Horses
At the ripe old age of 10, I was horseback riding with my Father. We'd gotten lost and had no idea where we were, so we were wandering about in these woods, hoping to find a familiar landmark or two...

I spotted a turtle on it's back, just alongside the trail. In school, I had literally just learned that when turtles battle over territory, the loser is the one that gets flipped...and dies because they cant right themselves (these are American Box Turtles). Thinking I would help him out I dismounted and crept over to him, flipped him over and was day dreaming that he was going to piss off to go find the bastarding turtle that flipped him, when I realized my horse was walking away from me.

No worries, thinks I! I shall just approach him from the rear and put my hand on his rump like Dad always taught me. Imagining my Father's pride, sat only a couple of horse lengths away, as he saw me approach the business end of a horse like a cowboy on the range...

I put my hand on the horses rump, in order to not 'frighten' the animal (personally, I would think having a hand just suddenly pat you on the hind parts would be more startling than some other options, but I was not born on a ranch, so I took my Dad's word for it.) and it worked! He wasnt frightened! He looked back at me, alongside his withers and I am nearly positive he squinted, as if taking aim at a distant object through a high powered scope:

And took two quick horse steps and then "WHAM!"
He kicked me right in the chest and as my wee body crumpled around the impact, my chin caught it as well. Needless to say, I woke up on the ground a moment or two later.

Result: one broken sternum. one broken jaw. two broken ribs. And, suprisingly: one NASTY gaping hole in my chin!

It was bleeding like it was it's job. And I was FINE with the wonky jaw and the pain in my chest. It was when I looked down and saw that my once white t-shirt was now covered in a crimson, sticky mess...which seemed to be growing.

My Dad was becoming more and more pale whilst looking at me...not the admiring glance of a man who knows his Son knows how to approach the backside of a thoroughbred.

Obviously I survived, but trust me: H.R. Puffinstuff and the complete bastarding cast of the Care Bears were in the car with me on that final leg to the hospital. I was apparently talking about swimming pools and watermelon when my Dad half-carried me into the emergency room.

The horse was sent to the glue factory the very next day. Thanks Dad.

(New note to self: the hand on the rump thing works with MOST horses...but thoroughbreds are a tad bit higher strung)
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 16:24, 8 replies)

^And that...
Is why I don't like horses. Evil bastards.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 17:02, closed)

I have a scar on my arm
from when a horse bit me. I was about 7. It bled a lot and hurt like buggery.

Oddly, I still love horses.

*shrugs*
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 7 Aug 2008, 17:19, closed)

Horses...like people
are not 'bad'...however, SOME horses are absolute bastards!

This one's name was "Mister" and he was a thoroughbred. So ultimately, they are a bit more tempermental and, in my opinion, unpredictable. The next horse my Father bought me was an Appaloosa named Buck and HE was as fine a horse as exists.

Every time I have to use your classic white glue, I always think of Mister, popping me in the chest and within 36 hours, populating a bottle of Elmer's finest! :)

I love animals, but that horse was a wanker.
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 20:07, closed)

a friend of mine was bitten on the face by a horse
it basically cut through her bottom lip completely except the very edges and turned it all inside out.

Rather nice and effective plastic surgeons at the JR2 in Oxford sorted it out and now you can't tell. Plus she kept the horse.
( Mockingbird Practitioner of SCIENCE, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 23:16, closed)

I've always heard
when approaching a horse from behind (a bad idea to begin with) one should call to the horse so it realizes it's you and not something dangerous.
(AlfishKK, Fri 8 Aug 2008, 1:30, closed)

Perhaps
that is what you are SUPPOSED to do, but my Father, mid-western Farm Boy, taught me to reach up and pat his behind, gently. To let him know I was behind him and so as not to freak him out. It didnt work. So there DEFINITELY has to be another option!

:)

Cheers!
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Fri 8 Aug 2008, 4:01, closed)

Thouroughbreds are insane
I've never trusted one. I used to ride a lot of cobs and shires though as I am pretty tall and they are the most lovely laid back things ever, fell asleep on the back of one once and he took me back to the stables by himself :)
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Fri 8 Aug 2008, 13:54, closed)

I despise horses
This is a perfect illustration of why.
Nasty, stinking, unstable, heavy, hard hoofed, toothy, skittish bastards.
I would rather approach a pit bull that has had its bollocks flicked repeatedly with a thick elastic band than one of those gits.

The strangest thing is though that I can usually spot women who like horses just by looking at them. Something in their faces just says that they like to spend their weekends scooping a metric ton of horseshit out of a stable and cooing over their 'beautiful horsey'. I avoid them.
A dog is a mans best friend, horses were transport made obsolete by the internal combustion engine - get with the 19th century and send those buggers to the Winalot factory. Or France.
(Prof. Moriarty put his foot in it on, Sat 9 Aug 2008, 1:34, closed)