Swept from the corners of my mind…
As a mid-20s university student I lived in Saskatoon but often travelled home to PA. I came back one spring for a reining (like ballet for western horses) clinic and met someone. Cecil was a very talented, kind, fascinating horseshoer. We clicked. The romance was hot and heavy, and shortly thereafter a question was popped that led to 35 years together.
Meeting my future mother‑in‑law was not quite as meet-cute.
Beloved and I started our relationship during the clinic. I would ride my horse in classes for a few hours, socialize, and then we would spend time together. We’d end up talking and going for coffee long into the night (yes, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it), only to repeat the whole pattern the next day. In the meantime, I survived on coffee, fruit, and New‑Found Love.
On night three, he offered to take me out to the farm to meet his well‑bred Quarter Horse mare and have a ride. As the sun was rising, we popped by my house to grab my riding boots. This was pre‑cell phone, and I had never been the kind to stay out late, so why was I surprised when my nightie‑clad mother met me on the porch?
She did not appreciate being blown off with an airy “going for a ride, see you!” Beloved wisely stayed in the car and put off meeting her for a few months.
When we arrived at the farm, we received a similarly chilly reception. Although he was in his late 30s, his mother was just as upset as mine. She was icily polite and left the room as quickly as possible after meeting me. Barely a word was said. I blithely ignored the signs that the older lady was unimpressed with my appearance, and we went out to see the horse.
Now, I am 5’4” on my best day, and my little sorrel horse was just as short and chunky as I am. Beloved was 6’4”, and his mare was so tall that he looked normal‑sized atop her. He showed her off a bit and then suggested I ride. I looked up. And up. And up.
You have to understand my conundrum. This was a new romance, and he was a very well‑known horseman with decades of experience. I was a cocky, naive university student who needed to impress him. After all, I had trained my own horse and done a great job I felt. I chose to show no fear.
I slipped on my boots, stepped up to the tower of horse-ness, and clawed my way up his old saddle to perch on top. He adjusted the stirrups, but they wouldn’t go quite as high as I needed. No worries. I wouldn’t be long.
I took the mare for a small circle along the edge of the pasture, and she was the smoothest ride I’d ever experienced. Encouraged, I decided to do a longer, faster circle closer to the house. Things were going well—until they weren’t.
As we rode along, she spotted an old wash tub ahead. Judging by her reaction, a fire‑breathing dragon had risen from it, because she propped her front end and yoinked backwards so fast that the saddle and I flew off in a graceful arc.
I wore very thick glasses at the time, and my eyesight was so bad I needed my glasses to find my glasses. There I was, on my hands and knees, patting the ground while Lover Boy went after the horse. Eventually, the trailer door opened, and his mother came toward me, hopped the rail fence, located my glasses, handed them to me, turned around, and left without a word.
A wiser woman would have known to stop. Unfortunately, determined to impress the new love interest.
Because the cinch had broken during the high‑wire act, Beloved went to fetch his sister’s old saddle. This thing was about 30 years old and hadn’t been used—or oiled—regularly. To say it was stiff is an understatement. It thumped onto the mare’s back and creaked ominously as I crawled upward again, even slower than the first time.
Naturally, I had to demonstrate to the sexy man that I was competent, so I decided to repeat the pattern and “work through the issue”. As a super trainer would do. Again, the first circle was smooth and soft. Again, the dragon reared up on the second circle. This time, it was just me hurtling through the air. The saddle stayed put, and I split the inner seam of my jeans during the landing.
Once again, Love Muffin caught the horse. Once again, I was on my hands and knees in the dirt, patting for my glasses Once again the little old lady came out of the house, hopped the fence, handed me my glasses, turned on her heel, and left.
Even arrogant university students can be taught. I crawled up the side of the enormous horse yet again, although this time I needed a leg up, as she now appeared to be the height of a giraffe. We trotted around a bit, avoiding the dragon zone entirely, and I gratefully dismounted—vowing from that day forward to keep my stubby legs wrapped firmly around my own stubby horse. We went inside to have some more coffee and eventually the kind woman who became a second mother to me thawed. Our relationship deepened over the years, and I was grateful for the time I got to spend with Willa Bendle, my Mother-in-Law.
Cathy Bendle finds humour in the quirks of everyday life, from training teachers to dodging housework. When not writing, she’s either laughing at her pets, frantically Googling for her work assignments, or playing on her iPad. Her column appears every other Wednesday.
