Cooperative Living July 2019 - 42

Rural Living | by Margo Oxendine, Contributing Columnist
Even 'adopted' horses can teach lifelong lessons
've had
I
a lifelong
love for
horses. Like
every kid, I
desperately
wanted my
own horse for years. Of course, that did
not happen for many reasons.
I had the next best thing though. Our
house was surrounded by a field of horses.
They belonged to the fellow who owned
the Homestead Livery. But really, they
belonged to my sister and me.
We'd each " adopt " a horse; they were
always hanging their fuzzy heads over the
fence, waiting for whatever treat we might
offer. Even if we had no apples - and
we usually did, as one side of the big yard
had an apple orchard - we had lots of
hugs and kisses.
Yes, kisses. There's almost nothing I
love kissing more than the soft, velvety
muzzle of a horse. Just be mindful when
they snort.
Occasionally, some lucky kid with a
horse would let me ride it. My favorite
thing was jumping fences - small ones,
but still.
After school, in my early teens, the
fellows at the stables would let me come
down and exercise the horses on a lunge
line. Oh, how I loved it; it was even better
than babysitting, although they did not
pay me. Didn't have to.
Horses played no part in my adult life.
I don't think I ever saw one in Key West.
But, when I moved to San Francisco, I
found a place in Marin County to take
WhatzIt?
Each issue, we will publish a photo of a
familiar but unidentified object. You are
invited to make your best guess and submit
it in writing, along with your name, address
and phone number. Either mail to Whatzit?,
c/o Cooperative Living, P.O. Box 2340,
Glen Allen, VA 23058-2340 or guess online
at co-opliving.com under " Contests. "
The deadline for this month's entries is
July 19. Correct entries will be placed in
a drawing and the winner announced in
the September 2019 issue. The winner will
receive a check for $25. n
40 | Cooperative Living | July 2019
riding lessons. It was a little shamble of a
place, about an hour's drive, depending on
traffic (and, there was a lot of traffic).
I had " my " horse there, Rio. He was on
the small side, but then, I was too. Rio
and I loved each other with fervor. We
were a wonderful pair.
We participated in horse shows from
time to time. If I rode Rio, we did well.
But one day, Sundance substituted as my
mount. Sundance and I did not like one
another at all. He was a grumpy,
headstrong horse.
On our first round of the ring, we
headed for a jump. At the last instant,
Sundance veered and I flew over the fence
on my own. I landed in the hard dirt
directly on top of my head. If I hadn't had
a helmet, I could have been killed. Think
poor Christopher Reeve.
As it was, I was badly injured. Two of
my vertebrae were crushed, which
necessitated surgery and a long recovery. I
never rode again.
But, I still love the sight and heady
aroma of horses. I pass nine of them on
my daily walk through the woods and
meadows. They are not particularly
friendly. They won't even come take the
occasional apple. I think I've nuzzled just
two muzzles this year.
Recently, walking along, I passed a pile
of horse " doo " on the dirt road. Then, I
noticed a lot of hoofprints in the dirt. I
glanced in the field and counted eight
horses. Uh oh. Rounding a curve, I
spotted him, near the road, hanging his
head over the fence, gazing at his buddies.
There was nothing to do but get that
wayward horse back into the field. I
cautiously approached, using a soft,
cooing voice.
Five of his horse buddies were gathered
at the rusty old gate, offering him
encouragement. Or laughing at him.
I had to somehow keep them inside,
while getting the wayward roan back in
the field.
I reached the roan, still cooing softly.
" Don't worry, buddy; I'll get you back with
your pals. " He was calm, focused on the
field he'd fled.
To the horses gathered at the gate, I
used my " third-grade teacher " voice,
hoping to move them aside. I did not need
a rodeo on my hands.
The gate was very heavy steel and bent
in the middle. It was secured with a frayed
old rope, hooked onto a leaning wormriddled
post. The roan sensed I was there
to help, but still managed to step on my
foot. After four tries, I hefted the gate
open, yet not widely enough. I kept
heaving and speaking sternly to the other
horses, while gently patting the roan. I
judged his girth, and finally got the gate
open wide enough.
I slapped him on the withers and in
he trotted, without a glance of gratitude.
I felt triumphant! Who knew, at my
age, I'd be wrangling wayward horses?
A walk on a wooded lane: Always
an adventure! n
To order Margo's book, " A Party of One, "
call 540-468-2147 Monday-Thursday 9-5,
or email: TheRecorderOffice@gmail.com.
The May
WHATZIT
was a beach
umbrella.
Jan Stamper of
Alberta was our
$25 winner.
Congratulations
Jan! n
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Cooperative Living July 2019

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