Well, let me see…perhaps because since April 2013 — thanks to the wild and rainy spring, plus a round-two storm in June) I have had almost nothing else on my mind when it comes to my horse.
Let me start at the beginning. I have wanted to own a horse all my life. I begged I whined. I drew horses obsessively. My mother, in utter frustration, tossed me a book called “Pamela and the Blue Mare,” thinking that would quench my interest. I only whined more.
I grew up in a NYC “bedroom suburb” called Fairfield, CT. My parents were South Dakota transplants — my father was a metallurgist, and was transferred to the East Coast by his Midwestern company. In Fairfield there is an area called “the Hill”. That is Greenfield Hill, where great estates with stables nestle in the gently rolling countryside. The Hill is also replete with wonderful riding trails through the woods. The Hill also borders the Merritt Turnpike, which happens to be, if I remember correctly, perhaps the first superhyway built. It was certainly the most beautiful, with thick grassy areas and trees framing it. The Hill was zoned for horses. But we lived, not at the top, but at the bottom of the Hill, in very ordinary houses in an unpretentious neighborhood. So owning a horse and keeping it at home was not possible.
My Mother was terrified of horses. She wanted me to have nothing to do with them. My earliest memories, however, are of riding horseback behind my Father, who had been a cowboy, holding on for dear life as we took off at a gallop, stopped on a dime on the wonderful quarter horses we were able to ride when we visited South Dakota.
So now I have owned Miles (some additional details in the “About” page) for three years. Here we are from the neck up, so to speak…
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Hooves R Us 