CALL ME A HIPPOPHILE, NOT A HIPPIE!!

I’m not going to lie to you.  I really love horses.  I love the way they smell, the way they move and the way they look.  I love being alone in a barn where the only sound is that of horses eating their grain and hay.  I take great pleasure in grooming or just leaning on a fence and watching them in the pasture.  I’m not so fond of cleaning tack, or for that matter, riding.

Like so many others, the barn is my refuge. 

Horses distract me from the stresses of everyday life, and I need the distraction.  Not to say that my life is bad; I’m a pretty normal gal, work hard, and like to get away from work to recharge my batteries. My horse listens when I talk to him, and I have convinced myself that he finds me to be fascinating. I find my creative side, clarity and peace in his response.  There is a kinship between us, real or imagined. I feel unbridled resentment when anybody brings nastiness into my carefully created refuge. 

I do enjoy watching others compete and certainly understand the drive to win. I successfully exercise that drive in other areas of my life. The partnerships that were formed to own promising horses or to breed my mare were an attempt to satisfy my need for a closer relationship with horses.  Unfortunately the partnerships were formed with people who represented their own needs as being complimentary to mine, but as time went on it became evident that the only needs that they were concerned about were their own.