hunterseat df: Hunter Seat Equitation is a division that is judged on the ability and the style of the rider. The riders can be judged both over fences and on the flat.
Although true, hunters DO eat, at least the skilled ones do, my name derives from the world of horses.
And because the word hunter is in my name, people automatically think I'm a guy. Not even close.
Whenever I meet someone named Hunter I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying "That's my name, too!"
Although true, hunters DO eat, at least the skilled ones do, my name derives from the world of horses.
And because the word hunter is in my name, people automatically think I'm a guy. Not even close.
Whenever I meet someone named Hunter I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying "That's my name, too!"
My Old Kentucky Home
I don’t know if I ever told you, but I have horses. Do you picture a serene landscape of rolling pasture and a red barn with a weather vane atop a cupola? White board fences and sunny skies? Do you imagine my finances being in the 6 digits? At least? I know, right? That’s what it all should be but this is reality.
Several years ago I was much like many women in their 40’s. I grew up riding horses and loved horses. School, career and family separated me from my equine passion until the kids got old enough to be trusted for as long as it took to groom, saddle and ride down a trail. I figured this was a good time to get a horse.
My favorite horse is a Thoroughbred. I’ve ridden plenty of ex-racehorses. And never felt safe on any of them. Not their fault. Just too much horse for me. As I studied racehorse rescue sites I stumbled upon the harness racers. Standardbreds. Hmm. Each adoption site had photo after photo of horses that needed homes. I began scribbling down names of the ones that “spoke to me”. (Women, you know what I mean. Guys, don’t roll your eyes.)
Once on a trip I pulled into the hotel parking lot next to a horse hauler. The man was in his truck with his door open. I rolled down my window and jokingly told him he could drop off one of those horses at my house. Come to find out he had a trailer full of Standardbreds. Although he couldn’t give me one, he raved about the breed, claiming they were people horses and I couldn’t go wrong with a Standardbred. That pretty much cemented it in my heart. I started searching in earnest.
I got approved to adopt, pending the purchase of my 4 acre “ranchette” and as soon as it closed, the horses were on the way. There was one for me, one for my son and an extra one that needed a forever home who couldn’t be ridden. Yes. Three. Three very large horses. So large, in fact, that when the trailer pulled up to my house and I stood there looking up at the biggest heads I’d ever seen on horses I had a near panic attack. It occurred to me I hadn’t been a horse owner since I was 16. Thirty years later, I have three. WHAT WAS I THINKING??!!
Too late. I tried to play it cool. I chose my favorite and struck out in the dark to show him the fenceline. By the time we made it around the pasture, the haulers thought I’d gotten lost, the horse thought I was trying to kill it and I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, this was a great horse. He passed up all those opportunities to hurt me as I stumbled along, once falling with my nose to his back foot only to discover his head had slipped under the electric fence strand which was now across the top of his head scorching his hair. I could smell it. But he stood, stock still. As opposed to killing me as many would have chosen to do.
Well we all survived and had years of fun. A career change brought about several moves and I found a long-term place to board them in the rolling hills of Kentucky. My biggest one won over ¾ of a million in his career at the expense of his health. He was programmed like a machine, never knowing love and affection and normal horse behavior. Because of a bum leg he was never ridable but he learned to enjoy being a pasture ornament. Even got himself a girlfriend. He passed away quietly in his sleep. Probably the only thing he ever did quietly. I have some great memories of him but that’s another story. My second biggest horse was starved by a previous adopter and, unbeknownst to anyone, was slowly going blind. I visited Kentucky recently and got a chance to love on the old boy. He’s well into his 20’s now. He has a safe pasture with a companion, a cute little mare who puts up with his grumpiness. My smallest horse is still pretty big. He’s the one I chose for his color, against everything I’ve ever been advised. I always thought he’d kill me until I realized that, for all his craziness and play-drive, nothing he did was ever against me. I was just along for the ride and that was okay with him. I hope to have a place one day so I can bring him home and spend time every day with him. But for now he has a herd of his own. A kicked back group of older guys who don’t mind him bossing them around. He loves Kentucky.
God was good enough to allow these creatures into my life. I am so thankful they are safe and healthy. I wish the same for all horses.
Several years ago I was much like many women in their 40’s. I grew up riding horses and loved horses. School, career and family separated me from my equine passion until the kids got old enough to be trusted for as long as it took to groom, saddle and ride down a trail. I figured this was a good time to get a horse.
My favorite horse is a Thoroughbred. I’ve ridden plenty of ex-racehorses. And never felt safe on any of them. Not their fault. Just too much horse for me. As I studied racehorse rescue sites I stumbled upon the harness racers. Standardbreds. Hmm. Each adoption site had photo after photo of horses that needed homes. I began scribbling down names of the ones that “spoke to me”. (Women, you know what I mean. Guys, don’t roll your eyes.)
Once on a trip I pulled into the hotel parking lot next to a horse hauler. The man was in his truck with his door open. I rolled down my window and jokingly told him he could drop off one of those horses at my house. Come to find out he had a trailer full of Standardbreds. Although he couldn’t give me one, he raved about the breed, claiming they were people horses and I couldn’t go wrong with a Standardbred. That pretty much cemented it in my heart. I started searching in earnest.
I got approved to adopt, pending the purchase of my 4 acre “ranchette” and as soon as it closed, the horses were on the way. There was one for me, one for my son and an extra one that needed a forever home who couldn’t be ridden. Yes. Three. Three very large horses. So large, in fact, that when the trailer pulled up to my house and I stood there looking up at the biggest heads I’d ever seen on horses I had a near panic attack. It occurred to me I hadn’t been a horse owner since I was 16. Thirty years later, I have three. WHAT WAS I THINKING??!!
Too late. I tried to play it cool. I chose my favorite and struck out in the dark to show him the fenceline. By the time we made it around the pasture, the haulers thought I’d gotten lost, the horse thought I was trying to kill it and I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, this was a great horse. He passed up all those opportunities to hurt me as I stumbled along, once falling with my nose to his back foot only to discover his head had slipped under the electric fence strand which was now across the top of his head scorching his hair. I could smell it. But he stood, stock still. As opposed to killing me as many would have chosen to do.
Well we all survived and had years of fun. A career change brought about several moves and I found a long-term place to board them in the rolling hills of Kentucky. My biggest one won over ¾ of a million in his career at the expense of his health. He was programmed like a machine, never knowing love and affection and normal horse behavior. Because of a bum leg he was never ridable but he learned to enjoy being a pasture ornament. Even got himself a girlfriend. He passed away quietly in his sleep. Probably the only thing he ever did quietly. I have some great memories of him but that’s another story. My second biggest horse was starved by a previous adopter and, unbeknownst to anyone, was slowly going blind. I visited Kentucky recently and got a chance to love on the old boy. He’s well into his 20’s now. He has a safe pasture with a companion, a cute little mare who puts up with his grumpiness. My smallest horse is still pretty big. He’s the one I chose for his color, against everything I’ve ever been advised. I always thought he’d kill me until I realized that, for all his craziness and play-drive, nothing he did was ever against me. I was just along for the ride and that was okay with him. I hope to have a place one day so I can bring him home and spend time every day with him. But for now he has a herd of his own. A kicked back group of older guys who don’t mind him bossing them around. He loves Kentucky.
God was good enough to allow these creatures into my life. I am so thankful they are safe and healthy. I wish the same for all horses.
Total Comments 4
Comments
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Great story. Glad you post it.Posted 02-13-2015 at 07:56 AM by MARIE2015
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Great story.
Posted 02-13-2015 at 07:57 AM by MARIE2015
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Thanks for the encouragement!!Posted 02-13-2015 at 04:36 PM by hunterseat
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I love Kentucky and I love thoroughbreds!
I am a thoroughbred bloodstock agent and sales adviser. I help like-minded owners and breeders challenge the status-quo of commercial speculation by breeding or buying better racehorses via extensive pedigree analysis, physical evaluation and results-driven experience.
https://www.bloodstock-agent-ky.comPosted 04-27-2020 at 01:19 PM by shepherdc
