You are born with it. It is probably genetic. You have little genes with chromosomes shaped like horse heads so you can't get rid of it. There is no cure. You either love horses or you don't.
I have it, and I could be called an “old lady” now. I found a picture of my mother, who was one of those prissy southern belles, sitting on her horse Bilbow in a fancy outfit and wearing make-up. I saw the DNA connection. I also found a picture of me on a horse when I was just a little toddler. I called to my husband, “Bill, my parents tried to kill me when I could barely walk. They put me on a bucking horse!” My husband looked at the picture. “Now, Sue, I'm sure he wasn't bucking when they put you on him. You look like you are sitting him really good! I'm proud of you.”
“Are you crazy? Look again, I am terrified.”
“Well maybe you did land on your head and that explains a lot!!” He thought that was hilarious. Actually, my dad would have thought that was hilarious, too.
It is no wonder then that my favorite childhood TV shows were Fury and My Friend Flicka. When I was old enough to ride a bike, I named it Fury. It was black. Everyone in the neighborhood knew Fury. One day my mom got a call from a neighbor.
“Genevieve, Suzie left Fury in my back pasture last night. He's standing out in the rain.” I must have been a forgetful child because my dad had the same complaint.
“Put Fury in the garage, Honey.”
“Fury doesn't live in a garage. He needs a barn,” I replied.
My dad fixed that. He built a little barn in our garage with a dutch door and a hay manger. Fury got a home.
Word started to spread that I had horse fever. It became very easy for folks to buy me a gift. “Buy her a horse.” And so began my horse collection.
I had at least 30 horse figurines on my headboard. One night I must have stretched because all 30 horses fell into bed with me. Hard little hooves gouging me in the face and neck wasn't all that great, but I told everyone it was a wonderful sleepover.
You might be wondering if I ever got a real horse. I grew up in the suburbs of Long Beach, CA, so no, my backyard and city ordinances didn't permit a horse. We did have several riding stables near our home though and that was where I rode—me and the rest of the local kids. We all had a hotline about various horses too, and I will never forget Little Roan. Word on the street was that he was the ride of a lifetime and not for sissies either. Well, it became my life's mission to give him a whirl. I did special chores and saved up my money. One afternoon my mom took me to Circle B Riding Stable for a half-hour ride in their big ring. This cowboy-looking dude came to greet us, and he smiled at my mom. She smiled back.
“So, little lady, you came to ride, huh?”
“Yep, I came for Little Roan.”
The cowboy's expression changed. “How about a nice little palomino mare? All the girls like her.”
“Little Roan,” was my reply. I can only imagine what he was thinking (“got me a little smartie pants, huh?”). He brought out Little Roan, and I mounted up (no helmets back in those days). The cowboy started flirting with my mom, and Little Roan went into the wind, taking me with him. I remember hanging on for dear life as I was forced back into a 45 degree angle. Even at 8 years old, I knew I looked ridiculous, but I couldn't straighten up. Every time I flew by my mom and the cowboy, he would raise his hat not even looking at me. My mom forgot she had a daughter. When I finally got off, that horse and I just looked at each other. We were thinking the same thing. “What in the world was that all about?” Of course, I was the hit of the neighborhood for years because I rode Little Roan and lived to brag about it—which I did.
Fifty years later? I just retired from public education and built a little horse farm. Judging by all the older gals with money, empty nests, and time who are now diving into the equestrian world, I rest my case. Horse fever cannot be cured. It lasts a lifetime, and I can tell you, it fills my soul with love and wonder. YeeHaw!!!!!!
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