Birds are chirping, days are getting longer—and horses are shedding. 

With every chunk of hair I pull out, I get a dopamine hit that no Facebook notification or bite of chocolate can match. 

My long-time horse, LJ, was a fluffy grey teddy bear who seemed to shed an endless amount of hair, especially as he got older and developed Cushings Syndrome. While other people might have been irritated, I was in heaven. When LJ could no longer be ridden, I had more time to play our favorite “show me where it’s itchy” game. He’d point his nose at the itchiest areas. I’d scratch and shed until he pointed at a new spot. I was constantly covered in his long, white hair.

A few years ago, in the heat of August, I had to say goodbye to LJ. Multiple issues related to old age caused his quality of life to quickly decline. I was so devastated that I couldn’t even say his name for months. I still rode other horses, and even bought another grey retired racehorse, but LJ had been there for most of my life. I adopted him from a rescue when I was 13 and he was 5, rode him into my wedding ceremony, and gave my daughter her first pony rides on him. No other horse could replace LJ.

The next summer, near the one-year anniversary of LJ’s death, my memories and grief made me tremble. I was having a hard time getting through the day. 

Then I got the text on my neighborhood chat: there was a husky on the loose. Could anyone help? That was just what I needed.

A few of us neighbors caught the beautiful dog. I read his collar and called his owner, but no one answered the phone. I took him to my fenced backyard, gave him some water, and started to groom. 

I dug through his thick, white coat with my fingers and a brush. Tufts flew out at my lightest touch. He panted with pleasure. White hair covered my clothes and backyard.

When his owner called back, he apologized about the wait and said he was on his way.

I told him not to worry. Shedding out his beautiful white dog had made my day. 

I didn’t tell him that I thought LJ might have sent the white dog. Maybe, somehow, from beyond, LJ knew how much I missed the pleasure of pulling out giant chunks of fluff, and the joy of helping an animal feel better. He found a way to make sure I’d be covered in white hair again, just when I needed it.

Now, I have a bay thoroughbred. Her fine coat sheds in a completely manageable and reasonable fashion. If I find a good spot, she’ll lip me as if she’s trying to return the favor. It’s sweet, but it’s not enough.

So, in the spring, while my daughter takes lessons at various farms, I take my shedding blade and search for the horses who need it the most.

There’s Rosie the Shetland broodmare, who is so small that it’s easier to groom her if I sit on a log.  

There’s Jazz, a pony who’s been around Tranquillity Manor Farm since I was a kid. Friends join me as we pull out fistfuls of her fluffy grey hair. It flies away, soon to become birds’ nests, while Jazz dozes, in bliss. 

There’s Hercules, a Belgian my friend adopted from Gentle Giants Draft Horse Rescue. Most of the time, Hercules is skeptical about people and would prefer not to be caught. But during shedding season, he’ll sidle up to me so I can scratch his shedding belly. He leans on me while I find just the right spot. 

There’s Sweetie, who’s introducing my kid to vaulting at Willow View Farms. While my kid practices on the vaulting barrel, I find the itchiest spot on Sweetie’s neck and scratch off her fluffy winter coat. After the lesson, my kid has to remind me that it’s time to stop shedding out Sweetie and go get lunch.

Of course, there are downsides to shedding. There’s the hair in my eyes (better not wear mascara), the hair stuck to my lip balm, the hair all over my clothes, and the hair inside my bra and underwear. How did it get there?! There’s the hair in my car, which manages to get onto the clothes I wear out in public away from the barn. 

One day, my friend even plucked a long strawberry-roan hair off my kid’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich. We shrugged. Extra protein!

It’s all worth it to me. I’d rather be at the barn than dressed up for a fancy party or work event anyway. The hair clinging to my clothes might look sloppy, but to me, it’s a sign of my truest identity.

I say I look for the horses who need the help shedding the most, but in truth, I’m the one in need. It was a long, cold winter, full of stressful world news, arguments about the news, illnesses and work deadlines. But when I look into the eyes of a happy horse, dozing off or wiggling its lips, I don’t have to think of anything else. 

When I shed out a horse, I feel as though I’m getting rid of more than just a winter coat. With every rhythmic swipe of the shedding blade, I’m scraping my worries away—at least for a little while.

Tracy C. Gold is a writer, freelance editor and mom living in Baltimore. An alum of U.S. Pony Clubs and the Intercollegiate Horse Shows Association, she competes in local hunter shows and rides for pleasure now. She is the author of the picture books “Trick or Treat, Bugs to Eat” from Sourcebooks and “Everyone’s Sleepy but the Baby” from Familius. You can learn more about Tracy at tracycgold.com.