How we age is a personal and genetic affair, for people and horses, but I think that dressage horses and dressage riders have an advantage on the later end of life’s game.

A race horse is usually retired at age 3 or 4, and the horse who’s over 5 and still running is the exception. Jumpers in their late teens have been very successful, but they’re not the norm, and hunters more than 10 years old are considered “aged.”

A dressage horse, how-ever, only just comes into his own as a fully trained horse in his early teens, and many of our international stars bloom around the age of 15. That’s when they really know their job, have all the confidence they need to perform in the show ring, and they have a body strong enough to deliver the goods.

Unfortunately, the peaking years are short, and, usually around 17 or 18, Father Time ends the glory. But many of these great old show stars continue as masters of the game for an incredible number of years in the service of young and not-so-young students of dressage who are lucky enough to learn from these maestros.

My horses have taught me never to attempt to retire a sound show campaigner, because the times I tried were total fiascoes. You will never meet a horse more insulted, aggravated and destructive than a true dressage prima donna put on the back burner.

Gone is the daily detailed attention, the people admiring his various movements, the fussing before and after the show, and the spotlight. Instead, there are pastures and flies and only ponies who know zip about piaffe to keep you company.

I’ve found that the retiree often tries to self-destruct in his desire to stay in the mainstream. So, back to work he goes, as a master of the game.

Even horses who in their youth were wild and woolly, and certainly had zero patience for incompetent riders, will sign up for teaching as long as it earns them attention. I just spent a delightful time during the Florida season with Zander, a 22-year-old Grand Prix horse belonging to a long-time student, Lisa Lipari.

When she wanted to bring him to Florida, I was a bit hesitant, but I underestimated his zeal and spirit. This old gent is such a dream to work with and sit on. He truly has aged like a good wine, although I’ve been told he was no peach as a youngster.

My old friend Metallic, whom I rode in the 1995 Pan Am Games and Robert Dover rode in the 1996 Olympics, is now, at 19, the happy and patient teacher of owner Judy Bernier. He is totally sound, as he’s always been, and absolutely devoted to his task. He adores his rider, and both she and I adore him, so it all works just like a charm. Considering what a proud and arrogant horse he really is, I love seeing him enjoy being the professor. And he takes care of Judy as if she were his pet project.

Horses, just like people, mature at their own individual speed, so it’s unfair to expect a certain level of performance from a horse at a certain age. I’ve lived with all kinds, from the child prodigy, to the ones who appear retarded until they suddenly catch on and catch up.

Once, I rode a horse who’d competed in the Olympics at age 6. That was a strange experience’obviously, there just had to be some holes in that creation. This horse had managed to learn all the tricks, but without much opportunity to develop self-carriage. Being large and powerful, he was quite the opposite of a “lady’s mount,” and I had all I could do to keep him from pulling my arms out of their sockets. But imagine the generous brain of such a horse, who let it all happen and played along.

On the other end of the stick is the very slow-maturing horse. I must admit the Swedish Warmbloods, as much as I must favor them in some ways, do tend to take their time.

Once, when Kyra Kyrklund was still working at Flyinge Stallion Station in Sweden, I watched her school a horse who just could not focus on the task but kept concentrating on everything except what was being requested of him. Finally, Kyra stopped to chat, and I asked her, “So, how old is the horse you are on?”

Kyra replied in her wonderful deadpan way: “It is a very young Swedish horse. He is 9.”

In defense of the Swedish horses, I hasten to add that if you wait them out, you tend to get paid back on the other end. They usually live long lives and stay sound, perhaps because they “protect” themselves as youngsters.

Most aging dressage riders are as tenacious as their horses. Because our game lends itself to a longer period of being effective, even in the show ring, we forge on. I judged the Swedish Championships last year, and one of the riders was Ulla Hakansson, who is now 65 and first rode in the Olympics in 1972. One of her horses, Ajax, competed in his last Olympics at age 19.

In the Swedish Championships at Falsterbo last year, the riders who were “new and hot” for some reason couldn’t get it together, and in the Grand Prix even the defending champion had a bad-hair day. Ulla, who was not as well-mounted as some of the younger riders, proceeded to give them all a riding lesson. Every corner was utilized to the inch, each transition was clear, smooth and placed exactly where prescribed, and her polished riding repeatedly overcame the shortcomings of her horse.

The audience went crazy after her test, and, as she exited the ring, Ulla wore a smile that clearly said, “And you thought I wasn’t still in the game?”

Riders who decide not to show any more, but who continue to ride and perhaps even train horses, appear to me to remain healthier, stronger and happier than most other aging people. Barring accidents, which are always a possibility around horses, the body thrives on a daily exercise that it’s accustomed to, the mind is always refreshed by communicating with the animals we love, and our passion stays alive.

The U.S. Equestrian Team used to run training sessions at its headquarters in Gladstone, N.J., for long-listed dressage riders, back when the legendary Bert de Nemethy kept a couple of horses in the barn. Every day, he would work them on the flat’quietly, patiently and softly, with no fanfare whatso-ever. Those horses were so supple when he finished that you could spread them on toast, and all he did was transitions, bending exercises and reinbacks.

Although Bert seemed to be absorbed in his own world while on horseback, he would watch the dressage training out of the corner of his eye. He would sometimes comment on our weak and strong points, and he always hit the bull’s-eye.

One of my very first instructors in Sweden was a cavalry officer whose two grand passions in life were horses and women. He rode out into the forest every day, often in the company of one female or another who boarded her horse at the riding school.

Many years after I left Sweden, I heard that Maj. Nilsson had died, which was not surprising since he was 90-something. But the story of how he met his maker warmed my heart: He and some lady were out riding in a winter wonderland, when the woman’s horse slipped and the rider fell off, breaking her ankle. Maj. Nilsson whirled his horse around and valiantly galloped off through the snow for help, when he was struck by a heart attack and literally died with his boots on, while on a mission to rescue a damsel in distress. What a way to go!