My Colorado

Horse Town
by Kris McGovern

     I have never considered Denver a cow town. To me and my preteen friends growing up in the late 50s and early 60s, Denver was horse country, defined by a constellation of riding stables and surprise clusters of privately owned horses.
     In those olden days, before the proliferation of liability and litigation, you could head out on your own for $2 an hour, with little more instruction than, "Just follow the trail." The horses knew the way, and they knew the way back even better. They'd get your number fast, and the nag that you had to kick and kick to leave the barn became a Secretariat racing back to it. The cardinal rule was "If you bring 'em back wet, you cool 'em off," and that was fine, because it meant more horse time.
     Honest horses, lazy horses, pretty horses, ancient ones-we learned their idiosyncrasies, and spoke familiarly of Big Red, India, Frederick and Spot. Our rides along Cherry Creek and the Highline Canal took us far beyond everyday life-"Did you see me and Jet jump that log?" "That was so funny when Misty lay down in the creek!"-and we refused to wash our jeans for days, trying to keep the horsy scent of adventure alive.
     Of course, everything changed when we hit high school, which signaled a decades-long drought of horses for me.
     The suburbs have kept the dream of horses alive in the metro area, and pockets of horses can be found surprisingly close-in. My own horse, Rock, is located a mere 20 minutes away from my Denver home. Yes, I returned to horses in the last decade of the previous millennium, and although I ride in a big arena these days, the trail, as always, beckons.
     Kris McGovern is a former copy editor at The Denver Post and Denver Rocky Mountain News, and now works with developmentally disabled adults. She lives in Denver with her husband and son, and hopes, someday, to have horse property where she can see Rock from her kitchen window. E-mail your comments about this essay to.

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