Our ride started out innocuous enough. We plodded around the indoor for five minutes before I said "fuck it", strapped on his booties, and headed out onto the trails.
|how could you resist on such a gorgeous day?|
He was a rock crunching machine, feeling totally secure in his boots and not sore on his naked hinds. We went galloping up our hill and galloping through the chest-high grass for a good ten minutes. He never took a sore step and remained totally polite even in his exuberance at doing fun things again.
Then we ended back up at the top of the galloping hill. I asked him to trot down it, keeping an eye on the rafter of turkeys (there's your trivia answer for the day) that were milling about at the bottom.
Now, turkeys are not intelligent animals. I've tried to raised babies before and they all committed suicide in various ways--burning themselves alive under the heat lamp instead of getting up and moving, drowning by falling asleep in their water dish, etc. We've encountered them numerous times on trail rides, and I usually don't even know they're there until Bobby has trod on them.
"Bobby trods on turkeys?" you ask. Actually, Bobby has a propensity to crush any small animal in his path. He deliberately goes out of his way to trample any bird or rodent that has the misfortune to get underfoot. I guess it's his "If you kill it, it can't kill you" mindset. He has a long history of unnecessary murder.
Bobby set off down the hill at merry trot. It wasn't until about halfway that he spotted them.
Bobby: ZOMG. TURKEYS. DO YOU SEE THEM?
Me: Bobby, no. We're trotting politely down this hill. Put your head back down.
Bobby: ARE THEY MOVING? THEY'RE NOT TRYING TO RUN AWAY ARE THEY?!
Me: Bobby...forget the turkeys.
Bobby: THEY'RE TRYING TO ESCAPE! I SEE THEM MOVING!!!
Me: BOBBY! NOOOOOO!!
Bobby: CHARGE!!!!! DEATH TO TURKEYS!!
He snatched the bit and took off down the hill as I flailed about, grabbing mane and trying to shorten my reins and haul him to a stop without tumbling over his head. The turkeys, at this point, saw the black freight train barreling towards them and heard me yelling every expletive known to man. But, as I said before, turkeys are unfathomably stupid. Half of them went running into the woods. The other half circled around in confusion until we were upon them. It was only then that I managed to saw my horse's mouth enough that he threw on the brakes and half a dozen turkeys flew into the air around us.
It was like some horrible comedy skit, only I feared for my life and my horse's sanity.
Once the fucking turkeys had all dispersed, I cracked Bobby upside the head with my hand so hard it hurt me. I know open-handing your horse is in poor form, but I was so unbelievably pissed. WHO THE FUCK CHARGES INTO A BUNCH OF TURKEYS ON THEIR OWN ACCORD?!
I mean, really, Bobby?!?!
He had a big snorting prance fest until we were out of the woods, and then he dropped his head and walked home on the buckle.
The most disappointing thing was that my helmet cam was in my car. I brought it on the off chance that I might go out, but then was too lazy to walk out to my car, put it on, and mount from the ground. For that I apologize profusely. It was a moment that really should have been immortalized on film.