I really did want to love you. I had high hopes. Alas, it was not meant to be.
The problem was that I didn't manage my expectations - I was expecting something truly exceptional and ready to take the dressage world by storm... and what I saw... well, just wasn't.
But it is not the fault of the little meatball horses that I met, they were probably just fine specimens of what one typically sees when they shop for $5000 morgan crosses.
No, I know that a perusal of the Psychology Today blogs will tell us that really the problem stems from my childhood, as do most of the problems that make me the surly curmudgeon that I am today.
The problem was Adanac Reidagirb. The magnificent, rainbow farting Morgan from my youth.
The fact that I can remember this name, now 30+ years later tells us a few things right away. First, it tells us that I need a lot more on my mind. It also tells us that this Morgan must have made a big impression on me, back in the day.
(I can also remember all of the lyrics to "Afternoon Delight" and many other useless things that were part of my life in the late 1970's. Skyyyyyrockets in FLIGHT! *vrrrrrooom* Afternoooon DEEEELIGHT! AAAAAaaaaAAAfternoon DEEEELIGHT!).
Reidagirb was one of the resident horses at Derryvue Acres, back in the day, along with Senhor Cavaleiro and his freakshow of cattle and lusitanos.
Now, whereas Mrs. Curmudgeon may have thought Senhor Cavaleiro was magnificent, I was smitten with Reidagirb. He was like a Breyer horse come to life - black, with an archy neck and flowing mane (unlike the ewe necks and horribly pulled mohawk manes of our own ponies).
As I recall part of what made Little Barbie girl so intriguing is that although she was adorable and all, she was also a tough as nails little bitch in the making who barked commands and ruled over this horse with sort of a Nazi mind control level of intensity.
This combination of beauty and scariness was fairly disturbing, and I often thanked my lucky stars that she didn't attend my grade school. Although she was always very nice to me at the barn...chances are good she had charmed a posse of hired goons who roved the playground kicking someone's ass at recess each day. Chances were also good that it might have been me, had we been classmates.
Whereas my pony was wearing the pants and definitely running the show, she had Reidagirb by the ... well, geldings don't have balls..so whatever part of the part of the anatomy one grabs and twists when controlling a eunuch.
He had a subjugated, hen-pecked husbandly air about him, and would, as far as I could tell at the time, do it all and then some to avoid any version of grab-twist punishment. On any given day, he would school some form of English something or other with a big curb bit and flashy browband, a variety of slow-mo Western things, or pull a buggy. Beyond this, he ground tied without wandering off, pawing like an annoying idiot, or weaving his ass back and forth incessantly, even with a pile of hay only feet away (in retrospect, this seems like a cruel thing to do to a horse, but the 9 year old me found it very impressive).
So who knows what ever happened to these two - a bit of internet stalking shows that Reidagirb was a champion Morgan several years running, so all of the grab/twisting evidently worked. As far as Little Barbie girl - I can't remember her name at all so stalking is not possible, however I would hazard to guess she maybe married a rich nerd who now stands hopefully in front of her hay pile nightly without getting to actually have any. Or, otherwise, she became a high powered dominatrix type call girl hanging out with the likes of DSK. Or maybe she is just a normal, struggling adult am rider. Like me. (But how fun is that to imagine. Pffft. Zzzz).
Annnyway, I am sure you get the picture. And I probably didn't actually need the help of Psychology Today to understand why I was rooting for Morgans. I realize that really, I was insanely jealous of the perfect little barbie girl and her beautiful, browbeaten, rainbow farty, flowing maned Morgan. Some part of me still wanted to own that horse myself, 30+ years later.
And now my chance was here.
The good news was...over the ensuing decades, more hard core rainbow farter breeds had moved in and soundly kicked the crap out of the Morgans and stolen their "most useless and decorative horse breeds" crown - after all, many of them can really DO stuff, and not too shabbily either. There's not much time to fart up rainbows when you are busy actually performing.
Which left me with a dream situation... If I could find a perfect Morgan, I could secretly satisfy my inner 9 year old's desire for a horse with colourful flatuation, while still seemingly being focused on buying a respectable "dressage horse"..