My dog may have leukemia. My friends among them have sick husbands, hospitalized husbands, cancer-stricken wives, families in crisis from car accidents, divorce, or overwork and stress. Yet, we just get on and ride. It’s cold, we’re crazy, but the neighbors we trot past, in pursuit of Mr. Reynard, think our horses are beautiful. And you know, they are. And we are. Just for that period of a few hours in time, when the world sort of stops to allow us to foxhunt for a few hours. The dressage princesses gallop like they stole it, the perfectly coiffed are covered in mud splatters, we wear grins like kids finding five dollar bills on the ground. We all agree that we need this, this foxhunting, for more than just the riding, or the scenery, or the great camaraderie, but for the nourishment of our souls. Laissez les bons temps rouler!