My Dad, Hater of Horses
Photo courtesy of Sheri Hooley@sherihoo
My dad grew up on a farm where they bucked bales and milked cows. They also had some horses. These were not fine riding horses, but horses used for work. When the city cousins would visit, they would always beg to ride the horses. My dad could ride, but invariably the cousins that rode behind him would want to lope and they would pull him off and he would get stepped on. And that is why my dad hated horses. Or at least that is what he told me. It seems too simplistic to me now–there had to be more to this horse-hatred…
In spite of this horse-hatred my dad let my sister and I get horses. My brother was allergic and I guess he inherited the horse-hatred from dad. He got a motorcycle instead.
Although we had horses, my father had never built a hitching rack. We tied our horses to trees or a power pole, but nothing was very close to the shop, where we kept our tack. One hot June day I needed to tie my horse while I went into the house for lunch. I tied her to the sliding shop door like I had many times before.
After lunch I was be-bopping back out to my horse and stopped in my tracks. Duchess was still there and the shop door too, but it was now lying flat on the ground in front of the shop. Duchess must have jerked on it, the door (scary door) moved a little and she freaked out. The door was stout enough that once she ripped it down, she didn’t go too far.
I dreaded my father coming home, but he couldn’t argue with the fact that we needed a hitching post. That weekend my father welded a ring on a big metal post and planted it in front of the shop. It was set in concrete. His love of horses was not growing.