Things I Love: Horses

I can trace my childhood through horses. My mom enrolled my sister and me in horse summer camp to get us out of the house and out of her hair. The barn was less than a half-mile away and kept us occupied from 8-5. Win-win situation! Little did she know, summer camp would spark and seal a lifelong (and expensive!) hobby for both of us over the next twenty years. 

There was an old Appaloosa, the first horse I started camp with at around age 10. I was an awkward, skinny kid with long hair and even longer limbs. The Appaloosa had a mohawk mane and a loose lower lip that we twitched to make him "talk" like Mr. Ed. 

There was Fizzle, an old, nearly albino pony with reddish eyes. Fizzle holds the dubious title of being the first horse to buck me off. Always docile, Fizzle was a favorite for beginner lessons, which I began shortly after camp ended. While patiently waiting for our turn in the ring, Fizzle must have been bitten by a horsefly because, without warning, he suddenly flung his hind legs into the air like a rodeo bronc and took off around the ring, running and bucking like a horse possessed. I managed to cling to the saddle for an eternity (about 2 seconds in real-time) before Fizzle finally threw me into the air. Miraculously, I landed on my feet. I remember thinking, "Wow,that was fun!"

There was Janbelle, the first, best, and orneriest dappled grey pony a girl ever had the misfortune to lease. She would pin her ears, glare at you, and bare her teeth if she didn't want to be saddled up that day. But on her good days, she was a dream. My love of jumping began with her. At barely 15 hands high, she jumped like a horse twice her size. Never failing to clear any obstacle in front of her, she taught a shy, awkward teen how to be fearless, too.

There was Wallop's Miraclewhip ("Wally"), an athletic bay Thoroughbred, the first horse our family owned. (Yes, breeders give horses seriously idiotic names.)

Officially my sister's horse, Wally began our competitive career as hunter/jumpers. (I slowly followed in my sister's steps, occasionally borrowing Wally along the way.) Wally and my sister covered the Chester County show circuit together, winning silken rainbows of ribbons to bedeck our bedroom walls. We sadly sold him when she went to college.

Finally, there was Reese's Pieces ("Reese"), a quirky Appendix Quarter Horse (half TB, half QH), the first horse I owned.

Reese was terrified of buggies. I discovered this quirk when I invited my brand new college boyfriend (now husband) to ride double with me on a trail ride through a corn field. The corn field had a road bordering one side of it. That day, an Amish family happened to pass by in a horse-drawn buggy. Never having seen a buggy before, Reese FLIPPED HIS FREAKING LID. He suddenly reared straight up, dumping my husband off the back into a big mud puddle, and took off at top speed. It took me a good five minutes to rein him in and calm him down. By the time I returned to pick my husband up out of the puddle, the crisis had trotted out of sight. Reese was calmer now but my husband refused to get back on, preferring to walk the mile back to the barn with me and Reese walking beside him. I've never been able to get him back on a horse since.

I sold Reece after college and gave up riding altogether since law school - and then a full-time job at a law firm - demanded all of my time. Now eight years later, I'd really like to get back into it.

Either that, or pick up the violin again. (Next post: the violin and 20/20 hindsight.)