A Romantic Ride

Hi Everyone,

I’ve always been a romantic when it comes to horses. As a child I daydreamed about a fictional horse barn near us where the perfect horse would be available for me to ride any time (perfectly free, of course). I never let dreaming get in the way of doing, however. I would muck stalls, feed, teach beginner lessons, anything to earn free rides or just be around the horses in addition to the two lessons a week I was fortunate enough my parents could provide me.

I stopped riding when I turned sixteen and started working to save for college. As an adult I started riding again while in graduate school at Yale. The Equestrian Center was near the playing fields where my then boyfriend, now husband, played football or softball depending on the season. We would go over together when he had a game scheduled and I would ride the edges of the field, always on the lookout for errant balls heading my way.

Eric, my husband, is certainly an animal lover, but nevertheless had absolutely no desire to be on the back of a horse. He would come into the barn to get me and give an absent pat to whatever nose presented itself over the top of a stall door, but that was as close as he got. The only exception I can recall is when a polo pony’s door wasn’t firmly closed and it barreled out. Eric had just come in from playing football and reflexively tackled the pony, who stopped cold and backed right into his stall with Eric’s shoulder against his chest. Handy timing on that one for everyone except the pony.

Still, he wasn’t proof against my plea for a romantic ride on our honeymoon. He agreed, with the firm stipulation that this would be the first and last ride of his life. We honeymooned on Cape Cod and the barn we stopped at found the largest horse they could for Eric, who is six foot two. The found a lovely, gentle giant named King, and Eric dubiously climbed on board. I nearly bit the tongue in two not laughing, but I figured since he was going the extra mile for me to have my romantic fantasy the least I could do was be cooperative.

After a quick lesson on turning left and right, kick to go and pull back to stop (you’d think after years with me he’d know all this but selective hearing at it’s finest had obviously been in play). We had a nice slow walk through the woods with a guide and I loved every minute of it until I turned and saw Eric was no longer behind me. My heart dropped to my stomach and I called out to him. With a huge sigh of relief I heard him call back “We’re fine. We’re on autopilot back here.”

Come to find out King had dropped his head for a few quick bites of grass and Eric was just sitting in the saddle while King had his fill. When we suggested he pull King’s head up, Eric told us “He’s hungry. We’ll be along after he’s had his snack.”

I may not have married a rider, but I sure married a horse lover. When I rode competitively he ran my ribbons around the top of the walls of our den. He would tell people it was the most expensive art in the house (well, actually it was), but he was very proud of ‘his horses’ wins’. We’ve been together over twenty years and he still has a picture of both my horses in his office.

Here’s to all the wonderful supportive horse people’s families!

Cheers,

Mary

www.marypaine.com

A Touch of Whimsy

One of the best aspects of a life lived with horses are the unexpected moments of laugh out loud fun. I’m currently working on a novella celebrating the whimsical side of the horse world. In this work I’m vastly enjoying creating two central characters: Jennifer, a horse crazy eleven year old and her Aunt Susan, who adores Jennifer as much as she fears horses.

When an opportunity comes to gain lessons for Jennifer and a free lease in exchange for working in a local trainer’s barn, Susan gathers her courage and faces her fears. Along the way she makes a few turnkey mistakes, including standing too close to the ring on a muddy day, turning her back on a mischievous lesson horse while a muck bucket is in front of her and trying to convince a mulish mare to move when the horse in question has something else in mind. Of course, the incredibly handsome man boarding at the facility happens to run into her when she has the scent of her misadventures wafting off her and bits and pieces clinging to her hair and clothes.

In creating this story I spent some time thinking about my mother’s role as horse mom. She loves me very much but is definitely not a natural horse person. Although the fear is real her heart is in the right place, as when we were shopping for a horse one cold day. We were considering one who didn’t have a blanket. Mom wanted to go out and buy him one whether we purchased the horse or not. In fact, she fretted about him all evening. For all her warmth and generosity, she was terrified when she was up close and personal with horses. My horse Topper used to love to nuzzle her if he was on the cross-ties and she was sitting on a tack box near enough. Her response was generally “Umm…good boy,” as she scooted out of reach. Since my husband and I didn’t have children at the time, I tried to convince her Topper was sort of like a grandchild, which earned him presents and an occasional pat from a very nervous hand.

Still, love came first and she hung in with me through all the years with horses. One day when I was about eleven I approached a jump from an impossible angle and my poor horse stopped at the base. I, unfortunately, did not stop but managed to grab his neck on my way off. I hung on and careened in a perfect one-hundred eighty degree arc to land on my feet facing his chest with my arms still wrapped around his neck! I figured Mom would be biting her nails, but when I looked over she was sitting on the hood of her car laughing her head off. Of course, so was everyone else at the sight of my long skinny legs sailing through the air and the bewildered look on my mount’s and my faces as we stood facing each other. If he could speak the horse would have said “Dear, you’re supposed to face the other way.” My fictional Jennifer and her aunt have the same experience—I just had to put it in there.

To further the touch of whimsy, the novella takes place on St. Patrick’s Day, which fits in perfectly with the wonderful myths and legends about horses. Of course, for fun I added a leprechaun and some lovable witches, one of whom owns the facility. A talented horse trainer, she keeps her magical interests to herself until one fateful evening. When Susan and Jennifer, along with the very handsome boarder who has his eye on Susan, are trapped at the farm during an ice storm, they encounter this cheerful magical crew planning their Spring Equinox celebration. The chaos is enhanced by a power outage and a thief conspiring to steal a rare Faberge egg. The results are romantic and hilarious!

Now all I need is a great title—not one of my strong suits. In fact, if anyone would like to suggest a title, just put your suggestion in the comments area. I'll pick a winner one week from today and give an autographed copy of A Dangerous Dream away as the prize.

Happy riding.

All the best,
Mary

www.marypaine.com

Keeping the Dream Alive

Welcome to Equestrian Ink, a circle of women with two things on their minds: horses and writing. We come from different places and different states of mind, but our writing spans a wide range of genre within that special niche called "horse fiction." And each of us came to that niche for our own unique reasons.

From the fourth grade on, I'd yearned for a horse. That dream became especially painful when my best friend received a wonderful old Quarter Horse gelding for her eleventh birthday. From then on, I began begging my parents, promising to do anything if I could have a horse of my own. My stern father grew tired of my pleas and announced that the subject was closed--I could not have a horse.

On family outings, I'd lean my head against the car window and gaze at the magnificent rolling foothills of the Cascade Mountains, drumming a galloping beat with my fingers and picturing myself racing across the fields, leaning into my steed's whipping mane. At home, I'd curl up in the window seat with my horse books. King of the Wind. The Black Stallion. National Velvet. Keeping the dream alive. And I began to write fantastical stories about "my horses."

By the time I turned thirteen, I'd given up hope that my dream would ever come true--I was destined to watch from the sidelines. My friend had joined the local 4-H club and, occasionally, I'd be allowed to go with her. It was my only chance to be near the creatures that made my heart thump and my breath come in tiny puffs. The club leader was a wise old horseman who enjoyed being surrounded by horse-crazed kids, and he always made me feel like I belonged to that elite group.

One Saturday, he took me aside. A friend of his had a horse that needed a good home. Was I interested?

Hope and sorrow--what a combination. I could barely speak the words to tell him I'd been forbidden to bring up the subject at home. He gazed at me for a minute, then smiled. He'd take care of it. And he did. Two weeks later, Sonny backed out of a horse trailer and swung around to survey his new home.

Undoubtedly the homeliest horse ever foaled, the rangy 16-hand Tennessee Walker had lop ears, rafter hips, and a nose that must have been the model for Roman. But in the eyes of a horse crazy fourteen-year-old girl, he was as magnificent as Black Beauty or the Godolphin Arabian.

From the day Sonny stepped off the trailer, I was determined to convince my father that letting me have a horse had not been a mistake. Twenty years later, he shook his head in amazement as he watched my small band of Arabian mares grazing on the hill.

"I guess you were serious."

Yes, I was.

I haven't owned horses for many years now, but back when I was mucking stalls and carrying water and sleeping in the hay during foal-watch, my imagination was still astride a galloping horse racing across the hills. It was only a matter of time before I had to put those imaginary rides on paper, give them plots and people and loves and troubles.

Thanks to those dreams, I always have a horse in my heart and a story in my head.

Enjoy the ride while you're here!

Toni

Toni Leland
http://www.tonileland.com
Women's Fiction with Kick
at Romancing the Horse