Death Visits Ridecamp

[Howard4567@aol.com]

Death Visits Ridecamp

Last Saturday night, sitting under a tree, shivering in the cold, holding a 
lead rope attached to Dance Line's halter, I didn't think I'd ever be writing 
an endurance tale again.  Ever.  I figured this would be my last night with 
my favorite horse, my best friend, the last time I would do the one sport I 
love more than any other.  Things were not good and the prognosis was grim.  
Dance had a tube in his nose, down his throat and into his stomach. Two large 
IV bottles hung from a tree branch overhead with tubes running  to a needle 
inserted in his neck, recently shaved.  Death was paying a visit to my horse, 
and no matter what we did to get rid of him, it looked like this unwelcomed 
guest was not going to leave.  And it was all my fault.

I should try and warn you, upfront, that this might not be a happy story.  I 
doubt that I'll be able to get you to laugh.  I'll try and throw some humor 
in once in a while, for old times' sake, but I have a feeling that it won't 
be the same.  I don't want to make you cry, that's not my intention.  And, 
maybe, most of you won't.  You're probably better equipped to handle death 
than me; I'm weak when it comes to such things.  But you see, the Vet has 
just told me that Dance Line probably is not going to make it, I'm stuck here 
under this tree for most of the night, friends and some total strangers are 
coming up to me, giving me condolences, tears are running down the front of 
my face, and if I speak, sobs will come bursting out and I just don't think 
I'll be able to find anything funny to say.  And please don't put your hand 
on my shoulder or give me a hug, cause I'll lose it completely if you do.  
Death is hovering above, just to the left of the IV bottles there, and he has 
no sense of humor tonight.

A close friend has just taken Jennifer to her campsite at my request; I 
really don't want her with me and Dance right now.  Seven years ago we had 
lost a horse, under similar circumstances and I couldn't get Jen back on one 
for over a year after that experience.  I told myself that if it ever 
happened again I would have to get out of the horse business completely.  I 
know death is a part of life, I just don't want it to be part of mine when I 
can avoid it.  If you don't own a horse you won't have to watch it die.  Or 
live with yourself at the thought of having been the one who opened the barn 
door and let Death in.

As I sit here in my camping chair, shivering from the cold, looking at 
Dance's face, neck drooping with his head hung down low, I reflect on this 
weekend, my life, my soul.  I stand up, hold his head in my arms, look into 
his eyes filled with pain and I cry like a baby. You see, he's shivering too 
due to the IV, even though we have two blankets on him.  The vet told me this 
would happen.   I'm alone, it's late, my friends and the Doc have left me for 
a while, to say Good-bye to my best buddy.  And I can't let go.

Till tonight I thought I was an atheist, a nonbeliever.  But I really don't 
want to live without this guy, so I look up and I ask.  I actually have the 
audacity to ask a really big favor from one whom I've denied most of my life. 
 How did I get to this point, here with my best friend, who will be lucky if 
he sees the sunrise tomorrow?  

The ride started out like any other.  I did the packing thing, put duck tape 
around the lid of my cooler to keep it shut, you've heard it all before.  
Nothing abnormal.  Except for one thing.  My wife and I have started this 
tradition.  My idea actually.  We make sure we have sex the night before I 
leave for the ride.  She doesn't want me going there horny with all those 
women nearby.  Haha, like I'd have a chance with any of them anyway.  Well, 
on the night before I leave for this ride, we break tradition.  It doesn't 
happen.  Is that how Death got thru my door and into my house?  I don't know.

The ride was to be our first attempt at a 50 miler.  We thought we were all 
ready.  I knew Jennifer was and felt Rebel would be fine.  It was Dance and 
myself that concerned me.  But we had all done so well at the Far Out Forest 
ride and completed 35 miles, I figured we were ready to step up.  To join the 
big boys (even though they're mostly women) of the endurance world.  To do a 
true endurance 50 mile run (American Endurance Ride Conference term, not 
mine).  I knew that the footing in South Carolina would be different from the 
sandy Florida soil.  I thought this would be to my horses' advantage.  But 
then again, I could be wrong.

Because the ride was in South Carolina, I even left a day earlier than 
normal.  I didn't want the horses to be tired from the 8 hour anticipated 
trailer ride.  I had done rides this distance away from my house before and 
have learned that if you can take the extra time it pays off.  Plus, you 
usually get a great camping spot, close to the vet in area, which is where I 
wanted to be.  This would give me time to set up and talk with Jennifer about 
our plan of attack.  I didn't want to race too fast for our first 50, but if 
Angie was going to be here I wanted to give her a run, at least the first 
loop or two.  I had heard she might be at this ride and was hoping to see her 
again.  I had even packed my hard cup from my ball playing days, just in case 
she was planning on throwing any low ball elbows my way.

I went through the Florida Agricultural Station without losing my temper.  I 
still wonder why we seem to be the only state on the East coast that has this 
requirement.  Even Europe is getting rid of the border crossings; why does 
leaving or entering Florida, with a horse, require extra documentation and 
take up so much time?  A young woman waited on me and I couldn't help but 
notice her last name was Hicks.  So apropos for this part of Florida and her 
line of work.  I did chuckle a bit, but then looked at her gun to get my mind 
off her name and avoid her asking me what was so dang funny.

It rained during the drive, the traffic though Columbia wasn't too bad but 
every time someone cut me off  I did use Angie's name in vain.  It's a new 
habit I've started and Jennifer keeps asking me who Angie is; she doesn't 
remember her from the Haihira ride.  Just as well, it's a private thing I 
want to keep to myself.  

While driving on the interstate, just outside Charlotte, I tried to pass this 
wide load trucker who was driving down the middle of the highway blocking 
both lanes with this trailer thing he was hauling.  I call it a trailer 
thing, but it actually looked like half of a prefabricated house and when you 
put the two pieces together you produce a Redneck Convention Center.  I was 
in the right lane and cars were along side of me in the left.  We were all 
following this trucker since he wasn't leaving us much choice.  Suddenly the 
other cars decided to form a single line behind the trucker, not sure why, it 
was kind of like cattle forming a line behind the leader.  This guy next to 
me decides to join the line and moves closer to me, like I'm not even there.  
I blast my air horn and instead of yelling Angie at him, I use the real 
thing.  He gets so close to my rig I feel the horses move in the trailer 
bracing themselves for contact.  By this time I realize I just missed my exit 
off the interstate and had to get off and go back the other way.

I find the right exit and get to the camp just before sunset.  I spot a large 
barn type building and see the familiar colored tape marking off the vet 
check areas.  Only a few riders are here so I park next to a really nice rig 
with a row of trees between us. I didn't know how valuable one of these trees 
would become later this week end.  

As I'm unloading and setting up the portable corral, I spot Susan on the 
other side of the road. She sees me and before she has a chance to run off I 
yell, "Is the witch here?"  There were a few other women scattered around me, 
also setting up their campsites, who happened to hear me ask this question.  
I think they thought I used the "B" word when I said witch.  They all kind of 
gave me "the look."  Susan laughs and says, "Angie couldn't make it.  She 
says if she's not here you'll never beat her at a ride."  Haha, I'm sure 
Angie's worried about that one.

It's a bit misty out, been raining most of the day, but not a hard rain.  Red 
Georgia clay is on the ground even though we are in South Carolina. I get the 
horses out, put the tent up with Jennifer's help, and we wander around to 
inspect our new neighborhood before it gets dark outside.  A group of six or 
so riders are huddled together under an awning to keep them out of the rain.  
 Susan is in the group and says, "OK, he's here, guess we'd better quit 
talking about him."  She happens to be a close friend of Angies.  In spite of 
this, Susan has told others that she actually likes me.  Tolerate is probably 
a better word.

Anyway they all invite me to sit with them and we introduce ourselves.  
Jennifer runs off to find one of her friends who just pulled in.  During the 
different topics of conversation I find out Susan actually had a heart attack 
at one of these rides.  A for real heart attack, paramedics, trip to the 
hospital, all that stuff.  Talk about your die hard endurance rider!  

Then somehow the subject gets to sex.  I get tempted to tell them about my 
tradition with my wife, the night before I leave for a ride, but decide to 
listen instead.  Susan starts telling us about her husband's new habit of 
buying Viagra.  I find the subject interesting cause I see hope in my future, 
when my time comes, to continue the pursuit of.......well, you understand I'm 
sure.  A person in the group asks Susan how often her husband takes the 
pills.  She says, "Oh, he don't take them, he sells them to all his buddies.  
Doctor gave him a prescription, insurance pays for everything, and his 
friends all love the darn things."  I had to turn my head so I didn't spit 
out beer on anyone, I was laughing so hard.  Susan may just be funnier than 
her friend Angie.