Tally Ho!

An amusing account of fox hunting in Salon.com today illustrates well the madness we who love horses contract at an early age and never seem to recover. The detailed description of the dresscode for the hunt had me smiling with the reverie of nostalgia for my own equestrian wardrobe.

Fox hunting is an amazing sport. I would haul my arse out of bed long before the sun rose to ride with the local hunt since I knew the staff and most of the barn crew. The description "all thrill of battle and only 25 percent of the injuries" is a very astute observation. Hunting is at the center of controversy again in the UK since many find it to be a barbaric sport even though most hunts are 'drag' hunts where no live fox is hunted but the scent of one dragged along the ground ahead of the hunt. Like the author of the Salon.com article I haven't seen anyone 'bloodied' at a hunt and suspect many misconceptions about the sport can be blamed on the movies.

I came out of the womb wanting a horse. I would wait by the post box for the weekly copy of The Chronicle of the Horse to arrive and pester my patient father for Thelwell books while dreaming I would one day ride for the United States Equestrian Team. I started taking riding lessons when I was 8, gleefully offering to clean tack and shovel stalls every day. The pinnacle of excitment arrived when I was asked to be the gatekeeper for the dressage ring at the next show. I eventually got my own horse and bought my own saddle, a saddle I still own in a stubborn hope that I'll again have a horse someday. My original plan for college was to attend Lake Erie College on a substantial scholarship for equestrian studies, but my parents said no and I gave in fearing that I'd live a life on the streets if I didn't get a 'real' degree. If I have but one regret in life, it will always be not taking my first choice even though I probably would be working at Home Depot wondering why I didn't listen to the wisdom of my parents.

Oh, now I'm going to have to go and get a copy of International Velvet to wallow as an armchair tourist in my childhood long since past.