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You Do Whatever You Like: Ride!

ID 45667602 | Barrel Horse © George Kroll | Dreamstime.com

A couple of summers ago, a friend asked me if I wanted to go to a horse show with her.

The idea was that we would share her absolute gentleman of a barrel horse. I would ride him in the English pleasure classes in the first half, and she would take him to the speed events in the second. It was one of those just-for-fun, $5-per-class saddle club shows at the county fairgrounds. Shows like it are a treasure of rural horse life, which I miss now that my equestrian existence is mostly suburban.

After we arrived, she warmed him up in his normal tack. Once he was back and the western gear removed, we proceeded to pad the heck out of my secondhand dressage saddle to make it fit. It was obvious that I had bought the saddle for a different horse. Nevertheless, he basically napped in his spot tied to the trailer as we fiddled with the girth and the corrective pads, making it work the best we could for one or two classes.

To this day, I have never seen a horse that happy in a show ring. He entered the arena with jolly enthusiasm. He walked, trotted, and cantered when the announcer called and then stood quietly in the center.

“This is the life,” it felt like he was saying.

He was a big quarter horse, bred specifically for racing, but he seemed delighted to be my makeshift pleasure pony.

We didn’t win those classes, not by a long shot. But, the ribbons from that day hang proudly with my blue ones from dressage shows. Looking back, that was probably the most fun I have ever had at a horse show.

That barrel horse reminded me of something else that day, something I have been thinking about a lot lately when scrolling through socials or listening to my pony-crazed friends. The beauty of the equine industry is that there is a lot of variety, and there is no such thing as one, correct answer when it comes to having and enjoying horses.

I didn’t always think this way. In fact, I used to be embarrassed by my informal equestrian upbringing.

When people asked where I learned to ride, I said, “I rode in the woods.” As a kid, I learned how to stay in the saddle on rocky trails and hot horses. My equitation training was, “Heels down, shoulders back, give the horse his face, and lean forward when you go up a hill…”—and that was about it.

Sure, I could clean a pen, catch a horse, load it on a trailer, groom, and be generally helpful around a farm. I also read a lot and memorized the different breeds and studied behavior. But I knew nothing of etiquette, trainers, bloodlines, or rule books.  

As an adult, I did my horse life on the cheap. I rode whatever I could get my hands on in whatever discipline the owner suggested.

There is a secret blessing to my patchwork horse life: While I once felt like a bumpkin imposter, I am much more cautious about the glitzy and glamorous aspects of the horse world than I probably would have been if I had come to the sport another way.

On another occasion, I was visiting an artist mentor of mine in another state, and we went and toured a farm she had found online. She did everything in her power to try to get me to move closer to her and she knew one of the ways she needed to do that was with horses. The owner showed us around. She was kind and her steeds were friendly.

After we left, my friend said, “That place is so tidy, those animals must have the best care.”

“Yeah, clean just means clean,” I replied, “but it was nice of her to show us around her farm.”

I have been on immaculate farms, where everything was replaced every year or two, but the horses were stressed to pieces, and the humans were miserable. I have been on other farms where everything is secondhand and held together by bailing twine, but the horses shone with health, and the people were happy and welcomed as they are. (I have seen vice versa, too.)

All of this has taught me that “quality” is much more complicated than we often assume. There are lots of things, both tangible and not, that make a place and its people a good fit.

This essay isn’t meant to yuck anyone’s yum. Instead, it is meant as a permission slip.

There is no one, secret, gospel of Equus for us or our horses; if you want to do something else or think your horse might enjoy it, go on and do it. If mounted shooting has lost its luster and you have always wanted to try hunters, give it a go!

Tired of driving two hours to take lessons with the one trainer who teaches your discipline? Try the local one who teaches something else. Can’t ride anymore? Volunteer at the local therapeutic riding center or horse rescue. As Ted Lasso would say, “You do whatever you like, LIVE!” 

After all, if there is one thing that gentlemen barrel racers taught me, it is to follow joy. The time we spend with horses is the important part; how we do it is up to us—the absolutists and the keyboard trainers be darned.

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