Horse Church

The notice on the bulletin board read:

“The Blessing of the Animals, 1 pm, Sunday October 25.”

I made a mental note to be at the stables to have my horse, Dane, blessed. Because God knows, after being launched into inner space as detailed here, we both need it.

Happy horse owners who regularly skirt penury and eminent stays at debtor’s prison drove from far and wide to the stables to have their ponies Blessed.

Among them was my Dutch friend, Caroline, who is often confused with Dutch super models. Here Caroline guides 3 year old Chamonix into the arena-turned-sanctuary.

Between tall and slim Lisa and tall and slim Caroline, I appear abundantly average and have stopped standing between or next to either of them.

The bulletin board invitation indicated all animals in need of Blessing are welcome to the ceremony. Observe these soon-to-be-blessed cute dogs exhibiting good manners. I’m a sucker for Shelties.

Dane, my trusty steed, stands quietly eyeing …

this scene.

Barn Family Values. From the looks of it those who are Blessed together stay together.

Our stable is configured into three seperate barns: A and B and thus the predicatably named Barn C. These are the horses and riders from Barn C across the parking lot who are commonly referred to as ”Those Eventer People.” They spend copious amounts of time jumping over fences at high rates of speed. I believe their endeavor leaves them in the greatest need of being Blessed.

From the lack of interaction between those in Barn C and me and my colleagues in Barn A, one might conclude the parking lot is the size and depth of the Atlantic. Note to self: wander across lot, introduce yourself and talk to these nice girls.

Noticeably absent from this scene are the Dads who presumably foot the bills for this cash thirsty sport. Lots of bills. And then another bill.

I suspect The Dads are:

a: working overtime

b: watching “the game”

c. sitting in their cars bored out of their minds

d. content in knowing their daughters’ whereabouts and satisfied these young ladies are involved in a sport that demands concentration, promotes self-esteem and a focus on something besides themselves.

Talking about lovely young ladies, here are Chris and her daughter Caroline who I’ve dubbed Caroline junior. Caroline Jr. holds her horse, Shelby. Recent advancements in carbon dating techniques indicate that Shelby is 1.6 million years old and thus the perfect little girl’s horse. (Please excuse the blurry image. Horses don’t stand still for Kodak moments.)

Horses and dutiful owners line up for the Big Moment. As the Deacon began the ceremony, all 22 horses and several dogs were unusually serene. They know so much more than us.

Caroline, laughing at a joke that no one else heard, stands next to her husband Douwe. Douwe is the King of Pringles. Please buy some, eat them and repeat that process. Regularly.

The Deacon enters in all his finery and other Blessing-related stuff. As a card-carrying Wasp, I have little idea of the accessories involved in official Blessings, but I like his colorful sash. He’s the only one brave enough to wear white to a barn.

The Deacon begins the ceremony while Dane gives me the evil eye.

The Deacon recited comforting words about these magnificent creatures although I can’t remember much since I was taking these equally magnificent photos.

After the recitation the Deacon blessed each horse. Here’s my friend Kathy with her beautiful boy, Dru.

I harbor a not-so-secret yet unrequieted love for Dru. Riding him is akin to sitting on a Barkolounger at a sports bar. Everything is fine when I’m riding Dru. Kathy has been duly warned that if she finds Dru among the missing she can rest assured that he will have been confiscated by me and added to my payroll.

Now that you’re finished reading this post I must disclose that it has taken three hours to:

• write the Pulitzer Prize winning commentary
• select the images
• edit the photographs and,
• dodge this guy who won’t stay off of the keyboard.

Move a cat? Please.