PrintAnd we're off! The washing machine is full of white saddle pads; the trailer looks like it's been through a war. Horse show season has officially begun.
I'm 1½ hours from Morven Park, a big facility that hosts lots of local functions, and this past weekend they hosted not one but two schooling shows. It was a great plan for us—I'd take my horses to the show on Saturday, and my clients could go on Sunday. That way they'd have my full attention. And the weather seemed to want to cooperate, as big storms were forecasted for Saturday (I'll suffer for my sport), while the forecast for Sunday was fairly clear.
You know what they say about the best-laid plans?
Flash back to Saturday morning. Gray skies, but barely a dribble of rain fell while we were there. And I am all ready for Ella to be a lunatic. I'm on early, plenty of time to work out whatever psychosis might afflict her. I've got cookies, sugar—every bribe on the planet.
And she walks off the trailer like an old lesson pony. “Ho hum, here I am. Another day, another horse show.”
She stands like a statue while we tack her up. We tool around the warm-up, walk, trot, canter. Tra-la-la. I give her a walk break and then try to make piaffe. Yawn. “Oh, sorry Mom, were you talking to me?”
The test was a bit of a mess. When has this horse ever been lazy? Particularly on Day 1 of an event? Who is this strange red creature, and where is my Ella, my frothing nutcase? She went around and did everything, though the piaffe was unbelievably lackluster, and the transitions in and out accordingly sloppy. Her collected walk was predictably lateral, but her extended walk got a 7—a 7! She was getting tired in the back by the end and had some sloppy changes, but no mistakes. Wow!
A 67 percent on a most mediocre effort gives me GREAT hope for the future and a new plan. I've been sweating the movements, worried about whether or not she could do the half-pass zigzag, and the pirouettes, and whatever. This weekend she proved she can, so now it's fitness camp. I need to have enough horse in the tank that even when she's uninspired, she can still offer me something to ride. A huge weight off my shoulders.
And then came Midge, who was predictably spicy in warm-up, but settled in and made nice work before going around the ring. I caught a glimpse of us in the mirror as he trotted by, the first time I've seen him and me dressed like an FEI entry, and got little goosebumps. This is a horse I've known from the beginning of his riding career, who knows everything he knows because I taught it to him. How incredible.
To make it even better, as I came down centerline, he took the bit, made his neck a little longer, and took a deep breath as we halted. Be cool, Mom. I got this. The whole trot tour felt absolutely fantastic: balanced, rideable, pleasant. His neck felt as long as I can make it. He took every half-halt I made. I know there'll be more trot in there someday—and soon—but it felt as super as it can be at the moment.
But as I made the last trot half-pass, the judge rang the bell. "I'm so sorry—I have the 2000 version of the test in front of me."
Aww man!!!
