A couple of weeks ago, I gracefully parted ways with my mount while out foxhunting. I walked away hardly worse for the wear, less the pain of having to take flack from most of the men in the hunt. Whether my argument of not riding in my own tack, or having a headache, or ducking to avoid a branch were viable (but also pathetic) excuses, maybe the real problem was that I had sacrificed my seat, as was the male consensus—and as we all know, once that goes, so do you.