Third Thursday Third Things - January '26 Edition
When to feed the hunger
About a year ago, I bopped over the mountains to Silverton to watch my first-ever skijoring event. At the time, I was taking horse riding lessons once a week, but could barely tell you a single intelligent thing about horses. Still, I’d been rolling around the idea like a marble in my skull that maybe, someday, I could own a horse.
Well, there must have been some kind of magic in the air that weekend in Silverton because I was intoxicated with the idea of horses. Maybe this is how people feel about having human babies (an urge I have never once possessed). But I was overcome by everything—the smell, the snorts, and the power behind a 1,200-pound animal contained only by a few bits of leather. I had a sudden want so great it felt as though it would consume me.
By March 2025, I had done the wild thing. I bought a horse.
Tex was never going to be a competitive skijoring horse—a fact I knew when I bought him. And I was never going to be some kind of competitive rider. Still, the allure of him simply existing was satiating.
Ten months in and I still show up to the barn a little stunned that he’s real. But more than anything, I’m stunned that he very obviously loves me. I’m stunned that people can trade out horses like they trade out cars because I can’t imagine a world where he continues to exist and isn’t by my side. I’m stunned that he’s always excited to see me even though I regularly ask him to do hard things and to do them with a novice.
Last Saturday, I drove up to Ridgway to watch another season of skijoring. This time, I could look at the horses coming down the track and guess their breeds with a little bit of accuracy. I could see who had good horsemanship and who still needed some time to learn. I could spot a saddle that didn’t fit the horse and a saddle that didn’t fit the rider, and I wondered what bits folks were using and stared down each horse to see if anyone else was riding bitless like me.
I tell you this because if you’re living life by headlines right now, well, things are a little bleak. And while I can’t stop ICE raids or turn back the clock on climate change, what I can tell you is that there’s a purebred Cool Ranch Dorito named Texas Roadhouse out in Grand Junction who is so obsessed with a couple of goats who live across the field that he will slam on the brakes in the middle of a ride just to watch them munch grass nearby. That there was a goober-shaped hole inside of me I didn’t know existed until I met this nutjob who trips over his own feet, and follows you around to every poop you scoop, and runs to the gate and lowers his head for the halter when he sees you coming with the lead rope because that’s how badly he wants to hang out with you.
What I can tell you is that if there is a sudden, unexplainable hunger that one day grows inside of you, don’t hesitate to feed it. Don’t waste time making a pros and cons list. Don’t bother asking for advice. Definitely don’t check your news feeds first. Set out a bowl and fill it as quickly as you can with whatever you can find.
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