Black Beauty, part one: pre-read.

I grew up in a rural community. There was no shortage of farms. As someone who loved animals and the outdoors, this was ideal, as I got to spend hours playing with other people’s barn cats, which I loved. (Sidebar: a childhood friend and I nicknamed an outbuilding “the cat house” and spent hours there every summer, brushing mangy barn cats into submission. Only recently did I realize that “cat house” is another way of saying “whorehouse.”) I didn’t even mind the smell, or the cows, as long as I got to play (probably dangerous) games of hide-and-seek in the hay lofts and feed the lambs. One breed of animal I did not have much time for, however, was the horse.

I have been on a horse exactly three times in my life: once at the aforementioned friend’s house, with the horse at a slow walk and my friend’s mother holding tightly to the reins; once on a class trip to a riding trail where the horses knew the way and were taking it whether you wanted to or not; and once in my neighbour’s barn, without a saddle. All three times were mildly terrifying. I was not a horse girl. I realize, though, that many young girls love horses. Really love them. Horses are their passion: palominos, ponies, even unicorns. Especially unicorns. I just didn’t get it, though. Horses weren’t cuddly; they were frighteningly gigantic. They looked mean and undoubtedly were just waiting for you to let your guard down so they could kick you in the face. These were my thoughts on horses, if I even thought of them at all.

Until I read Black Beauty. I believe it was a gift, though I can’t remember from whom. I probably read it because I pretty much read whatever people put in front of me, but I do remember not being able to put it down. And crying; I remember crying. Cursing the unfeeling nature of humans, the hard life of the horse. This is likely because this book is written in first-person horse (that is so strange to write [the phrase; I have never written a book in first-person horse]). Obviously the emotional connection often brought about by the first-person tense worked on my young self. The details are vague, for now, one of the reasons I want to re-read it.

Stay tuned.