(The horse, keen to throw us off the scent, will occasionally romp in a pond and splash it up with his horse-friends. And while it's true that to the untrained eye they may look like they're enjoying it, as any true horse person will tell you, they'd really rather be in Pittsburgh licking labels at an Alpo plant.)
A respected Georgia horse trainer once idly related to me a not uncommon scene that had occurred out in her pasture. Her favorite hacking horse had been rudely chased off by one of the more dominate herd horses. The chastised horse then trotted, one may assume unhappily, over to the trainer who was standing by the fence.
"I said to him, I said: 'Walking Star! Don't let him do that to you! You have every right to be in this pasture. Do you hear me? Why are you such a big baby?' Well, naturally, he didn't answer me."
"He didn't?" I asked innocently.
"Why, no." Pause. "Don't be ridiculous."
I heard another trainer in a crowded tack shop explain to her friends that she had been working with a bloody-minded pony named, lovingly one may assume: "Clubber".
The pony's owners, she said, were distraught and had virtually given up on the wayward animal ever being a decent mount. They'd had the pony for nearly ten years and it had spent much of that time in the pasture, terrorizing goats and aiming its delicate little heels at any human who came innocently proffering carrots.
"So, I was working her in the ring," the trainer said. "It was about the second week I'd had her and I knew the owners were coming by to see another horse they were thinking of buying. So they show up, and watch me for a few minutes taking Clubber through her paces--as sweet as pie--and you know what they said?"
Her friends politely shook their heads.
"They asked me if this pony were for sale!"
Her friends smiled uncertainly and looked at her hopefully.
"They didn't recognize their own pony!"
Ahhhhh! Such was the power and genius of the trainer that the owners didn't even recognize their own animal; so transformed by the trainer's magic touch was she.
And the trainer, although probably a little disappointed that she wouldn't have to set up an easel in the tack shop and draw her friends a picture of her victory, smiled broadly while looking from face to face. Saying a horse person sometimes seeks approval is like asking if Hitler was pushy.
This sort of horse person is also fond of the idea that the horse is a willful, rampant, barely controllable beast that is held in check only by their skill and ability as a horse person. They're constantly talking about "being in control", "showing 'im who's boss", in order for the uninitiated, (or, hell, even the initiated,) to believe that if you don't take and keep control of your horse, he will--although indefatigably stupid in all other areas of his life--manage to take over completely, running up huge sums on your credit cards and borrowing the car without asking.
Perverse horsepersonship is not restricted, by any means, to tack stores. For example, as a group, professional horse sellers are probably not so much insufferably didactic as they are painfully dishonest. I have seen a horse, limping as badly as a two-legged dog, described by a renown Atlanta horse seller to a first-time buyer as "just stretching his leg".
A popular and knowledgeable riding school owner once referred another neophyte horse-buyer to a professional horse dealer by saying, "Bring a vet with you and try not to let the dealer know how much money you have."
Of course, all of this isn't to say that there aren't times when horse-snobbery isn't appropriate. A friend of mine was at a party once with some NHTs (non-horse types). When they found out she rode, they were all excited about going out with her sometime to whoop it up on horseback.
"We could bring some beer and some sandwiches and make a day of it!" They said.
To my friend's credit, she simply feigned a look of confusion as if everyone in the room had suddenly broken into perfect Swahili. She neither encouraged the direction of the conversation or swept her skirts from the room in horror.
"One guy was really settled on it and kept asking me about taking him," she said. "When I asked him if he'd done much riding, he said not to worry, he just hangs onto the saddle-horn or the mane and 'lets 'er rip'...or something to that effect. I'm afraid I told him all my horses had swamp fever and were being put down. He was very sympathetic."
Vanity is another good reason why nice people go bad when they get around horses. Being a part of the horsy set is potentially very appealing to the eye. The horses themselves are beautiful, so right from the start, the horse person is ahead simply by association. Also, the clothes are romantic and interesting--whether English-style or Western.
Images of brisk days on the Scottish moor come to mind when one sees a well-dressed rider before an early morning hack, suede patches on her tweed hacking jacket, brown boots on trim, long legs.
You can almost smell the morning, feel the air, see the heather. Knee-high boots are romantic in themselves--even if you were just going out to muck out the back garden--bringing with them images of swashbuckling adventure and polished confidence.
The Western garb reminds one that the old West did and does exist. Here's your ultimate fantasy brought to life: your cowboy hat settled jauntily on your head and your bandanna tied prettily at your throat. There's nothing sexier than a tight-jeaned cowgirl. Just ask any cowboy. (Or male hunter jumper, for that matter.)
When the clothing is put together with the action of actually riding, you get the quintessence of basic horsepersonship. Wearing all this clever clothing while riding fast as the wind on a ground-pounding stallion or prancing mare is what real riding is all about.
It's the ultimate fulfillment of looking good while doing something very exciting.
It's when all this equine vanity goes too far, as it so often does, that the horse person begins to become a royal pain in the butt. Like the horsewoman who dresses in oh-see-how-casual hacking clothes just to trot around the jumping ring: leather boots, breeches, velvet riding cap, hair net (oh yes) and gloves.
This is the type who will take her jumps like a vivid display of horse robotics: eyes piercing blindly into the unknown (but never looking down, mind), crest release frozen on the horse's neck. She is, in essence, always posing for unseen cameras. And perhaps this wouldn't be so bad, surely something one might forgive, if it weren't for the fact that she's often posing for unseen cameras as a sort of continual practice for the amateur photographer she'll periodically hire to come to the riding ring--dragging his tripod behind him--and proving to be as disruptive as an animal photographer unaccustomed to photographing animals could possibly be.
She'll also think to have the photographer come out on a Saturday afternoon when everyone in the county has shown up to ride. But more importantly, she'll remember to have an ugly word or two for anyone who can't manage to stay out of the way. Makes you want to be sure and invite her out on your next trail ride.
There are, of course, some very nice horse people. These are the ones who always offer to trailer you to the show, who'll exercise your horse for you, or let you exercise theirs, who'll keep an eye on your horse when you're out of town, who won't necessarily correct you unless they see you accidentally pouring rat poison into your horse's feed, who'll encourage you when they see your riding improving and not concentrate a whole lot of time on the fact that you just can't seem to keep your legs under your hips at a trot.
The fact is, this nice kind of horse people are not all that difficult to find. And you can find just as nice English-style horse people as you can Western-style. You just have to look a little harder.
Perhaps now is a good time to make some distinctions between the two main types of horse people in the United States. You have the English-style riders who wear form-fitting pants and boots and ride with lightweight, usually leather, saddles with no horn to hang onto but a cantle (sort of a rise in the saddle but nothing more). In English-style riding competitions, the riders usually jump or perform some variations on dressage movements. (They show
off how nicely they can trot and canter and stop and start, etc.)
The Western-style riders almost always dress like cowboys and cowgirls. Cowboy hats, jeans, fringed jackets, cowboy boots. Get the difference? Their saddles are bigger, more scooped out, with tassels and silver studs and stuff. Western-style riding competitions include the always-breathtaking barrel racing (women seem to dominate this event), and the Western-style version of dressage. (They likewise show off how nicely they can trot and canter and stop and start.) Rodeo competitions are a whole different category of Western-style riding and include bronco-busting, calf-wrestling and other, quite legitimate ways of getting yourself killed.
The antagonism between English-style riders and Western-style riders is pervasive and inevitable. Chances are, the English-style horse people started the animosity, being more naturally snobbish. And the Western riders simply took offense.
There is the slight possibility that the English-style riders began their snob-assault on the Westerners out of a fear that they (the English-style riders) were the wimpier riders (or at least were perceived to be).
However the ugliness started, it absolutely exists. English-style riders believe it takes little to no skill to ride Western-style. The big Western saddles with all their ornate trappings are, they believe, as safe as arm chairs and virtually impossible to tumble out of.
The Western rider is able to come up with a certain amount of ridicule for the protective helmets worn by many English-style riders wear. The Western rider wears, of course, only a cowboy hat to do some very dangerous maneuvers on horseback. And although cowboys will occasionally fall out of their easy-chair saddles, they'd never consider protecting their heads from anything but the sun and the rain.
This is very much akin to the abuse well-padded and protected American gridiron players receive from rugby enthusiasts Down Under:
"Buncha Sheilas running about with all that rubbish strapped to 'em! Rugby's a real man's game!" (Personally, I always felt the machismo came to an abrupt end about where the little short-shorts and knee socks began.)
Interestingly enough, Western and English-style riders are occasionally forced, and thereby able, to share a barn without coming to blows. And once in a while, they can actually learn something from one another, having, after all, horses--if not the love of horses--in common.
Another sub-section of horse people that needs to be mentioned here is the one that includes horse husbands and horse boyfriends. Horse husbands are not typically a happy lot. They don't have any reason to be.
A horse needs a lot of time, effort and care. This will usually require the woman going to the horse because of the economy size proportions of her chosen hobby. And this means a good deal of time away from the husband.
It would be hard not to get jealous. A horse also requires a good bit of money. If one member of the marital team is not involved with the upside of where that money is going, it's just going to feel like dollar bills turning into so much horse manure.
Horsewomen also tend to be more vocal in their love for their animals than do men. This means a good bit of oohing and ahhing when they're around their beast and talking about horses when they're not. This tireless, obsessive conversation can either be directed at the husband, or on the phone, endlessly, with other horse people while the husband is merely within earshot.
Sometimes the wife will involve her children in her hobby, further alienating the poor non-horse husband. It's at this time, when the family is abuzz with preparations of horse shows, getting ready for them, talking about them, being at them and then reliving them in videos, photos and discussions that the husband is liable to attempt to join in on the group interest.
Typically, this is an act of desperation and therefore, not usually successful. Most horse husband conversions happen a lot earlier on in the game. If there's a seed of interest and a recognition that it might be good, wise, and/or even fun to have a couple of horses and hack about the countryside together, it's usually attempted years ago.
Some husbands do try early on and it's for this very reason that they're so stubbornly against horses. All it takes is for one enthusiastic husband to have one horse run off with him to make him feel very scared and helpless. And watching his wife canter effortlessly on the same devil he just slid down from with shaking knees is not a good start on marital bliss or horse relations.
This jealousy can reach extraordinary proportions. Several people claim to have husbands who support their interest in horses and even their horses themselves. These husbands will still insist unhappily to their wives that they're convinced they rank second in their wives' affections.
One man, who will boast proudly of his daughter's ability on the show jumping circuit, will nonetheless, accuse his wife--also a horsewoman--of loving the horse more than she loves him.
This is a dangerous statement, and makes most horsewomen a little nervous.
Another school of thought pervasive in and around horsy circles--no doubt instigated and perpetuated by horse husbands--insists that women ride because of their need and resultant pleasure in dominating a very large, dumb (make no mistake) animal. (Perhaps these men sense an uncomfortable parallel and therein lies their annoyance.)
My own response to this particular theory is simple. I believe that horse love, and the demonstration of such, as it's found in the typical woman--snob or not, is usually derived from a little girl's infatuation, and that is love in its purest, sweetest form.
If you're eking out your horse hobby on a budget, you can expect your husband and family (unless they're involved in horses too) to resent the time the horse will take from them. And make no mistake, the horse will take big chunks of time from them. It's a choice you make. And when your family accuses you of caring to spend more time with the horse more than you do them, it's also a choice of whether or not you want to believe the truth behind their complaints.
On the other hand, while it's true that horse love and people marriages don't always make for happy trails, a working arrangement can be fashioned. If you've got mountains of money, for example, or don't have to work for a living, you might be able to get all your horsy activities out of the way while your husband is at work. You may then appear freshly scrubbed (even the most tolerant of horse husbands will frown on the occasional piece of horse manure stuck to your dainty little boots), and ready to talk of Current (i.e. Non-Horsy) Events.
The ideal love match, of course, would be two horse people. Although you'd probably not want to spend a whole lot of time with them because they'd be so bloody boring.
Nonetheless, there is a continuing belief that sharing the same obsession can be helpful in making a relationship last. Along these lines, a single horsewoman can expect an entirely different set of values to come into play for her when it comes to romance:
"Can you believe it? She's dating a Vet!!" (Said with the same envy as if you substituted the word "sheik", "next president", or "George Clooney" for the word "vet.")
The fact of the matter is, unless your husband rides too, he'll never understand a major part of you.
Horses are soulmate companions to some very intimate adventures: they are witnesses to moments of truth that the rider would encounter nowhere else in her daily schedule, they are involved and absolutely committed in moments when real courage is needed, they are agreeable companions on lonely, soul-searching walks in the woods and will probably share more incredible sunsets with you than anyone else you'll ever know.
It's no wonder the bond between a woman and her horse is singular and kindred.
Chapter Six
Riding: Its Ups and Downs
As it happens, there are one or two books on the market that tell you how to ride a horse. They can be boiled down to one word. One magic word that is the key to riding and future equestrian happiness. If you know this word then the rest of it will fall into place for you. Of all the books you could (and should) read about how to ride, the thing you most need to glean from them is how to perfe
ct the art of balance.
All the brilliant leg positions, trés snazzy riding duds and renowned instructors will do nothing for you if you can't balance yourself on the horse. It's what keeps you on. Not vise-like grips from your knees or legs, not firmly suctioned fingers on reins, not suede knee pads against suede knee rolls or spray-on stick-um available in aerosol cans in any tack shop.
Balance.
Which is not to say you stop with balance. Balance is the beginning. The price of admission. The thing you must have before you can play the game. What comes after would make a chess master gasp and a baseball statistician stammer.
The catch-22 of riding instruction is that you will no doubt be taught by a horse person and although they can be excellent teachers, they often have less patience than Mother Theresa.
Once, I overheard a lesson in progress where the instructor was trying to coax her charge into relaxing by assuring her that nothing bad was going to happen. The student, a young woman on a rather excitable mare, clutched at her reins and tried to take deep breaths as her teacher continued her instruction.
"You'll be fine, Melissa. Just remember to breathe."
"But, what if I fall off?" The perfectly rational girl whimpered.
"Don't be stupid. You will not fall off. I'm right here, aren't I? You're attached to a lunge line, aren't you? You are not going to fall off."
"But, what if I lose my balance?"
With a snap of the lunge whip, the instructor barked out:
"You'll fall off. Now let's pick up a trot, shall we?"
Typical of most horse people, (which is where you're bound to get your instruction, whether from books or in person) there are several thousand ways to learn to ride.
One book will tell you it's vital you sit up straight as if a line were attached to the top of your head like a puppet, while another will tell you that you must lean ever-so-slightly forward.
One school will have you grip with your knees while another will gasp and clutch its throat at the very idea.
Horse Crazy Page 5