Steffen Peters’ conquering of the Grand Prix at Aachen yesterday comes at a great time for us Americans—the economy’s in the tank, our celebrities are on a dying streak, and we’re supposed to be celebrating our country’s birthday this weekend. Thanks for giving us something to celebrate, Team Ravel!
My little American-bred horse is taking one for the team as well, by being an absolute prince. Midgey is going to perform his first musical freestyle at Dressage at Lexington (Va.), and I had to run through it about five times this morning to get the kinks out. Midge tackled the task with remarkable aplomb, and has even kindly decided to stop piaffing at every opportunity. (He’s like a kid with a new toy—he has to show it off to EVERYONE!) The music is very adorable, and hopefully we will keep all the pieces together in the arena.
Cleo was born in the Motherland, but imported as a kid, so she’s American enough. She’s very much enjoying her vacation at the breeding clinic, and apparently all the staff stops to watch her whirl about in turnout. I’m glad she’s having fun.
Ella, a 2006 German import, is apparently feeling like a sore loser. After going like gangbusters for the month before Gladstone, she seems to have misplaced her hind legs. I’ve checked everywhere—the indoor, the outdoor, the washer and dryer, even between the couch cushions, but alas, they are nowhere to be found. This would not normally cause me angst; sometimes, in the training of dressage horses, the hind legs simply fall off, and make a reappearance a few days/weeks later.
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Unfortunately, my little Deutsche princess is scheduled to ride her first real Prix St. Georges next weekend, and hind legs are at least sort of required. Phooey. We hacked around today, and we’ve been working in the snaffle this week, which has helped a little, but not quite enough. The good news is that with a few exceptions (canter pirouettes will be fairly gigantic, sequence changes not always reliably straight, transitions back from big trot a little terrifying yet), she’s quite trained at everything, so even if I don’t school the work, as long as I can walk, trot, canter, steer and half-halt by next Friday, I’ll feel comfortable winging it. And if I can’t, we’ll sit this show out. Life will go on.
I do have one glimmer of hope left: Scott Hassler is coming down for his monthly-or-so clinic at my place on Tuesday. Maybe her hind legs got packed into Cleo’s trailer for Gladstone by mistake, and Scott will pass them on the side of the road on his way down I-95? We can only hope. Ill have to call and ask him to keep his eyes peeled for them.
And if anyone else happens to see a pair of very nice, powerful and relatively obedient chestnut hind legs, give me a call—we do rather desperately need them back.
