There are times when I feel like a mare wrangler. Now, I put myself in this position, given my affinity for the fairer sex of the equine world. Most of the horses I've ridden and trained have been mares, and currently, with the exception of Sublime, my competition horses are female (although there are times when I wonder if Sublime is a woman trapped in a man's body, particularly when he squeals when offended). I owe my career, everything I know, to mares.
Since we made our move to Florida, things have gotten out of hand, however. The estrogen levels are higher than normal, particularly with the re-arrival of Nicolbria. She was stationed at Hilltop Farm, as she is in foal to Bugatti Hilltop, but I decided to bring her to Wellington with me as a companion for Nikita and Sister Hazel. You'd think being pregnant, she would be too fat, too lazy, too entranced by her maternal glow, or some other such pregnancy-related cliche, to cause much trouble.
Yet here I stand, wrangling 3 very different mares, and it's Round 10 of the Fight for Boss Mare. Nicolbria and Nikita have been going at it nonstop, gleefully, as this is their "Mean Girls" past time. There days when I've left, leaving Nicolbria and Sister Hazel turned out together, only to find them in different paddocks upon my return. I'm surprised the neighbors haven't complained about the unending dinosaur sounds that emanate from my stalls. Sister Hazel, usually the silent-silent partner, has begun uttering her opinions. I'm certain she thinks the other two are nuts. Now I know how Mr. Bennett felt.
Still, as I look at potential sale horses, I notice they all have one thing in common: They're mares.