Horsepeople are a sub-species of horses, not humans. At some point, they changed teams and being human became less important. It’s a disease, a mental affliction that infects the entire body, from our fixated brains to our manure-coated boots. The pre-teen years are the worst, we can’t sleep and spend a lot of time cantering and trotting around the house. A few horse-crazy girls grow into horsepeople and become insufferable. Like micro-managing drug addicts, we obsess about hoof angle or saddle fit. We go on about bits and supplements and what our horses do in turnout. My Dude Rancher, who tires of horse conversation after an hour or so, will tell you we are only fit company for other horsepeople. He’s right. Some of our rides are euphoric, but many are just fundamental communication. Trying to understand and asking the same in return. We have big dreams and low expectations, happy for every good stride. Nothing is more important than the health and soundness of our equine partner. We treat our elders with respect. The old campaigners that taught us how to ride, the kind boss mare that gave birth to champions, the sweet gelding who takes care of kids: It isn’t that we treat them like family members. They are family members. We adjust our lives to suit our horses and make each of our life decisions with them a priority. People who are blessed with horses and money make it look easy. It’s a bit trickier without a trust fund, but we find a way. We change careers, we give up vacations. We do without less important things and don’t whine about it. After all, they are less important things. Because we are just like our horses, we tend to be a physically tough bunch, not afraid of work or dirt or poop. But on the inside, we belong to the herd. We’re mush, sweetness, and a weathered hand on a patch of hair. We protect our horse-crazy hearts by being tough, and the mushier we are on the inside, the more defensive of the horse on the outside. We always save our best for horses. At the end of the day, hands crack, feet ache, and there is that honest exhaustion that comes from work well done. We slump on the sofa with a couple of dogs and cats and that old movie comes on the TV. We’ve seen it a hundred times. It’s one from the genre labeled Horse-Crazy Girl Movies, like Black Beauty or The Man from Snowy River or Seabiscuit. We hunker down and when the scenes come where the horses gallop in slow motion, for the hundredth time, we tear up. We will never stop any of it. Horses are in our blood. We put them in front of our own needs. I read this today and it really hit home for me. Been feeling a bit unhinged about a few things lately, and this made me feel confident again. It is in my blood. I eat, sleep, and breath it, and love every minute of it.
Posted on: Mon, 29 Sep 2014 14:58:34 +0000
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