Ok, I’d like to speak to the ladies for a little bit. Men, skip down to the next paragraph. Did you skip? No, don’t keep reading here, just go to the next paragraph. It’s the next section of writing. Down there. Go. Please. Shoo. Are the men gone? Ok, good. Ladies, you’ve all been there. Or at least a good amount of you have been there. You know how it is. You see the hunky guy, he’s handsome, and though he’s seriously lacking in some areas, he’s still so gorgeous you want to date him. Your friends are jealous of you, and when you walk down the street, other women turn and say, “Wow, what a hunk!” You can admit it, sometimes you date a guy just because he’s well, pretty.
Hi guys. Thanks for skipping down to this bit. I wanted to talk to you privately, and while the ladies are busy with that section up there, I have a few minutes with you. Now is the time to come clean. You have been on a date with a woman before, not because you were interested in her personality, but maybe for her cooking, her prettier friend, or even her family’s hunting cabin. For whatever reason, you were not interested in this lady in the slightest, but she showed up and you let her hang around, because hey, no harm done, right? You let her tell everyone you’re together, she does what you tell her just to be near you, and you sometimes forget her name.
Now, everyone can read this. I was in a similar relationship. With a fat white horse. But you see, he was pretty. Tall, muscular, and handsome. Friends would come and stand in awe of his beauty. A huge white horse, just like in the fairy tales, with a long mane and tail, with gentle eyes and a soft spot for candy canes. Visitors to the barn would gasp and say, “Wow, what a handsome guy!” I’d show photos of him to people, and they would genuinely be interested in him, asking all about my horse. Children would ask in an innocent way, “Can I have him?” I basked in the adoration and glory of my horse’s beauty.
However, I would go to see the horse, and he would sigh, as if to say, “You’re here? Again?”, and go back to his hay. I would have to trudge out to the far end of his paddock to retrieve him. He’d go along with me to get tacked up, but would be dazing off into the distance. The only time he showed any interest in my life was treat time. If I have an apple in my hand, I was his best friend, but only until he’d finished swallowing the core. Then he’d search my pockets, snorting in frustration when they came up empty.
At first it was cute. “Aww, the horsie wants another treat!”, I’d squeal. How adorable was that?!? And then one day, I didn’t bring a treat with me. I had rushed out to see him and forgotten an apple. I searched my purse, frantically looking for a peppermint for him, and came up empty. He seemed to know when I tacked him up that the treats weren’t in attendance. He was sullen and sour. That horse had a look of, “Fine, let’s get this ride over with, I have hay to finish.”
But then I realized one day- He’s not very fun to ride. He’s stubborn, and I’m not a strong disciplinarian. He hated going faster than a walk, and I’d have to threaten him with a crop to spark a trot out of him. Vets were called, tests were run. No, he’s not in pain, they said. He has no health issues, they said. He just needs a heavier hand. Tell him what you want and demand results. I’d strengthen myself, and give him orders. Run that way. Turn this way. He’d toss his head and adopt an attitude. So off to the trainers he went, where he was put into boot camp.
He came back a changed horse. But not for me. He still gave me attitude, head tossing, and general disinterest. Why was the treat lady asking him to do anything complicated now? My heart was broken. To my horse, I was a glorified apple dispenser. I thought long and hard about this. I realized that I was in a bad relationship. A bad, one sided, look at my hunky horse type of relationship. And I needed out.
So, after much soul searching and yes, even some tears, I thought about selling him. I didn’t want to be labeled a “quitter”, and felt horrible when anyone would ask me how my horse was doing. I wasn’t motivated to ride. My trainer found a horse that she thought would be more compatible with me, and sent me a photo. I thought about how life could be with a new horse. I went to see him, not with rose colored glasses on, not with hearts in my eyes, but with objectivity. I judged him, I watched him, and I didn’t look at his color or his breed. I bought him for his personality. I can’t afford the time and money for two horses, so I sold the pretty white one. I’ll miss his “cooler than you“ attitude, really I will. I’ll miss his show stopping good looks, too. But I’m not sure I’ll miss anything else.
Yesterday, I went out to the paddock where the new horse is. He stopped eating, turned and looked up, and left his hay to come greet me. He watched me as I worked around him with genuine interest. During training, he listened to me, and is starting to learn what I expect, and wants to reach my goals. I feel I have a partner now, not just a handsome horse on a lead rope.
The best part? I offered my new partner a treat, and he took it from me politely. Then he turned and spit it out. He followed me around anyway, happy to be with me for who I am, not for what is in my pockets.
