Ever wonder about those women and horses, and what it’s really like?
You see all those glossy photos and movies, right? Women looking all graceful, horses with their shiny coats, galloping through fields. It paints a picture, like it’s some kind of beautiful, easy dream. Especially with young girls and their ponies – pure fairytale stuff, people think.
But here’s the thing: that’s often just the highlight reel. It’s not the whole story, not by a long chalk. They don’t usually show you the crack-of-dawn starts, when it’s freezing cold and you’re dragging yourself to the barn. They conveniently skip the part about mucking out stalls – and trust me, there’s a LOT of mucking out. Or the sheer stubbornness you face when a half-ton animal decides it just doesn’t fancy doing what you want it to do. Some can be as difficult as anything, even the ones that look like angels.
- You’re wrestling with muddy tack.
- The feed bills start piling up. And the vet? Don’t even get me started on vet bills.
- Then there’s the constant worry if they seem a bit off, it just eats you up inside.
It’s a world away from just looking smart in your riding gear. It’s real work, proper tough work. It’s a completely different kettle of fish to having a dog or a cat, I’m telling you. Sure, it’s a partnership, but it’s one that’ll test every fibre of your being. Your patience, how deep your pockets are, and sometimes, yeah, your actual sanity.
So, why am I getting all worked up about this? Do I sound a bit fed up?
Well, I had a ringside seat to the whole messy, wonderful business. My cousin, Sarah. She was absolutely horse-crazy from day one. Drove her parents mad begging for a horse until they finally gave in and got her this older gelding, Chester. He wasn’t anything fancy, just a steady, seen-it-all kind of fella.
I used to pop over, thinking, “Great, free pony rides!” I was just a kid, you know, didn’t have a clue. I’d see Sarah, absolutely caked in mud, hair all over the place, sometimes looking like she was about to cry because Chester had decided that particular day was not the day for, well, for cooperating with any of Sarah’s plans. I vividly remember this one time, Chester got really sick with colic. Sarah, she must have been about fifteen then, she stayed out in that drafty barn with him all night, walking him, cooing to him. Her folks were frantic, worrying about Chester, worrying about Sarah, and worrying about the vet bills that were climbing sky-high. They were seriously talking about having to sell him, or find him a “new pasture,” which we all knew was a kind way of saying the worst.
And Sarah, God love her, she dug her heels in for that horse. She took on extra babysitting jobs, helped out at the local stables mucking out for other people, scrimped and saved every penny she got. She devoured every book and article she could find on horse care, not the showy competition stuff, but the real, down-to-earth, keeping-them-healthy stuff. She basically poured all her energy and stubborn willpower into getting Chester better. I watched her transform from this slightly dreamy kid into a seriously capable, tough young woman during that whole saga. It wasn’t about winning rosettes or posting pretty pictures online. It was about that gritty, hard-won connection they had. So yeah, when I see people getting too starry-eyed about the whole woman-and-horse thing, I just have to smile a little. It’s a beautiful thing, no doubt, but it’s forged in sweat and perseverance, not just sweet talk and carrots.
