Safe at Home

Where we can pee in peace

In the horse world people love to debate. One of the favorite topics for debating is “stalls”: Some folks think horses should not be in stalls and only be out in grass rich pastures with acres to roam. For me, I would say there aren’t that many places, especially in Southern California, where that exists, even if you have the millions you’d need to purchase and maintain it. And honestly, I know for sure, not all horses would like this. Trudy, for example, loves her stall. It is where she feels safe.

In this increasingly troubled world, everyone needs a place where they feel safe.

Trudy is not a fearful horse; she is full of personality and feels she has a right to know and be involved in everything that is going on. Her stall is where her food is, where her water bucket is, and where she gets a front row seat to all the activities and drama of the barn.

And something a little unique to Trudy as a horse – perhaps many humans can relate – is that she feels most comfortable peeing in her stall. Seriously, not kidding. If she gets antsy in the cross ties, I can almost guarantee she needs to pee. When a horse next to her, especially a gelding, pees in the cross ties, she looks at them with such disdain and disgust. I mean, she looks at the geldings with disdain anyway, but the additional disgust is tangible.

Everyday Trudy, as well as Ty and all the horses, gets groomed, then walked, then exercised, then ridden, then turned out into the paddocks to relax, enjoy the sunshine, and breathe the fresh air. She spends most of the day outside of her stall. When Trudy is turned out for free time, she enjoys it for about ten minutes. She’ll roll, thus ensuring her almost white coat stays filthy. She might run around a bit, suck up some water, try to eat some leaves off the shade trees, but then she’s well and done. She can’t see what’s going on in the barn from there and gets bored quickly. If any of the grooms or I walk by and don’t collect her to take her back to her stall, she verbally complains and throws daggers at us with her stares.

Horses, like people, get accustomed to routines and surroundings, and find comfort in what’s familiar.

When I lived in New York City, I loved the energy and activity, the feeling of being at the center of world events. I loved the way the whole city could bond together as one in times of crisis, and the way neighborhoods developed their own identity and vibe. There was always something happening, something to do. Part of my heart will always be in New York, and I thought at one point that I would always be a city dweller there.

But I also tired of sharing walls, of knowing too much about my neighbor’s activities and personal lives as it floated to me through those walls. And vice versa. Many times, I wished for a yard so I could let my dogs out instead of having to dress and walk them several times a day. I yearned for more personal space while smashed up against a crowd of people on the subway, with my face in some random dude’s armpit.

Whenever I hit my limit and felt too hemmed in, I’d go traveling to places as far away and as different from the city as possible. I’d go to Africa to safari and marvel at the wildlife, to Nepal to trek the Himalayas, to Chile to walk on icebergs and ford rivers on horseback. I’d go diving the depths for shipwrecks in the South Pacific, or cavort with Great White Sharks in Australia, or swim with Whale Sharks in the waters off the Galapagos Islands. I climbed up to Machu Picchu to marvel at the ancient wonders, then rode horses and learned to surf (albeit very badly) in Costa Rica.

I contemplated being a traveling nomad: Photographing and writing about my experiences, never settling in one place. Of course, I would have to give up having pets and my penchant for having a lot of clothes was problematic. So, there was that.

Sometimes for my New York, then later Los Angeles, getaways, I’d visit my sister at her small horse ranch in Northern Florida. Her horses have stalls with big green paddocks and large pastures to laze in during the day. Her largest pasture is especially idyllic, with a huge moss-covered tree in the center providing ample shade and situated so that you can watch the horses from the house.

At one point she decided to try not bringing her horses in every evening, but just leaving them out in the pasture instead. That evening, looking out the window, she found the horses lined up, watching the house, throwing very Trudy-esque stares at her. Clearly, they wanted to be in their stalls.

I began to dream of having my own green acres, where horses could roam my front yard and all sorts of animals could join the menagerie. Sure, I was by myself but maybe I could hire some help. If my money lasted. And I never went on vacation. And I kept cars for more than four years. And I sold all my nice clothes and maybe an organ or two.

But as we get older, we get to know ourselves better. Taking the pieces that worked for me and putting them together, I eventually came to some conclusions and an understanding of what I needed.

When I bought this, my first, house, I knew I didn’t want property I’d have to work on or update, as I had done so many times to apartments in New York, especially my last one. I had no more energy for fixer-uppers.

And as for a big green space and room for my horses to roam? I nixed that idea once I landed at our current barn. No. Better to have the experts taking care of my precious horses. And there is some freedom in that arrangement for when the travel bug hits me again and I head off to parts unknown.

For my home, I was looking for a gated community where the park and shared spaces are well maintained. I wanted a nice place where neighbors were friendly but not intrusive. With the convenience of having all the stores and services I need nearby and yes, now that I’m older, easy access to medical care.

And I found it. My own stall.

Last week I walked Trudy from the turnout, down the barn aisle to her stall, and watched as she stepped in. She let out a long sigh as she situated herself properly and began a nice long pee. I smiled – and then quickly moved out of the way. She finds it funny to run her tail through the stream and then flick it at me, so that I’m covered in a mist of urine. Hilarious, that one.

Later that evening I pulled through the front gates, then into my garage, and watched as the garage door closed behind me. I let out a long sigh and – no, I did not pee, what is wrong with you? – I was just glad to be home.

How we each live is a balance of the inside and the outside. What fits perfectly for one does not fit for everyone. But we all deserve somewhere we can feel safe. A place we can, each of us, call home.