D'oh!

I'd always figured that the dangers involved with driving a wagon around the local country roads would have something to do with another car or truck.  Perhaps Bobby would swerve into traffic upon seeing a wolf (rocks sometimes look like crouching wolves) at the side of the road, or a cellphone addled driver would cross the centerline and activate the wagon's airbag system.  For these sorts of potential risks, I was ever vigilant.

As it turns out, however, no third party was necessary. 

A couple weeks ago, I harnessed Bobby for a morning drive, as I've done so many times before.  This time, however, I failed to clip one of the holdback straps on the shafts of the wagon.  These straps, attached to the britchen on the horse's harness, keep the wagon from bumping into the horse on the downhills. 

Heading down the slight hill of our driveway, I quickly noticed my error, at which point the wagon rolled forward and bumped Bobby's hindquarters.  He responded as most any horse would to an unexpected slap in his nether region, hopped up and kicked back with both hooves, which struck me squarely in the chest as I sat in the wagon's seat.  So not only do the holdback straps keep the wagon from bumping into the horse;  they also keep the driver out of kicking range, as I discovered.

Aside from thinking "that really hurt!", I was mostly consumed with the idea of getting Bobby calmed down, and was contemplating whether or not I should continue with the drive.  I remember driving past the neighbor's house with these thoughts, and then the record function of my memory ceased to function.

I woke up a few minutes later, lying face-down in the back of the wagon. At first all seemed nice and comfortable as I came out of a pleasant dream I don't remember.  As I opened my eyes, I realized where I was, and that something bad had just happened. Bobby was driving nicely up the hill just to the west of our house, staying in his own lane and doing very well as a fully-autonomous vehicle for the first time. 

I climbed back into the seat, picked up the lines, and turned back for home, still a little dazed.  Just before we again reached the neighbor's house, I noticed my hat lying at the side of the road, smeared in mud.  Hmmmm... 

I reached up to touch my head and perhaps confirm that the hat I saw was my own, to feel a bunch of mud and gravel on the back of my scalp.  How did that get there?

Reconstructing the un-recorded events through forensic analysis, it appears as if Bobby's kick briefly stopped my heart and caused me to pass out, with me falling off the wagon shortly after my memory blacked out.  How I got back into the wagon before waking up, I'll never know.  I'm hoping to be wearing a camera next time I get kicked like this, so I'll be able to see what actually happened.  Perhaps I'll hire a stunt-double to ride in the wagon during the kicking part though. 

All things considered, I suppose I'm pretty lucky to still be around to type this.  My diagnosis at the hospital was a myocardial contusion (bruised heart) and an inferior fracture of the patella (a chip out of my kneecap).  No broken ribs or sternum, which amazed me.  My ribcage is pretty sore, and made simply getting out of bed a major achievement, as I couldn't sit up normally or prop myself up on my elbows at first. 

I've got to wear a leg brace for a few more weeks, and can't do much in the way of heavy lifting (I had to discover this through trial and error, of course), but it looks as if there'll be no permanent damage.

Rachel and Henry have picked up all the heavier farm chores for the time being, with me filling in to do milking on the one cow who didn't have a young calf. 

So yeah, horses can be quite dangerous!  The safest thing, in the short term at least, is to stay at home in front of your television.