Be Tough, But Fair

I know I said earlier that I'd do the Code of the West theme for ten days in a row, but you see I'm what they call a "weekend warrior" and since this was an extended weekend, I've basically used all three days to cram in three month's work of projects around the farm.

And I hurt. I really, really hurt.

Don't worry. I'm not hurt, per se. Just tired, sore, cramped, bruised, scraped, exhausted, and sunburned. So last night I didn't blog. I could barely crawl into the shower.

I can't wait to return to the office tomorrow so I can get some rest! I'll post a bit later about all I accomplished, but first thing's first: Code of the West. Tonight's episode: be tough but fair.

When I was a kid, I got the awesome opportunity to show POA's (Pony of the Americas). It's a terrific organization and I got to get my feet wet in all kinds of classes. My sister and I both showed quite a bit, on both the state and national level. All summer long we'd go out to the place where we kept our horses (right beside a city park--it was fantastic) and work our ponies all day long before our parents picked us up in the evening, dragging us to the car kicking and screaming.

I'm kidding about that last part, but only a little.

The picture above is BV, my main show gelding I had. In this shot we were running barrels in Oklahoma City at the International Show in the Versatility Class. It was quite an experience: 4 classes (western pleasure, English pleasure, hunter hack, and barrels) in one and you never left the arena. They'd bring in your tack on a flatbed and you got to have two helpers to help get you dressed and change tack. Of course outfitting the horse was relatively easy, but trying to get dressed in the middle of the OKC arena in front of a fairly large crowd was another thing altogether!

Anyway, the point is we had a lot of fun with our ponies. We were very fortunate kids. My sister and I both knew this, but we were also typical sisters, which means we fought like sisters do.

But we fought while we were training horses, which is something a little less typical, I suppose.

One day we had a doozie of a fight. I can't even remember what it was about, like so many fights go, but I do remember we were planning on going riding in the park. She saddled up Hotshot, her ex-show pony (pictured below) and I saddled up BV. Before I was finished, though, she took off on Hotshot into the back pasture, I figured, to warm up (and perhaps blow off some steam).

When I got BV saddled I loped him back there and found Hotshot running around riderless and my sister on the ground, eyes closed. Since we had had a big argument, I figured she was being melodramatic and was faking, so I told her to knock it off and get back on her horse so we could get to riding.

Only, she didn't move.

I yelled at her again. Really, who was she fooling anyhow?

She moaned a bit. At this point I was starting to really get mad again. I mean, come on. This acting was just pitiful and a waste of time. I dismounted and walked over to her, scolding her for having let Hotshot run around with his reins dragging, just to put on this show.

At this point my sister rolled over and vomitted.

And it was at this point that I realized my sister wasn't faking.

Thankfully my parents showed up right then (this was before cell phones, way back in the day) and they got her to the hospital. She had suffered a concussion when Hotshot had reared up and fallen over on her backwards.

Needless to say, I felt bad. I really did. I had been tough, but definitely not fair. I learned the hard way to swallow my pride and admit I had made a mistake. Thankfully, she ended up ok, and we lived happily ever after.

Or as happily ever after as sisters do, in any case.