Girls Love Horses!
Girls love horses - well this girl loves horses!
I was about 2 when I learned that I was horse crazy, but it came so naturally that I don't realize my mania until much much later. This love is like breathing, there is no process - it just is, as if it has always been. The magic of it is not something easily explained, it is an addictive feeling, the need to experience horsey time, it is an urgency in the soul that is not easily quelled.
***First pic of me on a horse, my dad's work horse, 'Yeller' 1983(ish)
So in the vein of the American Dream, you would think, awww this girly must have had a pony as a tot. Nope.
I had access to a few cow horses, horses you rope from and sort cattle with, or ones you ride through rough country on, but not any sort of calm demure lesson pony. My access to even these snarky mounts was short lived and riding was a rare treat. Yet, it never lessened my Christmas morning excitement, each and every time I got the chance to be around a horse.
In the 35 years between falling in love and owning my own, the excitement I felt never wavered.
That, my friends, is love. I imagine it is akin to the love a dog feels for her human, the big eyed, eager to please, humbling kind of love.
So who is the lucky horse that gets to call me his person?
His name is Ima Bright Pistol, or Pistol for short, and how I came to be his owner is a simple tale but all that it means to be to have him is boundless. So through these posts I will share with you all I have learned, all I have felt and all it means to be a horsewoman at any age.
***Pistol September 2018
I was about 2 when I learned that I was horse crazy, but it came so naturally that I don't realize my mania until much much later. This love is like breathing, there is no process - it just is, as if it has always been. The magic of it is not something easily explained, it is an addictive feeling, the need to experience horsey time, it is an urgency in the soul that is not easily quelled.
So in the vein of the American Dream, you would think, awww this girly must have had a pony as a tot. Nope.
I had access to a few cow horses, horses you rope from and sort cattle with, or ones you ride through rough country on, but not any sort of calm demure lesson pony. My access to even these snarky mounts was short lived and riding was a rare treat. Yet, it never lessened my Christmas morning excitement, each and every time I got the chance to be around a horse.
In the 35 years between falling in love and owning my own, the excitement I felt never wavered.
That, my friends, is love. I imagine it is akin to the love a dog feels for her human, the big eyed, eager to please, humbling kind of love.
So who is the lucky horse that gets to call me his person?
His name is Ima Bright Pistol, or Pistol for short, and how I came to be his owner is a simple tale but all that it means to be to have him is boundless. So through these posts I will share with you all I have learned, all I have felt and all it means to be a horsewoman at any age.
Great story and 👀 Pistols legs are clean 🧼
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