Thank God for Being Broke

 I grew up with horses. There's photos of us, standing in a circle with a bunch of other rascals, with Mr. Green Country, "our" race horse. I have no memory of it, except for the time we visited the jockey's house. Maybe bunkhouse would be more accurate. All I remember is thinking, "Man, this guy is LIVING THE LIFE!" but I'm not even certain why I thought that. I just had this idea, that this guy's lack of belongings kind of added up to him being so dedicated and so in love with riding a wild spirit really, REALLY fast was the beginning and end of his world. And, dang! that's cool. There's no fame there, like the breeders and owners have, just a love for doing what would be terrifying for most, a deep love and respect for the horses, the knowledge that this critter is just as mystical as any critter, maybe more so.

  I wanted a horse again, but dared not even dream it. For so much time I was going paycheck to paycheck, trying to afford rent in cities, unable to own a horse myself. I applied to scoop poop for Wayne Newton. He's got a ranch in SW Las Vegas, with a bunch of Arabians. I didn't get it. Then I applied to take out trail rides in the desert, just west of Red Rocks, an ancient spiritual site for the Paiute, whose land gets increasingly taken to make Las Vegas bigger. And bigger. And bigger. Sure, the city occasionally salutes the Paiute by putting their symbols and pictures on the concrete around viaducts and highway walls. I bet the Paiute love that, said no one ever, except the people who conceptualized it. Their hearts could have been in the right place, the execution was just a bit stupid. I got that job, but ended up leaving quickly when I found myself a target of the cowboys who were "so excited" to go out horse camping with a woman. I had a BAD feeling about that.

  Mom had always wanted horses so badly, she spent all her time studying Paint and Quarter horse bloodlines until she manifested raising Paints of her own. There's a thing in Paints that I don't know of in any other breed: occasionally you have a lethal white. If the colt or filly comes out without any spots, just solid white, it will die within 24 hours. We had two. The first was when I was about 8, and when I was told it would die, I laid on the ground next to it, and it laid across my lap. I just sat there, crying and petting her. Those are the moments in life when you HAVE to surrender control to the Great Spirit, God, the Universe, or whatever anyone calls it. It's painful, but there's always grace in it.

  Last year my birthday was coming up, and I wanted to go watch an auction. I thought it was just going to be the standard auction, emus and chickens, small livestock, critters I'd never seen before, so I just wanted to go see. See if I could meet an emu. We didn't have internet then, so I didn't realize it was to be a horse sale until the day before, and I slyly looked at Mike, a horse lover himself, and said, "Soooooo maybe we will find a horse?!" I was shocked that he was all in. I hadn't considered it a possibility. We didn't even have all the fence done yet.

  I found this adorable little gelding named Cashew and he was the ONE. I knew I had to find a sorrel, because color/spots/pattern sells HIGH right now, because of a recent influx of new horse owners probably brought on by people watching Yellowstone and thinking, "Ooooh, that sounds fun." I hope they get it. I see the market plummeting when some of them realize what it really takes to own a horse, the amount of work, the fact that they're constantly getting themselves into some kind of craziness, and knowing when to call the vet and when to let 'er go. That can get REALLY expensive if you don't know which is which. And the internet just fights about what you should do in any given situation. It's one of the things it's best at.

  Cashew walked around on a loose rein, through crowds unfettered, past the trailers and next to the interstate. He was as easy a horse as has ever been. I desired such a horse. He was the horse I had been trying to manifest. He came into the pen at the sale, I threw up my hand a few times, then he went higher than we had that day, and they still no-saled him (if a horse doesn't bring what you want, the owner can "no sale" it and take it back home until they find a better buyer). I went out and talked to them about what they'd take for him. No less than 3,500. Well, we had 1,300 because I needed to keep our small amount of savings intact in case we needed to call a vet at some point, and in order to have enough for feed, hay, the rest of the fence, and a small barn, oh, and of course a good horse shoer.  This shit adds up, man, don't buy one of these unless it's really your bliss. "Horse poor" is truly a thing.

  The gal I was talking to was a trader, and she said, "What can you spend?" and I told her, more or less a little embarrassed. She said, "Go see Sonata. We can let her go for that." Oh, sweet relief. So I'm standing next to this HUGE red mare she tells me came from a dressage lesson barn, petting her, looking at her soft eye, rubbing her belly and legs to gauge her reaction to it, to see if she will agree to come home with me, after living in a temperature controlled barn her whole life, with the best of the best grain, the best hay, the nicest stables, but, as I found out 30 days later, the WORST owners.

  I'm not mad at that trader. I'd put a huge bet on the fact that she didn't realize the horse had a 30 day tranquilizer in her. I'd figure that out when she went into the first of TWO withdrawals, first from that tranq and second, I'm guessing, from the drugs they had been using to keep her on her feet. They drugged her for years, to keep her working for them, making them lessons money. They lost everything, and I for one am glad. They should never own another horse as far as I'm concerned. Drug her, use her up, make her legs and feet worse by making her work when she's in pain, instead of addressing the pain head on. A weak jerk drugs a horse to get out of them what they want, then throws HER AWAY after she can't do her job anymore. I spit in your general direction, you PIG DOG! There's no quick fixes in life, or horses.

  They can tell you anything on an auction, and I'd never bought a horse on one for that reason. She came into the pen and they "red lighted" her, which means she wasn't guaranteed sound (bad feet), and I thought twice about bidding, but mystical creatures can heal. That much I know. When the drugs wore off, she started getting incredibly aggressive with me, and I'd never had a horse do that. She pinned her ears one day, and jumped directly onto the deck of our house, right at me. She'd been aggressive before, but when Mike saw that one, he tried to forbid me to go in with her for a while. 

  At that moment, I was trying to accept a diagnosis of lifelong epilepsy, and adjusting to understanding what's happening to you when you suddenly leave the planet and visit outer space, well, it takes a bunch of mental adjustment. My mare checks me. I have to be an absolute leader, or she'll call me out. Horses will ALWAYS hold you accountable. That's the best thing about them. It was the thing I hadn't realized, having mostly been on a bunch of kid safe geldings. But I see it now, she her now. She's a warrior, like me. An old dull gelding would have ended up being a total bummer for me. I didn't get what I thought I wanted, but thank GOD I was broke enough to end up with exactly the horse I needed.

  The shoer, who I'll never be able to thank enough for his dedication and knowledge, is pretty sure all this foot and leg stuff will be evened out by spring. Can't wait for SPRING! It was a long wait, but so worth it. I don't know JACK about dressage, only that it's really beautiful to watch and I get misty seeing it on YouTube, not because of the military clothes, the tight pants or the tall boots, but for the amount of communication and connection it takes to do it. It's like my trainer used to say... "If you can do dressage, you can do ANYTHING with a horse." 

  He was the trainer of my life. I learned so much more from him than horses and riding. He took dressage lessons, even as a trainer who was winning World Championships in Western Riding. If you asked him, he'd tell you that's why he's doing so well with western riding competitions. He learned the most beautiful lead changes from his dressage lessons. Everyone always stopped and really watched when he went into the area to do western riding. It's a set course with a bunch of flying lead changes, around cones. It was the most effortless thing you've ever watched. His hands never move to direct the horse around the cones. He tells it everything with just his legs, giving a signal when the change is about to come. Most people go into the class with simple lead changes (trotting between) or worse, so much worse, they yank the head this way and that, forcing the horse's shoulder into the lead change. It looks ugly and awful, and it's generally the mark of a person who doesn't know that riding is a conversation, not a kidnapping.

  The difference between a kidnapping and a conversation with a horse is MASSIVE, once people understand connecting, they'll never go back to "Thou shalt bend to my will or else" training. At least I'd hope.

Here's Sonata, a Warmblood without papers, a horse that was thrown away after brutal use, who's stopped brutalizing me, after I explained to her that I was having a hard time, but working through it. Now she puts her head down, blows gently out, and tell me "thanks for being broke, dude. Your brokeness and your brokenness has found me in a new life where I get understood rather than BROKEN." Me too, horse. Me TF too.

  We figured out her dressage credentials actually weren't a lie. Mike and I were standing outside with her when lightning struck the pasture across from us. She came into this huge glorious trot, throwing her feet like I've only seen in YouTube videos, and Mike and I both looked at each other at the same time and went, "WHOA!" I wished I'd had that moment on video. Soon enough I'll digest enough of these YouTube tutorials to know how to cue that, not just witness it. And that will be CONNECTION.