You open your truck and tack falls out
You pull a $17,000 horse trailer with a $1,700 pickup truck.
You seriously consider trading your 1994 Buick for a 1986 Diesel crewcab dually pickup truck, even swap.
You put a gun rack in your pickup truck to carry dressage whips and riding crops.
Youíll drive an hour in a snowstorm to ride your horse, but God forbid you have to drive 1/2 hour to a friend's house for dinner.
No one wants to ride in your car because they'll get sweet feed and hay in their socks and purses...that's ok because then you'd have to rearrange all the tack to make room for them, anyway!
Your non-horsy friend gives you a funny look after glancing into the back seat of your car, and you realize he's noticed your whips and spurs.
The back of your station wagon is an auxiliary tack box.
You trade your yuppie mobile for a truck, so you can better accommodate your horses.
You clean your tack after *every* ride but never ever ever wash the car.
You chirp to, cluck to or spur your truck/car.
You say whoa to your truck/car.
When you spend more time ridding in your truck going to horse events than you spend at home.
You trade your nice, nearly-new Suburban for a 1-ton 4x4 pickup, so you can haul hay & straw for the critters. (And have that 454 engine for pulling the trailer up those looooong hills.)
Your car is the only one in the company parking lot with mud splashes on the windshield.
Your car is the only one in the company parking lot that has an inch of dust INSIDE and when you open the door, a swarm of flies emerge.
You dress like a lawyer on weekdays and someone who needs a lawyer on your days off.
You have saved five old left mud boots "just in case" and another right one has sprung a leak.
You patch your mud boots with duct tape and slog through knee deep mud to get hay to your horse, who has commandeered the ONLY dry spot for miles.
You look at all the piles of laundry sitting next to your Washing machine and most of them are breeches, horse blankets, saddle pads, etc... plus you don't even care about the horsey hair residue that will be left in the washer/dryer.
ALL of your pockets have hay in them.
You often sneak furtively into Laundromats and pretend that you really didn't just put that stinky, filthy horse blanket into the comforter-sized machine.
You open the door to the closet where you keep your boots and the aroma of manure wafts out.
You can find your boots in the dark by the aroma.
You don't notice the barn smells on your clothes/shoes and wonder why "regular" folks are sniffing the air.
All of your clothes have horsehair on them, even if they've never been worn to the barn.
You keep a horse Grooma by the front door, to get the horsehair off of your Levis after riding bareback.
You're buying clothes, and you choose them on the basis of whether you can wash horse slobber/manure out of them.
You launder your stable clothes before your work clothes (though sometimes the categories overlap).
You show up at work with bran mash (unbeknownst to you) all over the back of your coat.
When you find your self asking your husband if he's seen your white girth, "you know honey, the one with the gold buckle that fits through the belt loops on my black slacks'. Girth?
You plan your pregnancy around the show season so you can send your horse to your dressage instructor for training during the eighth and ninth months.
Your children have everything they need to become Olympic equestrians --Except wealthy parents.
Your six-year-old brother tells everyone that he's going to be the "ring steward" at your aunt's wedding!
Your boyfriend complains that you love your horse more then you love him and you answer: "And your point is?"
Your husband does something nice for you and you say "good boy" and pat him on the neck.
You choose your SO partly on the basis of his attachment to your horses.
Your mother, who has no grandchildren, gets cards addressed to Grandma, signed by the horses and the dog.
Your husband brings the new saddle to bed so he can work on it while watching TV.
The horses get fed first.
The horses are the only ones that get fed by you. Kids fend for themselves.
You poke your honey in the ribs, saying, "over", in the kitchen.
You yell at the kids, and the horse's name pops out.
You kiss your horse more often than your husband or boyfriend, and enjoy it more.
Your husband hangs around the barn hoping to get a massage when you've finished on your horse.
When the highlight of your day is working with your horses and your SO works by your side because itís the highlight of his day too.
The only picture of you that your wife (husband, SO, whatever) has of you shows you on your horse.
You grump at your husband for eating so much of the apple crop, for fear there won't be enough left to last the horses until next year.
You teach your sisters how to post on the arm of the couch before their first riding lesson.
Your baby shower gifts include a fleece seat saver.
You clean stalls the morning before your labor is to be induced.
When the doctor tells you that they have to do a c-section your first question (much to your spouses horror) is how long will it be until I can ride? (and you are devastated when he says 6 weeks)
You learn you will go on a trip driving from Mass. to New Hampshire and the first thing that pops to your mind is: "Yes, I will finally be able to visit State Line Tack". And you know your spouse has accepted you as a horse person when he who can't stand more than one hour at the mall tells you that there should be a two hours time limit to your visiting State Line Tack. Two hours, all right :-)
When your toddler's first SENTENCE is "mommy go to barn?"
You know your *daughter* is a horse person when she asks if she can wash her saddle pad with her clothes, because she doesn't have a full load and doesn't want her brother's clothes contaminating hers.
You use the house-hunting trip your new employer provides to figure out where you will board your horse.
You run your tongue over your back molars and idly wonder if they need to be floated.
You go to the museum with a non-horsey friend and, whilst wandering through the ancient bronzes, suddenly realize he is asking exasperatedly, 'Well? What about the conformation on this one?"
You have a small knife on your key chain (and you're a woman)
You plan corn on the cob for dinner just so you can feed the cobs to your horses for a treat
You buy duct tape by the case, and carry rolls in your pocketbook, your briefcase, and the console of your car.
You consider a pristine golf course as a waste of good pasture land.
You get up at 5am every morning while your in college, drive 10 miles to the barn, feed, muck stalls, ride, and rush back to your 10am class smelling like a barn without complaining.
You are totally grossed out by human hair in the sink or tub, but don't mind horsehair in your washer, on your clothes, in your food...
You don't mind throwing the frozen manure balls for the barn's Goldie to fetch!
You say "whoa" to the dog.
You don't even want to think about how your car would be paid for, your mortgage would be much smaller, and you might have some savings if you didn't have horses.
The floor plan of the house you're building accommodates a horse lifestyle.
You give directions to your house and say, "It has lots of horse trailers in the front yard."
You pull change from your pocket at work, and hay falls all over.
Someone says, "Does anyone have a screwdriver?" and you hand them a hoofpick.
The doctor says the bump on your finger is an inflamed tendon sheath, and you tell him, "Oh, you mean a windpuff."
The real estate agent asks what kind of house you are looking for, and you say, "More than six acres."
For once you have extra money to buy yourself something, and you get the check out counter and decide that you don't really need that shirt anyway. That $25 could be an entry fee!
You save the hoof shavings for the dog.
You have the worming, lesson and farrier schedules in your head, but frequently miss the kid's piano lessons, girl scouts, or changing the oil in the car.
On rainy days, you organize the tack room, not the house.
Your tax refund is targeted to a new saddle, not the family vacation.
You are unreasonably pleased to get a horse item, ANY horse item, as a gift. "They really cared!!!"
You actually like all horse items, any horse items, regardless of execution.
You stop channel surfing at Budweiser Clydesdale commercials.
Books and movies are ruined for you if horsemanship references are incorrect.
You actually get to a point where flies don't bother you so much.
You've considered moving into the barn, since it is cleaner than the house.
Your horse seems the right choice when you need to talk something out with someone.
You remember worming and vaccination schedules, but not your mother-in-law's birthday.