I once rode a horse. Not deliberately. A friend of mine had a horse and she was like ‘you should ride it’ so I got on and was just sitting there, both the horse and I relatively content, then she slapped it and it bolted off, me clinging to it’s back like a spider on a windscreen. The horse kept running till the path got overgrown with blackberries and he must’ve hurt his legs cause he thought it best to pull up. The people were way back behind us, tiny on the distance. Waving. The horse was pulling it’s legs up, one by one, to get them out of the bushes – everytime he got one out the other was in, he didn’t know what to do.

One time I watched The Melbourne Cup and at the end they have the guy with the microphone catch up with the winner and interview him on the track and the guy was congratulating the jockey and the jockey was crying and thanking his family or something and the horse didn’t get shit. He probably got taken back to the stables and given hay and everyone’s celebrating this jockey, like he did anything. I know there’s more to it than that and it requires a level of tactics and all, but I don’t get it.

Another time they had to pull out the curtain to cover a horse with a broken leg while the vet tended to it with a rifle and I thought that horse would’ve been just as happy sitting in a paddock some place, eating grass. He doesn’t care if you’re wearing your best suit or a hat.


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