I had a minor, hunting related brush with death that happened while I wasn’t even hunting and I immediately thought of you, OP! Lol. The horse I lease had a bout of minor cellullitis in one leg. Walking was really helping to bring the swelling down so the trainer and I arranged to go for morning hack together. She got a text alerting her that the hunt was going out from their kennels about a mile as the crow flies from our farm. They normally go the opposite direction when they do that. So we decided that we ought to be ok going out provided we stopped to listen for them every few minutes. Trainer is an UL eventer who ironically thinks hunters are the crazy ones. I was surprised that they weren’t hunting on foot given the wet ground.
So, off we went. Me on the Australian TB and her ponying the giant WB “baby” off a steady Eddie older horse. My guy is feeling great and showing off for the baby a little. The baby has a few tense moments crossing the land bridge (confirming that dressage and not eventing is his wheelhouse ;P) and waiting for klutzy me to open/close the gates. We stop and listen. Nothing. We continue on. Reaching the top of the hill we stop again. I can see their trailers parked on the hill but we hear nothing. Suddenly, there’s a picturesque flash of hounds and horses and scarlet jackets. And they’re headed our way. Yikes!
We turn around for the barn. Trainer decides that an orderly trot would be best. My guy is either still showing off to the baby or has seen the red coats and decided the British are coming. (Remember, he is Australian!) Whatever his reasoning, he decides that an orderly bolt for the barn would be better. I turn him into the fence next to us, think better when I feel him gather like he’s going to jump it, and double him like a cutting horse. We’re ok for half a minute until the baby decides that this is the best hack EVER and tries to goad steady Eddie into playing by bouncing around and rearing. My guy apparently thinks that he needs to demo correct rearing technique for the baby and pops a couple lovely lavage. Which was actually kind of cool but for the fact that we’re facing uphill on a grade. :0
I make the determination that it’s time to cut my loses and dismount. At least the gates are no biggie now. And I no longer feel guilty about splashing out on those Di Nero Tri Colore riding boots because, hey, they’re pretty darn comfy for walking! I’m closing the last gate when an outrider emerges on the hill mere yards away. She holds the rest of the crew off to give us time to get back across the land bridge and back to the barn yard.
Back at the barn the other horses are all on high alert except for my guy’s “big brother” a chunky Percheron/TB X, field hunter, and husband horse par
extraordinaire. He pauses from his hay to give my guy a withering look that unmistakable says, “Punk. I field hunt for a living.” I started laughing. Trainer wondered if my horse was genuinely spooked by the hunt or what because the whole thing was so out of character for him. He was back to his well-mannered 4th level self the next day. Who knows!
Such characters, these beasties!