Winter in Northern California isn't really hard. I spent most of my life living in a state where the sun went down in November and didn't return until May. I wore my long underwear (I had dozens of pairs.) the whole time because I was so skinny it was impossible to stay warm.
No, winter in Northern California isn't bad. The temperatures stay at around 50 degrees and it rains for long periods. It is just rain. It started raining on Thursday and it is Sunday. It hasn't stopped yet. This wouldn't be a problem for anyone who sits at home and reads books and watches TV, but if you want to ride your horse it is a drag.
Our normally commodious riding center goes from seven arenas to two covered arenas when it rains. That is several hundred people sharing the same space. The combination of hunter/jumper and dressage riders is bad enough, but when you add in ponies and children, lessons, and sales barn horses that are barely trained, people get a little testy -- or at least I do.
After Teddy received a clean bill of health from UC Davis, he was started back to work. Because of his long lay off, the cold and the fact that there were a huge number of people in the arena, even my trainer could not ride Ted. He seemed to be more inclined to go up and bolt than anything else, 
so I made the decision to send him up north to be rehabbed. Patriot Farms outside of Loomis has an automatic walker that can take a horse from walking to trotting in easy steps. This can be done without anyone climbing on the horse's back.
At Patriot Farms, Teddy had a huge luxury stall. He was fed three times a day and was exercised twice a day. At the end of the month he was trotting 25 minutes in an hour work out. Psychologically he was much better off, so I made the decision to bring him home to continue conditioning with a rider on his back at our facility.
Teddy came home with a new attitude. Oh, he was still the same old Ted, didn't offer to go forward, but when pressed he walked out well enough. He got a new stall in an old wooden barn, so if he kicked he wouldn't contact metal. The first time I climbed on his back, it felt good. He seemed happy. The weather was dry and warm and I took him out to the round pen and walked and trotted him easily. I could not wipe the grin from my face. It had been since September since I'd been able to ride him. What a pleasure.
That was last weekend. I didn't think much about the weather when it started raining. I prefer drought. I live in an agricultural community, so rain is key, but I don't care. Rain means mud to me. It means crowded riding conditions. Rain means moldy tack, a car covered with rice hulls and more mud. It means my clothes are not just sweat soaked, they are wet period. Rain means stormy horse personalities.
So when I tacked him up yesterday morning, I expected a quiet and relaxed horse. He was composed in the tack up. Ready for a treat, if I was handing them out. My friend Christy was tacking her horse Sante up for a similar workout. It was pouring rain and we were going to walk in the arena early to miss all the Saturday hubbub. Sante had been off for three months. He had spent the morning work out session the day before rearing. It was important to get an early start to prevent problems.
The arena was quiet, empty. I mounted and began the endless walk -- one hour of walking is a long time. The covered arena next door was filled with lunging horses and jumpers. Ted was calm, interested, but not too interested.
Christy entered with Sante and began to hand walk him around the arena. He seem 'OK', so she climbed aboard and walked him in a circle. This is when I noticed the truck hauling hay coming down the drive. Following it was a huge forklift. Christy saw it too and came to a stop. I continued walking Ted sure that this would not be a problem.
The truck whizzed past both arenas to stop in front of the hay barn. Noisy unloading commenced. Sante seemed OK. Ted seemed OK. Christy and I were giddy. There would be no death defying antics from our horses. Rain was nothing. An arena full of noisy jumpers and little children on ponies next door did not seem to matter. We were going to both make it through the hour with out incident. In fact, Ted and I were walking so swiftly, we were working up a sweat.
That's when the duck began to walk across the pavement towards us. Simultaneously, the forklift reached the back of the hay truck. The motor grinding, it was lifting the hay off the end and lowering it with swiftness. Then, the piece de resistance appeared from the barn opposite. A loud-colored horse with a green blanket wrapped around the saddle came walking towards us. Suddenly, Ted and I were spinning out of control. I couldn't hold on. I hit the ground and waited for Ted to step on me. I yelled at the little girl with the colored horse to hold still. She stopped.
Ted stood a few feet away snorting. He waited for me to have a fit. I didn't have one. Sante hopped around at the other end of the arena. I waited to see what would transpire. Sante stopped.
Deciding it was a one-time occurrence, I climbed back into the saddle. I was in no pain? There was no pain, I must have bounced.
Ted began to snort again. We stopped. Sante hopped. This went on for 2-3 minutes and then Christy decided she had had enough. She didn't want to hit the ground. I walked Ted around the arena without incident for another 20 minutes. The duck, loud-colored horse and the hay truck had all left the area by the time I was done.
Was it the curse of the loud-colored horse?
After both horses were back in their stalls, Christy and I were both outside the barn rehashing the incident, trying to figure out what set it off. My cell phone rang. I took the call. When I told my nonriding friend on the other end of the call what had happened, I told her it was just a matter of a duck and a truck. Christy, who was loading her car at the time, doubled over in laugher. That's what it was, a matter of a duck and a truck. No other words could explain it.
Photo illustrations are of Sante at a show and the automated walker at Patriot Farms.
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