One Hundred Meter Dash

I received some unexpected training in the 100m sprint this Saturday. It only confirmed what I already knew: I am not a fast runner.

Saturday midday I went out to the stables to wrestle a ride out of Julian, my 11 year-old Percheron. We had a mildly successful training session and are well on our way to the next freestyle dressage championships. As I turned him out with the rest of the horses, one of the owners of the ranch released the Party of Five into one of the front pastures.

Several people were working on the ranch that day, and this led to a bit of miscommunication. Someone had apparently created an opening in the front pasture fence to allow a tractor in. I noticed this as I walked out the other end of the long barn--just as the horses noticed it, too. This unexpectedly open portion of the fence could not be seen by the owner as he let the horses out into the field from behind the barn.

They say accidents slow your perception of time, but it all seemed to happen in a split second. It is habit for the horses to break into a trot or canter as they make their way down a side run to the front pasture, and they were moving at a good clip when they discovered the hole in the fence. Four of the five swerved automatically and spilled out into the front yard of the house. Julian, thankfully, had paused for a bite to eat. (God bless draft horses and their insatiable hunger.)

The house on this property sits high on a hill, next to the barn. Immediately adjacent to it is the opening into the long, straight driveway that leads about 100 meters down to the road. This drive is lined with pine trees which obscure any clear view of cars or horses heading in any direction. Though there is a gate where the drive meets the busy country road, it was open that day for car and tractor traffic. Now it was also open for horse traffic.

The four horses heard a few of us yell for help and turned themselves immediately onto the drive. Though they had stopped briefly to graze on the front lawn, they soon headed at a trot down the pavement. Another owner was behind them, but any attempt she might have made to go after them at that point would have done nothing but chase them further down the drive, so she ran back for halters. I had just dropped my equipment by my car and was at the top of the second front pasture. Knowing the horses could not see me well through the trees along the drive, I set out at the fastest sprint I could muster from my 40 year-old body.

This second pasture had recently been mowed for hay collection (which was going on that day as well) and was criss-crossed with small hills of cut grass. There are numerous rocks and the occasional gopher hole in this field. All these things flashed through my mind as I ran in my riding boots, jumping the periodic rows of drying hay. My goal was to make it to the bottom of the field without breaking an ankle, jump through the electric tape and cut the horses off before they hit the road. Traffic on this road was common, and people used to this area drove very fast on this well-paved stretch. A driver would have almost no chance to see the four running horses before they appeared in front of his or her vehicle. It would mean certain death for the horse(s) and possibly the driver as well.

These are thoughts which make you run surprisingly fast. In this case, it was not fast enough. I was still a good twenty feet from the finish line when my small Arabian Jack ran across the road, followed immediately behind by the owners' Arabian, Shire, and another boarder's Quarter Horse. That moment in particular was one of the worst moments in my life. I stood gasping for breath as I watched them cross the road and head for the open pasture across the street, knowing my view could instantly become one of complete and irreversible horror. I thank God no car or truck was in the road at that instant.

It is safe to say that my adrenaline level was at its highest point in about a decade.

With the horses at least temporarily out of harm's way, I stopped in the road to catch my breath and slow traffic flying by. Suffice it to say that heightened adrenaline does little for this brain's ability to think logically. As I was bent over puffing for my life, the owner who had accidentally let the horses out came jogging down with more halters. These horses are their kids, and I knew he had to feel terrible. He just shook his head as he passed me and said, "Have you ever felt about this big?" He held two fingers very close together. "All the time," I told him.

By this time, three neighbors on an adjacent horse farm had been alerted by their galloping herd that something was up and had come out to investigate. They were trying to corral our horses, but our herd was having none of that. About 1/8 mile away they galloped back and forth, well out of reach of any humans. The one with the largest stomach, a black Shire draft mare with a tendency to founder, eventually stopped to eat the wild alfalfa and was caught by a neighbor. The rest ran on in ever-widening circles.

Through it all, Julian had followed his herd from the inside of the fence (where I preferred him to be) as far as it reached. He trotted back and forth, whinnying frantically to the others. So much for loyalty, he must have been thinking. We had all been so startled that none of us had even closed the hole in the fence at the top of the hill: Luckily Julian was too distressed to think of going all the way back up to get out and join his buddies. (I was standing right at the gate, so his escape would have been unlikely.)

The owner's wife soon put the ATV to work and roared past us to "cut 'em off at the pass." There were now five people trying to catch three horses and I stayed at the road for when they'd eventually head back in our direction.

Now, I am quite cynical and I have very little faith in the inherent good nature of my fellow man, but I was shocked at the behavior of drivers during this emergency. I was basically standing in the middle of the road. As a car or truck would approach from either direction, I would give the traditional signal to "slow down." After a few trucks nearly ran me over, I considered switching to a different, but perhaps more effective, traditional signal. A few--and I am grateful for them--slowed immediately and looked around for the nature of the emergency. They would then proceed at a crawl with their hazards flashing. No doubt these were the people who also owned horses.

After a solid fifteen minutes--which seemed to take an eternity--another horse was caught and the remaining two, my Jack being one of them, headed back in our direction at a gallop. If they kept going straight they would cut right across the road again and shoot up the driveway, whereupon we could shut that damn gate. As they moved closer, a sedan had made its way up behind me. I had already turned once and asked them--an older couple--to stop. When I turned back to check on them, they were only feet away from me. I must have been using the wrong signal again. The horses were in plain sight to anyone, and clearly out of control.

I started calling out to Jack and the other horse to entice them back to the ranch, and Jack actually stepped out onto the road. I glanced back at the car again and it was almost at my back. I was livid. I turned to face the car and placed both hands on the hood, mouthing the words, "Stop, please!" as clearly as I could. The driver's wife turned and looked at her husband. I wondered what was going through her mind. I can't write what was going through mine.

I turned my attention back to Jack who, by this time, was grazing at the side of the road, about ten feet from the entrance to the ranch. Between the owner's parents and me, we carefully convinced first Jack, then the last runaway to go up the drive. I slapped Jack on the rump to get him going, and grabbed those gates.

For someone with anxiety issues, this was what we could call a somewhat traumatic experience. I cried with relief all the way back up the drive to catch Jack and his buddy, still loose but safely within the ranch perimeters. As the owners and their parents congregated to re-tell the story, I pulled it together and tried to make a graceful exit before falling to pieces. I loaded my car and headed down the drive.

At the bottom of the drive I paused to watch all five horses grazing as if nothing had happened. I pulled out my camera and took a couple of shots of the herd INSIDE the fence. I thought the picture might reassure me later. I made my way out, closing the gate behind me. I got back in my car and hit the road, relief washing over me. All the stories I had heard in the past of horses getting loose and being killed in car accidents ran loose through my mind.

I made it about 1/2 mile before I crumbled. At a turn-off for a local gravel company, I pulled over and let it out. Twice after starting out again I got calls on my cell phone and tried to answer, but both times lost it trying to talk to the person on the other end. I was still shaking when I got home, and for at least an hour afterwards.

Later that day, at a horse and carriage parade in the nearby town of Columbus, I watched repeatedly as careless drivers cut through the horses in the parade instead of finding a way to go around. I found myself wishing I had one of those roll-out strips that police use in high speed chases that I could unfurl in front of these idiot drivers.

Watch out, Columbus. I'll be ready with one next year!