True Confessions of a Desperate Horsewife...

Or...

How to Use What You've Got To Get What You Want...

I was born with it, really. That thing known to the horsey community as Horse Fever. It's not something that can be shed, like the flu or a cold. There is no 12 step program (not that we want one!) It's more like a disease that eats away at your very soul...

Like many others who deal with this delightful disease, I managed to find myself in a position of bargaining with my parents in order to get what I wanted; a four legged equine. I mention four legs only because up until the time I was eight, they thought I could be appeased with the type of pony that had a cotton stuffed head and stick body. But that was just not going to do any more. And so I developed a plan...

I was in third grade at the time, and I spent my days as a member of Horse Crazy Day Dreaming Girls Annonymous. Unfortunately, we weren't so annonymous what with those little doodles on our papers of ponies instead of math problems. But then, that was all part of the plan. Fearful that their daughter would actually fail the third grade, my parents made me a deal. Pass, and we get you a horse of your own. A real, live, four legged, no cotton for brains horse! I spit in my hand and offered a handshake. They looked at me like I was from another planet and declined, saying their word was good enough. Okay, I'll take it!

And then I passed the third grade. And then I got my pony.

His name was Prince, and he was anything but. He took advantage of me every chance he got. One thing that my parents hadn't promised me was a saddle, so I learned really quick that a sweaty butt on a horse was actually a good thing as it worked like glue to keep you seated when your pony decided to make an unexpected left turn when you'd just asked him to go right. Or a hasty halt when you'd asked him to jump the ditch (trust me, one non-sweaty butt ride into a ditch full of water, and you make sure your butt's sweaty next time!)

But as nasty as that little Prince was, he taught me to ride. And instead of growing out of HCDDGA, I become the president of our local chapter.

Enter City Boy. Not a cowboy. I've never figured out why or how I ended up with City Boy. He just sort of appeared out of nowhere. Well, not no where. He was my mother's best friend's youngest cousin. He came up on vacation one fall and just never went away. He learned to ride a horse so we could go riding together. He mucked out my stall while I was in school. He drove a cool truck. Oh, yeah...that was it...he drove a cool truck! A truck that could hitch up to a horse trailer...I remember it all so clearly now.

City Boy and I, shortly after becoming engaged.

I'm sure it was the truck that snagged me...

And we got married. And we had a cool truck and soon, a red horse trailer that matched the truck. And then City Boy said, "But you'll outgrow it by the time you're 25." And I said, "Um...who told you that, City Boy?" And now my memory has grown a bit hazy again, but I don't think it was the most pleasant conversation we ever had.

When I was 25, I gave birth to a son, and my horsey life was severely crippled. Not that I resented it. Not much, anyway. Geek Boy was marvelous, he really was. But he soon began to grow older, and he went to school, and while I was alone the old fever began to creep back into my body. I began to travel south to visit my dear friend, Linda, where I once again climbed into a saddle and started riding. Oh, it felt so good! Yes, there was a twinge of acheyness to begin with, but my muscle memory was excellent, and it wasn't more than a couple days before I was back in the swing of things.

The adorable little Geek Boy and me (far thinner than today!)

I started daydreaming about buying a new horse. There was a lovely, coppery colored mare there for training; they'd had me riding her and keeping her legged up. She was nice, and I wanted her. I went and rode three or four times a week for about two weeks, and then something strange happened. I was sore while I rode. My breasts hurt while trotting. Now, this may be normal for some women, but it had never happened to me! And then...well...I was late. And pregnant! Again...

Okay, so the emphasis on the again part, when it was only my second child, may seem like overkill. But we'd tried for over a year with no luck at a second pregnancy, so I'd given up. My head and heart had switched gears. If I can't have a baby, I ought to have a horse. And, as experience had taught me, you can sell a horse when you get tired of it. Not so a child. But there it was...no denying it. I was having another baby, and another horse was slipping from my fingers. I think City Boy had something to do with it...

So there I was, raising two children with nearly an 8 year split. Geek Boy wasn't terribly interested in horses, and Darling was still a toddler. I'd been horseless for far too long. City Boy had been happy for far too long. Far, far too long. But then something amazing happened. Darling saw a horsey. Darling liked the horsey. Darling's daddy was wrapped tightly around Darling's little finger...

Darling riding the neighbor's horse, Boon. What daddy could resist?

And on an occasion such as this, all Desperate Horsewives find themselves re-developing the plan. Because the man in their life is no longer wrapped around their little finger, but the finger of their little girl, we find ourselves involving those little darlings in our schemes. And we're successful, too, because no matter if he's a City Boy or Cowboy, he just can't stand to see his little girl cry.

And that, my dear friends, is what happens when you're a clever and Desperate Horsewife!