Horses Sneak In

by Linda Benson

When you're a certified horse nut, horses sneak into everything, don't they? When I was younger, a visitor to my house once remarked that every. single. picture. on my walls had a horse in it. Really? I hadn't noticed. That just seemed normal to me.

When I got interested in Jamberry nails (love them, great for outdoor girls like me) one of the first things I looked for was to see if they had a horse design (they do.)

If I'm looking for anything: books, fabric, furniture, clothes, I will always gravitate toward something with a horse theme.

So it's only natural that as a writer, horses tend to sneak into my stories also, even if it's not a horse story.

Case in point: In my very first Cat Tale, called The Winter Kitten, Brianna moves in with her dad in Portland, Oregon, after leaving the horse farm where she lived with her mom, who has died.

Yes, it's true. Horses are mentioned, or are part of the plot, of several of my Cat Tales (a series about Cats!)

My novel Six Degrees of Lost, a coming of age novel told from two different viewpoints, was just re-released after the original publisher closed its doors earlier this year. It's now available under my own imprint, Seven Trails Press, and it features David and Olive, teenagers from different backgrounds, both searching for their place in life. It's filled with rescue dogs and foster animals, and *cough* even a couple of horses.

In this case, the horses that sneak in are not show horses, or a girl's dream ride. No, they are skinny old rescue horses named Shakespeare and Paintball. Here is the scene where Olive (a city girl, staying temporarily with her aunt) attempts to ride one of them. In Olive's own words:

" I feel like a total idiot, sitting up here on Paintball holding onto the saddle horn while Swede leads me around like a baby. David probably thinks I’m a complete chicken.

Paintball acts antsy, shuffling his feet, which rocks me off balance. “What’s he doing?” I ask. “Is he going to run off?”

“Olive, this horse never even flinched when we saddled him,” says Swede. “He’s so old he couldn’t spook if he tried. Nothing to worry about.”

Paintball begins to dance underneath me and turns in the direction of the barn. He raises his head and lets loose a long neigh and his whole body shakes. “Why did he do that?”

“Oh, he’s just missing the other old codger back there,” says Swede. “I’ve got a firm hold on him. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Can I just get off now?” I feel like a baby the minute I ask, but the horse is making me all jittery and nervous.

“Sure,” Swede says, bringing Paintball to a halt. “Let’s walk him back to the barn where he can see his buddy, and you can get off there.”

My insides turn over. “No, I want to get off now.”

“Okay,” says Swede. “No problem. Whoa there, old Paintball.” He takes a firm grip on the horse. “Now swing your right leg back over the cantle, kick your feet out of the stirrups, and let yourself fall to the ground easy.”

I land with a hard thump and almost fall on my butt. I look around to see if David is watching. He is. My face turns pink and I feel about three years old instead of thirteen.

From the barn behind the house, Shakespeare lets out a long plaintive neigh of his own, and Paintball whinnies back. “Whoa there, you old crowbait,” says Swede. He jerks on Paintball’s halter a few times as he walks him back toward the barn. “Behave now.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing you got off when you did,” David says.

“I don’t really know how to ride,” I mumble. I barely know David, and I feel like I just had the most embarrassing moment of my life. "

Here's the link to Six Degrees of Lost, if you'd like to know more: http://www.amazon.com/Six-Degrees-Lost-Linda-Benson-ebook/dp/B00XM2U2L0/

So yes, horses tend to sneak into every aspect of my life, from choices in living situations to decor to thinking, dreaming, and writing.

What about you? Tell us! Whether you are a horse lover, owner, aficionado, rider, writer, reader, or horse admirer, how do horses sneak into your life?

Why Write About Horses?

by Toni Leland

My name is Toni Leland and I’m a horse addict. 

Seriously...I could have been the poster child for the classic horse-crazy girl.

I discovered horses when I was about 8 years old. Unfortunately, about that same time, I discovered my father was terrified of them and that there wouldn’t be a horse in my future any time soon. So to fuel my passion, I hooked up with another horse-crazy girl. We spent hours talking about horses, dreaming about horses, pretending we were horses. . .the boys on the playground were terrified of us!

 

I took it one step further and wrote stories about horses. Girl rescues horse. Horse rescues girl. Horse and girl have an adventure. . . I wish I had some of those stories now. Anyway, when my BFF got her very own horse, I was both thrilled and devastated. She no longer had much time for me and our imaginary steeds, and I began trying to convince my father that a horse would be a good thing for me to have. He relented the year I turned 15 and, from then on, my life revolved around horses—sometimes more, sometimes less.

But one thing remained constant. To this day, even though I no longer have horses of my own, I still get that quickening in the pit of my stomach any time I’m near one.

Write what you know and love. The writing experts have it nailed.

 

When I set off on this journey of writing fiction, I naturally settled into the comfort zone of my addiction.

My first book was a romantic mystery, built around the Arabian horses I raised in the 80s. Though they were long gone, I held them near to me as we worked our way through the story and revisited characters from those years in the “horse business.” The process was sometimes painful and poignant, but it was also energizing. I’d found my niche.

As Winning Ways finished, I was already well into my next novel. Being fairly adventurous, I’d decided to see if I could write a straight romance—follow the formula, but write one with a horsey setting.

I was a little skeptical about the endeavor. After all, when does a busy horse owner have time to date, let alone nurture a strong, loving relationship? And into what niche would an equestrian romance fit? When Hearts Over Fences hit the streets, I quickly learned that I had no clue as to “what works.” The book exploded in popularity and, today—many years later—it is still a top-selling title in both print and ebook.

 

So you’d think I’d jump on this gravy train, right? Nooooo. I was already off on another tangent. I wanted to write a thriller about the possibility of terrorism in one’s own backyard, er. . . barn. After Gambling With the Enemy was published in 2006, I headed back toward romantic suspense.

Deadly Heritage embraced that age-old theme of love lost and found. But my characters were constantly challenged by danger and family treachery.

As the nation’s economy nose-dived in 2009, so did business. Horse farms and breeders were deeply affected as the cost of keeping animals skyrocketed. If you can’t feed ’em, what do you do with them? Horse rescue operations were overwhelmed and the horror stories began to hit the news.

Addressing two similar subjects, I began work on Rescue Me, the story of a horsewoman trapped in a brutally abusive marriage. The research alone on this book made me ever thankful that I didn’t have source material from first-hand experience.

Always a fan of Dick Francis, I began thinking seriously about a mystery series. What I needed was a couple of independent, horse-loving individuals who would save the horse world, case by case. Never did I imagine what hard work this would be! But the team of Kovak & Quaid was born in 2012 with Double Exposure, and they've been chasing bad guys ever since!

My lifelong love affair with horses has served me well...given me joy and inspiration, and a ton of memories. Now if I can just get them all down on paper....

First Horse

by Toni Leland

I never wanted anything more in my entire 8-year-old-life than a horse. 
Not the occasional ride on a carnival pony or camp horse. Or the few-and-far-between rides on my best friend's horse. 
I wanted a horse of my own.

My parents were terrified of horses, and there you have it. End of discussion. But parents don't always have the last word – not when the world around them sees the longing in a little girl's eyes.

To make a short story long, when I was 15, a good friend of my father's took him aside and said, "Look, Toni's never going to get over this passion. She needs a horse and I just happen to have the perfect one."
(I heard about this conversation years after the fact.)

I have no idea how that man convinced my father to let me have that horse, but at the time, I didn't care. My dream was coming true!

At dawn on the day the horse would arrive, I rode my bicycle a mile to the pasture where he would live. It was the longest morning I've ever spent, because grownups don't get started as early as kids. But finally, a pickup truck towing an old blue horse trailer pulled into the lane beside the barn.

Sonny, the most beautiful horse in the world.

I was beside myself. Mind you, I'd never laid eyes on the horse that would be coming off that trailer. Our friend had told me that the horse's name was Sonny, and he was a 16-year-old retired showhorse. Wow! How much better could it get?

The ramp clanged to the ground and a shiny copper rump backed out of the dark interior. Sonny was the biggest horse I'd ever seen.

He was also the homeliest horse on four legs, but I didn't see that back then. To me, he was Walter Farley's Island Stallion.

Sonny and I settled in quite nicely, spending every one of my waking minutes together. This caused no end of problems with my parents. I disappeared with the sunrise and came home just before dinnertime. I was in heaven.

I did not own a saddle, but Sonny came with a good bridle, and we spent many happy hours exploring the trails through the foothills behind my home in Southern Oregon. Sonny was surefooted and always interested in what lay

Parade Day. What horrible posture!

around the next bend. He and my dog, Lucky, were the best of friends and I swear they were the ones who decided what trail we would take. What a great beginning to summer vacation. We even got to ride in the Memorial Day parade. 

Then, disaster struck. While riding through a field with my best friend, Sonny's front foot hit a chunk of wood hidden in the tall grass. He began to limp and I began to cry. We got down off our horses and my friend examined his leg. She'd had her own horse for several years and knew what she was doing. 
She stood up and shook her head. "I think it might be broken."

My world came crashing down around me. Broken legs in horse meant only one thing. We led the horses back home, me sobbing all the way. Late that afternoon, the veterinarian came out and x-rayed Sonny's leg, which by then was huge and puffy. 

"Not broken," he said. "But you shouldn't ride him for the next eight or nine weeks until the bone bruise heals, and then only on soft ground."

Do the math. My summer with Sonny was over. I was overwhelmed with relief

Lucky with a winter friend.

that he would be okay, but devastated at the implications of his injury.

Every day after that, I applied a black, gooey poultice to Sonny's ankle in the morning and again in the evening. I spent my time with him and the dog in the pasture, dreaming of the day when we could ride the trails again.

By September, Sonny's limp had not disappeared, but had grown worse. The nights were growing colder and school had started. One afternoon, my father's friend came to the house and said he'd be willing to take Sonny back home where he could live in a big warm barn and rest his leg. I was devastated, but could do nothing about it. Truthfully, in my heart I knew that Sonny would be better off, but that didn't ease the pain. 

Sonny died that winter in a big warm barn. A horse would not grace my life for another twenty years.