The first part of any “horse husband” story is about falling in love. I never expected a life with horses. I never sought for water buckets, dressage scores, bell boots, saddle pads in the laundry or feed supplements to become part of my life.

I lived in a concrete loft, in the center of a major city. I slept late and drove a sporty car that couldn’t tow anything. I never expected to sit outside and watch horses graze like slow ships and feel so thoroughly at home. But, as I said, these stories begin with love, and I fell in love with my wife.

Some truths about horsewomen: They are passionate, purposeful, strong people. They like to talk about horses. And they disappear for great lengths of time. I’ve been told that it is a fortunate event for writers to marry horsewomen. When I first met my wife, we were both young. We made a date, had a wonderful dinner, and she invited me into her small house. It was tidy and warm. There were pictures of her mother and father, her brother, her grandparents. There were twice as many pictures of horses. You might have assumed that a family of horses and a few select people had raised her.

After a long discussion about the finer points of horse breeds that went far into the night (“Was dappled a breed or a color?” I asked. “Then why is Paint a breed?”), she sent me home. Now, I figure my wife kept me and decided to marry me for two reasons: she pitied my ignorance of the blessedness of horses, and while I thought I was courting, she was converting.

After we had dated for a while, I couldn’t help asking where she disappeared to on weekends and after work, and why she had to go to bed so early and get up so early, and, how, on God’s earth, did she get so dirty? By the way, where did all of her money go?

My wife is a stunning woman, and we were getting serious in our relationship. Naturally, as a man overwhelmed by the weather of love, I secretly followed her the next weekend. Like a private eye, I waited on the side of the road, slumped in my car, and when she passed me I followed her out of the city, through the suburbs, and into the country. I hung back, since there wasn’t much traffic so early on a Saturday morning, but I could see that she was animated and happy in her car.

I stopped my car at the long lane leading to the barn and walked the last quarter mile. What I found, many other men have found–the best and worst cases simultaneously confirmed. There was an affair, and I had competition. There was no other man, though there was a very large male involved, bigger and stronger than me. I was confident that I held the evolutionary edge–until she waved to me as she got out of her car at the barn and called out that she had fresh coffee in a thermos if I wanted some, since I wasn’t used to being up so early.

While she tacked up, I bumbled through explanations of what exactly I was doing there. She didn’t hear me or didn’t care, or maybe was just testing my powers of invention to see what I could come up with. That morning, I sat on a cross-country jump and watched her ride while I drank her coffee, and I began to see horses through her eyes.

The second part of any horse husband’s story is about commitment. The old axiom that “the cheapest part of buying a horse is buying the horse” is true for every aspect of our lifestyle. Owning horses is the most speculative investment there is. I carefully explained this to my wife over dinner. I explained the constant market returns we should expect over our lifetimes and that horses did not guarantee any such financial return. Dollar cost averaging could not be applied to the equine world. I compared owning horses to our other investments. I bellowed and banged the table at my wide-eyed wife about gold miners, oil wildcatters, dot com kids, and horse owners.

“Horses,” I said, “aren’t a sound financial plan.”

She tilted her head at me for a moment, finished chewing and said, “Who said they were?”

I was bested again. “Besides,” she said, in a moment of Zen clarity, “which is more important?”

I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but I knew enough to keep my mouth shut, because any answer I gave would sound petty and small. Her point wasn’t to ignore financial obligations in our life besides horses. She is well educated in matters of the dollar. Remember, there is a term for difficult financial negotiating called “horse trading.” Her point, demonstrated every day in her actions, was that the quality of life was more important than money.

My wife’s love of all things equine has become my admiration of all things equine, and it has shaped every aspect of our lives. Because owning, training and competing horses is such a huge commitment of time and money, almost everything we do is affected: vacations, child rearing, work and sleep schedules. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Horse people are not one dimensional, not boring, and most of all are passionate about what they do. Louis Bunuel, the half crazy, avant-garde Spanish film maker said men (and women) are lost if they do not have a passion. Bunuel was right. His was the perfect martini. Without this passion, you cannot be a horse person. It’s just too difficult and dangerous for dilettantes. The energy and commitment given on a daily basis to being a competitive eventer rivals Rocky’s.

Recently, we had our first child. Let me be immediately clear. My wife loves our son infinitely more than any combination of horses. That is not even a relevant question. However, at the baby shower I should have seen how this boy’s life was going to mesh with horses. We received a gift of fly netting with every baby device. For his car carrier, fly netting, for his stroller, fly netting, for his swing, fly netting.

At one month, our son was at the barn, meeting his extended family of barn cats, horses, dogs, and a great crowd of “aunts” who doted on him while my wife worked her way back into shape on a 4-year-old Paint that made her glow with life. In no way should this be interpreted as a statement about horses outranking our child, or neglect, or any other silly idea that non-horse people might have about parenting safety and animals. Our son was introduced into the rich quilt of barn life early on, and it will benefit him the rest of his life, as it has me.

At the local and regional level, women dominate eventing. At events, you see many men lugging water buckets, shooting videos and cooking. This is not an obligation, but a “thank you” note delivered a weekend at a time.