Everyone’s favorite equine columnist is back with her holiday tradition of writing to Santa—with her very specific demands. 

Dear Santa Hoss, 

I hope your year has been as productive as mine has been. I know what a treat it is to hear from me, your very favorite quadruped (don’t worry, I won’t tell Comet; I know about his ego). 

In past years, I have selflessly devoted this space to requests that would ultimately benefit others. In 2019, I sent you a list of items riders on your “good” list would want to receive; in 2014, I wrote a Christmas list for my Human, based on exactly what she deserves; in 2021, I wrote to you with a job description for the Human’s next Quadruped Trainer. 

This year, I am practicing good self-care and writing to you fully on my own behalf. 

My Human foolishly believes that because I am semi-retired and enjoying a tenured professorship at a therapeutic riding facility, she doesn’t really need to get me anything for Christmas. It’s true that my every need is met by my current, lovely students who (unlike her) never do anything wrong. That doesn’t let her off the hook.

In reality, she owes me. 

For the years of long-lining, the atrocious dressage tests, the crying on the cross-country course. For that hot pink matching saddle pad/polo set she made me wear in the early years. And don’t get me started on the strawberry-patterned fly sheet.

Technically, yes, my “needs” may be met, but I have endless wants, and because I am so very good, Santa, those are basically the same thing. And since I don’t trust my Human to shop for me, I’m going to ask you for what I deserve. 

• A boutique horse cookie bakery. Yes, Santa, the actual bakery. I have learned, from years of trial and error, that you’ll never get Humans to feed an appropriate number of cookies, or the appropriate type. My students feed me wonderful treats, but they’re on winter break right now and I miss that sugar fix. The Human, when she disgraces me with a visit, is fond of these weird ‘no-guilt’ ‘sugar-free’ cookies. Don’t put your almond-mom eating hang-ups on me, kid. Go full-strength molasses or go home. (Going home is always a fantastic choice.) Because she still hasn’t figured this out, after 15 years together, I require my own small business with a baking expert devoted to my needs. Ideally one who can churn out cookies a minimum of 18 hours a day.

• A complete salt-water spa and therapeutic blanket and boot set, with attendant. People have the misconception that therapies like these are only necessary for Grand Prix horses. The truth is, if my Human can whine about needing to stand on a vibration plate after walking from one end of the Atlanta airport to the other, I am entitled to a 30-minute treatment after a long morning working my jaw while grazing. Sure, athletic work is exhausting, but life is exhausting— especially when you burn as many calories as I do in mental energy each day. 

• A piece of memory foam cut to the profile of the Human’s dressage saddle. The other day, she threw a leg over me “for old times’ sake”—an appalling surprise which made me question how good her long-term memories were about some of our old times. I think I gave her enough scares (was that a stumble or a buck? Who’s to say?!) that she’s not foolish enough to try that again, but I want to be ready just in case. The experience was a reminder that while, yes, she had thankfully upgraded her saddle standards since we last trained together (just my luck she didn’t spring for the custom until after I took a new gig), there is no substitute for balance. And she does not have it. If I could ask you to give her a sense of balance, I would, but I realize it’s something a Human is either naturally graced with or not. She was not. So, to save my precious, perfect dorsal spinous processes, I’d like as much distance between her bum and mine as possible. 

• A wardrobe of camouflage-patterned blankets and fly sheets customized to the background of my field in all four seasons. This is probably my most important request, Santa. The thing is, my assistant quadruped has taken over training the Human (god help him) but she still insists on popping up on Sunday afternoons sometimes to “visit” me, which usually entails these long therapy sessions where she spends several hours brushing my mane and whining about her first-world problems. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to her I took a job an hour away from her house for a reason. I keep hoping, if I can just hide from her for long enough, she’ll give up and go home. I’ve tried to blend into my new herd, I’ve tried hiding behind the run-in shed, I’ve tried hanging out in the little dip at the back of the field, where only my ears are visible from the gate. She always finds me. It’s the only thing she’s ever proven to be competent at. As much as I hate horse clothing, the time may have come for desperate measures. 

As you know, Santa, my record is once again impeccable this year. I deserve all this and so much more, and I have the utmost confidence your ability to deliver. 

See you soon, my friend. If any of your sleigh team needs a pep talk, you have my number. 

Your good friend, 

Jitterbug