Tumgik
#horse people
Text
Tumblr media
Wasn’t happy with how it looked without flat colors.
303 notes · View notes
yourhoeshorses · 11 months
Text
Dear horse people of Tumblr,
When your driving your car and hit a bump or the train tracks - do you ever post the bump like you would when you trot, or am I just weird?
Thanks
27 notes · View notes
mbrainspaz · 3 months
Text
Damn, everybody in this industry is banana nuts.
Not me though.
9 notes · View notes
Text
45 notes · View notes
suspiciousmammal · 2 years
Text
my favourite part about the Spanish Riding School is when they try and explain the origins of the different moves
“We want to demonstrate the beauty and elegance of this historic breed. Also this is how you teach a horse to effectively dropkick someone on the battlefield but that’s completely besides the point.”
97 notes · View notes
lord-myk · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
Available now on Amazon
Find out more about it here
15 notes · View notes
equinista · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Some pics from my and Roxie's ride this past Saturday. It was SO nice to finally get to ride! We had got so much rain the last several weeks that the round pen and every where else was soaked and so muddy it was impossible to ride. Thankfully it finally had dried out enough to ride by Saturday! :D
5 notes · View notes
weirdyearbook · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media
From the University of Arkansas, Fayetteville's 1929 yearbook.
It's been said that hybrids evoke wonder and fear, magic and folklore. Evidence: strange hybrids.
Wondering about this post?  Wait for the dissertation (TBA). For now:  Weblog ◆ Books ◆ Videos ◆ Music ◆ Etsy
19 notes · View notes
the-crow-of-judgment · 9 months
Text
I've been thinking way too fucking much about how centaurs work.
All I can think about is how their internal organs work along with their sex organs as well as social aspects of the damn horse people
2 notes · View notes
horsesarecreatures · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media
Book review - Horse People: Scenes From the Riding Life by Michael Korda
This is the fifth time I’ve read this book. It’s my favorite horse book of all time. You’ve got to read. Even if you don’t like to read, just force yourself to with this one. You won't be sorry. 
The author, Michael Korda, is the former editor of Simon & Schuster. He’s very well-known in the literary world, but he also somewhat inadvertently got sucked into the horse world to the point of no return.
Michael grew up in England, and his father had him ride as a kid. He became somewhat wary of horses after several pony terrorists did things like dragging him into a pond and refusing to come out, forcing Michael to be rescued by soldiers. However, after moving to New York City, as an adult he took up lessons again as a way to bond with his son. He decided he liked horses, and eventually even bought one which he kept in Manhattan’s now-closed Claremont Riding Academy, but he still didn't consider himself a horse person. That changed when he met Margaret. The two had an affair at the academy, divorced each of their respective spouses at the time, and married each other the same year. I’m not condoning how their relationship  started, but Michael clearly loved her beyond words, and they stayed together until Margaret’s death in 2017. 
Margaret’s passion for horses was far greater than Michael’s, and unlike him, she was an avid competitor. Because of her, Michael got far more involved with horses than he ever expected to, as one horse became two, two became four, four became six, you get the picture. They went from boarding at Claremont, to increasingly fancy places in Westchester and Duchess county, to eventually buying their own farm. They attended various competitions and foxhunts, horse themed- vacations, and were ever on the hunt for Margaret’s next top competition horse, meeting hundreds of equestrians along the way.
What makes this book so funny even though it’s not supposed to be comedey is the way Michael, often in complete disbelief, describes the personalities and eccentricities of these old-money equestrians. I’ve mentioned before that the people who live here are just another level of nuts, and the equestrians are no exception to the rule. Sometimes it’s in a good way, and sometimes it’s in a bad way. Some of these people, like Arno Mares from the international riding camp, I’ve met, and Michael’s descriptions are spot-on. Here’s a description of Murray Ramson, an Arabian owner at Claremont and one of Michael’s first horse friends. This guy’s wife divorced him not because he was having a years-long open affair and kept a mistress in another apartment, but because she discovered he had not one but two subscriptions to Arabian Horse World Magazine, one for each residence. 
Short, florid, with a silver mustache and hair and slightly protuberant eyes, he looked like Esky, the debonair little man-about-town and boulevardier who for years was the trademark of Esquire Magazine before it turned literary and stopped featuring improbably long-legged pin-ups by Alberto Vargas and recipes for a perfect Manhattan. Murray, though married and the father of two boys, did in fact see himself very much in the image of a man-about-town and boulevardier - at the sight of a pretty girl he would stroke his mustache and chortle like a villain. He drove a dashing vintage Jaguar E-Type 2+2, dressed in English suits or tweed sports jackets with tailored “cavalry twills,” and in general presented himself straight from the pages of a man’s magazine of the late 1940s or early 1950s. Murray’s horse was a handsome chestnut Arabian gelding named Fabab, with a broad white blaze, white stockings, and a splendid, flowing mane and tail.
Arabs are among the prettiest of all breeds of horses, though because of their relatively small size and the fact that they’re not generally used for foxhunting., three-day eventing. flat-racing, or steeple chasing, they have never had a lot of respect in the English-speaking horse-word. Perhaps this is because Napoleon is also portrayed riding one. Though they are in fact tough little horses, and perform spectacularly in long-distance endurance riding in the desert or mountains, they tend to be looked upon with the kind of disdain that owners of sporting or working dogs have for breeds that are merely flashy or showy. Perhaps because of this, Arabian horses and their owners form a small, inbred world of their own, in which pedigree and appearance (of the horse, at least) count for a lot. Although a lot of the best breeding has been done outside of the Arab world for many years - in California and Poland, particularly, Arabs still carry with them a kind of romantic desert-sheik appeal for a lot of people, of whom Murray was one.
Murray lavished on “Fabby-baby,” as he called Fabab in his tenderer moments, the kind of care and attention some thought he might better have directed toward his long-suffering wife Elaine. Fabab had his own set of Mason-Pearson hairbrushes for the grooming of his mane and tail, and unlike many of the private owners at Claremont, Murray mostly took care of Fabab himself, rubbing and brushing the horse until his coat gleamed like burnished copper and his tiny hooves twinkled. In the afternoons Elaine, who was equally devoted to Fabab, would often come over and ride him in the ring - Fabab was not entirely reliable about such things as manhole covers, city buses, and umbrellas, so the trip from Claremont to the park was not thought to be safe for her on her own - then groom him all over again before he was put away for the night, wearing his own monogrammed sheet or his Baer blanket in cold weather. Fabab’s birthday was celebrated upstairs in Claremont, with - what else? - a carrot cake specially ordered for the occasion from the then-fashionable New York City Bakery of William Greenberg, Jr., and coffee, cocoa, and drinks laid out on Fabab’s tack trunk. 
To say Fabab was spoiled would be putting it mildly, but he retained a certain independent spirit, occasionally throwing Murray in the park and on one memorable occasion breaking both of Murray’s wrists. Murray was nothing if not a dedicated rider - whatever the weather, he was in the park on Fabab every morning by seven. 
This book is unique compared to others about horses because Michael never becomes a full-blown horse aficionado, even though he remains fond of them and his wife’s life and by default his own centers around them. His perspective is interesting because he is like the utmost neutral observer, reporting on chaos accurately but never giving an overly strong opinion of his own. He is therefore more objective than a true horse person, and doesn't have cognitive dissonance a lot of the equestrians around here do when it comes to problematic horse keeping practices and class divides. He neither focuses on nor neglects these issues, but always describes things to a T in way that is unironically funny. Horse People is quite underrated.
39 notes · View notes
Centaurs
Tumblr media
6 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
A "what if Bojack got to meet Hollyhock as a little kid" and they got to have an older brother/kid sister relationship much sooner.
54 notes · View notes
virtie333 · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
3 notes · View notes
mbrainspaz · 1 year
Text
just saw a girlie from the last barn I worked at post on facebook that she was 'emotionally rich' in response to an article about how dressage is a rich people sport. B*tch you drive a german sedan, breed warmbloods, own like seven of them, your whole day job is training high end sport horses, your designer dog has designer collars, and you live in a big house with your equally rich husband. And all this by 22. F*ck outta here. I'd be emotionally rich too if I could afford a home. All the rich barn biddies I know were making joking comments like that. Like y'all may not feel 'rich' but you damn sure don't know what it feels like to be a peasant.
10 notes · View notes
everythingilikehere · 2 years
Text
38 notes · View notes
ripchaos69 · 2 years
Text
I made this because why not.
8 notes · View notes