First day of September, a month which is usually favorable to me, and I have my first ever carriage driving accident. I’ve been driving this horse for nine years now, pleasure driving, competitions, cones, dressage, or just showing off in parades and drives through Aiken. Never an incident until today.
Rhett used to be a stunning dappled gray Saddlebred, very forward and energetic, a bit more high-headed than necessary. Now at horse middle-age of 17, he’s lost all his lovely dapples and black points and has slowed down considerably. Probably a good thing, for I will be 82 this month and have slowed down considerably myself. We’ve been a team, riding and driving, for nine years and counting, increasingly more driving than riding as we both prefer it. Suffice it to say, I do my best to keep Rhett happy and interested in his work, within reasonable limits, while I try to outlive him. As a healthy horse can go into mid-thirties and beyond, I’m challenged to live well into my hundreds.
One of the ways I try to keep Rhett interested is to drive a different venue or route every time I drive. Today I thought I’d drive down West Road to Butler Road to Old Tory Road, checking out any houses for sale on the way, completing the loop and returning via Hatchaway Bridge Road, Fox Pond Road, to West Road and Fox Pond Farm where Rhett is boarded.
We didn’t get as far as Butler Road on West Road when a large white dog was seen racing around ahead, crossing and recrossing West Road. Rhett took exception and stopped; I urged him on and he went on unwillingly, on full alert with head very high. I thought this dog was one he’d seen before and he would get over it, but the dog was usually in his own yard, not running about on the road. Two more dogs joined the first and Rhett became truly agitated; no amount of urging would get him to go on. He ultimately shied, wheeling to his left. We were already on the left shoulder of the road, so when he shied left, there was only a ditch between us and a significant bank and woods. To my surprise Rhett charged across the ditch and up the bank, hesitating halfway as the weight of the cart with me in it gave him pause. Gave me pause too, as the cart was practically vertical.
This required an immediate decision. Go forward, if possible, when Rhett was already halfway into the woods? Try to back horse and cart back onto the road? Get out of the cart before things got worse?
Forward didn’t seem possible. Not only was the cart nearly vertical, the horse was already between trees and I could see no clear way forward.
Backing up didn’t seem a viable option. Would Rhett be able and/or willing to push the cart back and up from the ditch toward the road shoulder when the wheels were already in the lowest part of the ditch, or if that were even tried, would some part of the cart break under the strain?
Dismounting didn’t seem a good option either, even if possible. What if Rhett moved either forward or back while I was attempting to get out of the cart? Problem with that was that if Rhett should move forward while I was dismounting, or worse move forward and then back, I would be in real trouble. This was a road cart. The only way to dismount is backwards, feeling for the small step with my left foot while swinging my right leg around the left front corner of the seat and planting it on the ground. Hard enough to do when the cart is on level ground.
I’m not sure whether it was Rhett or me making this decision, but Rhett, being a forward horse, pulled the cart up out of the ditch to the top of the bank and stood there while the dogs moved in on us, barking and circling. Now on level ground, I dismounted and went to Rhett’s head, grabbing the whip to threaten the dogs or whip them whenever possible. They were awful. A lady came out of the house on the other side of West Road and was calling the dogs. She came up the bank, too, herding the dogs, anxiously inquiring if I was okay. I was okay for the moment, but couldn’t get out of this fix until the dogs were away from there.
Damn that white dog! He was circling, barking, and threatening Rhett, encouraged by the other two. The lady got the dogs under control and herded them back toward her house, meanwhile being very solicitous of me, afraid I might have been hurt. She sent her husband back to help me sort things out, for which I was and am very grateful.
While waiting for Husband, with the dogs gone, I unhitched Rhett from the cart as I could see no way to get out of this box while hitched; there was no way to turn around or back down even without me in the cart.
Strong Husband came, thank goodness, and by himself, while I held Rhett, got the cart back down the bank, across the ditch, and onto the road. There wasn’t enough room for me to lead Rhett out because of the trees so I picked up the driving lines and walked him out with me behind him. I discovered to my dismay that jodhpur boots, with their slick soles, are a real hazard when going down a bank, so I slipped and slid along, somehow keeping Rhett under control as he led the way. With the dogs now gone, Rhett was his perfectly mannered self. Husband brought the cart and I hitched Rhett up again, thanking Husband and demonstrating how to hitch a horse. He was quite nice and even interested. It took some doing, but I finally persuaded him to take a ride with me! I mounted the cart, showing him how it’s done, and he got in beside me. We drove for probably a half hour after that, but Butler Road had rocks strewn all over it for quite a ways farther than I had remembered, and Rhett is barefoot and can’t stand rocks. It wasn’t the most fun ride. We did a neat, in-place 180 turn so I could take Husband back home. I thanked him profusely for helping me out of a very bad situation. His only concern, like his wife’s, was that I wasn’t hurt.
I must confess that this incident could have resulted in personal injury, could have wrecked the cart, and/or could have hurt the horse. There must have been an angel watching over me, for which I thank God.
Now that it’s all over, I’m wondering whether anyone has any suggestions for what I might have done differently or better. I’m told I shouldn’t drive alone, but that’s hardly an option; I would almost never get to drive if I had to wait for a companion. And what if someone had been with me when this happened? They might have panicked or gotten hurt. But I am reconsidering wearing a hard hat when I drive. Not that it would do me any good, but seeing it would make others feel better about my assuming the inherent risks of pursuing any activity with a 1200 pound horse.
Kitty Corbett is an UnReconstructed Southerner from Virginia, now firmly transplanted to South Carolina. A high school graduate with no prospect of higher education, she left home for the big city where her English skills and “native intelligence” (in the memorable words of her first lawyer boss) enabled her to easily find employment as secretary to senior partners of law firms from Virginia through the Carolinas and Georgia. Kitty yielded to her taste for adventure and a worthwhile challenge, so she spent those 50-odd years as a legal secretary while pursuing her passion for sports cars, horses, and sailing. Kitty’s last career change was to captain a passenger ferry boat to Daufuskie Island. Now seriously senior but healthy and undeterred, Kitty is counting on her also healthy American Saddlebred “Rhett” to keep her active, which, along with eating Biblically kosher, and organic when possible, Kitty is determined to outlive the 17-year-old Rhett no matter how long it takes.
