A Word About Static Cling

Is there any point to brushing a horse that's supercharged with static cling? I mean, I swipe the brush across my horse's coat and all I do is draw along a jet stream of grit and dust so that my horse's back looks like an Etch-a-Sketch. Or a really dirty chalkboard. Take your pick of visual images.

And then there's my horse's tail. The hairs are splayed out in every direction like the tips of a well-worn paint brush. I do make an attempt to dampen it with water and comb through the moisture. I even add a dollop of conditioner. But then I'm the one who's supercharged with static electricity. Without thinking I grab hold of the metal latch on the tackroom door and I'm momentarily set aglow like Frankenstein's monster. ZAP!

So I'm guessing that you get that it's really, really dry out here right now. At least we have a chance of rain. It's a major news event for us in Southern California. The mere hint of rain clouds and it's deemed "breaking news" on the Los Angeles networks. I stock up on hay, put a bag of shavings in each covered corral and wait for the storm clouds. In reality we'll be lucky to get some light drizzle. But it's a start.

I really shouldn't complain about our winter weather... or lack thereof. Some of you have shared your winter weather experiences. In Michigan, one reader wrote, the saddles have already been stored away for the winter so she's riding bareback (when the freezing weather allows her to ride at all). A North Carolina reader shared that she is usually treated to ice storms and frozen trees. And in Montana, another reader wrote that the weather varies widely from relatively warm to snow flurries.

So I probably shouldn't get in a dither about static cling. At least my trees aren't freezing and I'm not forced to ride bareback. Yet.

Adopt a Motto

I'm going to share one of my greatest revelations with you: Life is not fair. Once I adopted that motto it was easier for me to deal with some of the Big Questions. For example, why do the nicest people often endure the worst luck? Not all of my ponderings deal with Big Questions. Sometimes I wonder why a lot of money doesn't necessarily guarantee me a decent haircut. But as a horsewoman, my life is not fair mantra is doled out on a regular basis to talented, enthusiastic young riders who lament that they will probably never get an opportunity to ride in the big medal finals or try out for a national team or test their skills in a gran prix jumper class. Why? Because they don't have access to a horse whose price tag is equivalent to the appraised value of their parents' house. Or their last name isn't Bloomberg, Springsteen, Selleck or Firestone.

You see, to play in the big sandbox you have to have the fancy toys. And buying a fancy horse, one capable of negotiating the big courses and "looking the part," is generally not possible for middle class (or even the ambiguously titled upper middle class) kids. In this regard, equestrian competition is far, far different than the majority of sports. If your expensive toy--the horse--breaks, it's an outrageous challenge to replace it. It's not as if you can just stop by the local sporting goods store and pick up another soccer ball or a new pair of track shoes.

And then there's the upkeep of the fancy toy. Enough said about that.

This is not meant to cast doubt on the talent and dedication of those riders who do happen to have access to a financial wellspring. I've seen the junior and young adult riders at the upper tip of the pyramid compete, and they are inspiring in their abilities. Trust me, they are not merely posing, pointing and praying. They are riding.

But how many other kids could also ride as well if they, too, were given the same opportunities?

Like I said, life is not fair.

So what can an aspiring young equestrian do to fulfill his or her dreams of competing at the top? You can become a working student with a top tier trainer. Attend clinics and demonstrate your determination and talent. Clinics also give you exposure to the teaching methods of the world's best professionals. Then, with an experienced trainer by your side, use your horsemanship skills and all of your pennies to purchase or lease a horse with enough athleticism to allow you to compete at the upper levels, even if only for a year or two.

Or you can adopt another motto: Be a big fish in a small pond. Or, as my mother would say, "Bloom where you're planted." In other words, strive to be a champion competitor at the level you and your family can afford. Good sportsmanship and solid riding skills will mark you as a winner regardless of whether you're competing at an AA-rated USEF show, a county-rated show or a 4H show. Instead of aiming for national recognition, endeavor to be kind to your horse, polite to show officials and cordial to your fellow competitors. Allow yourself to grow as an individual. When met with adversity in the show ring (and there will be plenty of adversity), muster up some courage, re-evaluate what went wrong, pick up the reins and go in again.

Ultimately what matters in life is not where you win, but how you win. Horse shows should be about more than building a wall full of ribbons; they should also be lessons in building character. And that leads to yet another motto you can adopt: Be a champion wherever you compete.

Share your thoughts by clicking on "comments" below or emailing me at: hc-editor@bowtieinc.com

Where the Wind Comes Right Behind the... Wind

I'm sitting at my desk right now, looking out the window and calculating how long it will take before my neighbor's tree finally loses its battle against the 60mph winds and kicks up its roots in defeat. Fortunately, our trees are staked with what I can only describe as tent poles. And the roof over our corrals and the turnout paddock continues to stay intact, so I'm fairly content. I'm just bleary-eyed from lack of sleep. I don't sleep well in the wind.

At about 1:30 this morning I opened the back door in response to an odd clanging noise. It was terribly gusty. At any moment I expected to see a swarm of flying monkeys circling above my tackroom. Though I wasn't stepping outside into Oz, I was venturing into a windswept landscape that was made even more eerie by the milky light of a full moon. I followed the rhythmic, metallic sound and discovered it wasn't a broken hinge or a banging, open door but Wally rattling the snap on the gate of the paddock, where I'd left him overnight. Even with his windproof sheet on, he was mighty uncomfortable. He wanted inside his house. And he was letting me know it by flipping the gate latch over and over and over and over and over and over again.

Alright already!

I put him in his cozy covered corral, alongside Lexi, and he seemed much more at peace. Good for him. I, however, was now wide awake. I went back inside, plopped down on the couch, and listened to the wind. I happen to enjoy winter. It's the winter weather that I'm not fond of.

So, how's your winter weather so far? Click on "comments" below or email me at hc-editor@bowtieinc.com.

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

I'm not much of a meat eater. Even when I was competing on the horse show circuit I was known for dragging along my miniature microwave oven that was about the size of a shoe box and had wattage that equaled an Easy Bake oven. While everyone else would go out to dinner and dine on who knows what at the showgrounds, I was huddled in my motel room, hovering over my midget microwave while it labored to cook frozen rice and peas or a Idaho potato. So when Thanksgiving comes around I'm not drooling over the carcass of poultry in the oven or deliberating about whether I want light or dark meat. I'm savoring the creamed corn, the sweet potato casserole, the roasted Brussels sprouts and the gingered carrots.

My husband, on the other hand, eats as if I haven't fed him in a week.

My two horses have comparable eating habits. Wally literally makes sounds while he mooshes his way through his bucket of pellets. Whatever happens to get inside his mouth is fine with him. His lips are coated with a crust of pellet dust and saliva. It's fortunate he's not a guy. What woman would date a man who slobbered at the table and made yummy-bear sounds while he chewed?

Lexi is a dainty, picky eater. She will push aside her pellets looking for that one last oat kernel at the bottom of her bucket. Were she a human, she'd be the prissy lady who took forever in the buffet line. She'd hold the salad tongs in her hand and forage through the bowl of spring greens, hunting only for radicchio and baby spinach.

Finally, someone behind her (probably my cousin Rick) would call out, "Just grab a bunch of salad and move on, Lexi! We're starvin' here!"

I'm sure your family has its own cast of characters, just like mine. And you can probably envision what it'd be like if your horses happened to magically, mystically show up at your Thanksgiving table. What a sight, eh? Now that would be a holiday to remember!

May you have a bountiful, lovely Thanksgiving, surrounded by friends and family!

My Westlish Gelding

One of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me was when my neighbor, Gary, called to me from across the street. "Good morning, Cowgirl!" he said.

Gary, you see, is an older fellow who has a long, respected reputation as a working western rider. He has many a tale to share about his own life with horses. So when I hopped on Wally in his western saddle and picked up the pair of split reins, and Gary referred to me as a "cowgirl," I was honored.

And then, of course, I had to ride Wally the very next day in English tack, as you see here. But that's what's nice about Wally and other horses like him, the horses sometimes jokingly referred to as being all-around westlish horses. They're well trained western but they're also nice to ride English. What the heck, they'll even hop over a crossrail or low vertical jump if asked. While Wally will never step inside a show ring with me, I do enjoy riding him huntseat every now and then. It helps me recall the many years (okay, decades) I spent competing in huntseat equitation. Wally has a to-die-for sitting trot. Where was he when I was doing all those medal class work-offs?

And so, while I may treasure earning the accolade of "cowgirl" from my neighbor, I'll never let go of my huntseat past. Wally's just fine with that, too.

If you'd like to share a tale about your westlish horse-- or any other comment-- click on "comments" below or email me at hc-editor@bowtieinc.com . I love reading all your emails and comments!

Truth is Funnier (or is that More Funny?) than Fiction

One of the most gratifying-- and enjoyable-- aspects of writing my Life with Horses column for Horse Illustrated, and now in blog form, has been the amusing tales readers share. My recent blog entry, "I am Such a Dork" elicited some humorous responses. One reader shared how she had valiantly tried to super clean the tackroom by power washing it. Unfortunately, there wasn't any drain in the floor, so... Well, we can all imagine what a soaked tackroom floor can smell like after a few hours, right?

Then there was the tale from a huntseat rider who could not remember her courses. However, she could remember one course. So she kept riding that one. Three times over.

Ah, if we cannot laugh at ourselves, who can we laugh at?

I'll try to comfort myself with that thought the next time I trip myself with my spurs, miss the entire wheelbarrow with a scoop of poop or get to a horse show and realize I've forgotten my horse's bridle. Why? Because eventually I'll laugh at it all. I hope.

To leave a comment, just click on "comments" below or email me at: hc-editor@bowtieinc.com

My Drama Queen

I'm becoming known as the lady with the loud palomino mare. Whenever I ride off on Wally, my Paint gelding, Lexi stands in her paddock and calls for him. A lot. She doesn't go crazy. It's not like she's wildly pacing back and forth, working up a sweat and threatening to commit suicide. She just neighs, as if to say, "Where are you going? When will you be back? Should I put the hay in the oven now, or are we going out tonight?"

Okay, that last part I exaggerated. But you get the idea. Lexi is a drama queen. And since we live atop a little bluff at the corner of a main street in our horsey neighborhood her whinnying trumpets for several blocks.

People who live several streets over have seen me riding on the trails and remarked, "Oh, I know you. You're the one with the noisy palomino."

My golden lady, she doth protest too much when Wally leaves.

Wally, on the other hand, is more aloof. Plus he has a low, hoarse horse voice. If he were an actor I'm guessing he'd be one of those quiet, romantic types. You can hardly hear him when he nickers. When I ride off on Lexi he'll watch us ride away and then flutter his nostrils with a faint snuffling sound... and then go back to eating whatever it is I tossed in his feed bucket.

"Oh, she'll be back," he's probably thinking. "The women can't stay away from me for long. I'm just too cool. Besides, this carrot is mighty tasty."

See how I so easily attach emotions to my horses? I suppose we're all guilty of that. But who can blame us. Anyone who's spent their life around horses knows that some equines are drama queens and some are aloof. Some are real characters with a sense of humor and others are stoic and distant. Yet each has a distinct personality, if we allow ourselves the time to discover it. For more insight on this subject, read this article currently on Horse Channel:
Horse Emotions

Then let me know if your horse speaks to you.