I’ll admit it- I’m a horse snob. I can’t help it, really. I grew up on the Hunter Circuit, surrounded by beautiful horses groomed to a sparkle, immaculately clipped, with not a whisker unshaved, or a hair out of place. As I grew up, and my horse-habit became my own financial burden, so went the barns filled with gorgeous, six-digit horses- but I find that despite a new setting, it’s hard for me to let those old grooming habits die.

Having groomed and ridden in the world of show hunters, I spent many years of my life thinking that all horses were body clipped in the wintertime, and that the hair around their ears existed for the sold purpose of tempting fate while climbing up on a stepladder to shave it off. To my mind, all horses had beautiful, long flowing tails that required no maintenance except to send it sweeping into the show ring.

The riders in these barns- well, they were as well kept as the horses. Breeches never touched a spec of dust, their boots untouched by water and manure, their socks I’m sure never filled with shavings.

 I wasn’t quite so lucky- grooming to pay for board and lessons, I was the one with the dirt smudges on her face, breeches covered in dirty handprints, and usually a bit of the tell-tale “bareback butt” by the end of the day.  Anything I did to the horse had an equal but opposite effect on me. The horse was bathed and got squeaky clean- I looked like a dirty, wet dog. A horse got body clipped, and I would resemble Chewbacca, and be pulling short horse hair out of my ears for the next few days.

Horse shows were even worse- I was there at dawn to feed and clean, tack up and lunge everyone elses horse-and by the time my class rolled around, it was all I could do to get myself cleaned up enough to not mess up my show clothes. Despite my best efforts, there would always be a stain or smudge on my pants before I ever entered the ring.

I might not have always looked the part, but darn it if I didn’t make sure my horses did. They may not have been the big dollar horses that my barn friends rode, but they looked the part, as immaculately clipped and shined as all the others.  Even in the off-season, muzzles were whisker-less, newly clipped coats were blanketed in, and that bridle path was clean and tidy.

Flash-forward a few years, things changed. My taste for adventure waned, and hunters were traded for quarter horses, jumping for western pleasure and trail course classes.  Body clipping was suddenly taboo, and I was introduced to keeping horses under lights, sweating necks, and tail bags. As I became accustomed to this new kind of kept horse, I tried to get myself used to an attire change- breeches became jeans, no hunter rider would be caught dead in the amount of sparkles and crystals my new show outfits had on them- and instead of hand prints on the breeches, I would get dirt on my cowboy hat.

But darn it, my horses were well kept! Slinkies kept banded manes safe and tamed and fake tails helped to augment what nature didn’t provide in the hair department. The gear may have changed, but the pretty picture didn’t- I might not have looked my best, but I made sure my horses did!

Flash forward a few more years, and me and my herd is pretty much retired. I happily spend my days at the barn mucking stalls, getting covered in dirt and mud-and I really don’t mind. But retraining my mind that my horses are allowed to look like they live out in pasture- that’s taking some getting used to.

For the first time in my life, my horses have fuzzy winter coats, and I’m not putting on three layers of sheets and blankets! The box stalls and shavings of the past have been replaced with dirt and open spaces- and the horses are simply thrilled. But I find it very difficult to restrain myself from taking the clippers to that fuzzy muzzle when the farrier is out trimming feet.

I get ridiculed relentlessly about the fact that my two of my horses still wear tail bags out in pasture. Neither will ever go to a show again, and hardly ever get ridden. “Why bother with a tail bag” my friends ask, as I religiously wash and condition the tails every few weeks, combing them out carefully before re-bagging.

Yes, I know no one will ever see the tail my horse has under that tail bag, but I do- and I like that it’s beautiful, long and full. It would break my heart to see the tail destroyed, knowing that it could have been at it’s full potential if I had just spent the time keeping it in good condition.

I still cut the manes too. I’ve tried letting them grow long, I really have. Every time, I make it a few months, until the mane reaches that point where it’s too short to be long, but is too long to be a short, cut mane- and then I lose my self-control. In a flurry, before I can change my mind, I have the scissors in hand, and that mane cut and pulled out. Even as I do it, I know it’s ridiculous- but once it’s cut, I just feel so much better.

I know it’s crazy, and I know I’m probably just a horse snob. But if I have to live with fuzzy, mud rolling horses with 3” long hair poking out of their ears, then I want that mane short in return. It’s not that much to ask, right? They may not be the fanciest horses around, but darn it- they will be the best kept!