I have to be honest – horses aren’t perfect.

I know, I know, I go on and on in this blog about how much I am jonesing like a crack addict miss them slightly and would very much like to have them in my life again.

The thing is, I think I’ve been painting a rather lopsided picture of owning a horse. Since I don’t want anybody out there to get an inaccurate picture of what owning a horse is all about, I have come up with a comprehensive list of why horses sometimes suck.

Brace yourself – this won’t make for easy reading.

1. Alfalfa down your bra on a sweaty day
2. Digging out “the pee spot”
3. The way your boots never smell the same after digging out “the pee spot”
4. Mucking out stalls after a rain and how an inch of water from the sky translates into manure that has the same basic weight and density as Osmium
5. The cost
6. Poky boogers created by dust and alfalfa that stab the inside of your nostrils
7. The way horses ONLY sneeze on your clean shirt when you are sneaking by for a quick scratch before going to work
8. The way they always pass gas whenever you clean their back hooves
9. updated after Lyatha reminded me I forgot one of the worst parts: The way they’ll take a big drink of water or a big bite of wet food riiiiiight before lovingly resting their chin on your shoulder… and dribbling it down the neck of your shirt.

That’s about all I can think of. I’m sorry I had to do that – I know it was tough to read, but I did think it was time for a little honesty on this blog.

Sometimes horses are just awful…. just so, so awful.

Larry Trocha .

I first learned about him on this post from Fugly Horse of the Day. She referred to this newsletter and called him a hero. I liked what I read, so just for kicks I signed up for his newsletter. You know what? I’m glad I did. I am really enjoying reading it several times a week. He’s got great, down to earth advice. He stops just short of telling you exactly how to deal with problems – he gives you overall advice, and if you have enough knowledge and background with horses you can figure out the rest. If you don’t, well, he always recommends one of his videos that will give you the tools to address the problem. The word on the street is that these videos are actually pretty helpful. I’ve seen a few snippets of the videos on his site, and I’m pretty impressed. I’m planning on buying one of his videos and trying it out, as soon as I figure out which one to get.

So, why am I writing about him?

This morning, I woke up and read this newsletter.

And then I scrolled down to peruse the comments, and I found this little gem (if it’s too small for you to read, click on it):

Best. Response. EVER.

Hey, you all remember Cotton and Rocky right?

I mean, who can forget Rocky?

Drool.

Drooool.

Triple Droooool.

Anyways, my friend Bunnygal really liked the way Rocky’s first filly was turning out, so last year she bred him again (I can hear the voice of Fugly in my head, so I’d like to point out that Rocky is 9 and this is only his second foal) and last Sunday Cotton foaled a pretty little bay (Bay roan? Who really knows until they shed out?) filly.

And since we all love baby pictures, enjoy the cuteness!

Pardon the bloodiness on the above photos, but the filly was less than an hour old.

She got cuter by the next morning, although she still had that “just escaped from the womb” look.

…..and it’s naptime.

So, there you go. Your cuteness quota should be met for the day. You’re welcome.

With the weather finally drying up it seems like all I’ve been reading is blogpost after blogpost of people enjoying long, beautiful rides on their horses. In every photo everyone is laughing and smiling, hugging their friends and viewing the world between the frame of two perky little horse ears.

It’s depressing.

I know I have a great job, and a great family, and I live in a place that has perfect weather year-round, but I can’t help myself.

I really, really, really miss having horses in my life.

The more I sat there thinking about it, the more depressed I got.

Poor, poor, Becky. Poor, horseless Becky.

It was getting pretty maudlin, when all of a sudden I realized — this isn’t me. I’m not the kind of person who just sits around feeling sorry for myself. I should quit whining and actually do something about it.

So I did.

I stole a horse.

What can I say? I’m an addict. My name is Becky, and I’m addicted to horses.

I took my time choosing my mount. After all, I live smack dab in the middle of Orange County. There are a lot of distractions, noise, and spook-worthy things going on. I would need a calm, sensible, sound horse.

Aarene from Haiku Farm is always going on and on about how sensible her mare is. So I borrowed Fiddle.

Without asking.

Which, I guess, is stealing.

Whatevah.

I rode Fiddle throughout my long, long day in front of a computer screen.

It helped the day pass a little quicker, but not by much.

Since I’m still nursing we were forced to take periodic breaks. I was hoping that viewing my STUPID breast pump framed between two equine ears would make it seem less distasteful, but alas, it was not so. I really hate pumping.

Fiddle was kind enough to avert her eyes throughout the process.

When it was finally time to leave work, Fiddle had a bit of trouble navigating the stairs and we almost ate it BIG time. I would not recommend trying to take a photo while “riding” a horse down stairs. This almost became “The Blog of Becky: How to Break Your Leg.”

The drive home went the way it normally does.

Look, Fiddle, red taillights.

Look, Fiddle, more red taillights. Wow. What a shocker.

Yes, Fiddle, we are still behind the same white sedan. Around here in southern California this is getting close to qualifying as a friendship. If we tail him much longer we’re going to have to buy his daughter a high school graduation gift.

Besides, we’d better scoot over before he thinks we’re stalking him. I’m sure he’s wondering why the woman behind him keeps taking pictures.

That’s right, Fiddle, that is the turn off for Balboa Island.

No, we don’t get to go there. Yes, I know it’s a beautiful day outside and walking on the boardwalk would be fun, but you don’t seem to understand. Here in Southern California we don’t actually get to do all the cool, touristy stuff. We’re too busy driving everywhere in traffic and working long hours so we can afford the exorbitant rent.

I agree, Fiddle. The wetlands are very pretty.

Pay no attention to what appears to be a pen taped to the bottom of the horse’s neck… these are not the droids you are looking for….

But no, you can’t actually walk in them – you just get to stare at them from the road or from the other side of a chain link fence. It’s better this way. If the fence wasn’t there people would run in and build a bunch of houses on them.

No, Fiddle, that decimal is not misplaced.

It really is $4.27 for unleaded – and this is the corner that always “wins” for cheapest gas in Orange County whenever they have a “Call in your gas prices!” contest on the radio.

Say “hi” to Bad Max, Fiddle.

Yes, I know that moments later you got a chance to understand why we call him Bad Max when he snuck out the front door and we had to chase him down as he wandered down the street — even though he KNOWS he’s not allowed to do it. Bad, Max. Bad.

After a brief tug of war over Fiddle, some time in the corner and one spanking after he kicked me in the shin ( what was I thinking? Waving a horsehead on a pen to my two year old – a horse COMBINED with something he can use to write on walls?!?! HEAVEN!!!– and then not letting him touch it?), I prevailed and was able to introduce Fiddle to the DragonMonkey:

The Squidgelet took in our new equine friend with all the usual excitement he generally displays:

After thirty minutes at home it was back to the car. After all, that’s where you spend 99% of your time in California.

The drive was uneventful— and loud. I wish standard-issue DragonMonkeys came installed with a volume button.

Fiddle insisted we pull up close to this truck:

License plate frame: Dead Men
License plate: TLNOTLS (tell no tales)

Since it was 90 degrees yesterday (a SCORCHER for Southern California) we decided to head to our second home: Frogg’s Bounce House. Once again, I can’t say enough good things about this place. It rocks.

Fiddle watched the DragonMonkey play with the trains.

She watched him jump in the inflatable bounce houses.

She watched me drag him screaming and kicking from the place as it closed. She watched me stuff him red-faced, sweaty, and still howling into his car seat.

She and I both agreed that we had our hands too full for photographic evidence.

I “rode” Fiddle back towards the house. I was prepared to cook a lavish, 7 course, gluten-free meal, organic meal chock-full of essential vitamins and minerals in order to nourish my precious son.

Fiddle insisted on drive-thru, even though I explained the only thing available for my son to eat would be french fries.

She didn’t care.

Fiddle’s a terrible influence. Bad, Fiddle, Bad.

Somewhere right after I took this shot the DragonMonkey managed to get his grubby little hands on the pen with the piece of paper taped to it real live Fiddle, so we had to send her back.

Sigh.

I miss having my own horse.

I spent all day researching Morgans.

Yes, that’s right.

I spent all day researching the horse I am going to buy….

in 3 or 4 years….

to keep on the land I don’t own….

in the state I don’t live in.

Yeah, I know. There are about 437 more productive things that I could have spent my time on.

Instead, I found this:

and this:

And this:

I’ve always known that I really, really, REALLY like some Morgans, whereas I’m completely turned off by others.

Come to find out, it turns out that Morgans have their own little fanclub of foundation-bred Morgans, much the same way that Quarter horses have their little niche.

It turns out, I really like foundation-bred Morgans.

No, wait. Let me reword that.

It turns out I’m slightly obsessed with foundation-bred Morgans. There, that’s a little more accurate.

I mean, who wouldn’t be?

Look at them! In my opinion, they look exactly like a horse is supposed to look. Compact, sturdy, elegant, versatile….

*DROOL*

I’ve always prided myself on not being one to get all caught up in breeding or color.

When other girls were oohing and aahing over flashy paints or Hancock-this and Poco Bueno-that, I kept silent and allowed myself to feel quietly superior.

Pah.

Breeding. Color. Meh. There were plenty of fantastic, grade horses out there for me to love. I didn’t need anything special.

And then I saw this:

The Quietude Stud

And suddenly, I turned into a raving fangirl.

Forget the whole “Team Edward”/”Team Jacob” fangirls.

They ain’t got nothin’ on me.

I spent entirely too much time on their website, pawing through photo after gorgeous photo.

Then I discovered they had uploaded videos to Youtube.

Yeah.

I spent a ridiculous amount of time eyeballing this filly (Quietude Andalucia). Is it just me, or does she look unbelievably smooth to everyone else, too? I really enjoy riding bareback, and one of my criteria for my next horse is that it not rattle the teeth out of my head every time it breaks into a trot. This filly looks like you could hop up on her bareback and head off into the hills without either of you breaking a sweat.

Go ahead. Try to resist clicking through the links to all the other videos. I double-dog-dare you.

Yeah. That’s what I thought.

I couldn’t help myself either.

Don’t you just want to crawl through the computer screen and go live there with them? All those gorgeous horses… moving freely on lush, open pastures… the serene music….

I even went so far as to write the farm an email. I mean, I’ve seen some good-looking horses here and there. After all, my friend Bunnygal has some unbelievably talented, well-bred stock.

I’ve just never seen anything that grabbed me the way this farm’s herd did. As far as I can tell, they don’t have a single dud in the bunch. I’m actually almost disappointed that their herd as the fancy coloring it does, because I feel like I’ve completely sold out.

“Bean, I need a horse! No, not any horse… I need a fancy foundation Morgan with rare bloodlines! No, not that rare-blooded Morgan… I need this other kind with long flaxen manes and tails and stocking feet!”

SIGH.

At any rate, I figured it was worth a quick attaboy email to give them two thumbs up from the opposite end of the country. The thing is, not only did I write this farm a letter…. But they actually answered me back.

They thanked me for my kind words, provided me with some really interesting information, and then offered to mail me a DVD.

Now the only thing that is missing is how to convince these people that I’m really their long-lost daughter, and that they need to invite me to come live with them in West Virginia.

I’m sorry.

I know it’s not nice to make fun of people.

It really isn’t.

Still.

BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

(Click on the image to see it in its full glory.)

At first, I thought it was a typo. Heck, I’m guilty of those all the time. I was expecting to open up the ad and see “3/4 Thoroughbred, 1/4 Quarter Horse” or something along those lines.

Nope.

It’s a 3/4 horse. Not only that, it’s a brand spankin’ new 3/4 horse. I mean, it’s still all wet behind the ears, and everything.

This sounds like a pretty good deal. 75% horse for only $1800?

I mean, wow.

You usually only get about 55-60% horse for that kind of money. Someone needs to jump on this.

I’m so sunburned I’m pretty sure I just gave myself skin cancer.

I’m so exhausted I’m nauseous, and I’m so sore that when I walk it looks a little vulgar.

I had such a blast!

Who wouldn’t be exhilarated after spending a weekend surrounded by personable, well-trained, well-bred, unbelievably gorgeous horses?

I’d love to go into detail about what a perfect weekend this was, but it’s 9pm at night right now, and I am exhausted.

So without further ado, meet some of Bunnygal’s herd:

First off, here’s Rocky the Stallion (aka Rocky the Ninja horse ):

Rocky is sweet.

Rocky is handsome.

Rocky makes me drool a little.

Actually, Rocky makes me want to turn into a backyard breeder and throw dozens of in-season mares into Rocky’s pen with him.

I’m sure Rocky wouldn’t mind that at all.

At any rate, Bunnygal is a very conscientious breeder, so even though Rocky’s seven (eight? I forget), he only has one foal on the ground.

Two years ago Bunnygal bred her mare, Miss Pal to Rocky.

She looks an awful lot like a palomino, doesn’t she? Well, she’s not. Bunnygal had told me that she suspected Miss Pal of being a dunalino, despite her coloring being listed as palomino on the registration. I kind of shrugged when she said that. I mean… does it really matter?

Well, when you breed a palomino to a sorrel stallion and end up with a stunningly beautiful red roan colt named Willie, apparently it does. Since it’s impossible to end up with a red roan colt from a palomino/sorrel cross, Bunnygal had to go through a whole bunch of extra paperwork in order to change Miss Pal’s paperwork to her true coloring: dunalino roan.

What do you get when you cross a dunalino roan with a bay roan?

You get a MaryJane:

MaryJane just turned a year, so she’s entering into the gawky yearling/2 year old phase. I don’t know about you, but I think MaryJane looks gooooooood. She’s one of the sweetest fillies I’ve ever met. She’s not pushy or aggressive, but she LOVES being loved on.

Plus— buckskin roan. It’s kind of an eye-catching coloration, don’t you think?

She has the neatest mane, too.

Hey, color enthusiasts out there: I know if that mane belonged on a regular bay horse it would be called a silver bay. Is it normal to have a mane like that on a buckskin roan? Or is she technically another color? I get so confused with stuff like that.

Speaking of pretty manes, meet Josie:

Josie is sweet.

Josie is solid. Josie is honest, and good. She’s like milk, or whole wheat bread. She’s a stubborn horse if you want to actually ride, but as far as just hanging out or trail riding, I’ve never met her equal. She’d probably plod along pleasantly even if rabid wolves were snapping at her ankles. She’s completely unflappable.

The only time I’ve EVER seen Josie with anything less than a completely sweet, open, friendly expression (like the one above) is with me.

Josie hates me.

No, seriously. She does. I think she was a llama in her past life. We’ve tried to get along, but for some reason, this mare and I just don’t click.

This is a real shame, on a number of levels.

Number one: She’s a good size for me, unlike some of Bunnygal’s other horses. All the horses are stout enough to carry me, but Josie has a little more leg on her. She’s actually the perfect size for me.

Number two: Nobody has spoken for her. Oh, don’t get me wrong. She is loved and cared for and ridden regularly. Everyone who rides her loves her, but nobody in Bunnygal’s immediate world really LOVES her. I have a bad habit of falling in love with other people’s favorites out of Bunnygal’s herd. If I could just make it work between Josie and I, I could have a horse that I consider “mine” without stepping on anyone’s toes.

Number three: And this is the big one.

Look at this trot:

Yup. It’s a trot. It’s kind of pretty, but it’s not really anything special, right?

WRONG.

That, my friends, is what a non-gaited gaited horse looks like. No, Josie isn’t really a gaited horse. But you know what? You can’t really tell the difference as far as smooth riding goes. Something about Josie’s conformation makes her the Cadillac of horses. Bunnygal’s husband jokes about her being the perfect trail horse because you can trot along with a full can of beer and not worry about spilling a drop.

He’s not exaggerating, either. That trot is smooooooooth.

So, that’s Josie: a gorgeous, bombproof, sweet, obedient, incredibly smooth-riding horse.

And she hates me.

No, okay, she doesn’t REALLY hate me…. but she also doesn’t really like me. I’ve probably ridden her around ten times, and each time I crawl off both of us are a little peeved. I don’t know what it is, but something about the two us just doesn’t click. Nobody else seems to have this problem. Just me. I don’t know why, but I do know it’s kind of a real shame.

And then, there’s Cotton:

Hey, I owe you guys a story about me and Cotton, don’t I?

Some other day. It’s already getting late.

Anyways, Cotton really is too short for me. I mean, I REALLY should pick on “someone my own size”.

It seems kind of mean that I feel so comfortable on short, stubby little Cotton.

But Cotton has a broad back:

And Cotton has a really wide chest:

And Cotton’s powerhouse rear end is equally solid:

Every time I stand near Cotton, Sir Mix-a-lot’s signature song goes through my mind.

So while Cotton may be too short for me, I don’t really worry about it all that much. She’s more than solid.

She also has cute little feathers:

When you combine that with her gorgeous forelock, she looks like she just walked off the movie set as an extra for “Spirit: Stallion of the Cimmaron”.

She’s a total spaz under saddle, but she’s also incredibly fun. And sweet.

And look, she poses for pictures!

She’s also in-foal to Rocky and due sometime in May of next year. I’m more than a little excited to see what pops out.

Anyways, there’s some of the herd. There are a few more, but I’m sunburnt and exhausted, and I need to go waddle in a spread-eagle, obscene way to the bedroom to go to sleep.