Dec 7, 2015 3 min read

For the past year, my middle daughter has been asking for a horse. She mostly asked her dad, because she knows that I’m not really a horse person. I don’t dislike horses, I’m just not really that into them, either.

At some point, I suggested a compromise and let her get a fish. It may not seem to be that great of an offer, but I needed to see that her commitment to a living creature would outlast the novelty of saying she had one. And besides, fish food is a lot more cost efficient than horse feed.

Wouldn’t you know it, she fed the fish. She changed his water regularly. She named him Doug. She did all of it with minimal prompting and no yelling, cajoling, begging or threats to rehome him. And she did it for over six months.

So, we bought her a horse. I mean, I didn’t. I’m not that into them, remember? One day, I simply received a phone call from my husband saying he was bringing a horse to the farm. He believed our girl had proven herself ready for the challenge of caring for one.

And to be fair, she has done well. She can now saddle and bridle him on her own to ride, and she exercises him with a lunge line to make sure he gets to expend his energy. She brushes him and feeds him and cleans his hooves. He loves when she comes to the barn, and rubs his face on her shoulders as soon as she enters his stall. I am glad to say that I was wrong about how she would handle him.

Seeing that I was wrong about that, I thought maybe I should reconsider my attitude in general about horses. So, last week I decided I would climb into the saddle and go for a walk. I am not comfortable with heights, and it felt pretty high, but even so, I was determined.

He loves to walk with a rider on board, but even more so, he loves to run. The second we came out of the stall, he began to trot down the driveway at a pace I did not enjoy. My right foot slipped from the stirrup and, as I clung on for dear life, I truly believed I was about to meet Jesus face to face. This, of course, would occur seconds after my face met the pavement.

Neither meeting took place, and I was able to get stopped. I did, however, turn immediately around and head back to the barn. I calmly (questionable description alert) swung my leg back over the way it had come and dismounted. Then I handed the reins to my daughter, who climbed up and went for a lengthy – and speedy – ride.

Perhaps I will try again another day – you know, after his exercise regimen or another rider has momentarily taken care of his galloping desire. But perhaps I won’t, and I will simply enjoy my daughter’s delight in her bond with the horse.

I’m into that every day of the week.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.