Girls’ Night Out Horse Shopping

Last Friday I had the pleasure of the company of my friend Chef Beth as I looked at horse number four or five. Yes, I think it’s five. She’s a good sport as she knows about as much about horses as I know about baking croissants. We had quite the adventure, really a Girls’ Night Out Horse Shopping.

I had spent the morning tutoring my almost-8th grade student at her home in Arcadia. We discussed the positives and negatives of the Age of Exploration and from there I went to get a haircut in Pasadena. Really more of a trim. I wanted to add on one more errand of the horsey variety to my Friday.

A day or two before I had found yet another horse on dreamhorse.com. This one was dark bay (you know, I love a bay) Paint warmblood. I don’t really get it as he was a bay horse. He actually looked like a handsome Quarter Horse. My second horse was a completely solid chestnut Appaloosa. No spots, yet she was a registered Appy. I understood at one time how that was possible but as of today I’m confused. And I’m okay with that. As my dad would say, “I have bigger fish to fry.” Like just finding a sound, good horse in my price range. So I’m not going to get bogged down in understanding how a dark bay Quarter Horse is actually a Paint (minus the white splashes) “warmblood.”

This Paint is located in Antelope Valley which is a part of California tourists would never even realize exits. It’s in a desert valley about an hour and a half from Los Angeles. Translation: it is terribly hot and there is no green; everything is dusty and flat and you can drive a long, long way into what feels like the middle of nowhere. Kind of unsettling for someone used to a city and green. I’m at home in the flat farmlands of the Midwest, but there’s something I don’t trust about the desert. I think it’s trying to get me.

Initially I was going to try the horse following my hair appointment around 2 p.m. which wasn’t my first preference because my hair looks its best once every 8 weeks and that’s when Veronica blow dries it to a silky smoothness I can never replicate, no matter how many products, round brushes, and flatirons I use. I knew I’d get hat head right away. Not my favorite, but safety before vanity.

The seller encouraged me to come see the horse around 6 p.m. because it would be too hot during the day to ride comfortably. Mark confirmed this earlier Friday morning by announcing that it was going to get to 107 in Lancaster. I really didn’t want to wait that late in the day because I didn’t want to drive back alone at night through the desert. Less creepy during the day.

Long story short, Beth was able to join me to go later, so I wouldn’t have to come back alone.

When I made it to Beth’s she said we should go to a neighborhood juice shop called Jugos Azteca. It’s not a Jamba Juice, but a family owned organic juice and smoothie shop I could not believe the menu. Beth ordered the Acne drink which was made of pineapple, apple, cucumber, and ginger. I opted for a less adventurous strawberry banana with oatmeal.  Mine tasted better.

With our mega juices in hand and Lady Edith, Beth’s terrier on leash, we settled into the car for the 60-mile journey. My GPS showed that the fastest route would be to go up and over the San Gabriel Mountains. So the two Illinois girls who are jittery about steep places and not comfortable with switchbacks drove about forty miles on winding two-lane roads. Beth felt for sure there had to be a monastery up where we were and commented she’d like to check in for a day.

We kept joking about how in life you have to look ahead just like driving a mountain road. You might not see around the bend, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Lots of cliches, but they really fit the situations we’re both going through personally right now.

When we were about twenty minutes from our destination, the seller texted to say that if we needed a “health break” we should stop somewhere because her kids had a slumber party and the toilet was backed up and the plumber hadn’t been out there yet. By this time the two of us were pretty uncomfortable because of the large juices we’d been sipping.

How hard can it be to find a gas station with a bathroom or some small shop or restaurant? Very hard if you are in Lancaster. The miles kept elapsing and we were still just going down seemingly deserted, somewhat depressed looking flat land. Occasionally there were swatches with green life blooming thanks to irrigation, but other than that the land was barren.

We made it to the seller’s house after finding the proper dirt road. The husband and wife came out to greet us and they were super friendly.

“We never found a place to use the restroom, I’m okay with just going in a stall,” I said. (Did I really just say that?!?!?)

“No problem, my kids do that. And here’s a roll of toilet paper from when my students were out earlier,” the woman said.

I couldn’t see Beth’s expression when I made my declaration, and as much as I hate camping, I just responded to nature’s call. Thankfully the stall was very clean and had a high pile of shavings. I held Lady Edith’s leash so that Beth could go. A minute later she returned holding TP and said, “I think I’ll just go over in a corner somewhere behind the barn.”

“You didn’t use the stall?” I turned to look and a large gray horse was popping its head over the door.

The seller noticed the horse too and said something to her husband. He exclaimed, “I’m sorry! I didn’t know and I let the horse back in.”

“That’s okay,” Beth said and ventured off to find a tree. This was all a little surreal because neither of us were in Girl Scouts and like I said earlier, we’re not the camping type.

The husband mounted the bay and cruised around, kind of name dropping various shows and trainers in Northern California. I think he was trying a little too hard.

Before I even got on the horse I thought, “He’s too short,” but I had driven this whole way and he looked fun. So I already had my mind made up, but I did my best to act interested, just like I had done on many first dates before I met Mark, those awkward dinners where I knew I would never want to spend the rest of my life with the person across from me, let alone the next hour.

The bay was so heavy on the forehand and he got a little trippy, but the footing was really quite bad. I tried getting him more balanced and the husband kept shouting out really elementary pointers like, “If you look the direction you’re going, the he’ll start turning that direction.” I felt like I was riding a Western pleasure horse as I couldn’t see a head and neck. It was not a good feeling. I wasn’t getting anywhere with him so I thought I might as well canter.

Easier said than done. I had to literally cowboy him, swing my outside leg back hard and kick to get the canter.  His canter was fairly smooth but I was already over him and so I looped the other direction and did a few more laps and came back to a walk.

“He takes up your leg nicely,” the husband said. I didn’t think so, and wondered why he’d even bring that up unless he read my mind about thinking that this horse was too small. He asked if I wanted to jump him and I didn’t as my mind was already made up and I was tired from working so hard to get him moving.

“I think I’ll wait on that. I’ve only been jumping again for the last couple of months. I’d prefer to see my trainer ride him.” All true statements.

“He looks so calm I think I want to get on,” Beth proclaimed.

“You can,” the seller said.

She looked at me with that, “I don’t know, should I?” face and I said, “He’s a good horse, he’ll won’t do anything.”

So the chef got in touch with her inner equestrian.

And even though I didn’t fall in love with the horse, I had a really fun time with my dear friend.

And she said that she had fun too.

Driving up a mountain, “nature potty,” and sitting on a horse–now that’s what I call a fun Friday Girls’ Night Out Horse Shopping.

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