Misjudged First Impressions

Recently, I was shopping for a horse that I could just throw a saddle on and ride around the neighborhood. I already share a beautiful Arabian mare, but she is a prima donna that hates to get her hooves dirty. Not the right horse for riding around the neighborhood.

I scoured the papers, online classifieds, Horse Training Sites, and the feed store bulletin board for the perfect horse. There were gorgeous options–Quarter Horses, Fresians, Saddlebreds and Paso Finos with shiny coats and proud stances.

And then I came across an ad on Craig’s List: “APQA Paint Horse, $900″

And memories of my childhood dreams arose of riding bareback across the plains just like Pocahontas did…and I had to further investigate the advertisement. The pictures were fuzzy, but there was a You Tube video that showed the horse jumping in an arena. From a fuzzy distance, she looked like a decent horse for the money. So out I drove, all the way across town, to see her in person.

She was mixed with 26 other horses, grazing in a field. Her markings were, well, odd. Not the beautiful cow spots that most of you are used to in a paint horse. She is an overo, which looked like someone had splattered bleach on her brown coat, leaving tiny, irregular white spots in really strange places. She is no beauty; she was a hundred pounds underweight, filthy and had matted mane and tail–but her eyes were clear, and she seemed to have the disposition I was looking for. Calm, easy to ride, not readily excitable.

It turns out that this owner had taken the horse as repayment of a debt that was owed to her–exactly $900–and wanted to turn the horse into cash, thus eliminating one more mouth to feed. It was obvious that she didn’t want to put too much effort into restoring the horse back to health, although I give her credit for taking better care of her than her previous bankrupt owner.

So I wrote the check, and she delivered the horse, complete with papers, to the riding facility where I had rented a stall. This facility housed show horses, and sported teenage girls posting with their black velvet caps darting up and down on their perfectly clipped trotting mounts. The arrival of my horse caused quite a stir–a silent one, if you get my drift–not because of her beauty, but rather because of the lack of it. On this property full of high-maintenance show horses, mine stumbled out of the trailer like a homeless bum after he finishes his wine in the bag. Shaggy, dirty, with hay in her forelock, she looked around in fright at all of the horror struck people with gaping mouths.

I had bought a nag.

“She’s got a great disposition,” I told my disbelieving friends. “She just needs a little training and care.” They said nothing, but their lips were pursed, and their gazes turned away from my new horse and far across the field.

The trainers were ever positive, since they were being paid well to do as much as they could do in 30 days. They made no promises. We put her in her stall, which must have looked like Plum Sykes’ penthouse to her, where she ate for 2 hours straight. I named her “Tuesday.”

At first, the reports from the trainers were grim, and the other horse owners made a wide berth when we went a-walking. But then, last night, we worked her again, and the real Tuesday started to emerge. With food in her stomach, and attention directed toward her training, I could finally see a glimpse of the horse she would be. She held her head higher, her gait was more steady as she regained musculature and balance, and her willingness to please her rider was evident now that she was no longer starving.

I am not so sure she is the kind of horse I can just throw a saddle on and ride around the neighborhood.

But I am sure that she was meant to be with us at this time…to teach us that first impressions aren’t always right, no matter what psychologists say the statistics are. After all, what if she were human? Unkempt, unfed, forgotten and lost. We see them all the time, and many of us are quick to judge the external appearance rather than considering the soul that is trapped inside.

Here’s a video of the real “Tuesday” the day before I brought her home.