brush with death

The chill in the air was echoed by the crisp leaves that fluttered by our feet – mine shod in battered boots, his in neatly hammered iron. Due to genetically crappy feet, Monty was lame. Again. To my impatient 14 year old self, this was getting old. The romance of having my own horse was giving way to the reality of equine frailty.

We finished our prescribed 20 minute walk around the arena and headed to the only available pasture. There were actually three pastures on the property, but if I didn’t keep up on the constant fence repair, this was the only one left. It wasn’t the best arrangement; Monty, Sunny, and Brio, the resident Andalusian stud, had to share it on a rotating basis, but we made do with what we had.

With a last pat, I stood on my tip toes to unbuckle Monty’s halter. I heard the vague thud of gate against fence, a shout and hoof beats against packed, winter earth. I turned to see the magnificence of a stallion intent on the kill – head low, ears flattened, teeth bared, eyes blazing with pure hatred. Every fiber in his being had been screaming for this moment. In one smooth motion he was upon us, his graceful beauty horrendous as he lunged for Monty’s jugular. Stunned, I felt the lead rope burn through my hands as Monty rose to escape. The sharp snap of teeth hitting empty air rang in my ears and suddenly I realized I had to get out of there. Fast.

All signs of lameness vanished. Monty was defending himself for all he was worth. He fishtailed, swapped ends and threw his entire weight against the enraged grey whirlwind. Too late, I found myself trapped in the vise of slow motion, seeing but not feeling the weight of 1200 pounds of horseflesh careening over backwards, pinning me to the ground. To my amazed delight, I found a lovely dapple grey flank near my face. I lay there and admired it. Had my arms not been so tightly wedged, I could have stroked the soft hairs. The crushing weight jerked time up to speed as Brio rolled back to gather himself. Every small motion was huge. I could hear frantic shouting, and felt a pair of hands under my shoulders, felt grass give way as I was dragged to safety, saw a whirl of grey and brown as the battle moved on.