Like many young girls, I was “horse crazy.” Class art projects, writing assignments, books checked out from the school library ALL were opportunities to indulge my drivenness to dream about these mighty beings. Concerned by the so-called limitations imposed by my obsession, my third grade teacher, a throw-back from the Dark Ages, declared a prohibition from any more horse-focused school projects or assignments. Knocked down, but not destroyed, by the fourth grade—a new school with a new teacher—I was back in the saddle again with my fixation on all things equine.
The joys treasured merely in my art, writing, and reading as a youth became a living, breathing, daily reality many years later. At forty two years of age, my husband, our two children, and I moved to the country where we opened our lives to horse number one. The dream had come true.
My first equine partner was joined soon after by three more. I was deep and far into my reverie...and into my pocketbook. Horses were welcomed into our family life, wallet and backyard with absolute abandon and confidence—no, expectation—that together we would glide across fields, sashay through forests, and live out the most wonderful “happily ever after.”
The dream collided with reality abruptly the day my butt hit the ground with a thud. I had just had my first “flying lesson.”
“You mean, he doesn’t want to be ridden?”
I was aghast and deeply humbled to discover that my horses didn’t share the dream I had cherished for so long! It never occurred to me that they might not be just as excited to carry me on the trail as I was to be carried!
After applying myself to wisdom found excavating dozens of issues of Western Horseman magazines, researching the internet, and garnering the advice and suggestion of well-meaning friends, our family of four had, nevertheless, ended up with four horses that did not seem to be “trail ready.” This was disappointing at the very least. To insist on moving forward could be potentially dangerous. Yes, the first months with my horses were certainly different than I expected.
These wonderful animals weren’t just pretty “recreation vehicles” to do with as we pleased. They were living, breathing, sentient beings with opinions, concerns, and worries. In short order, Doc, Harley, Breezy and Dodger initiated the primary purpose for which they descended from On High into my life—that of teaching me life’s deepest, most profound lessons.
