As it is with all young girls, horses were the only thing on my mind when I was younger. I read about horses. I watched movies about horses. I talked non-stop about horses. And, of course, I dreamt about horses. Anna Sewell’s famous equine character, Black Beauty, made frequent appearances in my sleep. He would charge at monsters to scare them away, allowing me to sleep peacefully for the rest of the night. Actually seeing a horse in person outside my dreams was a rare occurrence though, let alone riding one. Apart from a pony ride at a fair when I was very young, I had never been on the back of a horse. Due to allergies, I could barely be around, let alone ride, a horse. It's funny how the world works.
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Seeing horses was a slightly more accessible treat for the younger me. There is a large field belonging to the National Equestrian Center which lies along side the highway. While driving by, my mom would occasionally pull over, and let me out of the car. Standing on the fence surrounding the field I could watch the greys, palominos, blacks, bays, and even an appaloosa with the characteristic lack of tail, grazing in the late afternoon sunlight. Though nothing dramatic ever occurred between the horses, I enjoyed simply watching them systematically trimming the grass, twitching their muscles to unsettle a pesky fly, or rhythmically swishing their tails. On one occasion, a horse slowly sidled up to the fence and, to my delight, pushed its whiskery nose into my palm, allowing me to stroke its neck. Though my mother had no interest in watching the horses, she enjoyed the sight of her daughter’s silhouette perched on the fence gazing dreamily across the field. Even though it would please her to see her daughter’s smiling face as I returned to the car, it would pain her at the same time. These infrequent stops by the field were virtually the only incidences where I was close to horses – and this was as heartbreaking for my parents as it was for me.
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My parents finally gave in when I was eight years old, and took me for a trial ride at the nearby barn. It was my first and only riding lesson. The trip was going to make sure that I like riding, that it wasn’t just a fad. Of course, I knew that I would like it. How could I not, if it was anything like what the movies and books depicted. I barely slept that night; it seemed that as soon as I started to drift off, I would remember what I was doing tomorrow, and I would be wide awake again.
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The lesson was everything I had expected, and more. But as I was leading the pony back to the field, overjoyed with my new experience, I became aware that something was wrong. My eyes were getting itchy and painful, my sight was becoming blurry from rubbing my eyes, and I was feeling more uncomfortable every step I took. I wasn’t leading the pony any more, she was leading me. The barn manager said that I was probably reacting to the straw and dust in the barn. By the time we pulled into the drive at home, my entire face was swollen, and my eyes were closed shut. What a sad ending to a day which had otherwise been full of pleasant events.
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A visit to the allergy clinic was scheduled soon after. The doctor made row on row of little blue dots with a felt tip pen. He then brought out a series of eye droppers from glass bottles, containing samples of the different common allergens, and put a tiny drop of each kind on the separate blue dots. I tried to recall which dot was the one with the horse allergen, but I soon lost it. Now came the alarming part. Out of a drawer he brought a flat metal tool, with a sharpened point on one end. He pricked the skin on each of the blue dots, to let the liquids seep under the skin. He instructed me not to scratch, for it would alter the results. After a painfully itchy half hour, he came to the conclusion both my parents and I had been dreading: I am strongly allergic to horses. I felt deflated. I couldn’t believe, I didn’t want to believe, that I was allergic. An assistant rubbed some putridly pink coloured cream on my arm to ease the itching.The doctor told me to wait a few years and return, it is possible the allergy may go away. Unluckily for me, I had to go school right after this, with my arm stained bright pink and covered in rows of blue dots, not to mention that I was devastated with the results
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Eight years and two more visits to the allergist brings us to my current situation. Although the tests showed that I am just as allergic as before, I have noticed a drastic difference in my reactions. I have ridden one horse since that first lesson, an adorable quarter horse/arabian gelding at the farm of a colleague from my fathers office. I seem to barely react to horses when I am around them, just a few hives on my arms and on occasion, my neck. I assume that I only react badly when there is a lot of the allergen around, such as when I was grooming the pony in my first lesson, or this summer when I leant on a fence rail which the horses had chewed, leaving their spit on the wood. The allergen appears to be most present in a horse’s saliva; therefore I did not to have a reaction when I was touching the horses, yet when my skin made contact with the dried saliva on the top fence rail a slight reaction in the form of hives occurred.
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For now, the action plan is to try out taking lessons for a month, starting in June, taking any precautionary measures to insure success. Whether it will require long sleeves, goggles, gloves, or antihistemines, I don't care. There is no limit to what I will try to involve horses in my life. I have waited this long, and to finally be so close to my goal, there is nothing that I won't try to get there.
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