Last night we went to a rodeo. There wasn’t bull riding, but there was goat tying, pole bending, and barrel racing. Horse after horse charged into the arena, some skillfully guided by experienced riders, others barely directed by children who looked no older than five.
I was impressed by the courage of many of the riders who urged their horses to breakneck speeds through the soft arena sand around metal 50-gallon drums.
Photo by Christine Benton on Unsplash
And I decided two things: horse people are super cool, and I probably will never be a horse person.
The event continued until long after dark, with over 60 riders competing in some of the events. Around 11 Curtis (he’s very wonderful) and I were getting ready to leave when a teenage girl came racing into the arena on a white horse. She sped around the barrels and exited the arena just as quickly as she entered. But as soon as she crossed through the gates, something went terribly wrong.
There was an audible collective gasp as her horse tripped on a mound of dirt in the dark and flipped—nose under tail—right on top of the girl. The announcer, announcing the girl’s time, took a second to realize what was happening.
“She’s down? Oh no. She’s not getting up? Is she up? Is she getting up?” Brief pause, then a gasp, and “Oh, Lord. *click*” Less than two seconds later, the announcer was running full tilt down the stairs and out to the corral.
At least 60 people were still at the rodeo. Some were on their horses, and many leaned against the brown wood arena fence. But as the 60 of us stood and waited, you could have heard a pin drop into the sand. Every single face was turned toward where the girl was lying on the ground, unresponsive. The wait dragged on.
And on.
And on.
Every face was somber, no one spoke. Finally, after what seemed like forever, a mom from our group came back with news.
“Knocked out cold, but now she’s awake. She remembers her name and knows where she is. The ambulance is on its way.”
Tangible relief spread as the news filtered through the small groups facing the prostrate girl. The murmur of quiet conversation picked up, as people started to share their own stories: “I took my daughter out of a rodeo once in an ambulance,” and “I left a horse show in an ambulance once.” Matter of fact. Solid. Sympathetic.
As people talked quietly, the announcer climbed back up into her booth and came over the speakers, sharing the news that the girl was talking and the ambulance was coming.
And then she said, “Let’s pray for her.”
People all around the arena removed their cowboy and baseball hats and bowed their heads, as she asked God with brief, sincere words to let the rider be okay and comfort her family. Prayer over, hats went back on and quiet conversation resumed. Eventually paramedics came to check her out, then she went to the hospital, just for a more thorough check up.
The barrel racing resumed, but with a slightly more somber air. Hundreds of pounds of horse is a lot to land under, even on soft corral dirt.