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Written by Claire Davies
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 or Cowboys and Quarter Horses
"Begin at the beginning," the King said, gravely, "and go on till you come to the end; then stop."
Sometimes I do feel a little like I fell through the white rabbit's hole into Wonderland! It's now a year since first Jake and then Sam came into my life, and an interesting one at that. Jake is my registered eight year old Quarter Horse gelding. Sam a twenty year old retired (ha!) Arab gelding. Like most people / horse relationships we've had our ups and downs getting to know each other but even more than that, for me, its been like learning everything all over again.
I have had horses before you see, I had a lovely mare just before we emigrated that I was just really getting to know. But having horses in rural England is really very different to having horses in Las Vegas. I mean really, really different!
This is probably one of the most unlikely places to keep a horse that there is. Where I am used to acres of grass paddocks, wooden stables, sweet smelling meadow hay, and plenty of rain and mud, here we are now in the middle of the desert where horses live in pipe corrals, eat alfalfa, and contend with 120 degree heat for four months of the year. Not to mention that riding styles differ rather, along with riding attire. I am not quite the only person riding ‘english' style, but I am often the only person wearing a riding helmet. This is ‘the West' and most people drive pick up trucks and wear cowboy boots, and yes there are plenty of cowboy hats around too. Real western people question how I stay on my ‘little' saddle when it has no horn, and marvel at how I can adjust stirrups and girth while in the saddle.
"Curiouser and curiouser!"
I have friends now in both camps and I like it that way. Most young people at least respect the similarities between the two styles, rather than focusing the differences, and are interested in emphasizing the good points we can learn from each way of training than concentrating on the aspects they don't like. A lot of people like the ‘traditional' way I go about things with my horses and ask about lungeing and applying stable bandages. I am in turn impressed by the relaxed attitude they have around their horses. The reining classes at shows are rather like the western equivalent of dressage, where the horse and rider work as a team, the horse responding to the lightest of aids, demonstrating his strength and athleticism, the rider his balance and control. The trail classes are like our ‘handy pony' classes where the entrants show how they negotiate a course of obstacles without fuss or incident.
Jake was such a ‘cowhorse' when I got him. He even once belonged to a country and western singer. I couldn't afford an English trained horse so I got a horse I liked the look of and hoped we could work things out. It's been a challenge. Sam was retired out of one of the shows on the strip where he would take part in mock jousting and sword fights. They wouldn't continue paying for his melanoma medication at his age. Sam himself thinks he is still a young star and was way too much horse for my nervous novice husband to tackle, fun for me though! He even seems to always want to ‘make an entrance'!
So I still get funny looks when I forget myself and ask for ‘chaff' at the feed store, or refer to a horse trailer as a ‘horsebox'. I still find it odd that rarely do you find a trailer with a ramp, but the horses don't seem to mind. In fact I have known horses to travel on the back of a pick up truck. Then I have had to deal with the distinct lack of grazing and the problems that brings with nutrition and boredom on the horses part. I can't altogether get used to not bedding my horses down in a big stable filled with a deep bed of comfy straw or shavings, but rather a corral with just a dirt floor. Jake always seems intent on getting bedsores as a result too! Not to be deterred I am as we speak converting our inside / outside corral arrangement into an English style stable block (you can take the girl out of England...) but that will bring its own challenges too in terms of muck removal and the heat in the summer.
"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don't much care where--" said Alice.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"--so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."
Most of my horses that I owned in England were small. I liked them that way, we could maneuver under low branches out on hacks, and I could practise my gymkhana games and pretend to be a kid again when no one was looking. Not to mention it was not so far to fall! That's not to say that my peers who towered over me on their leggy mounts didn't tease me. My last instructor and a dear friend would make less and less tactful comments every time we met, beginning with ‘perhaps you're a little underhorsed', and ending with ‘can you get a grown ups horse next time'! Funny thing is that everyone rides little horses here. You even see sizeable guys galloping round on 14.2 hands high quarter horses. My friend rides Arabs who are barely 14 hands high. The cowboy ropers like small and agile mounts, and the cowgirl barrel racers like nimble, fast steeds. Yet now I find myself towering above everyone else on what are considered big horses at 16 hands high.
You see everything has changed! It's been a little like falling through the white rabbit's hole into Wonderland. Oh that reminds me … I'm late for something. Must go, more next time!!!
Quotes are of course by Lewis Carroll
Claire Davies, Copywrite 2001
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