My First Horse: What I Wish I Knew

Women’s Log Rolling Champions, one yellow blinking light, and 1,223 people.

That was the population of the town where I grew up.

I went from Aqua Net-big hair, Vanilla Ice, convertibles, and palm trees to muddy boots, chopping firewood, and the smell of cow manure almost overnight. To say it was a change would be an understatement.

I wrote my friends back in Florida and explained that our new town was so "western" that there were horse-drawn carriages instead of cars and people openly carried weapons.

I was ten. Some of that may have been a slight exaggeration intended to make my new life sound more exciting.

But honestly? It wasn't all that far off.

We had moved to the Old West—or at least to what the Old West looked like through the eyes of a ten-year-old girl.

My introduction to rural life came in the form of a hatchet from my father, followed shortly by instructions on how to split firewood.

I adapted.

My brother Josh and I quickly found ways to entertain ourselves that didn't involve going skating or swimming. This was 1990, so skating was a pretty big deal. Unfortunately, there was no skating rink. Pools were also scarce, partly because nobody could afford one and partly because nobody particularly wanted a pool in a place where it was cold and rainy approximately 95 percent of the time.

So we built treehouses, explored our 1.5 wooded acres, learned to shoot BB guns, and mastered the art of flying down our enormous hill on bicycles with no hands.

Eventually, I made a few friends.

That wasn't particularly easy. Being the new kid in a small town isn't always a great way to win popularity points. For the first three years, I was simply known as "the new girl."

Then I met Stephanie.

And Stephanie had ponies.

The Beginning of the Obsession

One weekend, Stephanie invited me to ride her ponies.

I had never ridden a horse before, but I was willing to try almost anything that might help me make a friend.

We walked out to the pasture where Bourbon and Stormy lived and used grain to convince them that coming into the barn was an excellent idea. We haltered them, saddled up, and Stephanie patiently began teaching me how to operate a pony.

I remember the instructions:

Pull left to turn left.

Pull both to stop.

Kick to go.

Simple enough.

And I was hooked.

The next time Stephanie invited me over, I asked about riding the ponies.

A few weeks passed, and according to her mother, I had ridden her pony more times during that short period than Stephanie had ridden him the entire year.

I could tell Stephanie was becoming slightly irritated.

She wanted to do something besides ride ponies.

I had absolutely no interest in doing anything besides ride ponies.

Barbies? No.

Cabbage Patch Kids? Couldn't care less.

I had a pony to ride.

Eventually, Stephanie's mother called my mother to discuss my apparent riding addiction. She offered to let me come ride the pony without Stephanie.

There was only one condition:

They couldn't sue her if the pony killed me.

Deal.

That little pony got plenty of miles.

And I got something even more valuable: experience.

I learned how to operate a horse, but I also learned how horses react when things don't go according to plan. I learned that sometimes they spook. Sometimes they don't listen. Sometimes they do something you don't expect.

And sometimes you have absolutely no idea what you're doing.

I just didn't realize yet how important those lessons would become.

Then Came Vision

Around that time, I met another horse-loving girl named Lauren and began spending an unreasonable amount of time at her house.

Her mother, Pam, owned an equestrian center.

She put on horse shows and cared for at least thirty horses for a living.

To me, this wasn't a business.

It was paradise.

Pam was—and still is—an incredible horsewoman. She had the patience to teach me things that went far beyond simply getting on a horse and riding around.

As I became more knowledgeable and confident, I started cleaning stalls to earn money.

And then I discovered the classified advertisements.

I began smuggling the weekly paper into my room and searching for horses for sale.

That's when I found him.

A one-year-old Arabian gelding.

$250.

He wasn't broke to ride.

He was young.

He was inexperienced.

He was an anxious breed.

And I was a thirteen-year-old girl.

In other words, he was absolutely not the horse I should have been buying.

Naturally, I wanted him desperately.

There was no changing my mind.

I went to my parents with a plan.

We had the land.

We just needed a fence.

I had the money to buy the horse.

I just needed permission.

I had the drive and knowledge to train and care for him.

I just needed the money.

My parents laughed at my ridiculous plan.

Then, to their credit, they saw how serious I was.

They agreed—with one very important condition.

Everything horse-related would be my responsibility.

They weren't going to feed him.

They weren't going to water him.

They weren't going to clean his stall.

They weren't going to buck hay when it was time.

They would help with transportation and some expenses, but the daily responsibility belonged to me.

Fair enough.

A short time later, we went to meet Vision.

A week after that, my first horse came home.

And my life changed.

What Vision Taught Me

Vision has always held a very special place in my heart.

He taught me far more than how to ride.

He taught me about responsibility.

Patience.

Fear.

Confidence.

Frustration.

Communication.

Consequences.

He taught me that wanting something badly doesn't mean you're ready for it.

And he taught me that horses don't care what you intended to do.

They respond to what you actually communicate.

Those lessons were difficult for a teenager to learn, but having a horse forced me to learn them.

Looking back now, after decades of riding, teaching, owning, rescuing, training, and caring for horses, I realize something else:

I got incredibly lucky.

Not because Vision was the perfect horse for a thirteen-year-old girl.

He wasn't.

I simply had people around me who knew more than I did.

I had Pam.

I had my parents, who were willing to let me take responsibility while still providing a safety net.

And I had access to people and horses that allowed me to learn before I was completely on my own.

That matters.

Because when you're thirteen and looking at a horse for $250, you don't understand everything you're actually buying.

You're not just buying the horse.

You're buying the responsibility.

What I Wish I Had Known

If I could go back and talk to that thirteen-year-old girl, I wouldn't tell her not to buy Vision.

Honestly, she wouldn't listen anyway.

Instead, I'd sit her down and tell her a few things.

-The purchase price is the easy part.

A $250 horse can become a very expensive horse surprisingly quickly.

There is feed.

Hay.

Farrier care.

Veterinary care.

Vaccinations.

Dental care.

Fencing.

Shelter.

Tack.

Supplements.

Emergency care.

And all the things you don't think about until you need them.

The horse isn't expensive because of what you pay for him.

The horse is expensive because he needs you every single day.

-Your horse doesn't have to be perfect.

This is something I wish more people understood.

Your first horse doesn't need to be the most beautiful horse at the barn.

He doesn't need to win everything.

He doesn't need to be the horse everyone else wants.

He needs to be appropriate for you.

Age, temperament, training, experience, soundness, and personality matter far more than whether you fall in love with his color or his movement.

And yes, I realize the irony of saying this after buying a $250, one-year-old Arabian because I wanted him.

I was thirteen.

I have an excuse.

You don't.

-Experience matters more than confidence.

Being brave enough to get on a horse doesn't necessarily mean you're prepared to own one.

Those are two very different things.

Horse ownership requires knowing what to do when your horse won't load.

When he won't eat.

When he suddenly doesn't want to be caught.

When he's lame.

When he colics.

When he gets hurt.

When the weather turns terrible.

When the farrier can't come.

When the vet bill is much higher than you expected.

And sometimes, when your horse simply isn't behaving the way you thought he would.

You don't need to know everything.

But you need to know who to call when you don't.

That may be the most important lesson of all.

-Don't let your heart make the entire decision.

This one is hard.

Horses get into your heart very quickly.

You meet one and suddenly you can picture his name on your stall sign, his face in your pasture, and yourself riding into the sunset together.

I understand.

I've done it.

But before you buy the horse, take a breath.

Have someone experienced evaluate him.

Watch him be handled.

Watch him ridden.

Ask questions.

Look at his history.

Have a veterinarian perform a pre-purchase examination when appropriate.

And be willing to walk away.

The horse you walk away from is much cheaper than the horse you shouldn't have bought.

-And finally, understand what you're really getting.

You're not buying a hobby.

You're taking responsibility for another living creature.

There will be beautiful days.

There will be muddy days.

There will be days when everything goes perfectly.

There will be days when you stand in a pasture covered in dirt wondering why you ever thought this was a good idea.

There will be veterinary emergencies.

There will be heartbreaking decisions.

There will be moments when you learn something about yourself because your horse forced you to.

And there will be moments that make every single bit of it worth it.

I Would Still Do It

If I could go back to that little girl in the early 1990s, standing in a barn and falling hopelessly in love with horses, I wouldn't take that experience away from her.

Not even the ridiculous parts.

Especially not those.

Vision wasn't the perfect first horse.

I wasn't the perfect first horse owner.

But together, we learned.

And that may be the greatest gift horses have given me over the years.

They don't just teach you how to ride.

They teach you how to pay attention.

How to communicate.

How to take responsibility.

How to recover when things go wrong.

How to be patient with something that doesn't speak your language.

And, sometimes, how to become a better version of yourself.

That's why I still believe that horses are so much more than a hobby.

They are teachers.

They are partners.

They are frustrating, expensive, muddy, complicated, wonderful creatures.

And if you're thinking about buying your first horse, my biggest piece of advice is simple:

Don't just ask, "Do I want this horse?"

Ask:

"Am I ready for everything this horse will need from me?"

I didn't know enough to ask that question when I was thirteen.

Fortunately, I had people around me who helped me learn.

And I've been learning ever since.

We brought him home a week later, and thus began my adventures of horse ownership. Vision has always had a very big place in my heart. He taught me so much about myself, my behavior, dealing with others and many other lessons that are often hard for teenagers to learn. Horses, to me, are spiritual animals whose presence, to me, is majestic. I can feel their pain, hurt, and love, as well as their desire to follow their instincts. I can see that fine line in their personalities that struggle between being animals that are preyed upon, and gentle giants who can only tolerate so much. To see more about my spiritual journey with these gentle creatures, please follow my blog.