“But [girl] hood dreams die hard, and good sense be damned.”

But girlhood dreams die hard, and good sense be damned. For as long as I can remember, I have wanted a horse, and I almost went to extreme measures to obtain one. When I was five, I went to horse summer camps. I would do lessons as frequently as possible (and considering the amount of lessons I took, I would say I did pretty well). I associated with people who owned or aspired to own horses. My horse-owning friends and I would have long, detailed conversations about the do’s and don’t’, where I tried to soak up as much knowledge as possible. I would play this virtual game “Howrse” all day long to try and recreate the feeling of truly owning horses.

Of course, none of this actually worked. So I took it upon myself to try and devise a plan. It occurred to me that it didn’t matter what kind of horse I had, as long as I had it. So I decided I should get a miniature pony, so it would be the right size for my backyard. It didn’t matter to me that I couldn’t ride said pony, or that it would be too small for me to hug it without bending over (and possibly spooking it.) I spent almost every waking hour thinking about this horse, telling my friends about having horses and soaking up my time and energy researching.

All throughout this time in my life, where I was so hellbent on having a horse, I was committed to jumprope. Jumprope absorbed nearly all of my free time, but I loved it. I loved it nearly as much as I loved horses. But at the time, I was only concerned on how it was best for me to get a horse, and jumprope was getting in the way of that.

I had devised a “grandmaster plan” in which over the course of a jumprope season (September to July) I would gradually show up less, and devoting more of my time to horses. My family and I would take up the huge task of building a safe pasture in our backyard, including a wash stall, tack and feed room and a stall for the horse. Instead of riding this horse, I would instead need a cart to drive it, and that also needed a place to store. I also needed a very small, circular ring, so I could lunge my pony. I also needed to have a little goat, because horses are very social animals, and need companions or they will get depressed.

I told this all to my parents, and they just sadly smiled. They told me it was all too expensive, and that our backyard was too small. Over the course of about a month I would constantly bring it up, in hopes of changing their opinions. Of course none of this worked. My dreams were crushed. I even cried.

Even today, I would still like a horse more than anything, but now I understand that at this point in my life, it isn’t practical. The pain of knowing I would not (in the near future) have a horse has slowly decreased into a thought that occasionally buzzes around in my brain. I still look up horses on some websites, and I still do play “Howrse”, and for now, it is enough.