Most of us start with an allergy. Our noses get stuffy and our eyes are red and teary all the time. We’re allergic to not having a horse and it’s chronic. We start sniveling when we’re kids. We cry if we can’t have a pony, we cry when we get a pony, and we cry if we have to say good-bye to the pony. Mostly we cry because we love the pony. It happens if we have one pony or twenty, if the whole family rides, or if the family looks at you like you were left on the front stoop by a band of gypsies. Or gypsy cobs, no one remembers.
Either way, we’re single-minded about horses. It’s as if we see through a telescoping pirate spyglass from then on. We scrutinize his eyeball, wondering if we got the wrong horse. Most of us do, of course, but we keep our worst fears to ourselves. In extreme cases, you’re kindly told by trainers and friends you have the wrong horse, and the smart ones manage to switch to a horse who is every bit as challenging but in a less dangerous way. We’re livin’ the dream.
The seller agrees to deliver your horse to the new barn, and he walks right into the trailer. A while later a different looking horse runs off the trailer, flying on the end of the lead rope like a kite, white-eyed and sweaty. Meanwhile, the horse thinks he’s just been kidnapped and taken to an undisclosed place, met by a white-eyed sweaty woman who seems to have an allergy. She is not entirely recognizable as his soulmate.
The undisclosed place is a boarding barn that’s only a forty-five-minute commute from home. The horses looked healthy and there were lots of riders there and a kind trainer. They don’t charge extra for feeding supplements, which reminds you that you should get supplements; those cute, individualized serving-sized ones they print your horse’s name on. This barn is a great choice because the monthly board is only about half your mortgage payment.
You decide to let your new horse settle in. You take time and go slow, waiting almost 18 hours to try a saddle. You might have a dozen saddles but none of them fit. Or you have no saddles, so you go out and buy a brand-new saddle that doesn’t fit. While you’re at the tack store, maybe a new winter blanket that has special breathable waterproof fabric that folds up into a quart-size ziplock, a special saddle pad that has the same substance they use on rockets to protect them when returning to Earth’s atmosphere, and sure, a new halter. The total doesn’t quite come to what you paid for the horse.
The next day, you’re in the saddle, scrutinizing the ride. He jigs at the mounting block, he has a problem with his trot, your inner thighs burn, not that you were tense in the saddle. Come to think about it, he doesn’t seem like the horse you bought at all. His eyes look a little wild, so you tell him that he’s home now. He looks away and screams a bone-chilling nicker. You tell him everything is going to be fine, as you hack phlegm onto his bedding and wipe your nose on your sleeve. It must be the hay. No, not the fairy tale you planned, but you take the blame because you’re besotted. You hope it’s your problem because you can change.
The first trail ride includes a two-mile sprint back to the barn. On the first attempt at jumping, only one of you clears a single pair of cross rails. He looks at the tarp like there’s a goat under it. And there is. You hit the ground before you know you’ve left the saddle. Not the only time either. It was so easy to be brave before your unplanned dismount, the moment you gained a fraction of the common sense non-horse people have. While your body mends, you consider changing riding disciplines but decide to plow ahead. You decide at three in the morning because that’s when all the good horse decisions are made.
Maybe it’s time to get help from a trainer. You make the appointment, fill out the check, and the trainer climbs on your horse. They dance like Fred and Ginger, his neck soft and his stride long and true. The trainer says you need a new saddle. On the high side, your horse seems peaceful when you lead him away, so now it’s lessons all the time, maybe even a show in the fall. You go ahead and buy a horse trailer. Right after you get the truck big enough to pull it. Just one more reason to have a bank account in your own name.
About then the barn manager calls on a Sunday at dawn. Your horse has a deep bloody gash or is three-legged lame or it looks like colic. You drive all the way without taking one breath, beating the vet by forty-five long minutes. Soon your horse is out grazing, and the vet will send the bill because he has another call, not that you’re in a hurry to see the weekend rate. You have a life-threatening allergy attack on the way home, but at the same time, feel a need to celebrate by taking some of that allergy medication that comes in a bottle with a cork. Before noon.
Time flies by, so many details to focus on. Your spyglass lets you see one thing at a time; problems to solve, details to study, choices to make. Not that you’d want it any other way.
It’s winter today, another Valentine’s Day, almost his birthday. That ragged old blanket needs a buckle replaced. How old is your horse now? You lower the spyglass, un-squint your other eye. Tunnel vision softens and you see a few gray hairs on his brow. His back has dropped a bit, you have no words. He moves more cautiously on frozen ground. So do you.
You’re different now. You’ve learned to fall and awkwardly pick yourself up, more than once. You’ve had to make peace with fear and forge bits of patience together, not that you’re prone to psycho-speak, but you like yourself better with a horse. How many days have you cared for his needs, found compassion for his shortcomings, praised his courage, and not acknowledged your own? How far you’ve come. The two of you and this precious life you share, not that you’re the sentimental type. But how extremely far you’ve come together. You slide your hand up to his wither, feel that familiar congested pressure in your sinus.
There’s really no choice. Your good horse will need a place to retire, so you’ll buy him a farm. And he’ll need some company in the pasture.
…
Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward
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Darn, my allergies are acting up again!
Only a marginal amount of sympathy. Hi, Bella. Well played.
A beautiful piece. Thanks Anna.
Thanks, Christa.
Boy – did I get off easy with Chico – after reading this one! To top it off – MY allergies went away after I got involved with horses and hay & barns. We got to know each other pretty well while I was leasing him – which turned out to be a good idea. Sixteen years flew by far too fast – you all know what I mean by that.
You killed an old allergy with a new one? Well done, Maggie.
Precisely!
You words caused me to cry Anna.
I’m at the beginning of my journey with a very sweet four year old mare named Journi. She arrived January 3rd, and I’ve moved her twice since. I now have a trainer and lessons. I thought I could do this on my own…I’ve been through two saddles, the third a winner! Thank goodness I received a refund for the first two. I’m waiting on an entirely new bridle, bit, and rein set. Two will sit in a box at home. I’ve lost confidence, and then gained ways of communicating with Journi that swell my heart so big I think it will burst. All of this in just 6 weeks. She is kind, funny, loving and forgiving…I love her so much, and show up everyday. In that I will succeed (with the help of my very kind trainer)
Your words today touched me deeply…I am not alone❤️?
Welcome, Ana, you are not alone at all. In our group, you pass for normal. Congrats on the new horse. We promise, it gets easier.
Thank you Anna! Life will never be the same and I welcome that with a wide-open heart.
Luckily I think I got away without any allergies. Perhaps I’m so consumed I haven’t noticed yet!
I do laugh and tell myself new clothes and vacations are overrated anyway. ??❤️
❤️❤️❤️
Thanks, Christian.
I love reading your posts, Anna. This one in particular resonates big time – especially the trail ride paragraph! ?
I may be a dressage instructor, but there is no such thing as “only” a trail rider. thanks, Patience
Oh I have chills now with my allergies
hehehe. Thanks, Barbara, the tissues are in the barn.
I forwarded this to all my friends with horse allergies. Today is my horse’s 17th birthday. We have been together for over eight years. I have learned so much from him for which I am profoundly grateful. I love your writings and, in extension, so does my horse :).
Happy Birthday to both of you. Thanks, Caroline.
With three horses in the barn I frequently have these allergies.
Not that you’re asking, but a donkey doesn’t help. Thanks, Mary
Ain’t love grand? Excuse me, I need to find a tissue. You know. Allergies.
Oh, Liz. Indeed it is. Meet you in the barn for medication around happy hour.
Ain’t love grand? Excuse me, I need to find a tissue. You know. Allergies.
Now to convince my husband that we need to buy the farm…..if only I weren’t actually allergic to hay!!! I love this piece.
These intersecting allergies are so frustrating… thanks, Linda
Oh, this is perfect! It’s very possible you will hold the spyglass up many years into the future and go ahead and buy the farm a few months after he arrives at the boarding barn, because – oh my gosh – one day many years from now he will be old and so will you and how can you have him the distance it takes to drive to the boarding barn away from you?
Today my 31-year old with EPM had his acupuncture session and I had a nightmare last night that two arrogant male vets came instead of his usual two women ones, and told me he was going blind and declining to the degree that it was irresponsible and cruel of me not to euthanize him on the spot. I woke up crying and had to send my husband out to help with the acupuncture lest I totally fall apart in the barn aisle if he in fact looked poorly in any way. The two vets were concerned that me “not feeling well” meant covid, so I had to confess via text message the dream and that I was just a tearful mess. They sent a text filled with hearts and a report that he had scanned the best he ever has and looked terrific. Then I cried out of happy relief. Horses just open our hearts up all the way, don’t they?
A dream death-threat? Nightmare for sure. Love that you texted… Best wishes to you Elder. He’s a lucky horse. Thanks, Billie
Thank you, Anna, for writing my Life Story. !!! There is nothing better, despite occasional hardships, and I am so grateful to be living this life as an Elder !! As you wrote, there is no choice. How wonderful is it to be living a life that there simply is no other choice ?
Easy to be us, bundled up from the cold, schlepping water and hay. I’m with you, the special beauty of my awkward little barn will always be a joy. Thanks Sarah
oh my. laughed out loud remembering and relating. shed a tear as soon i wil have to sell the farm that we bought for them, , and yes there have been lots more in the pasture for sure! they need friends, even if there were already 4 of them. fabulous writing thank you
Thanks Chris. Can’t have enough friends…
I cannot put in words how much I LOVE this blog……been reading you for years now, and every Friday is a different emotion for me….a little long in the tooth myself – I feel EVERY STATEMENT. Thank you so very much!
At a certain age, we do come by it honestly. Thanks Suzanne, for all the years.
🙂 Where’s the ‘love’ emoji. So spot on as usual Anna.
Thanks, Lyndsey
Don’t know why I keep reading your words……Very allergic today……just when I think I’m over the addiction….
At my ripe old age & having been horse-less for 18 years now – I can honestly say the addition NEVER goes away!
Annie. I know why you keep reading… Just smiling.
I was looking in the mirror as I read your essay, Anna. Under your “tutelage” (as well as this community’s comments), adjustments have been made I think for the better these last few years. Sell the farm? Never!
We have the same mirror. Thanks, Lynell.
I’m always amazed at how perfectly and in such detail you know and understand my experiences with horses, even the ones at 3 in the morning. And, then I find out, it’s not just me. Or me and my friends. There’s a whole global herd of us. Amazing. What a relief! Sniff …
I do find comfort in being ordinary in my herd…. Thanks Deb
I have never owned a horse but I am familiar with the particulars of horse keeping. I love this article…you have such a sardonic sense of humor and a wonderful philosophy of life with equines…thank you
Thanks for reading, Elizabeth. I am so amused in our life with horses…
went to see Dito and Cody today and was caught in a sleet storm as I was asking them what they wanted to do. I took that as a message for a day off. I have been fantasizing lessons on a school horse so I am not agitating myself with a desire to ride while I establish a better relationship with both of them and learn to calm myself and not push. grateful and glad Anna is teaching online and writes a blog. still confused about what I “should be doing”.
Hi Ann. Is there a lesson horse available?? It would be great to get more ride time in, or ride Cody in lessons? Riding lessons are the best.
This is sweet, and hilarious at the same time. Well done.
Thanks Susie…I know you get it.
Every little girl’s dream… bless those that get to live it… What a life!!!
No regrets. Thanks, Nancy