Prepare yourself for some profanity.

Because.. fuckity, fuck, fuck.

I went to the barn last night with the intention of doing a small bareback walk through the meadow and back.  We've been out of the pasture a ton lately, riding bareback a lot too, and this should not have been an issue. But I wasn't listening to my gut, I was listening to my fucking ego.

My gut said to grab the saddle and some legitimate shoes because wearing my Tevas all the time is just asking for toes to be smashed (note: no toes have been smashed).  My ego said, "Fuck the saddle, let's roll!"

After he side-stepped twice at the mounting block and I had to pop him, my gut repeated the request for a saddle and maybe a crop and maybe just some lessons on manners.  Ego?  Yeah.

When I had to line him up three times to get the gate open and I felt a little tear in my groin, my gut said to at least just stay in the pasture.

Warning bells went off when it started thundering.  Again when he had a hard spook at something random.

I'd walked down to the road and should have been content with that, given his attitude and the weather.  I saw that BO was in the process of tacking up and thought to myself: she's going to go around the pasture and down the road.  She hasn't even put on her saddle yet.  I have enough time to go to the meadow and back.

Fortunately, Archie didn't realize while we were in the meadow that BO was riding.  It was when we were on the dirt road back to the barn.  I don't know if he saw her riding or what really set him off, but he slammed on the brakes and started snorting.  I had the passing thought that I needed to be ready to circle him because he was about to take off.

And instead of launching himself forward, he bolted backwards.

I've never experienced anything like it.

It was like hyper-awareness, I knew where the trees were behind us and I pulled his backwards galloping ass into one.  We ricocheted off the tree and he started to spin towards the meadow.  I had more thoughts: if he bolted to the meadow, there was no way that I was staying on.  Would it be a pretty transition or would it be get-this-fucking-monkey-off-my-back?  Would I land on soft dirt or would I land on barbwire or clam shells or on gravel?  Or into a tree?

So, mid-spin, I hopped off.

I spent a few minutes walking him back and forth between the area where he went nuts and a more-open area.  I still couldn't see BO, so I wasn't too, too worried.  I breathed through the riptide of an anxiety attack and felt my face flushing, my eyes watering, and my legs shaking.  Meanwhile, the beast snorted next to me.

I finally psyched myself up enough to get back on - more concerned with being quick and less with, you know, fucking safety.  And as soon as I started walking him back to the area at which he spooked, he spun back around towards the barn and up comes BO, cantering.  Archie really... just freaked out.  I was yelling, "STOP! STOP!", but I don't know if I was speaking to BO or Archie.  Regardless, neither listened.

I was able to stay on for the second fucking mental breakdown and BO was just smiling at me while I tried not to cry.  I don't think she was being malicious, I think she was just clueless.  And off she goes down the dirt road to the meadow while I just beg Archie to walk to the gate so I can consider us done and dismount. Again.  And then he started screaming in my face for his pasture buddy.

Another great day to reaffirm the bond between horse and rider.  Fuck.

My anxiety-riddled mind thought that this was important to photograph: where I ran his ass into a tree.

And then the sky exploded. And the liquor store was closed.

Little hives on his butt - maybe sensitive/ouchie skin contributed to the chaos?  Maybe I'm reaching?