Horse Crazy by Susan Kiernan-Lewis Read Free Book Online Page B

two are ever necessary. No matter what you're
doing or what kind of horse you have, you only ever really need the
loose-ring snaffle or the full-cheek twisted snaffle. The rest is
rubbish." (Horse people often prefer English terms to coarse Yank
ones, like "garbage" or "no good.")
    The same and incredibly pervasive school of
thought that says all you need is a loose-ring snaffle usually goes
on to point out that if you use anything stronger, you're ruining
the horse out of laziness, meanness, ignorance and all-around
insufficiency as a human being.
    A heavyset young woman, her chubby arms
crossed in front of her chest, advising a young woman and her
daughter intent on buying the girl's first saddle while the
saleswoman looks on.
    "Never buy a deep seat saddle. Never. There
never is a need for one. Ever. See all these deep seat saddles in
this showroom? Useless. Just waiting for someone to throw their
money away."
    To the brand-new rider, who doesn't own a
horse but wanted to start taking lessons, a large, red-faced man,
in full hunting pinks, wagged his crop at an incomprehensible
tangle of leather straps and buckles on a table and huffed, "Before
you buy anything else, you need to pick up a set of side reins.
Before your hard hat, before your boots. Side reins. Absolutely
imperative if you're to start riding correctly. And then, of
course, the lunge line must be your next purchase."
    A woman in her early forties, with pinched
face and blood-red lips, explained to her companion--who, by her
attire and athletic body, looked as if she'd done a considerable
amount of riding herself,
    "If you go out to the pasture, my dear, and
you want to catch your horse, you should bring him a carrot."
    The woman looked at her companion with
emphasis and then continued. "And if you do this on a regular
basis, he will soon get used to the idea of your coming out there
to give him this carrot," she paused to see if this was all sinking
in, "and will, in time, allow himself to be caught by you."
    The evident self-satisfaction with which this
statement was uttered is a classic example of the extreme pleasure
that horse people receive for their jewels of equestrian
wisdom.
    A horse person will always have an answer
with no hems, haws, hedgings, or maybes.
    "If his shoulder slopes, forget it. You'll
never get a decent canter and you can't jump him."
    "I saw your horse, Bitsy, and he was covered
in snow."
    "I hope you didn't brush it off, it'll help
insulate him and keep him warm."
    "Gosh, no, I'd never do anything so dumb. But
I did put Furozone on a little cut he had so he wouldn't attract
sharks."
    "There's not a horse living I can't train,
ride, break, or teach to use a knife and fork."
    "It's common knowledge that horses hate
baths. Forget that they're hot and sweaty after a twelve-mile trail
ride in 90° heat. Turning that tepid or cool hose on them will be
most unwelcome. Will literally, in some cases, make their skin
crawl." (The horse, keen to throw us off the scent, will
occasionally romp in a pond and splash it up with his
horse-friends. And while it's true that to the untrained eye they
may look like they're enjoying it, as any true horse person will
tell you, they'd really rather be in Pittsburgh licking labels at
an Alpo plant.)
    A respected Georgia horse trainer once idly
related to me a not uncommon scene that had occurred out in her
pasture. Her favorite hacking horse had been rudely chased off by
one of the more dominant herd horses. The chastised horse then
trotted, one may assume unhappily, over to the trainer who was
standing by the fence.
    "I said to him, I said: 'Walking Star! Don't
let him do that to you! You have every right to be in this pasture.
Do you hear me? Why are you such a big baby?' Well, naturally, he
didn't answer me."
    "He didn't?" I asked innocently.
    "Why, no." Pause. "Don't be ridiculous."
     
    I heard another trainer in a crowded tack
shop explain to her friends that she had been working with a
bloody-minded