Horseback riding

The last time I rode a horse I must have been about 6 or 7-years-old. The moron at the ranch didn't tighten the saddle properly and as the horse took off, I found myself riding upside down between 4, very powerful, pounding hooves like some sort of screaming circus midget.

So when my wife casually mentioned she wanted to go horseback riding for her birthday I was instantly gripped with primal fear. Of course, we went anyway.

I chose the Bar-B Ranch in Davie not because of its close proximity to our home, but because on their website they mention that every summer they sponsor therapeutic horseback riding lessons for the mentally handicapped. I suddenly thought, "I want one of those horses!" Surely even I could ride these gentile and therapeutic horses across a pastoral landscape like Viggo Mortenson in Lord of the Rings.

I made it perfectly clear to the girl at the ranch that I was a beginner, and I heavily implied I had some sort of nondescript mental handicap. So she gave me Ricky, the slowest, oldest, most inept horse on the ranch. While other riders (my wife included) trotted here and there not unlike Viggo Mortenson, Ricky and I stood there, ate flowers, and peed incessantly.

At least I’m no longer afraid of horses, certainly not Ricky…. And to be perfectly honest I had a great time.