I know nothing much about horses except that I’m terrified of them.
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We had one when I was little, and for some reason, she took a disliking to me, often trying to hurt me by backing me into a corner of her pen and kicking towards me, circling me on the trampoline so I couldn’t get off, intentionally walking me into the branches of the fruit trees or under the clothesline trying to knock me off if I’d braved getting on her back. And so on.
People say it’s because animals can sense when you’re scared of them.
I’m not sure why they’d need to return that fear when they weigh 10 times as much as you.
But then again, like I said, I know nothing much about horses.
I used to be scared of dogs, too, after being chased aggressively to the car by one in a public park as a small child.
Mum and Dad horrifically bought a huge, intimidating-looking boof-headed boxer during my era of canine fear.
No doubt he could have sensed my fear too, yet he didn’t match mine with fear of his own and try to cause my downfall like that unforgiving equine giant.
Instead, he was the catalyst (or should I call it dogalyst?) for change.
Since that slobbering, hefty, playful ball of muscle changed my life, dogs have been my favourite domestic animal, and I’ve always had them as pets.
At different intervals, I’ve been drawn back to horse-related activities to test whether time had alleviated my terror.
I’ve learnt, however, that I’d much rather sit on a leather seat with a motor between my legs on something that I can easily control with a gentle flick of a throttle or a couple of fingers on a brake lever than in a saddle strapped to a 400-plus-kilogram hair-covered beast with its big determined heart beating beneath me and a stubborn mind of its own with my hand unconvincingly on reins that only offer me a false sense of control.
But some people are so fearless, so confident of controlling these beasts and so skilled upon them that it’s as though they were born on horseback.
As someone who doesn’t even want to be on the same side of the fence as a horse, I find watching skilled riders fascinating (and slightly heart-stopping).
Unless you pay no attention to newspapers and radios, social media and posters in shop windows, you would probably have noticed it’s rodeo season.
There haven’t been too many weekends in the past couple of months without a rodeo within comfortable driving distance.
Last weekend, Easter weekend saw not one but two (one in Deniliquin and one in Finley).
They are a whole other world within this world — as are most special interests when you delve deep enough — but when I go to rodeos, I feel like I’m inside a movie (and out of place inside that movie).
Living in Shepparton, though a regional city, I feel far from having a city-chick label.
That title is reserved for capital city dwellers, in my mind.
In Melbourne, I feel like a country bumpkin.
But at a rodeo, I feel like the epitome of city slicker.
Circumstances and perspectives are intriguing, aren’t they?
One of my fondest childhood memories is from a trip to a rodeo.
I remember the energy of the animals, the pounding of their hooves on the ground, the dust rising into the night air, creating a mist-like effect as it floated across the beams of the event lighting, the fit and strong men and women wrangling those powerful beasts, their huge hats, their oversized belt buckles, the atmosphere in the crowd.
It was intoxicating then, and it’s still intoxicating now.
I remember the straw cowboy hat with its plastic western star adorning the front that my parents bought me as a souvenir and the imaginative play that ensued for months after while I pretended I was a cowgirl.
Of course, it was imaginative because I knew I’d never make an actual cowgirl with my fear of horses so strong.
I’ve only made it to a couple more rodeos as an adult, but I have also been able to take my kids with me to experience the thrilling atmosphere of a world so different from their own.
Dust and the scent of manure might not be your thing, nor might the use of animals within the sport, but unlike horse racing, this sport is functional in that the tasks mimic those actually performed by these horsemen and women on the land.
To me, it’s like watching sheep-dog trials, a raw display of skill, talent and cleverness that, unless we live on the land ourselves, we might not get a chance to see.
I’m thankful for the opportunity for my kids and me to get a glimpse into a lifestyle that is very different from our own at events such as these.
The Young and the Restless