COTH Staff - Beth Rasin

Mane and tail free of dandruff? Check. Saddle pad stunningly white? Check. Boots shining from across the showgrounds? Of course.

Through ratings, training and competition, the U.S. Pony Clubs carefully and methodically trained me to do their bidding. My horse will eat from a properly sterilized bucket, with the double-ended snap turned inward lest he rip an eyelid, and his sheath will pass ye olde glove test as he stands in non-edible, non-irritating bedding.

So why do the (arguably) more important things in life come with no instructions?

I was warned this would happen. I’ve been invited to a Princess Party.

Well, not me, but my 3-year-old daughter, who needs a driver.

For most of my adult life, my weekends have fallen into one of three categories: compete a horse; go to see a horse for sale or present a horse who is for sale; or do random catch-up farm work like getting in hay, cleaning stall mats, etc. Decorating tiaras? Not so much.