How I Became an Official Cowgirl

As is the case with most riders, my goal when I took up riding was to never hit the ground. I don't know anyone who wouldn't agree that it's a lofty goal, especially when dealing with equines, but it never hurts to set your sights high.

My first step in the right direction was to find a safe, reputable trainer with calm, well-broke schooling animals. Unfortunately, I've learned that no amount of training, for equine or rider, can keep your butt in the saddle 100 percent of the time.

Someone once told me that you have to fall off three times to become an "Official Cowgirl." Well, here's how I became an Official Cowgirl:

#1—Emergency dismount: When I bought my trailer in 2007, I was eager to hit the trails. Unfortunately, my closest horsey friend had moved a few states away and I didn't really know anyone else to call. Not keen on riding alone, I decided to head over to a local park for an organized poker ride.

The parking lot was packed when I arrived. Surely there would be some group that wouldn't mind a tag-along mule and rider. After trying out a few groups, I finally settled with with a threesome: two middle-aged females and an older man. Things were going well until the old guy decided to show off by going through a small pond to the side of the trail. Ever the competitive one, I thought I'd follow because, well, Maxine can do anything.

Famous last thoughts.

As I steered Max into the water, she stopped short and tried to continue up the dry trail. Ignoring her warning, I lightly spurred her forward. She reluctantly obliged. As we waded through the ankle-deep water, her right hind leg sunk into a soft spot. She turned toward the dry trail and then fell to her haunches. As she was about to scramble to her feet, a calm voice in my head said, "Get your feet out of the stirrups and get off."

The voice repeated as I rolled into the mud and standing water. Max clamored back onto the trail and froze. Unhurt, I remained on the ground a moment as I scanned her legs for injury. When I was certain she was okay, I rose from the muck, and patted her on the neck in apology. Then, I mounted from a picnic table and continued our ride. Needless to say, we both got hosed off at the trail head that day.

#2—Unexpected dismount: After the NW Regional Trail Championship in Eugene, Oregon, last November, I was riding my trainer's sweet mammoth donkey through the practice course. The donkey was in a rushy mood, so my job was to slow her down.

As I guided her onto a raised dirt box, she jolted forward and then fell straight to the ground. Again, I heard, "Get your feet out of the stirrups and get off" from the recesses of my brain. Before she could raise back up, I did a double roll out of the saddle, off the box, and onto my feet. Fortunately, everyone was okay, so I got back on and continued riding.

#3—Spectacular dismount: Each spring and fall, Maxine and I compete in trail competitions held in our hometown. Every show gets bigger and bigger—the log tangles more technical, the hills steeper, and the step ups higher.

This past spring, there was one particular obstacle of which I wasn't too fond—a step-up that came out of a water box. What I didn't like about this obstacle was the fact that the first step was only about eight inches deep, then there were three for four rock stairs in succession. Had these elements been separate, I would have barely noticed them. However, put them together and add water, and things get tricky. Because the stairs were so close to the obstacle, the animal has less room to move, creating (in my mind) a much higher step than intended. Plus, only the first few animals would have dry ground to work with. After that, it would get increasingly muddy.

Fortunately, we bypassed the obstacle on the first day. On the second day, we were instructed to ride down the steps and into the water. After a talk with my trainer, I decided to bypass the obstacle and take a zero on the score pad. Sure, some might call me a sissy, but my intuition was screaming that this was a bad idea, so I listened. In fact, I bypassed a couple more obstacles that day—and I was on the verge of tears most of the day because of it.

No, I'm not competitive at all. *roll eyes*

On the final day, the course called for us to ride up the step. I was wary, but knowing that it's easier to go up hill than down hill, I considered taking the obstacle.

The step was one of the first obstacles in the pattern. I rode calmly up to the approach. Our entrance into the water box was perfect. With a right haunch turn, we were facing the step.

Maxine paused for a moment to assess. My mind quickly went into action and I had second thoughts. Intuition said to turn away, but it was too late—Max raised her front hooves onto the step.

Personal observation: I don't know exactly what happened after that, but I've pieced this together from both what I experienced and what I was told by onlookers after the fact.

As Maxine moved forward, her rear hoof slipped on the wet timber. She fell back on her haunches and rolled onto her left side. Like a broken record, I once again heard, "get your feet out of the stirrups and get off," repeating in my mind. With my eyes open, I rolled to the left—once to dismount and again to get as far away from her hooves as possible. Then I jumped to my feet and yelled, "I'm okay, I didn't hit my head!"

Maxine scrambled to her feet and was caught by the judge's scribe, after ceremoniously stepping on my hat. I patted Max on the shoulder, lead her to the judge, and said, "Let's check to see if she's okay."

"Oh, it's always about the mule, isn't it," he replied with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I smiled. "I didn't hit my head, just rolled onto my hip. I'll have a bruise for sure, but I'm more worried about her."

After we were certain she didn't have any scrapes, lacerations, or lameness, I found a rock, hopped back on to a round of applause, and finished the course as an Official Cowgirl.


Photo: Me and Maxine (and my smashed hat) during our in-hand trail class, which was fortunately scheduled after the class in which we fell. This gave me an opportunity to calmly rebuild her trust of the course.