The Sweet Smell of Poop, I mean Spring

Where I'm from, you know spring is coming at the appearance of two things: daffodils and dogwood blossoms. There are neither in my current neck of the woods, so how am I supposed to know it's spring?! Oh yeah...that guy...the weather man who LIES to me! I'm on the him...his sneaky manipulation tactics don't work on me. Not that well anyway. It's been in the 30's and 40's here and rainy for weeks, and I want to know where the sun is! What have you done with her?!

Since I don't have dogwoods or daffodils to warn me of the impending regeneration of life I guess I have to rely on my horse's coat...or lack thereof. I know spring is on it's way when I can stroke my horse and get a handful of hair back for my effort. Most people I know hate that, but I love it. Besides, there's not much for him to lose anyway. Thank you, Eclipse, you sweet considerate little arab. I spent how much money on blankets? I don't want to think about it.

Spring in the city. I've only experienced one up to this point, and I don't remember it very well. All I've seen so far is rain and apart from that-- no leaves, no flowers (aside from the oh-so-rare indoor cultivated lobby presentation variety), no twittering birds, no nothing.

Except...

I took a half day off from work today to meet a new trimmer for Eclipse. On my way from the city to my car in Brooklyn on the subway I experienced something so refreshing, I forgot momentarily I was underground.

I was sitting, reading a book and the door of the train opened and closed and with it came the unmistakable smell of horse. My head bolted upward, nose searching through stale b.o. and worn shoe smells. Where is it coming from?! I shamelessly sniff my jacket and pants thinking it's me, and wondering if I perhaps forgot to wash something before wearing it to work (like I care if they are bothered by my favorite perfume! Pah!). But no, to my disappointment, it's not me.

Then, a man sits diagonally across from me wearing some very nice breeches, boots, spurs and half chaps. I think I stopped myself from speaking to him about 20 times. I wanted so badly to ask him where he was riding or had ridden! It was so refreshing, seeing one of my kind. I was searching my mind for anything identifiable on my person he would be able to recognize in a fellow horse-person, but I had nothing! Not even a button with Eclipse's face on it! For shame...

I wore a smile the rest of the way to the barn. It made me so happy to see and smell something familiar somewhere I feel so awfully foreign. But why couldn't I just speak up and say something? Anywhere else I would have introduced myself immediately, but for whatever reason, there were no words justifiable for fear of any embarrassment that may have sprung from the conversation.

What was really awesome about this though, was the fact that it wasn't fashion. I see so many fashionable women's magazines prompting readers to order breeches and riding boots from State Line Tack or Dover Saddlery merely for wearing to the office! Of course I rejoiced at the idea of an excuse to wear my riding attire to work and get away with it but my spirits were slightly dampened at the realization that once my coworkers got a whiff of that ever-so dominant smell of manure my fashion do would turn quickly into a fashion don't-for-the-love-of-all-that-is-good-and-holy! NO!

Sigh. What's worse about all of this is that I'm so much more humiliated for my barn friends to see me in actual work clothes than my riding pants and tee-shirt, because it means I won't be riding. Oh, the agony of heals in a dirt paddock. It's just unnatural.