Seven years ago right now, I was lying in the Durango, CO emergency room with a broken jaw, broken chin, concussion, injured back, dislocated shoulder, broken left wrist, sprained right wrist, and big bruise-creating trauma to both legs- from a horse accident. And I wasn't even riding the horse.
I'd been putting my big, beautiful stallion into his stall for the night, when a mare across the aisle nickered her sexiest, "Hey, big boy." The fellow I was holding by the halter in one hand and lead in the other, forgot for just a second that I was there, and instantly spun around away from me, to say 'hello' back, to the flirty mare. My fingertips caught under the cheek piece of the halter, and my feet happened to be positioned so as not give me a way to step with the horse. I was jerked hard into the air and then slammed down face first (well... whole body first, actually) straight into the concrete aisle floor, with no hands handy to catch my fall.
It wasn't too long before I was in an ambulance, speeding through the winding mountains to the nearest hospital, in Durango. My son, Honor, rode in the ambulance with me, refusing to be left behind. It took a few hours to run all the needed tests and to find all my various breaks. That wasn't my best day. Worst of all, my special little adopted daughter, Keyton, was named Rodeo Princes of the big town rodeo the very next day- and I couldn't be there for her big event.

People who don't love horses ask if I sold Colorado or had him put down; they also ask me if I hate horses now because of what happened that night. Since everyone who reads this probably loves horses, I don't even have to answer those questions, do I.
I had a lot of good years with horses, with very few injuries considering the kinds of horses I often helped. Now, I pay the 'spirit of the equine' back for all those great years by doing what I can to help at-risk wild and domestic horses. That's the least I can do after all they did for me.