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How to Think Like A Horse: The Essential Handbook for Understanding Why Horses Do What They Do

Horse Stable and Riding Arena Design

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Horsekeeping on a Small Acreage: Designing and Managing Your Equine Facilities

- Starting Over Chapter 1-

Another Move

April 8, 2000

Dear Journal,

Great. Just great. Gran and Grampa just informed me that we are moving, again. Drat. Why do we always have to move so much?! I bet my parents wouldn't. But then, I suppose that's wishful thinking, because I've never seen my parents.

Let's see, we've lived in Ohio, Maryland, Colorado, New York, which is where we live now, Nebraska, (Bleah!) I was born in Vermont, and I've also lived in Delaware, and Rhode Island, which was dreary and cloudy for the whole fourteen months we lived there. I'm so sick of moving that I could just throw up. All that packing up, the long drive cramped in a truck cab that was meant for two people instead of three people with a bunch of food and bags, and then the hotel stay while we house hunt, then we have to move in and unpack everything. Usually by that time, we're thinking about moving again! What on earth could God have in store for me with this kind of life?

I just had a great spur-of-the-moment thought. We're moving west to Idaho, which is animal country, so maybe I can have my own horse! Hopefully with all the land out there we'll end up with a good-sized piece of property. Even though for the last four years I've been promised a horse every time we move, it hasn't happened yet. Although I seriously doubt it, maybe this time it'll actually come true. Almost every place we've been we could have gotten a horse, whether we kept it on our own property or not. We've mostly had land in the places we've been, but I suppose since we move so much it'll never happen. I'm positive that if we got a horse we'd sell it when we moved, cause Grampa would be so adamant about not trailering it because of the cost. I just can't seem to convince him that it wouldn't cost very much to have someone else trailer it.

I have to save up my money to buy stuff for whatever horse I get - but with all the work I've done in the past, that shouldn't be a problem. I hope I can find a stable where I can get a decent job, with good pay and nice people. I'm planning to get a dappled gray Arabian horse-very soon. Wow!
Humph. Give me a break. Like I'd really get my own horse. My very own, beautiful, wonderful horse to love and ride and be with for the rest of my life. Yeah, right. About as much chance of that happening as pigs flying. Dream on. Why hasn't God answered my prayers with a 'yes' yet? How long is it going to be? I don't know how much longer I can stand it.
I've got to go to my lesson now. I think we're going to be jumping higher this time. It's not really very much fun working or even riding over there when you have absolutely no friends at all. It's infuriating how they ignore me, no matter how kind I am to them. It is great getting a chance to train a horse, though. Now that I think about it, I guess I really would like to move, so maybe I'll actually have some friends at the next barn where I take lessons. I don't look forward to leaving Countess, though.

Wanda (my riding teacher) says that I am no doubt her best student, and that she'll give me a letter of recommendation for my next school. By the way, we're moving in one week. Grandma's yelling now, so I'd better go.


Sixteen-year-old Kaitlin Evans lay down her pencil, sighed, and tucked her journal far back out of sight in her closet behind piles of clothes heaped among model horses and books. This really wasn't necessary, as there was no one around to read it, but Katy felt safer doing it anyway. She really didn't want anyone reading her private thoughts, especially since she poured her feelings out so freely and vividly onto the pages.

Rising and forcing the closet doors shut past old school papers and music CDs, she donned her weather-beaten jodhpurs and paddock boots and grabbed her riding helmet and gloves to put on when she reached her destination. She switched out her light and trudged down the old, creaky stairs of their nineteenth-century house in the suburbs of Albany, New York.

Her grandmother impatiently honked the horn of the old blue Toyota that sat on the crumbling pavement of the driveway, trying to prompt Katy into hurrying.

'Katy, hurry up! You're going to be late again! Don't you care about holding the class up?' she yelled in a perturbed voice.

Katy flipped her long, shiny brown hair over her shoulder and rolled her deep blue eyes. Couldn't her grandmother ever leave her alone? Katy knew she was trying to help, but at times, everyone looking after her like she was a baby got annoying. Katy knew she was late but didn't really care. She felt bad for it, since she knew that it wasn't Christ-like to rebel against her elders. She sighed and climbed in. The truck pulled out of the driveway, tires crunching over the concrete bits, and sped ten miles an hour over the speed limit through the town. It pulled up so sharply in front of a brightly painted blue barn that Katy's seat belt locked. Katy grimaced at the sharp pain that lashed through her chest on impact, unbuckled, and grabbed her gear from the backseat. She hopped out, slammed the door and stalked into the large building, refusing to give her grandmother the satisfaction of a wave or even a glance. She heard the truck pull away behind her and sneaked a peek as it careened back the way they had come.


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