Cowgirl to the Core
Horses with coats of calico colors will always catch my eye. Dapples, buckskins and roans have a way of standing out from the herd. I have a way of falling for the blue roans, but outer beauty will never outweigh what lies beneath the skin.
I didn't start wearing makeup probably until seventh grade, and even then, it was rare for me to put a little mascara on my blonde eyelashes. I was friends with a few girls who were a year older than me and once they hit middle school, it was all about makeup and boys.
I was tagging along with them one day at the 4-H fair and they spent the entire time trying to convince me to let them give me a makeover. My main concern was on making my horse look good for the open speed show that night, and I had no intention of letting them put any sparkles on my face.
I finally gave in after they swore they would let me wash it off my face before we left the camper. I sat somewhat patiently as they painted my face with some subtle, but shiny makeup. It was only a little bit of eyeshadow and mascara, but I don't know how many times I sighed loudly and asked, "Are you done yet?"
When they were finally pleased with their work, they handed me a mirror to inspect the damage. I managed to mumble something I thought would satisfy them and asked, "OK, can I wash it off so I can go get my horse ready?" They simply looked at each other, giggled and said, "Nope! We don't have any makeup remover; you have to leave it on!"
I didn't know anything about makeup at the time and I probably could have scrubbed it off if I really wanted to, but back then I believed them. They drug me out of the camper to show off their work to the entire county fair. I tried several more times to get them to find something to get it off my face, but they just kept giggling and telling me it made me look so good.
"All the boys will take a second look when they see you riding past," they told me.
This just made me glare at them even more. I didn't want some boy to notice me just because I had some glitter on my eyelids. I wanted them to notice me after I left them in the dust during a fast barrel pattern. I wanted them to notice the way I could handle my firecracker of a horse, and how we came together as a team the second we stepped into the arena.
I wanted to show everyone that I was capable and determined.
Don't get me wrong, I wasn't all tomboy. But for that, there was a time and a place. I thought I wouldn't be taken seriously if I rode into the ring with a painted face.
I have since learned that I can be both grit and glam and still try my hand at outriding the cowboys. A little red lipstick or painted nails don't deter my ability to handle a horse. I especially love the way my diamonds and turquoise accent the leather and horse hair. But I think there is still a lesson to be learned from the innocent little cowgirl that believed beauty should be more than just skin deep.
A horse can have a beautiful coat, just like a person can accentuate their attractive features with makeup, clothes or jewelry. However, if that horse doesn't have the build, brains and heart, it is not worth anything to me. The looks may catch my eye, but what's on the inside is the thing that makes me fall in love with a horse.
I've learned to never pass up on a horse just because of its color. There are rare and wonderful times when you can find the perfect combination, but a plain sorrel mare with no flashy chrome will always beat the prettiest blue, grullo or dun if she has the fire and drive in her heart.