Every Monday morning, I listen with envy to other dads’ weekend stories. They go to cottages. They go camping. They visit museums or go fishing. They build landscapes in their back yards, paint fences and clean out their eavestroughs.
My eavestroughs are full. My whole life needs a coat of paint. Because while my co-workers are watching football in their man caves – I’m at a horse show, holding a horse for “just a second” for a kid who disappeared half an hour ago.
I wasn’t born into the world of horses, horse shows, horse tack in my back seat, and horsehair in my front seat – well, horsehair on everything I own. I was a dairy farmer’s kid. We just viewed horse farms as a place to sell grassy hay, which isn’t good for milk production, at inflated prices. We laughed at their 19th century stable cleaning and feeding technology and snickered at their tiny tractors.
Then I married a horse. Well, technically I married the rider; but in reality I married the horse, the trailer, a smattering of saddles, and a lifestyle. And part of that lifestyle involves spending part (or all) of most weekends leaning on a fence, leaning on a trailer, leaning on a pickup, leaning on a tree – while watching horses trot in a circle. And let’s be honest, it’s really just an endless day of watching horses trot in a circle.
We added a couple of our own riders to the herd, and then Krista started teaching other people’s kids to ride as well – which has exponentially increased my horse show attendance (and horse ownership) over the years. And I see you other dads. I see you holding that pony like me, while the rider of that pony is nowhere to be seen. I see you staring blankly at the show ring while someone explains to you that your kid didn’t win a ribbon because “that judge doesn’t like grey horses.” I see you trying to understand why anyone would spend this much money to play a game with such fuzzy rules.
I have some advice for you to get you through these loooooooong weekend afternoons.
First, be thankful that your kid isn’t involved in something worse, like dealing drugs or dance lessons. Lawyers, dance coaches, and shockingly expensive dresses would have you pining for a day of hunter flat classes. Even training level dressage is better than having your progeny hanging around with that weird kid up the street. (I see you Kyle – stay out of my back yard!) There are definitely worse things that you could be doing on a sunny Sunday, and any time spent with your kids outside of a courtroom is quality time.
I like to pick the shows that we go to by the food provided. While others rate shows by the ribbons, the footing, or the facility, I rate them by the quality and quantity of back bacon available. If you want to see my truck and trailer rolling up your driveway on show day, slice your back bacon thick, fry up some onions, and have some tangy cheese available. You could run that show on the grass between the runways at an airport and I’ll still come if you throw a fried egg on top of that sandwich. I’ve also been known to drive an extra hour for a good burger (also with back bacon). Honestly, I just want back bacon.
Another great way to pass the time is gambling. Now I’m telling you from experience, the mothers aren’t going to like the fact that the dads are all hanging out together betting on whose kid will fall off first, cry first, or yell at her mother first (all of which will happen at some point). If you’re really organized, you can bunch those events together and make Bingo cards. Some kid screaming, “I hate my horse!” is in the centre square, of course.
Get your kids into mounted games. No judges, just winners and losers and rules that make sense. Also ideal for the aforementioned gambling.
If you want to reduce the amount of time spent holding the horse – just be really bad at it. This is how I have avoided doing laundry for the past 26 years. Just wreck some clothes within the first year of marriage and you’re off the hook. Not everyone has the audacity to just let a horse wander off, but if you do, you’ll never be asked to do it again.
To be honest, now that our kids are grown up, I miss those days at the show ring. Betting on how many fences a kid will knock down or putting the standard $2 per refusal into the pot isn’t as much fun when your own kids aren’t the ones doing it.
When I look at pictures of Krista, our kids, and her hundreds of students from years past, I honestly get a little choked up and feel a bit of nostalgia. You see, sometimes when I look at those old show pictures, I’m overwhelmed by how many nice trucks I’ve had…
