I knew a woman with a backyard barn and a horse she was riding in lower level dressage. She had the usual array of equipment and took regular lessons, working around her “real life” job. Her husband—as husbands go—was fairly supportive of her interest, and when it came to her birthday, he wasn’t that surprised when she announced that all she really wanted was a formal arena to ride in. The husband was in the construction business, and he knew architects and engineers and workmen who were handy with heavy equipment. And so Tina was quite thrilled to see her dream arena taking shape, and she was eager to tell both friends and acquaintances of her good fortune. You would be, too, if you’d been trying to train in your bumpy pasture with a few cinderblocks painted as letters. Read More

(“Shawna,” I asked, “Is your bedroom painted pink?”) Read More

(“If we don’t have letters, how will they know it’s dressage?”) Read More

(“Tchaikovsky was an artist, right? And he used cannons!”) Read More

(“Today’s topic: shoes. But, first . . .”) Read More

(“You could be playing volleyball or tag team shuffleboard. “) Read More

(“She was a moose!”) Read More

You can stare at the crocuses watching for them to pop, but if you begin your vigil around Boxing Day, by and large you’ll have a long and boring wait. That said, as you train your horse, there are many occasions where you need to wait—a breath, a moment, even a seeming eternity—before you can proceed toward whatever your immediate goal is. Read More

(“Wait a minute! I can’t work in a place like this!”) Read More

(“It’s nigh onto impossible to legislate against stupidity.”) Read More