In 2003, early spring, I was riding Ginger for the first time that season. She was then 38 and still able to stride out with magnificent strides and proud gaits in spite of her grapefruit sized knees. After a short time I asked her, one more time, for one more good trot around the ring. We got half-way around and Ginger's hoof hit a rock. She tripped and was unable to regain her balance in spite of her determination to not go down. She fell, hard, trapping my ankle between the rock and her hip. As impact took place I remember feeling a sharp snap, knowing my ankle had been shattered and broken. As Ginger's large body rocked one way, I rolled out from under her and rolled away. She rolled in the opposite direction that I did and we ended up about 50 feet apart from one another and a good 100 feet away from the entrance to the riding area. Unable to get off the ground, I called to Ginger after she was standing and had shaken herself off. I prayed that she was not hurt. Thank God she was not. She turned and came over to me, lowered her head and nudged me in the back. I reached up, pulled myself up her front leg then held onto her mane. Ginger took one step, I hopped one hop. Ginger waited then took one more step. I hopped a hop again. This kind, sweet mare kept on taking one step at a time each time waiting for me to hop with her, before taking another step. We made our way out of the riding area like this and I was able to sit down on a stump. She stood quietly while I losened her girth and slid her saddle and pad off her back. She then dropped her head in my lap and stayed with me like this for another 45 minutes until my husband arrived home from work and helped us both back to the barn. My heart overflowed with gratitude and love for this old mare who helped me when *I* was broken and stayed with me until she knew I was safe. My ankle surely was shattered and broken along with my leg and torn muscles, ligaments and tendons. Three weeks later, with a full cast, I was able to make my way out to the side yard to see Ginger and give her a hug. Not only could I hug her, but I sat on a chair while she "danced" around me on the end of my 30 ft. line. We played for awhile that day, me sitting in my chair, healing hearts and bones in a way that only horses and humans can play. My insight into the equine soul and heart was growing stronger. As much as I was teaching about human and equine partnership to my class, Ginger was teaching me even more.
