Horse Sense and Nonsense

Every horse I’ve ever known has had two jobs—calming me when I’m stressed and stressing me when I’m calm. That might sound like a contradiction, but anyone who’s ever spent time around a horse knows exactly what I mean.

Take Fancy, for instance. She was a chestnut mare with a blonde mane that always looked like it had just come out of curlers.

A fella I worked with claimed she was “bombproof.” What he failed to mention was that she wasn’t noise-bombproof or wind-bombproof or sudden-movement-bombproof. But if you wanted to ride her in a quiet, indoor arena where the temperature never changed and no birds ever flew by, she was the calmest horse you’d ever meet.

One summer, I was going through a rough patch. Job worries, bills piling up like hay bales before a thunderstorm, and a case of the kind of blues that make you forget your name. So I went out to the pasture and leaned against the fence, just watching Fancy chew in that slow, meditative way horses do, like each bite of grass contained the answer to the universe.

She saw me standing there and, with all the grace of a queen and the curiosity of a toddler, wandered over and breathed that sweet hay-scented breath on my neck. I swear, in that moment, all the noise in my head quieted down.

My heart rate slowed, my shoulders dropped, and for the first time in days, I remembered to breathe. Horses do that. They remind you to be still, to listen, to be.

But when you think you’ve found your four-legged therapist, they decide to become chaos wrapped in a bridle.

A week later, after I’d regained a bit of peace, I saddled up Fancy for some cutting. The morning was warm, the breeze gentle, and the world seemed in balance, which should’ve been my first warning.

We got about three heifers cut when a jackrabbit shot out of the fence line like it had a rocket tied to its tail. Fancy, in response, levitated three feet off the ground, spun in a circle, and then took off at a speed that would’ve impressed a Kentucky Derby scout.

Now, I’ve never been much of a rodeo rider. But somehow, I stayed on, heart pounding, dignity flapping in the breeze. When she finally stopped, snorting and wide-eyed, I just sat there, breathing like I’d run a marathon and wondering whether I’d left the oven on.

It occurred to me, as I slid off her and checked to make sure all my limbs were still attached, that horses are a lot like life. They’re equal parts grace and mayhem.

One minute, they’re teaching you patience and presence, and the next, they’re giving you a crash course in humility and emergency dismounts. Still, I wouldn’t trade a second of it.

Because no matter how many times Fancy sent my hat flying or made me question my life choices, she always found a way to settle me down again. With a soft nicker, a gentle nudge, or that look in her eyes that said, You’ll be okay, even if you’re not okay right now.

And that’s the kind of job security no office chair ever gave me.