Cadiz is my horse. I bought her in the spring of 2008, twenty five years after I quit riding to go to college. Lots of life happened in between, including marriage and children, and it wasn’t until recently that my middle daughter’s passion for horses drew me back into this world of my childhood. I resisted the pull for several years, content (almost) to support my daughters and watch them learn the skills and feel the magic of the equine universe. But once they didn’t need me as much anymore, were independent enough at the barn, I allowed myself to dream of riding again. We finally lived in a place where it was possible. I was spending a great deal of time at the barn or on the road at horse shows with the girls anyway. I was also struggling with some personal issues that flayed me open, and the soothing balm of horse energy was medicine I needed like finding an oasis in the desert. I knew that I was turning to horses for comfort the way I had as a child, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t work. It did work, and still does. Horses can be emotional healers, physically and spiritually. It’s no secret that Hippotherapy is incredibly successful for special needs people, disturbed teens, and trauma victims. I still don’t understand it completely because there is a mythic quality to horses that defy explanation with words. Maybe it’s their size, their warm bodies, or the mental connection that develops between horse and human, but I know how I feel after I’ve been around my horse and it’s like I’ve been to yoga class, only better. I’m calmer, more grounded, often physically spent, and really hungry the way you are after being outside in cold air for a long time. In yoga you connect to yourself through your mind and body, but with riding, the horse adds another dimension of connectedness, almost like a portal to the rhythm of the universe.
The horse sport that was available to me as a kid was English as opposed to Western riding. If I had grown up on a ranch, I’m quite sure I would have been a rodeo rider. I fantasized about being a jockey after avidly reading all The Black Stallion books, but I grew too tall for it to be a realistic dream. So I learned to jump ponies and horses over obstacles instead, and that still feels like flying. Cadiz is the most athletic horse I’ve ever had, and can take me further than I will probably achieve in the sport. She is big and powerful, smart and willing. She is bay colored, with a black mane and tail, and a tiny moon sliver of white on her forehead. She has jumped me out of trouble due to my own mistakes more times than I can count. I pay her in carrots and apples, cookies and mints, and attention. She’s not perfect. She bit me last weekend when I was brushing some dried sweat off of her belly where the girth was. She hates getting the saddle put on, pins her ears and rolls her eye at me, making as if to bite me. But she usually just grabs the rubber cross tie hooked onto her halter with her teeth, warning me she’s pissed. Sometimes I get unlucky and she grabs my arm. Her back is very sensitive. If the riser pad under my saddle is overlapping the saddle pad and touching her skin, she’ll buck when I get on. But other than that, her stable manners are very good, and she enjoys being groomed. And as for our performance in the ring, she exerts herself beyond my own ability. It’s like owning a Ferrari. She’s an athlete, no doubt about it, and I respect her. But I’m not just in it for the sport. She isn’t exactly a pet, like those that live with us, but she is an animal that is a huge part of my life and I had to include her.
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