Picante Falstaff. My OTTB.

While horses were my first love, they were not my only love. In fact, after I stopped riding in high school, I never expected to get on a horse again. Musical Theater became my sole passion and focus, to the point that I went to Penn State’s rigorous BFA Musical Theater program with the aim of going to New York and setting up a life revolving around the Great White Way. 

As is often the case with high level arts programs, it was not a terribly fantastic experience. Part of the goal was to break you down so they could build you back up (in theory), making the demands on both your time, energy, and mind extreme. Out of hundreds who auditioned, only 11 people were accepted into my year’s class. Of those 11, only three of us wound up graduating in the program. 

Spoiler alert - I was not one of them.

My personal breaking point came at the start of my Junior year. Even though my Sophomore year had been a huge success for me in terms of casting and performances, I wasn’t happy. I felt trapped and inadequate, continually told what I wasn’t doing right at any given moment in time. I developed an eating disorder to try to gain some sense of control over my life, and worked a job at the student union so I wouldn’t have to think about how to fill any spare time.

One day at the very start of the fall, I saw a flyer posted for the Penn State equestrian team tryouts. I instantly wanted to go - a last chance to ride horses again before heading up to New York and the real world. The one caveat - after school practice times meant I would have to forgo a semester of required performance, as it would conflict with rehearsals. 

I went to my department head and pleaded my case. I said that since I had already been in more than one mainstage show my prior year, could I take this opportunity to pursue another passion before I graduated. His answer was not only, “Of course not,” but he then went on to question my dedication and commitment to both the program and musical theater. Basically, his ultimatum was, “It’s either musical theater and nothing else for the rest of your life, or you can’t be an artist, because being an artist means that everything else is secondary.

So I did what any reasonable person would do. I bought a horse to spite him. 

Classic hunter form, he did not have.

Picante Falstaff was his registered name. He was a perfectly darling 15.3 hand OTTB bay sweetheart. He arrived in the dead of central PA winter, and I quickly went about making all of the well meaning mistakes a first time adult horse owner makes with a young horse. 

Because I kept him a secret from my teachers in the BFA program, it meant that I needed to sneak away between rehearsals and work and classes to go ride him. My job at the student union now supported his board and expenses. When he dumped me the day before my Musical Theater Dance 301 final, I couldn’t tell anyone that my tailbone and back hurt so badly I couldn’t even sit on the floor (I had actually broken my back, but didn’t know it until I got things X-rayed a few months later). I somehow managed to get through both dance routines without fainting, and my secret remained safe. 

Picante became my rock. I moved him over to Carousel Farms (still one of the most gorgeous facilities with the most lovely, warm people I’ve ever met in the horse world) and started to actually learn how to train a horse. I remember my absolute amazement the first time I was able to correctly put him on the bit, his neck arching and his head resting lightly in my hand. Picante loved being brushed. In fact, Picante loved just about everything with me. I would spend time in his stall, sitting in the little window while he went to sleep with his head on my lap. I would walk into the barn and say his name, always greeted by his sweet high whinny. 

While he would never be a competitive horse in any way, he always tried his best. In retrospect, I’m sure he had kissing spine, which at the time wasn’t as commonly diagnosed as it is now. But he was cold backed, and could never really settle into a nice routine or frame. He also had a huge scar on his knee that I never got radiographed because he “raced sound,” but that I was always suspicious of.

Over time, Picante solidified my decision to leave the BFA program for good. The hours I spent with him at the barn were wonderful. The hours I spent in rehearsals or acting classes were miserable. Picante never told me that I wasn’t a good enough rider or owner or person. He loved me just as I was every day. And he reminded me that there were other options in life than just acting, singing, and dancing. If being an actress meant that I would have to give up everything else, then my answer was a resounding, “No thank you.”

I gave my notice to the program at the end of my Junior year, changed my major to English, and spent my Senior year reading books and riding my lovely horse. I still didn’t know what I would do with my life, but for the first time that felt thrilling. More thrilling than the fear that came up when I imagined moving to New York and spending my life endlessly auditioning. 

After graduation, I finally decided to get Picante’s knee X-rayed, and was horrified to find that there were multiple chips. My mom’s generosity allowed us to get him surgery to remove them, and while he was never sound to really ride again after, he was infinitely more comfortable. 

I decided to retire him to a lovely place in Charlottesville while I pursued a professional career in horses. After a while, the woman who ran the place said that her farrier had taken a liking to him, and could he try him out as a trail horse to see if he would stay sound. I said sure, but warned him that he was pretty cold backed, so to be careful the first few rides. It turns out Picante was a natural. The farrier took him home to use as his personal trail horse. 

A few years later, while I was in Wellington, Florida working at River’s Edge, I received a phone call from a man I had never met before. He said that he was the farrier who had Picante, and that he had some sad news for me. The night before, Picante and several other horses were standing under a tree that was struck by lightning during a sudden thunderstorm. He found all of the horses dead together the next morning when they didn’t come in for their breakfast. He said that it had most likely been painless, and that Picante had been a wonderful friend and partner to him.

I hung up the phone and cried for my special little horse that I hadn’t seen in over a year. His lovely cute face and happy demeanor had been exactly what I needed during a very difficult time in my life, and he was ultimately the horse that changed everything for me. 

And that’s the story of Picante Falstaff. No blue ribbons, no accolades, no taking a wild horse and taming him into a winner. Just the story of a little lame OTTB and the young woman he guided down a new, more joyful path.