When I was very little, I started riding hunter/jumpers at a barn called Red Fox Stables, and I mainly jumped and showed in the rings, but I happened to make friends with some people who liked to fox hunt, so I agreed to go along with them one Saturday. I thought it was no big deal. Just bored and going along for the ride. I could take a little ride through the woods, I thought. I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into.
No worries -- we didn't kill any foxes. Actually, fox hunts mainly involved a lot of drinking, howling hounds, dangerous, fast-paced, drunken stunts on horseback, fancy clothing, and running through crazy trails while following the lead of the even crazier hunt master. We never even saw a fox that day. Picture a massive herd of random riders equipped with flasks, a group of twenty-five or so hounds, no safety measures, and a bunch of huge obstacles in the way. At the horse shows, jumps were made of poles and other materials that would give and fall if a horse/rider team hit them, which was safer. At a fox hunt, the jumps were solid as hell, which meant that if a horse didn't make it over, both horse and rider were pretty much toast.
Despite the danger, everyone looked spiffy and polished -- makeup, top hats, well-pressed coats, shiny boots and all -- but it was a strange scene. Reminded me of old paintings, and I felt as if I were suddenly stuck inside of one, but in those paintings, the huntsmen always looked so calm and distinguished. In a real fox hunt, the sound of the people and hounds was earsplitting and the whole group moved so fast, I barely had a chance to breathe. Trees, mainly low-hanging branches, became the enemy. I knew that a sturdy branch could clothesline me. Dodge, duck, hang on. That was the way it went.
Most of the hunt riders didn't come from hunter/jumper farms, and they didn't show much, and they really didn't take a lot of lessons, if at all. Rather, they just saddled up every now and then for these events to dress up, be social, and have a random dangerous ride with friends. So to reiterate, there was the following scene: inexperienced riders with flasks of liquor, wild hounds, breakneck speed, huge obstacles, groups madly running through rough trails, and no real map or directions. Also, there were no cell phones at that time, so if anyone got hurt, too bad. The hunt must go on.
Four hours, this fox hunt lasted. I was riding a monster-sized draft horse named Shuttlebus, and although he was a kind teddy bear, and he really took care of me, old Shuttlebus was as wide as he was tall, and I was only about four feet tall, so you can imagine the back, leg, and hip pain I experienced after four hours of riding that massive creature. Picture a baby straddling a Cadillac. His tan face was so enormous, he looked like a large, stuffed dinosaur. I didn't take my horse, because he was unaccustomed to the noise, and I didn't want him to get hurt. Shuttlebus the machine was as mellow as they came, and he had been hunting before; he had no problem with the madness. My giant pillow for the day.
I came out of it alive, and I had fun because I had a great horse, but I never did it again. But it makes me think back to those days and how much has changed in the horse world. Now I watch people use splint boots, wraps, bell boots, blankets, and all sorts of things to "protect" their horses. Sure, I do it too, just for the look. But back then, we let them grow their coats, we never used blankets, and we never used any protective gear for them or ourselves. Hell, half the time, we never even wore helmets. We turned them out in huge groups every single night, whether rain, snow, sleet, or hail. We only kept them in if there were severe lightning storms. And over the span of thirty years, I've seen many, many horses get hurt at the track, in the barns, in stalls, in the show ring, or in training, but I've only seen two become seriously hurt in a field. One was a mare still fresh off the track, and she recovered. The other one was my horse. After we sold him to a girl on a Kentucky farm, he got hurt in a field, and he died.
But even though it was my horse, and even though I lost a wonderful friend (such a divine creature), even though I mourned a great loss, I have always felt the same way about their care. I still say let them be horses. In life, there is always risk, so let them be naked. Let them run free. And the way I see it is this: he died too young, but he died a free horse. I suppose things happen as they should.
C.A. MacConnell
