Just a few weeks ago I found myself standing at the in-gate in my brand-new, never-been-worn, impossibly white pants, trying not to get slobbered on by a pony.

As I evaded his prehensile lips, it washed over me again that minutes earlier I’d just ridden in my first mini-prix. (Woohoo!) I had hopped off Fiona and then hustled over to the short-stirrup ring to coach Boots (our cookie-crazed, mouthy pony) and his child.

Well, it's over. The last Australian horses, Valinski and Fedor, left on Sunday afternoon, after I had to say goodbye. Saturday and Sunday morning were spent washing stable laundry, collecting and turning in Aussie federation equipment and packing trunks.

But then, I was gone, away from the horse I have spent three intense weeks with. 

And it was intense. Not in a bad way at all, but in a constantly focused way. I hate making mistakes, and at this level, mistakes rarely happen. I made a few, was mortified, but corrected them quickly and learned and moved on.