Forever Friends

Sue and Donna

There is no barn life without good friends. Of course, we are all there for our horses and the love of the sport but what makes a barn are the people. The core and heartbeat of our barn are those people mentioned. Little did I know how much we were actually tied together as the coming months would only prove the bond we all had.

Sue....

My emotional support, spiritual advisor, riding coach and source of strength. She taught me, held my hand, prayed for me and with me, made me laugh through tears and allowed me those tears when life seemed impossible...at home and at the barn. 

Donna....

My comic relief and number one critic! She was always there to let me know... Good or bad...how I was doing! Laughing at me or with me, I could and still do depend on her to raise my spirits and laugh at my ridiculous techniques and she would never lose patience!

Through the upcoming year, we could never imagine the chain of events that led us all too where we are today, nor did we even have a chance to breathe through the whirlwind of fortunes we believed to be great misfortunes.  It is truly said that when God closes a door, He opens another!

Hence, the beginning of the Barbed Wire Babes...the beginning of a friendship that would withstand pain, tears, laughter, drama, adventures and so much more.

Enter... SHARON

Enter...Sharon....a tiny blonde pixie of a thing with an infectious laugh and a very twisted sense of humor. Our first,official meeting was casual and light... However the night of the  huge barn bon fire changed our relationship. I  didn't really know Sharon, in fact I think we only met once or twice in the year that we were at our stable. Anyway, amidst the barbeque grills, beer and horsetalk, one of us said something bizarre and off-color which led to hysteria....Instantly, we both knew that we had a special bond ... The love of horses and the fear of riding! It was different for me, though. The unspoken connection we had there and then was evident to both of us, but my happiness in finding someone just like me who shared the fear, anxiety and desperation to just be able to sit on top of a horse was exhilarating and yea, a bit selfish. I was actually happy to know that someone was actually as crazy as me in every aspect of our lives. We could share one look, whether on horseback, in mixed company, or in conversation, and know what the other was thinking. Those looks always ended up in hysteria! Everyone was supportive and encouraging, but still, they all had perfect seats and no fear. I actually was tired of myself. Tired of watching from the bleachers so to speak...and how long would my encouraging friends put up with my paranoia behind rolled eyes week after week with the same excuses and same patterns? In other words.. I got no better...and eventually my sob story would get old and wear out everyone.

Enter Sharon...

Someone who would sit on the sidelines  with me and share my longing to be a blinged out, tight jeaned, boot adored cowgirl that everyone would gape at and say.. wow, they must really be good riders...HAHAHA...Oh how we wanted to be so cool!!!

Someone who would sit   with me on the sidelines and poke fun at every rider in the ring... knowing full well that we couldn't do any better... Little did I know that this day marked the beginning of a long and devoted friendship that would take us to places we never thought we would go!

Enter Sharon...Someone who did, does and always will wait for me to cowgirl up!

Back in the Saddle Again.

NO... not really.

But, I was at my barn, with my horse and my friends.  The only people that I really knew were those who were there from the beginning.  Elaine and Ted, Sue, Donna, Mike and Tammy, our trainer.  There were many newcomers in and out with horses that I would pass every week and say... who’s horse is that?  I didn’t spend much time at the barn.  When I did, it was mostly bath and grooming time.  Richard and his checkbook bought me a gorgeous Tucker saddle that came with everything but a seatbelt… padded seat, fancy Conchos adorned with leather  fringe and tooling that was handcrafted by some artesian.  Great saddle… great horse…. Awful rider.

Dakota was a challenge.  She was gorgeous and she knew it. She was just a trail horse with not-so-good training.  The Petite barn lady I purchased her from never rode her.  Dakota belonged to her husband who took her on long trail rides in the woods waltzing through trees using her mouth as the steering wheel. Regardless of that, she did have a good STOP to her (when she wanted to).

She was gentle and kind but wouldn’t lunge for anything and spent most of the time up on her back legs in protest.  AHHH…. She rears? At least it was on the ground and not under saddle… at least… sort of… yea…

I rode her.  She was unpredictable and not very happy under saddle.  I know, there are no bad horses, only bad riders… yup. Me. I know she felt my fear but I tried all the time not to let anything get to me.  She was patient.  She stood by the mounting block while I hauled my butt over the top… always whacking her on the rump with my out of shape stumps for legs….

She walked.  Gently and quietly.  Don’t ask for a lope….just trot…she was fine.  BUT.. yea well, every so often some ungodly creature would jump out of the fencing and attack her very being… but, I stayed on… each and every time.

Why am I doing this?  I love my barn; I love having friends and just being here… I really don’t have to ride… Dear sweet Elaine… so often she would ask me... “Why do you have a horse... it would be so much better if you just got a Great Dane... easier to handle and you don’t have to ride”  I love her… so blunt and so true… so, I got a Great Dane, two actually…. But I still had a horse... and I was still petrified EVERY time I got on.

Nonetheless... I still tried.  Days, weeks and seasons went by and Dakota and I no better than our first day, but she was my beautiful Paint mare and I was home in a barn with people I loved.

Dakota

I made it through cancer.  I made it through a bilateral mastectomy, chemo and radiation all while raising a teenage girl and nursing an elderly mom… and working full time.

How the hell?  Funny how God only gives you what you can handle.  YA THINK??? 

Well, I handled it and quite well, I must say.  Three years went by and many seasons.  One of the things that helped ease the insanity was spending time with my friends and family and plenty of rest and relaxation in the mountains of Sussex County, NJ where I parked my seasonal RV.  The Sussex County Fair was always a highlight of the Summer Season.  I especially enjoyed the horse events and spent time watching my friends from my barn compete.  For the last three years, though, I didn’t really have any contact with them.  I kind of… disappeared.  I knew that I was done with everything horses and in the banged up shape I was in, I wouldn’t be able to function anyway.  Not that I functioned much before!

I always loved Paint Horses.  I always wanted a black and white Paint horse… but, every good horse person will tell you… never buy on looks or color... it’s what is in the horse’s head that counts.  Oh, how very true that is!  BUT…. That doesn’t mean a person can’t dream of a black and white paint, right?

Right.

On my way home from the Fair, something out of the blue…  A gorgeous black and white paint standing in a field ...roadside….with the shelter of an old broken down red barn in the distance… literally locked eyes with me as I passed in my car.

Like a scene from the bible....the clouds parted…. a huge beam of white light shone on her and choirs of Angels sang the Hallelujah Chorus all on Route 635…Did anyone witness  this incredible heavenly experience?? The horse?? 
Screeching halt… turn around and have another look…..

I jotted down the number on the sign … and called that very moment.  “Yes, she’s for sale.  Would you like to come and take a look?”

NO… OH GOD NO… I can’t do this. What the hell am I doing???     “OK, I will be there tomorrow”.  

Not telling a soul, a day later I pulled up to the barn and together this petite lady and I strolled out to the field where this amazing black and white paint trotted up to me like she was mine.  I led her around, gave her a bath, groomed her long mane and tail and played with her.  In that instance, everything came back to me.  Her full kind eye, her smell,  the feel of a curry brush in my hand circling her striking splash of color was a dream come true…. It was certain that we connected.  Petite barn lady even said…”This horse dose not react this way with anyone.  I am afraid that she has chosen you.”

Yup. We chose each other.  Maybe she is my Satin??
So, Ritchie … checkbook and lead rope in hand, bought me yet another horse… Dakota….

Back to my barn, back to my friends and back to the hay and manure life that I didn’t realize I missed so much.

Oh... and yea… NOPE... I didn’t ride her.  I figured I had plenty of time for that.  She liked being pampered and that’s all I could handle right now… or cared to handle.

Plus, I really can’t ride.

White Star Satin

OK... so Satin was my one true horse.  THE ONE.   She knew the sound of my tires when I pulled up, she ran across the field to me… never hard to catch, easy keeper, nickered when I walked by.  She taught me how to live and how to ride.  She taught me what it is to have mutual love and trust between horse and rider. We took our first and only Grand Champion ribbon together… well, she did all the work!

Long story short, Satin was struck by lightening in a field in Florida where I sent her to be bred and kept while I found a trustworthy trainer and clean barn where they actually FED the horses here, at home in New Jersey.  I learned about her death in a letter with a long full piece of her tail enclosed.  It shook me to the core and that day goes down as one of my very worst.

But this really isn’t about Satin.  Hopefully those of you reading this are or were fortunate enough to have that one horse… if so, and then I don’t need to bore you with details of how great she was.

This is about finding Satin again and the journey it took to get there.

I really don’t want to do this again!

So, after Satin, I gave up. I went through unbelievable and intractable heartache and I knew that I never would do this again.  I would never find a horse like Satin, nor would I ever be able to ride any other horse. 

Years passed. Ritchie (my husband) secretly never gave up his love of horses… or yet, he never gave up on ME riding and getting a horse again. In fact, we argued frequently about our daughter riding…see, she was a ballerina and they don’t look too good in Pointe shoes in a full leg cast!

The short of the story is, we ended up taking a hike in the dead of winter to upstate NY...God’s country,, to look at some quarter horse he found on the internet.  Well, that didn’t work out. Turns out, this 14.1 hand little horse/pony kept following him around literally begging to be out of this horrific, frigid barn … and the saga began.

So, shipping costs, vet check and boarding at some run down barn in Stillwater… here we go again.  Renaming our new baby “Saint” was easy, as it was just Satin’s name all jumbled up! Well, he was anything but that… and, of course, our new barn was just like all the rest. ..Money-hungry, backyard riders who open a barn and call themselves trainers… run down stalls with a breeding ground of thrush and of course, a rock hard outdoor arena that was made for spiral fractures.

Onward to find yet another barn and another person I could entrust my horse to…. I did.  It was beautiful, clean and friendly.  It was there that I met my Barbed Wire Babes… and it was there my heart was opened to actually loving having a horse again.

Saint was small, green and unpredictable.  Of course, not the horse for me… although I think I rode him once or twice…he was nice… but certainly not Satin…

So, we took another adventure to look at a horse with superb western pleasure breeding and conformation to die for! I actually rode her and fell in love instantly.

So, shipping costs, vet check and boarding at our new found paradise …. Saint sold…and new saddles later, I began to ride.  This horse, Sandy... a biter.    HMMMM… took a chunk out of Ritchie and anyone who dared to walk past her stall …hmmm... that’s new…  hyped up on alfalfa, she became unrideable. Not the horse for me… she was nice... but certainly not Satin.

During the course of this, I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer which changed my life forever.  Begging my trainer to sell her and never looked back on my losses, I packed up and went into hibernation for surgery, treatment and healing.

 I was never going to ride again… especially after surgery and especially because I knew I would never find Satin again.

  

Or would I???

Who AM i?

Somewhere between 28 years old and now I have

transformed. I am old and I have weathered many

storms yet the one thing that always brings me home

and soothes my very disheveled and broken spirit is the

smell of the barn and the love in my horse's eyes.

The inspiration to write this blog is tenfold. First and

foremost I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for my

husband, who through all these years supported my

passion emotionally and financially! From the purchase

of my first horse... A 3 month old colt to the cutting

horses we have today...without him, none of this would

be possible. Second...my daughter...Her sense of spirit,

strong will and intense talent has given me the desire to

actually sit down and examine my very self and put my

dreams, heartaches and accomplishments into words.

Next...my trainer(s), Tom Riley and his wife, Courtney...

Tom, a tough, salty old Texas cowboy with a gentle,

patient spirit has given me back my dreams, (much

more on Tom later) and Courtney...a friend, mentor and

source of all knowledge!

And last but not least, my cowgirls... The Barbed Wire

Babes! Sharon, Sue, Donna, Allison, Gail and Laura...

The heart and soul of our barn and the keepers of my sanity.

From Now Till Then...

I am 56 years old...overweight, uncoordinated and a

klutz. I trip on my own spurs (and fall without grace and

poise), I need a mounting block to get on my horse and

if she doesn’t stand perfectly still, the process could take

15 minutes or more! I become unnerved at the core if

my horse spooks, crow-hops or dares to pick up

unwanted speed... And by speed I mean a faster lope

than the usual controlled, Western Pleasure gait a 6

year old child can sit to! I have a death grip on the reins

and my horse's mouth takes the brunt of my paranoia.

After every ride, my dear, patient and quite frustrated

trainer has to undo all the mistakes and destruction I

have caused to my fine-tuned, cutting horse athlete!

Bottom line... I have been riding since I was 28 or so

and despite the weight gain and deep-seeded fear of

falling, I haven't changed a bit. I am still the worst rider

in the barn and will, unfortunately hold that lifelong title!

Personally, I don’t care. . Only I know what’s in my head

and the blocks that keep me from letting go of the reins.

I would love for people to talk behind my back and say

good things, but that’s not human nature. I ride the

perfect horse now who's opinion is the only one that

matters...hers, and of course Tom Riley's.

When did all this start?

Of course, I could start at the beginning... The purchase

of my first horse... A foal... That I could love and train and

raise as my own... REALLY??? Knowing less than

nothing about horses, including but not limited too

sheath cleaning and hoof picking, I thought I could

tackle this venture and end up with a finely tuned "pet".

Wrong!!!

I could also go through the many horses and trainers

that wreaked havoc on my financial status and my emotional

 well-being, from Spook- my 17 hand thoroughbred

who heard the cries of an announcer in his head "and

they're off" at any given unpredicted time, to my black

quarter horse who was "trained" by a fancy-ass quarter

horse trainer who's techniques included a crop and a

bicycle chain resulting in a bad accident that landed me

in the hospital and paralyzed my bladder for a good half

year....but I won’t.

This is about that ONE horse that changes your life

forever...the one that loves, respects and takes care of

you despite all the mistakes and anguish you put it

through. This is about Satin. My ONE horse. All the

others in-between really don’t matter, except, of course,

the ones I have now and the road taken to get to them.

From Western to English to Western again, I have found

scared to death wannabe cowgirls who will and CAN

be!

This is for you...

You... The middle-aged baby-boomer cowgirl with back

fat and midriff bulge! It’s for those of us who long to

perfect our seat and wear a Swarovski crystal studded

hat and "Cowgirl -Tuff" jeans with the same adorned

crystal pockets accentuating our more than generously

padded butts who desperately desire to glide across the

arena in "Stacy Westfall" style!

It’s for those of us, who week after week never learn!

We make the same mistakes over and over again and

are lucky enough to have a forgiving horse and a (most times)

patient trainer who corrects us and fixes the

damage we've done to our horses!

This is for those of us who are lucky enough to torture

ourselves and strap across the back of an 1100 pound

freight train and survive!

Cowgirl up!