I Am the Horse Girl

I didn’t call to the horses. They called to me.

I was born to love them. My first dreams were of horses; when I was still in my crib I would wake with visions of prancing ponies in my head. My first word, much to my mother’s confusion, was “horsey.” We lived between Interstate 95 and the railroad tracks – no ponies in sight – why would “horsey” come before “Mama?” Or even “train?”

When I was 3-years old, I taught myself how to read using Dr. Suess’ One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish. I was driven to learn so I could read our book, which had a cover engraving of a little girl riding a pony. It was titled, “All Around the Neighborhood.” Oh, to be the little girl riding her pony around the block! When I could finally read it, I was devastated to discover there was not a single horse story between its covers. (I have not yet recovered, and this happened in 1964. . . inaccurate book covers should be banned and burned!)

I endlessly begged my Daddy to take me for pony rides. On Sunday mornings in Southport, Connecticut, they could be had a few miles away, 25 cents for three laps around a small ring. It happened so seldom, but when it did, it was the only time I felt completely happy and complete, five minutes of bliss . . . and I believed my being there did the same for the ponies. Horse girls and people ponies recognize and need each other!

Why are there horse girls? Some people say it’s a genetic predisposition, but I never knew of another in my family. However . . . I have some insider information about this; ponies, contrary to popular belief, are not born of little girls’ wishes. Horse girls are born of the wishes of ponies. THEY NEED US MORE THAN WE NEED THEM! (Which, to a horse girl, seems impossible as how could anyone need anything as much as we need horses? Really . . . HOW???)

Thousands of years ago, humans began domesticating horses. Over the centuries we tamed them and made them completely dependent upon us. We created domesticated horses, and now they need us to love and protect them from the bad people who would hurt them, and those bad people are legion (visit a livestock auction and watch terrified ponies load onto the trailers headed to Mexico and Canada and certain death – you will never be the same.)

The horses choose their horse girls long before we are born, en utero. They gently kiss us with the softest of noses, a feeling we never forget and always crave, then tap us with a tiny hoof and anoint us with the sweet perfume of horse sweat. They declare we are one of them, then trot away to leave us to our gestation while we dream of a sunny, grassy hillside where we are surrounded by grazing ponies.

We are born searching for long noses and soft eyes. We sniff the air for pony-scent and instead are greeted by talcum powder and brewing coffee. We love our parents and families and are content to be with them, but we are always, always searching over their shoulders for our true soul mates, the fuzzy, whinnying family members who touched our souls long before we ever gazed upon our human mamas’ faces. We are obsessed! We have been touched, and are, by any psychiatrist’s evaluation,  seriously “touched.”

Not all of us find our way to our ponies, no matter how desperately we try. I had encounters as a child, never enough, and was always searching, always sniffing the breeze. I didn’t get my first pony until I was 39, a little paint named Cressida whom we adored. My sensible self told me that was enough, but my pony soul would not be denied. A magnificent paint/draft cross, Falstaff, was right behind. Within a year we had established a horse rescue, and every pony I had ever wished for on my birthday, each horse I had called to as the first star of the night sky, finally found their way to me. It turns out when a pony first chose me, they chose well; I was late to the party, but I compensated well!

Over the years I have loved many animals, all of them so special. Every rescue I’ve taken in . . . dogs, cats, hens, roosters, goats, sheep, pigs, llamas, geese, ducks, steers . . . so many more . . . have held a special place in my heart. My love for them was so intense that despite serious concerns (and rather severe annoyance) by my family, I became a vegetarian in 1982, and a vegan several years later. I think of myself as an “animal person” because I love them all, from spiders and worms to whales and elephants. But when I take a moment and think about where it all started, I can’t help but remember my dreams of ponies, and awakening to gaze though the bars of my crib, searching . . . sniffing . . . and I know in my soul . . .

I am the horse girl.

See also Too Many Horses, Not Enough Love
What He Did For Love; The Story of Sir John Falstaff

Kathleen Schurman, along with her husband, David, own Locket’s Meadow Rescue Sanctuary in Bethany, CT, where they care for nearly 150 rescued animals, more than 40 of them horses. Visit www.locketsmeadow.org for more information, or find us on Facebook.