February 18, 2015 
1. You preferred playing with Breyer horses over dolls.
The only thing Barbie and Ken were suitable for were to be grooms for your Breyer collection. They couldn’t ride anyway—they were too stiff and could never figure out that whole shoulder, hips, heels posture.
2. Your first horse was your dog.
3. Or, your bike.
4. You mastered the art of negotiation before 3rd grade.
You promised your parents you would be the best kid in the world and always do your homework. Your parents got suckered.
5. On your first trail ride you got your toe stepped on and bucked off. And loved every minute of it.
6. You preferred a day at the track with your parents to a day at Disney World.
Disney World is for babies anyways.
7. You shake your head in disgust when you walk by the My Little Ponies collection at the store.
They used to be so much cuter and well-balanced Back in the Day. Now they look like a worm-infested, neglected, parrot-mouthed, hard-keeping cribbers with a super-sized alien head that could only wear a draft-sized halter if it came to life.
8. You cozied up to classmates who had horses.
Even though you were embarrassed to be seen in public with your friend, you did what you had to do because she was the only person you knew who had a horse.
9. In school, your fingers doubled as the two front legs of a horse.
You taught Snickers the horse-fingers, flying lead-changes, piaffe, passage, side-passing and any other moves that only a Grand-Prix horse-finger dressage champion could master. Your teacher didn’t appreciate your horse-finger creature that you would show off on your desk during her history lesson.
10. Everyone said you would grow out of your horse-crazy phase when you discovered cars and boys in high school. You proved them all wrong.
The “cars and boys phase” only solidified that you are indeed horse-crazy. Now there are 4 years in your life that you will never get back.
About the Author
Horse crazy since birth, Maria Wachter is now co-owner of Blackman Ranch Horses and Mules in Cold Creek, NV.
