Rachel Lindo, Staff Writer

I have a confession to make: there once was a time when my bedroom walls were plastered with horse posters, a calendar, a clock, and I’d sleep under horse-patterned blankets. I even had horses from American Girl for my American Girl dolls. Without looking closer at the evidence, all things point to me being a horse girl. Aha! That’s where you’re wrong and where it shows you didn’t read the title! My saving grace here is that I had American Girl dolls first before any horses of the sort!

I thought horses were cool because I bet on them when my dad took me to the races when I was little. Also, animals in general are cool as heck to an outdoors-loving kid. When my parents took me with them to walk around Woodlake, I’d chase after frogs. I can’t forget reading a book about pets cover to cover, countless times.

When I really think of it, I did think betting was boring. My only real interest was in petting a horse and giving them treats.

This didn’t mean I wanted a horse.

When I saw the bandit Miss Katherine in “Holes” speed through the desert on horseback, it blew my mind. That woman was a grade-A BAMF. Like any kid would after seeing that BAMF, I asked if I could have a pony. So, y’know, I could cause chaos in the desert.

When Minnesota doesn’t even have deserts.

Now, on my dad’s side, family kind of has this bad habit where when someone says something to which anyone else would say, “Yeah, that’s cool I guess,” for them it immediately translated into:

“Yes, please get me anything and everything related to this one thing because that’s all my life revolves around.”

They forgot the fact that “Pirates of the Caribbean” was all the rage, or that I legit would put “Lord of the Rings” movies on repeat, or that I needed to rent any “Sailor Moon” VHS tape from Blockbuster.

I saw “Black Beauty” once and my relatives thought that, yes, I lived, breathed and pissed horses.

I think what really saved me from horse-girlhood was that horse clock — it would neigh every hour, on the hour. It kept me up for nights. I’d lay awake at night, my eyes narrowed while I glared at it.

I resented the neighs. I resented the horses.

Look, I don’t even remember what type of horses were on there. I have no idea what breeds of horses there are, even to this day. Even more evidence to point to how I wasn’t ever a true horse girl: my family couldn’t afford a horse! And do you think once I ran all the financial logistics of even getting a horse that I even really wanted to commit to one? No! I was eight! You don’t give an eight-year-old responsibility to take care of a living, breathing thing when they can’t even keep goldfish alive!

But anyways, I kept the clock up on the wall for a bit; I did get it as a Christmas present from family.

But when the clock’s ticking made sleep difficult and when the neighs would shake me from sleep — I had a vendetta to fulfill.

I jumped up from my bed, grabbed the clock from the wall, stormed off to the kitchen, searched for a hammer and smashed it.

Well, I’m being dramatic.

I really looked for a screwdriver, so I could get the batteries out.

Then threw the clock in the trash where it belonged.

To this day, though, the neighs haunt my nightmares — reminding me that my parents tried to make me a horse girl.

This article was originally published in the Nov. 2, 2018 issue. 

Illustration by Rachel Lindo.