In Langley, the horse world is divided by discipline. Eventers are the Kamikaze contingent, while dressage devotees share an addiction to oversized horses and undersized white tights. Both groups sneer at trail riders, who defend their casual riding style by pointing out that their horses can function in the real world, outside of an arena.
In the Interior of B.C., where our three geldings are enjoying a summer ranch vacation, horse folk are united by one thing: an intense dislike of cow people. In that vast region outside Vancouver referred to as ‘upcountry,’ you’re either a horse person or a cow person.
Mixed marriages do occur, but are rare. One such alliance took place between the young couple boarding our horses.
She is a former Langley eventer who trains horses on a postage stamp-sized paddock — the only area in their large property not routinely trampled by her husband’s beloved cows.
According to the wife, he misled her during their courtship: he boasted he could ride anything with hair, but was bucked off so often while trying to impress her that she jokes she agreed to marry him to save him from terrible injury.
“His pretense of being a horse lover soon faded once we got married. Around then the cows started to arrive, lots and lots of them,” she recalled.
How are cow people different? They tend not to know or care where their animals spend the night. Or the entire summer season, for that matter — as long as they show up when the cattle liner comes to take them to market.
After we kept finding cow patties dotting our porch and verandas, the cow guy agreed to round up his animals and move them back home. He found no fewer than 19 strays, munching and pooping on our back 40. Actually, munching and pooping are all cows know how to do. I confronted him about his shocking negligence.
“Don’t you care where your cows go at night? They could be at the mall, hanging out with bovines from the wrong side of the tracks. They could be having wild parties in the bush,” I said.
His wife’s horses, on the other hand, spend their evenings in their clean, tidy paddocks.
There are some vague similarities between the cow and horse fanatics. The husband spoke once in reverent terms of a man who “knew how to move among cows without spooking them at all.” A cow whisperer, I suppose
I’m not suggesting the horse people east of Hope live in perfect harmony, and are fond of group hugs. There are some serious gender biases at work here: you’re either a mare lover, or you know that geldings rule.
The atmosphere in our Langley bachelor pad barn was quiet and orderly. Upcountry, our three well-behaved geldings shared a barn with a couple of mares. Soon after they discovered their hormonal stall buddies, they began to lose their minds.
The mares would nip at them as they walked by, and they would arch their tails, dilate their nostrils and storm around in response. Within a week, they were ‘whipped,’ as they say upcountry.
All three would stretch their necks so far over their stall doors to get close to the forbidden fruit across the barn aisle that they risked disclocating their vertebrae.
The cow person, tired of being the meat in a mare sandwich, tried to play the gender card to divide us.
“Too bad my wife’s mares wrecked the fence and your horses got out,” he would comment to me. Or, “I see your gelding has a cut on his leg. Must have been kicked by my wife’s mares.”
Like most people who devote their lives to the giant lumps of flesh that litter the landscape in ranch country, the cow husband could never be accused of being subtle.
accidentalrider@yahoo.com
