One day, years ago, I asked my mother – When did I start liking horses?  She looked at me and thought for a moment.  Then she said “I don’t know, you just always liked them since you were a baby.”

Now you must understand, I was raised in a third floor apartment building in Brooklyn.  I never had any contact with horses when I was a baby.  Of course when I was around five my father took me to the pony track, and that started my riding career.  Life for my parents went down hill from there.  It was always, why can’t I have a pony?  My mother would always ask how I was going to get him up all those stairs.  Her next question would be, where are you going to keep him?  My child’s mind simply replied – I’ll teach him to climb steps, and keep him in the bathroom (in the tub it would be easier to clean up after him).  On Sundays, if we didn’t go to the pony track, I would ask my wonderfully patient father to go to Prospect Park and we would watch people riding by.  Sometimes he would take me for a walk through the barn.  Oh, I loved the different smells of the stable.

Every once in a while a junk wagon, or fruit and vegetable wagon, would come down our street.  In the 50’s they were still pulled by a horse.  I would stand on the sidewalk and watch until they were out of sight, knowing that someday, I would have a horse of my own. There was one black and white pinto that I was absolutely in love with, and to this day, every time I see a black and white pinto/paint I will think of that illusive horse that I dreamed I would own.

Of course, in the 50’s, we had tons of Westerns and horse programs on TV.  Needless to say, I watched every single one of them just to see the horses.  I knew every name and color of those mystical, magical animals, who were calling to me.

My first husband grew up with work horses.  He was a wonderful horseman, and taught me so much about the care, but he really had enough of the work involved.  Even though I had started riding before I met him, he encouraged me to have horses and show.

My second husband had ridden as a child and decided that horses really didn’t like him, but he supported me, my horses, teaching, and Fox Hunting.  When he decided to learn to ride and hunt, my mother stood there, shaking her head, and said “well I guess you are never going to grow out of this” and she was right.

Think back, for some of you like me, really far back.  When did you first realize that you loved horses?  If your mother or father is still alive, maybe you could ask them.  What triggered it, if anything?

Yes all teenage girls go through the horse-crazy stage, but for some of us, it’s a life long passion.  Something we were born with, and will probably die with.

Perhaps there is a certain gene that some people receive at birth.  My parents weren’t horse people, but maybe way back in my family tree there was someone who had the love, and passion that I possess.

Are there hoof prints leading up to someone very special in your family tree?  Some of us will never know, and some of us really don’t care.  We know that horses are part of our being, and it doesn’t matter how or why.

What really is the point of this post?  I don’t know.  Perhaps someday, someone will find a gene that points to our obsession, or maybe God just decided that we should connect with one of His special creatures, to love and care for them, and even bring us closer to Him.

Bottom line is – just enjoy the gift of spending your time with a horse.  Or as the old saying goes, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” (Of course we all know that saying actually means, if someone gives you a horse don’t look at his teeth to know how old it is). Just say Thank You to whomever helped you on your way.

Thank You!