Editor's Voice

Written by Leigh Ripley

I’m down to one child athlete in my house. This is both a joyous and sad statement to make. Joyous because the financial obligations of supporting three youth athletes was intense. The Tetris-like scheduling for practices, competitions and races was often overwhelming. And the pressure of trying to have at least one family member at important events – even when there were multiple conflicts – was nothing short of performing magic and didn’t always work out. One of my kids was stuck with the short end of the stick sometimes.

At the same time, it’s sad because I miss supporting my older girls in their athletic endeavors. Even more sad because it’s a painful reminder of just how “old” my kids are getting.

And then there was one. The baby of the family (now 15) is a barrel racer. And while she took the hit for many years of being denied extra attention and funding because the resources had to go around, she is now reaping the benefits – and taking complete advantage of them.

So, while she now has the focus of the family, she did not last year, which led to one of those occasions when she had to take one for the team. I was out of state at a cheer competition with her sisters and she was in Joliet for a race. She had driven down with a friend and their family and they were staying in her friend’s living quarters (a horse trailer with a camper attached) at Cottonwood Arena where they were racing and boarding the horses for the weekend.

We were trading videos of cheer and barrel racing and Face Timing regularly. All was right with the universe…until it wasn’t.

My phone rang early Sunday morning and on the other end was complete and utter chaos. The panicked screaming and crying coming from my winded child made it difficult to even understand her. So, here’s what I got:

“Warrior got out!”

“He’s running around…no one will help…he’s going to DIE!”

OK, good news was my child was not the one going to “DIE.” Rather, it was the expensive lawn ornament which was currently running amok through hundreds of trailers, cars, people and other horses in a parking lot.

She hung up on me (of course, because why wouldn’t you call your mother in a complete panic and inaudibly scream broken English about death and then hang up). About 20 minutes later she called back with the full story. So, here’s what happened: She had gone out to Warrior’s stall that morning, about one hour before she had to race, and found his two front legs lodged in his hay feeder. Apparently, he had the equivalent of an equine panic attack and tried to jump out of the stall window. She released him from the current situation and went back to the task at hand…cleaning out his stall, mucking manure. As she stood by the door (which was being blocked by a very large manure receptacle) and went about her business, Warrior began pacing around the stall. He backed into the corner, took a good long look at her and bolted…knocking her down and jumping over the manure can. He then went on a run-about with my child trailing behind, screaming for help. He almost made it to the road at one point but, for some reason, changed his mind and ran over to the outdoor pen where people finally helped wrangle her wild quarter horse. She quickly saddled him up, raced and then gave me the follow up call. Props for still making it to the race, by the way!

Warrior now receives UlcerGard prior to trailer travel. We have learned how to direct a quarter horse on the run (and have done it, successfully). And, as with most stories that start out badly, we can now have a good laugh about it.