Horses. Man, I really love them. They bring out something in me, an emotion that I cannot quite describe. They have this Spirit about them, something free and untamable. They are noble, even in the meanest of positions. When I see them broken and forced about mundane tasks, I get upset. The horses forced to plod around carrying "star-crossed lovers" in carriages about downtown-- forced to breathe in pollution and exhaust because someone thinks they are "cute." I get upset. It goes against the notion that I have in my mind…to explain I must backtrack.
As a child my parents did not allow a television in the house; they felt that we needed to get more out of our childhood than a stories about purple dinosaurs and superheroes could teach us. Instead we played outside and were taken to the local library twice a week. I remember reading all the normal children's books: princesses and princes, cowboys and Indians, fairy tails, fantasy worlds, books that taught morals, books about nonsense, etc, etc. But the books that stand out the most were those about horses. As I grew older and started to read "chapter books," my copy of Black Beauty became worn out. Soon I had read every single one of Louis L'Amour's books. I loved the thrill of the cowboys and their trusty horses, fighting for what was just and right across the wild western landscape. My imagination was further fuel by my mother's numerous accounts of her own childhood growing up on a farm/ranch. As far back as she could remember she and her cousin (who lived with them) had always spent their free moments "roaming the land" atop their own horses. My grandmother teases that my mother could ride before she walked. My mother retold the stories of sneaking out late at night to get a last minute ride through the pastures and of the long afternoons spent somewhere on their land, no one but her and her horse- BJ. I longed to experience these adventures for myself, but growing up in the city left me no chances to fulfill these dreams.
I distinctly remember my first experience atop a horse. When I was still very young, probably five or six, a co-worker and friend of my father invited our family to a bar-b-que at his house. His family owned two horses: Nosey and Prissy. After begging all afternoon, he finally saddled up his horses and allowed all the children to take turns riding. All of this story has been told to me afterwards. The only memory I have of the experience is of sitting in my mother's lap while the horse was moving. I remember my amazement at the horse's mane and strong neck. I was later told that after riding the horse I stood by the fence all afternoon long, refusing to move and staring at the horses. My mom tells me that I spent the entire afternoon (long after all the other children gave up and found other pursuits) trying to coax the horses to eat grass out of my hands. I faintly remember climbing on the coral fence and calling to the horses, trying desperately to my the clucking sound my father's friend had to bring the stubborn horses closer. I remember more than anything the amazement that they brought to my child's mind. They seemed majestic and powerful, yet gentle and friendly. That is the impression I have held ever since.
My second experience with horses was unfortunately not so nice. I was on my morning run through a nearby park and trail and decided to take a different route. I found that it ran alongside the edge of a private field that contained a horse. The horse was actually at the edge of the fence reaching out trying to eat the grass on the other side of his barrier. When I came around the corner and saw him I decided to help him out. I picked a handful of the luscious green grass he was stretching for and held it out for him. Not a good idea. He ate the grass and my hand. I doubt he meant to, but my hand had bruised for weeks. Note to self: do not approach strange horses…
Thankfully my last experience with horses was much better. My mom took my little sister, one of her friends, and me to ride horses at a stable out at the BLORA recreation center close to our home in Temple. There they have horse that have been rescued from abusive owners and nursed back to health. The horses are used to give tours of the Lake Belton area. This is the only time in my adult life that I have actually been able to ride. It was amazing. The horse I rode was named Canyon. He was a desert sand color. The thing that stands out the most is all the different horses' personalities. They were all their own person. Although they allowed you to ride them, the only person they really listened to was their owner, a middle-aged Indian man. He treated them with respect but expected them to mind his every command, and they did-- gladly. Despite the abuse each horse had endured at an earlier point in their life, the Indian gentleman had restored them to their original noble position and given them a position they were proud to carry out.
These experiences are a far cry from how Dobie describes the herds of wild mustangs "leaping and curvetting," [1] running "wild and beautiful," [2] "only fenced by the Rocky Mountains and the Alleghenies." [3] The horses we see today are tame and broken to the will of man. They are rode by those who can afford to have them. The cowboys and mustangs of the past are gone, never again will the stories of those long ago campfires be seen in today's world. A movie depricting this transition in our culture was "Spirit," an animated showing of how a horse may have precieved the events that lead to the capture of almost all wild horses.
Today, some horses have it easy, others are unfortunately mistreated and when dead are sent to the glue factories and slaughterhouses. No longer are horses allowed to make the long journey to their "querencia" to die or to foal in their "place." [4] Horses are now kept in stables, pens, and fields. They are fenced in by man, yet they have retained their Spirit and nobility throughout the years. Do they still have the longing to run free? To run and run without meeting a fence? Do they still have their ancestor's instincts as well as their noble look? If they do, what right do we have to cage them?
_______________________________
NOTES:
[1] X: 849
[2] X: 852
[3] X: 856
[4] X: 852
As a child my parents did not allow a television in the house; they felt that we needed to get more out of our childhood than a stories about purple dinosaurs and superheroes could teach us. Instead we played outside and were taken to the local library twice a week. I remember reading all the normal children's books: princesses and princes, cowboys and Indians, fairy tails, fantasy worlds, books that taught morals, books about nonsense, etc, etc. But the books that stand out the most were those about horses. As I grew older and started to read "chapter books," my copy of Black Beauty became worn out. Soon I had read every single one of Louis L'Amour's books. I loved the thrill of the cowboys and their trusty horses, fighting for what was just and right across the wild western landscape. My imagination was further fuel by my mother's numerous accounts of her own childhood growing up on a farm/ranch. As far back as she could remember she and her cousin (who lived with them) had always spent their free moments "roaming the land" atop their own horses. My grandmother teases that my mother could ride before she walked. My mother retold the stories of sneaking out late at night to get a last minute ride through the pastures and of the long afternoons spent somewhere on their land, no one but her and her horse- BJ. I longed to experience these adventures for myself, but growing up in the city left me no chances to fulfill these dreams.
I distinctly remember my first experience atop a horse. When I was still very young, probably five or six, a co-worker and friend of my father invited our family to a bar-b-que at his house. His family owned two horses: Nosey and Prissy. After begging all afternoon, he finally saddled up his horses and allowed all the children to take turns riding. All of this story has been told to me afterwards. The only memory I have of the experience is of sitting in my mother's lap while the horse was moving. I remember my amazement at the horse's mane and strong neck. I was later told that after riding the horse I stood by the fence all afternoon long, refusing to move and staring at the horses. My mom tells me that I spent the entire afternoon (long after all the other children gave up and found other pursuits) trying to coax the horses to eat grass out of my hands. I faintly remember climbing on the coral fence and calling to the horses, trying desperately to my the clucking sound my father's friend had to bring the stubborn horses closer. I remember more than anything the amazement that they brought to my child's mind. They seemed majestic and powerful, yet gentle and friendly. That is the impression I have held ever since.
My second experience with horses was unfortunately not so nice. I was on my morning run through a nearby park and trail and decided to take a different route. I found that it ran alongside the edge of a private field that contained a horse. The horse was actually at the edge of the fence reaching out trying to eat the grass on the other side of his barrier. When I came around the corner and saw him I decided to help him out. I picked a handful of the luscious green grass he was stretching for and held it out for him. Not a good idea. He ate the grass and my hand. I doubt he meant to, but my hand had bruised for weeks. Note to self: do not approach strange horses…
Thankfully my last experience with horses was much better. My mom took my little sister, one of her friends, and me to ride horses at a stable out at the BLORA recreation center close to our home in Temple. There they have horse that have been rescued from abusive owners and nursed back to health. The horses are used to give tours of the Lake Belton area. This is the only time in my adult life that I have actually been able to ride. It was amazing. The horse I rode was named Canyon. He was a desert sand color. The thing that stands out the most is all the different horses' personalities. They were all their own person. Although they allowed you to ride them, the only person they really listened to was their owner, a middle-aged Indian man. He treated them with respect but expected them to mind his every command, and they did-- gladly. Despite the abuse each horse had endured at an earlier point in their life, the Indian gentleman had restored them to their original noble position and given them a position they were proud to carry out.These experiences are a far cry from how Dobie describes the herds of wild mustangs "leaping and curvetting," [1] running "wild and beautiful," [2] "only fenced by the Rocky Mountains and the Alleghenies." [3] The horses we see today are tame and broken to the will of man. They are rode by those who can afford to have them. The cowboys and mustangs of the past are gone, never again will the stories of those long ago campfires be seen in today's world. A movie depricting this transition in our culture was "Spirit," an animated showing of how a horse may have precieved the events that lead to the capture of almost all wild horses.
Today, some horses have it easy, others are unfortunately mistreated and when dead are sent to the glue factories and slaughterhouses. No longer are horses allowed to make the long journey to their "querencia" to die or to foal in their "place." [4] Horses are now kept in stables, pens, and fields. They are fenced in by man, yet they have retained their Spirit and nobility throughout the years. Do they still have the longing to run free? To run and run without meeting a fence? Do they still have their ancestor's instincts as well as their noble look? If they do, what right do we have to cage them?
_______________________________
NOTES:
[1] X: 849
[2] X: 852
[3] X: 856
[4] X: 852
