shaun is totally puzzled.  She has a mental image of a horse lurking somewhere in the vicinity of the tack room, ready to bolt in and trample us all to death to get the cake.  Probably could happen, actually.  Have to give her that.

“My mouth.”  I say.  “I hit myself in the face with the fork.”

“What?”  she says, mystified.  Where is the HORSE in all this?  Great.  I’m going to have to repeat this.  Why me?  Why?

“I was listening to an intense conversation between Lilly and Margo and I sort of missed when I went to take a bite of cake.”  She still looks puzzled.

“I stabbed myself in the face with a fork, okay?”

I’m bright red: how mortifying is it when you want to ride Dressage, the ballet of horse disciplines, and you can’t find your own mouth with a fork?!  “I was hoping no one noticed.”

Her hand is sideways over her mouth.  I’m way too embarrassed for this to be made up.  Compressed air bursts out of her.  She is laughing so hard tears come to her eyes.  “You…hahahahaha…stabbed yourself in the faaaaa….hahahahaha..in the…heeheehee…with a…haha…with a…hohohaha…FORK?”

I am SO never gonna live this down.  I can already see next french-toast-friday, family-only-night, when the kids drag out the game of  “Clue”.

Yes, dear readers, it was The Dressage Queen, in the Tack Room, with a Fork.

Copyright © 2009. The Literary Horse. All rights reserved.

6 thoughts on “Handling Injuries Sustained at the Barn

  1. I thought I was the only one who had a VBP (Visible Bruise Policy). That means I don’t tell anyone about horse related accidents unless there is evidence.

    Of course the last barn accident I had was when my horse kicked me. That left a bruise that spanned the width of both my hands and I had to wear a towel that draped down to my knees when I went to the gym to prevent audible gasps from other members.

  2. You’re right about the plastic utensils…you’d think the NTSB would have put their foot down on that one.

    I have managed to acquire road rash on a bike and on rollerblades (still scarred), and all sorts of scars from riding.

    As for the nickname. you’d have to see me in a lesson to understand. Those who can’t do write about it.

  3. OK. I am trying to control myself as I type. *control*
    I never thought I’d know someone worse than me, but I think you are approaching. Seriously. *control* um *control*

    My barn name is CRASH, and not merely because I warrant it in the arena or on the trail or hunt field.

    I think I may have to send you the CRASH Crown in the mail. Or at least those sticky jewels for your helmet. *gives way to convulsive laughter*

    I hope your face is ok. Really.

    1. I mean really. How humiliating is it that I can’t feed myself? Clearly there is no false modesty in how I present my riding ability. (DANG it). Who makes plastic forks THAT pointy in this day and age…yeah…that’s it…it’s all THEIR fault. 🙂 My worst injuries have been on the ground, usually not around horses. That “dangerous beach” sign really did result in a bad concussion.

      I think you have the right idea. I’ll get a bedazzler and go for the helmet. Rather be known as a bling princess than someone who attacks herself with eating utensils! Had to go to the doc recently, and she said, frowning, (she knows I ride) when did you get that nasty scar on your back? Um. Playing foursquare in the driveway with the kids…

      Face is fine. Ego is tanked.
      BTW hard to imagine you as “Crash”!

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