Brigade's first encounter with the "bottomless puddle" came on a
local trailride where a shallow stream flowed across the gasline trail. One
side of the cleared area was marshy, and *looked* to him like solid
ground--he wanted to cross there--I argued for the sandy-bottomed part with
knee deep water.
Next thing I knew, he has started for the "grass", lost his footing as it
tried to grab him, and we bothe ended up down in the stream.
He got up, out on the other side, and st off at a brisk walk. I
caught up and grabbed the reins, hoisting my dripping carcass back into the
When we came to the stream again on the return loop, B. stopped. I
urged him forward with my leg--he turned and looked at me as if to say,"If I
don't go across, you're going to throw me in again, aren't you?", sighed,
and walked across.
When we got back, everyone wanted to know what had happened. I told
them that I had forgotten my sponge, so was forced to throw my horse in
B. has ever since this willingly crossed water, including fording
the river when we foxhunt.