Of Women & Horses
Authors: Essays by Various Horsewomen Commentary by GaWaNi Pony Boy

If you have it, it is for life. It is a disease for which there is no cure. You will go on riding even after they have to haul you on to a comfortable wise old cob, with feet like inverted buckets and a back like a fireside chair...When I can’t ride anymore, I shall still keep horses as long as I can hobble about with a bucket and a wheelbarrow. When I can’t hobble, I shall roll my wheelchair out to the fence of the field where my horses graze, and watch them.
— Monica Dickens, the great-granddaughter of author Charles Dickens, in her book, Talking of Horses

Worth the Wait

I read every horse story written,
I drew horses on every paper in view,
I pranced around the yard with a rope on.
The horse was my milieu.

I dreamed of the day when a horse would be mine,
I built little stables of wood.
I begged my parents incessantly,
And saved all the money I could.

But marriage came first,
And then children, of course.
The years they actually flew.

And then one day the time was right;
I could buy my first horse, I knew.

She was an old buckskin mare,
Sturdy and sound, reliable, steady, and smart.

She carried me and I loved her,
I gave that old mare my heart.

The Horse as God’s Instrument of Teaching
by Deborah Day

Deborah Day grew up in a rural part of Southern California, where her enthusiasm for horses and art flourished. She graduated from California State Polytechnic University at Pomona with a major in art and a minor in animal science. Of the years she has enjoyed working with a variety of breeds in several disciplines, Deborah seeks to express her love of horses through her art.

A few weeks ago, my mom sent me home with a box full of artwork I had created in elementary school. It was overwhelming to find that nearly every picture contained a horse, no matter what the theme. Each paper was signed, Debbie G. Horse. Later this week, I’m going back East for a wedding. I haven’t been to Connecticut since I was a child, but I feel I must see the little converted carriage house where we lived and the stable (if it’s still there) where I implored my mother to stop to let me see the horses. I am told that is when the horse craziness started. I was two years old.

In school, I was called the horse girl. I remember romping the playground like a horse, drawing horses into other kids’ pictures for a cookie or whatever they had to offer, and standing at the trash cans after lunch collecting uneaten apples for my pony. In second grade, I broke both of my arms tripping over my reins’ while playing( the first of many of my equine-related casualties. Just the other day, a close friend declared that I’m part horse. She said that I’m too natural with them for it to be otherwise. I consider that a compliment of the highest sort.

Time and time again I have been asked not why I love horses but why I love them so much. What it is that has me polarized to horses is somewhat of a mystery even to me. This is my first organized attempt to explore my feelings for horses and to articulate my thoughts.

A few months ago, my old friend an Arabian gelding named Omar was put to sleep. He was my dream-come-true when I was thirteen and he was seven. We shared twenty years together, growing up, learning, training, showing, and traveling the country from Catalina Island to the Colorado Rockies. He was my confidant and friend through the tumultuous trial of youth and my faithful companion through all the changes since. He was an answer to my desperate prayers for a horse when finances wouldn’t permit one and a tangible reminder that God is real in a personal way. Our companionship spanned most of my life. I find myself pondering our many experiences as I adjust to life without him.

I seem to have an elemental or visceral connection to horses. It’s something that hasn’t waned with maturity, marriage, childbearing, or even horse-related traumas. It is something unlearned and natural(but not quite tangible. I remember when my friend was killed from a fall off her horse. I was eleven, and she a little older. Many local kids stopped riding then; I couldn’t. Three years ago, I was galloping a horse when he fell and rolled over me. For six months I was unable to ride. I was afraid of being afraid to ride, but when I could finally get back in the saddle it was just like old times.

I know that horses are not only a part of my life, they are an intrinsic part of me. My association with them touches all parts of my being: the emotional, the sensual, the spiritual, the intellectual. I feel at home when I am around them, whether cleaning their corrals, feeding, riding, painting, sculpting, or making the rounds before I go to bed. The aromas of manure, hay, leather, and sweat mingle together and follow me through the day. The horses’ nickers, whinnies, and other welcome expressions edify my spirit. Care for them structures my days.

My perception of the world goes hand in hand with my association with horses. I marvel at the illuminated haystack in the morning sun(always a brilliant inspiration for a new day. In the evening when I feed them, the shadows are long as the horses mill around, stirring up dust. The sky is a golden glory(sometimes red, sometimes pink, often mottled with clouds in reverberating color. The purple and blue of the hills provide a luscious contrast as the sun slowly goes down behind them. I remember my days are numbered and sometimes stop to reflect on whether I’ve made this one count.

I love the chaparral that grows where I ride. Its beauty is subtle but full of life and vigor. There is a hill near our house that I ride too as often as I can. I hike to the top, leading my horse, where there is a large rock on which I sit. From there, my house is the size of a postage stamp, and the horses are like ants. I feel closest to God here. There are no distractions. Sometimes I read, sometimes I write in a journal, and other times I come just to be quiet. My horse is a beautiful black gelding. Here he grazes or drinks water poured into my hand. Sometimes he just stands and rests his chin on my shoulder. I feel refreshed and stronger for having these times.

My studio is nestled among corrals. I’m surrounded by a dozen or so horses: a cross section of breeds in a rainbow of equine colors. As I think about the horses in my life and those with whom I have worked in different places over the years, I marvel at what they teach me. Horses are simple and honest. I have to be that way, too, to stay in touch with the important things of life. My tendency is toward the busy and complex. Horses remind me to be clear and concise. One must be quiet to hear them speak; so it is with people too. Horses learn from touch and voice. I earn their trust when I am calm and consistent. They respond to praise. I learn that temperance is essential.

Pony’s Commentary

The first thing that horses have taught me is patience. When working with horses, one learns early that time does not exist; not in the mind of a horse, anyway. We tend to forget that the concept of time is one created by humans. With horses, there are rhythms to a day(feeding time, nap time, bedtime, waking time(everything in between is just life as a horse. This lack of structured time in a horse’s mind makes things difficult for the rider or trainer. The horse does not know that you’ve been at it for three-and-a-half hours. The horse knows only that he has not yet been rewarded in the way that he’s used to for a job well done. The horse knows that he has not yet successfully interpreted your language. The horse knows that you seem to be getting more frustrated and aggressive; but the horse does not know about this thing we call time. So we are left with two options. Either teach the horse to understand time (impossible) or forget that time exists. Now I suppose I could just say be really patient, but as long as you use a time reference in your training, your patience will never outlast the clock. Measure your horse’s success not by how long it took for him to reach success but by how well he did.

The horse has also taught me what it means to be a horse. Although from a young age I worked with and for horse trainers, none of them was able or inclined to teach me what it meant to be a horse. It is important that if you are going to teach horses you must identify with horses(almost become a horse(and that requires an empathy that only a deep and abiding love can create.

The most important thing that horses have taught me is the difference between urgent and important. I am by no means a master of discerning the two, but horses have given me a few clues. Grass is important, water is important, rolling is important, and napping in the sun is very, very important. Most of the things that we humans do are urgent. If we could always complete the important before considering the urgent, we would be a relatively stress-free society. And if we chose the important over the urgent we would be a little closer to horses.

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Jacket and book design © 2000 Michele Lanci-Altomare
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