It's that fabulous time of year again. Winter is quickly losing steam, Easter is coming, and the world is coming to life. Which can only mean one thing...
Spring Shopping Spree!
I really didn't feel like writing more of my story today (there's plenty of time for that), so I decided to splurge a little... You may have noticed, I like shopping. Who doesn't? But online shopping is the best, because I rarely make impulse buys. Still, online stores are a danger zone for me, and I try to avoid them as much as I can. But who can resist the lure of those two magical words that seem so popular at this time of year... That's right, Closeout Prices.
I concentrated my shopping on one site: Dover Saddlery. Maybe I'll cover the deals offered by SmartPak or other sites later on. But for now, let's take it one store at a time, shall we?
Among the pages and pages of sales items, Dover is offering...
Dublin Full-Seat Breeches, regularly $80, on sale half-off for about $40. Available in sand, green beige, and black. Who can resist a classic? And at a reduced price, no less.
On Course Full-Seat Breeches, in navy, black, and beige, are on sale 70% off for $40, if you like a slight variety.
And, good thing I am not in charge of purchasing Blaze's blankets. I'm known for parading him around in pink plaid, and you KNOW this "jewel"-toned plaid blanket (magenta, purple, and pink) would just look fabulous on him. And for only $25? Who could resist?
And speaking of plaids, Kensington's Ice Plaid Fly Masks are just one more reason I am glad not to have to shop for Blaze. Even so, I may get this one just as a luxury, as it matches one of my saddlepads. In unique shades of Blue Ice and Plum Ice, who could pass up this plaid?
If you want to stock up on riding shirts, there are several short-sleeve riding tees on sale for very cheap, from Ovation and Irideon. This Dri-Lex Zip Tee, for instance, is available in several Spring pastels, and is on sale for $10 off.
Not yet impressed? Never fear! The list goes on and on and on. Fifty-three pages of closeout prices. I may have died and gone to heaven.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
On Deaf Ears II
I went out to dinner tonight, with a group of non-horsey people, and at the end of the meal, the waitress gave us each a peppermint--plus one to spare. The single mint sat, lonely, on the table...
"Is anyone going to take this peppermint? ... No one? Great, I'll take it home for Blaze."
The people who knew that Blaze was a horse were no less confused than the people didn't.
"Is anyone going to take this peppermint? ... No one? Great, I'll take it home for Blaze."
The people who knew that Blaze was a horse were no less confused than the people didn't.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
West Coast Friendship: Part Four
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
_____________________
Ugh. This weather is driving me crazy. I've been on and off sick for the past few days and came down with an awful fever last night. Some Nyquil and sixteen hours of sleep later (not including the two and a half hour nap I took beforehand!), and I've bounced back pretty vigorously. No fever, some energy, and a few little sniffles. Let's hope my recovery keeps up. Anyhow, I believe I have a story to tell...
_____________________
I quite literally prayed that my lesson at Magnolia would go well. Everything was hinged on this barn, or so it seemed at the time. And I was very nervous.
However, Maura had a very soothing presence, and the butterflies in my stomach seemed to disappear after my first minute or so in the saddle. In my riding journal, I have a very detailed summary of that first lesson, so I can describe it pretty accurately here.
Blaze was a little cranky that day- a fixed trait, I would come to find out- but he had more life in him than I was used to. He was energetic and had great transitions. As this was only an evaluation, not a typical lesson, we spent a lot of time on the basics. Maura had us on the flat for a while, practicing transitions and circles and turns, and when we did jump, she kept the fences small.
My years of substandard instruction had taken a toll on both my confidence and my position, and this did not go unnoticed. I had had a few years of excellent training, which gave me a great foundation--a foundation that had then been undermined by other trainers-- and Maura could pick out both in my position. She gave constructive criticism, but in a way that did not shatter my fragile confidence. "You're lower leg is... pretty bad," she admitted. "Usually, when a rider's leg is bad, though, it shows in their upper body. But everything above your hips is great, so you're in a much better condition than you normally would be in." Ten percent of a message, they say, is in words; the rest is in the tone of voice. This message actually gave me a bit of confidence. I had know my position was bad. I didn't know that there was actually something "great" about it.
I did not have to warm up to Maura, as I have to do with most of my instructors and trainers. I instantly liked her and the way that she taught. At that point, I desperately needed someone with experience who could improve my riding without overwhelming me or accidentally undermining my fragile self-esteem. By some stroke of luck, I had found exactly that.
But my journey was only beginning.
I had a lot of growing to do--both physically and mentally. I had the physical flaws in my riding that needed remodeling. I had emotional issues to work out, like a fear of cantering that had slowly begun to develop in me over the past years. And I had to make a place for myself at a new barn, with new people and a different way of operating. Obviously, I had some adjusting to do.
But that was okay. Because I knew I could do it. And over the next several months, Maura--and all of Magnolia--would become more of a family to me than I would have ever expected.
To Be Continued...
Part Two
Part Three
_____________________
Ugh. This weather is driving me crazy. I've been on and off sick for the past few days and came down with an awful fever last night. Some Nyquil and sixteen hours of sleep later (not including the two and a half hour nap I took beforehand!), and I've bounced back pretty vigorously. No fever, some energy, and a few little sniffles. Let's hope my recovery keeps up. Anyhow, I believe I have a story to tell...
_____________________
I quite literally prayed that my lesson at Magnolia would go well. Everything was hinged on this barn, or so it seemed at the time. And I was very nervous.
However, Maura had a very soothing presence, and the butterflies in my stomach seemed to disappear after my first minute or so in the saddle. In my riding journal, I have a very detailed summary of that first lesson, so I can describe it pretty accurately here.
Blaze was a little cranky that day- a fixed trait, I would come to find out- but he had more life in him than I was used to. He was energetic and had great transitions. As this was only an evaluation, not a typical lesson, we spent a lot of time on the basics. Maura had us on the flat for a while, practicing transitions and circles and turns, and when we did jump, she kept the fences small.
My years of substandard instruction had taken a toll on both my confidence and my position, and this did not go unnoticed. I had had a few years of excellent training, which gave me a great foundation--a foundation that had then been undermined by other trainers-- and Maura could pick out both in my position. She gave constructive criticism, but in a way that did not shatter my fragile confidence. "You're lower leg is... pretty bad," she admitted. "Usually, when a rider's leg is bad, though, it shows in their upper body. But everything above your hips is great, so you're in a much better condition than you normally would be in." Ten percent of a message, they say, is in words; the rest is in the tone of voice. This message actually gave me a bit of confidence. I had know my position was bad. I didn't know that there was actually something "great" about it.
I did not have to warm up to Maura, as I have to do with most of my instructors and trainers. I instantly liked her and the way that she taught. At that point, I desperately needed someone with experience who could improve my riding without overwhelming me or accidentally undermining my fragile self-esteem. By some stroke of luck, I had found exactly that.
But my journey was only beginning.
I had a lot of growing to do--both physically and mentally. I had the physical flaws in my riding that needed remodeling. I had emotional issues to work out, like a fear of cantering that had slowly begun to develop in me over the past years. And I had to make a place for myself at a new barn, with new people and a different way of operating. Obviously, I had some adjusting to do.
But that was okay. Because I knew I could do it. And over the next several months, Maura--and all of Magnolia--would become more of a family to me than I would have ever expected.
To Be Continued...
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
A Horse Video
I thought I'd mix it up, as I haven't posted a video in a while. I found this great one on YouTube. The horse is precious, and it reminds me of my own Grace.
Monday, March 22, 2010
West Coast Friendship: Part Three
The next time I saw Magnolia, it was for my first lesson with Maura.
It's strange, how much context has to do with perception. Not surprising, really, but certainly disconcerting. As I drove once again onto the small farm, things were very different. I was coming now as a student, and I was visiting not during the empty, silent evening, but during the afternoon rush hour. "Rush hour" at a small, private barn meant that about five clients were there (and that would be including myself). At Magnolia, this truly is busy--they have three stalls for cross-ties.
Reyna was there, as was Becky, another girl I had gone to school with. I didn't know the other two--a high school girl, and a nine-year-old. I was still skeptical about Magnolia at this point. My experiences at Carousel Farms had taught me that a good barn was hard to come by, and I had, for years, been turned off my the Magnolia girls' snobby attitude, as if their barn were better than all the others. But I tried to turn off all my prejudgment and focus on forming an opinion of Magnolia based on my experiences there, rather than the stories I'd heard.
That day was the first time I met Maura. I can still remember it perfectly; I was thrilled to meet the woman who would possibly become my new trainer, and I was extra attentive as I walked out to the ring to watch her finish up a lesson she was giving.
More than anything else, her breeches were what made a first impression. They were a shade of teal that I have yet to find a name for--something in between wave and dark cyan. She stood, thin and tan, in the center of the ring, her posture lax and her voice even. She had long, dusty brown hair that was pulled into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was guiding Reyna and her horse through some lateral work, and she appeared to me to be teaching in a calm, confident manner. I only had a limited take on her lesson, though, because her back was to me for most of the time, and it partially obscured her voice. But I knew we would have plenty of time to get acquainted in the ring; I would have to work with her for an hour all by myself in my private lesson that afternoon.
A private lesson at a new barn with a new trainer on a new horse had me just a little bit nervous, and when I get on edge, I think my short-term memory malfunctions. I have only the vaguest memory of a boarder leading me on a tour of the barn (which couldn't have lasted more than two minutes) and explaining to me the inner workings of the tack room. I think she even introduced me to Blaze (remember him?), the horse Maura wanted me to ride. It was all very laid back, something I was not yet accustomed to in a barn.
And then it came time for me to finally meet my maybe-new-trainer. She met halfway to the ring, as I concluded my official tour of Magnolia, and the sight of her took my surprise. I remember thinking that she was older than my other instructors, which makes me laugh now, because she was only then in her late twenties. But it was true. I had, for the past several years, trained with college kids who boarded their horses at Carousel Farms and gave lessons to pay off their board. Someone who was not a sorority girl earning her green jumper's keep was a new experience for me.
And Maura was certainly no college kid. She was originally from California, and had that certain California quality that's very hard to describe but easy to place. Not a Hollywood quality, mind you, but a California one. Anyone I've ever met who was truly from California has it--that certain genuine something that's difficult to name.
We spoke briefly before heading back toward the barn. "Are you ready to start your lesson?" she asked. And I nodded, but I think there was something in my face that gave away my nerves.
She laughed easily, and began to explain what her lessons were normally like, in order, I think, to get my mind off the butterflies in my stomach. If it was an attempt to ease my nerves, it worked. It was hard, in this charming, open place, to be nervous or scared. I clearly remember the feeling that washed over me as I led a horse for the first time down the spacious arena: it was serenity to the point of bliss.
I felt at home here at Magnolia, and I was being welcome more than I had ever expected. I could only pray, as I mentally prepared myself for the upcoming hour, that my lesson would go well. Because if I didn't like Magnolia, I was all out of options.
It's strange, how much context has to do with perception. Not surprising, really, but certainly disconcerting. As I drove once again onto the small farm, things were very different. I was coming now as a student, and I was visiting not during the empty, silent evening, but during the afternoon rush hour. "Rush hour" at a small, private barn meant that about five clients were there (and that would be including myself). At Magnolia, this truly is busy--they have three stalls for cross-ties.
Reyna was there, as was Becky, another girl I had gone to school with. I didn't know the other two--a high school girl, and a nine-year-old. I was still skeptical about Magnolia at this point. My experiences at Carousel Farms had taught me that a good barn was hard to come by, and I had, for years, been turned off my the Magnolia girls' snobby attitude, as if their barn were better than all the others. But I tried to turn off all my prejudgment and focus on forming an opinion of Magnolia based on my experiences there, rather than the stories I'd heard.
That day was the first time I met Maura. I can still remember it perfectly; I was thrilled to meet the woman who would possibly become my new trainer, and I was extra attentive as I walked out to the ring to watch her finish up a lesson she was giving.
More than anything else, her breeches were what made a first impression. They were a shade of teal that I have yet to find a name for--something in between wave and dark cyan. She stood, thin and tan, in the center of the ring, her posture lax and her voice even. She had long, dusty brown hair that was pulled into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was guiding Reyna and her horse through some lateral work, and she appeared to me to be teaching in a calm, confident manner. I only had a limited take on her lesson, though, because her back was to me for most of the time, and it partially obscured her voice. But I knew we would have plenty of time to get acquainted in the ring; I would have to work with her for an hour all by myself in my private lesson that afternoon.
A private lesson at a new barn with a new trainer on a new horse had me just a little bit nervous, and when I get on edge, I think my short-term memory malfunctions. I have only the vaguest memory of a boarder leading me on a tour of the barn (which couldn't have lasted more than two minutes) and explaining to me the inner workings of the tack room. I think she even introduced me to Blaze (remember him?), the horse Maura wanted me to ride. It was all very laid back, something I was not yet accustomed to in a barn.
And then it came time for me to finally meet my maybe-new-trainer. She met halfway to the ring, as I concluded my official tour of Magnolia, and the sight of her took my surprise. I remember thinking that she was older than my other instructors, which makes me laugh now, because she was only then in her late twenties. But it was true. I had, for the past several years, trained with college kids who boarded their horses at Carousel Farms and gave lessons to pay off their board. Someone who was not a sorority girl earning her green jumper's keep was a new experience for me.
And Maura was certainly no college kid. She was originally from California, and had that certain California quality that's very hard to describe but easy to place. Not a Hollywood quality, mind you, but a California one. Anyone I've ever met who was truly from California has it--that certain genuine something that's difficult to name.
We spoke briefly before heading back toward the barn. "Are you ready to start your lesson?" she asked. And I nodded, but I think there was something in my face that gave away my nerves.
She laughed easily, and began to explain what her lessons were normally like, in order, I think, to get my mind off the butterflies in my stomach. If it was an attempt to ease my nerves, it worked. It was hard, in this charming, open place, to be nervous or scared. I clearly remember the feeling that washed over me as I led a horse for the first time down the spacious arena: it was serenity to the point of bliss.
I felt at home here at Magnolia, and I was being welcome more than I had ever expected. I could only pray, as I mentally prepared myself for the upcoming hour, that my lesson would go well. Because if I didn't like Magnolia, I was all out of options.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
West Coast Friendship: Part Two
Hello, blog. Long time no see.
I think I'll continue with my West Coast Friendship story. Here's Part One, in case you haven't read that yet.
_________________________
Walking into Magnolia was like walking through the gates of Heaven. It was love at first sight, un coup de foudre.
The barn was much smaller than I was used to. Pulling onto the property in the back of Reyna's SUV (well, her mother's SUV), I could see the entire scope of the farm. A large covered arena; a few compact paddocks, barely more than corrals; a small field for grazing; and a single, thirty-horse barn. It was all fresh--recently renovated and very homey looking. The air was calm and quiet as we unloaded Reyna's horse. She was busy dealing him, and I was busy falling in love.
Beautiful horses nickered at me, their heads swinging curiously over their simple stall doors. They a front-row seat for any show going on in the barn, as the stables were constructed in an open, airy manner with the tack room and cross-ties and wash stalls as the center point. A few lean barn cats were perched lazily on the tops of stalls, and the barn smelled like fresh cedar and warm oats.
This warm, serene place was unlike any stables I'd ever been to. It was an oasis, and I had grown used to roaming the desert.
That night, I dialed Carousel Farms and let them know that I would never be coming back.
I had a few weeks' hiatus as I tried to get in touch with the owner of Magnolia. I hadn't really thought my plan through, and I'd 'resigned' from Carousel before I even so much as had a phone number for Magnolia. I didn't know if they'd even have room for me, and I spent a few days in a miserable game of phone tag.
Finally, about two weeks after the show at Carousel, I was able to reach the owner of Magnolia over the phone. I briefly explained to her what I'd been through my trainer back at Carousel Farm, and she didn't blink twice.
"Of course." Her tone was professional, yet she somehow managed to convey in those simple words that she understood. The horse world is small, and no doubt, she knew exactly how awful things could be at Carousel. "You can come on over whenever you'd like. I'll give you the number of our new trainer. Her name's Maura, and I think you two will get along."
To be continued...
I think I'll continue with my West Coast Friendship story. Here's Part One, in case you haven't read that yet.
_________________________
Walking into Magnolia was like walking through the gates of Heaven. It was love at first sight, un coup de foudre.
The barn was much smaller than I was used to. Pulling onto the property in the back of Reyna's SUV (well, her mother's SUV), I could see the entire scope of the farm. A large covered arena; a few compact paddocks, barely more than corrals; a small field for grazing; and a single, thirty-horse barn. It was all fresh--recently renovated and very homey looking. The air was calm and quiet as we unloaded Reyna's horse. She was busy dealing him, and I was busy falling in love.
Beautiful horses nickered at me, their heads swinging curiously over their simple stall doors. They a front-row seat for any show going on in the barn, as the stables were constructed in an open, airy manner with the tack room and cross-ties and wash stalls as the center point. A few lean barn cats were perched lazily on the tops of stalls, and the barn smelled like fresh cedar and warm oats.
This warm, serene place was unlike any stables I'd ever been to. It was an oasis, and I had grown used to roaming the desert.
That night, I dialed Carousel Farms and let them know that I would never be coming back.
I had a few weeks' hiatus as I tried to get in touch with the owner of Magnolia. I hadn't really thought my plan through, and I'd 'resigned' from Carousel before I even so much as had a phone number for Magnolia. I didn't know if they'd even have room for me, and I spent a few days in a miserable game of phone tag.
Finally, about two weeks after the show at Carousel, I was able to reach the owner of Magnolia over the phone. I briefly explained to her what I'd been through my trainer back at Carousel Farm, and she didn't blink twice.
"Of course." Her tone was professional, yet she somehow managed to convey in those simple words that she understood. The horse world is small, and no doubt, she knew exactly how awful things could be at Carousel. "You can come on over whenever you'd like. I'll give you the number of our new trainer. Her name's Maura, and I think you two will get along."
To be continued...
Thursday, March 18, 2010
A Smart(Pak) Career
I am taking a break from our story to comment on a pretty cool company most of you have heard of: SmartPak.
Today was the infamous Career Day, and I heard from an array of professionals in all different lines of work. My unique predicament with careers is that I know what I want to do, but at the same time I don't. It has always been my dream to be a writer, but I am not the starving artist type. I realized long ago that I would need a "real" job to support me after college until my earnings from writing can financially support me. On that note, an English major is out of the question; I am not a teaching type (except maybe at the postsecondary level, but even so I can't afford to pay for a private school PhD right now), and other than teaching and writing, there isn't much else an English degree is good for. So my career search has long revolved around finding a job that I'm interested in doing until I can do what I simply love to do: write.
I've been waffling around through a large hub of possible jobs for the past year or so, and today, I discovered a choice I would probably never have considered on my own: marketing. There weren't many speakers with careers I was interested in (postsecondary education, neuroscience, performance psychology, diversity management), so I found myself hitting up all the business and mass comm speakers. After all, I've always been mildly interested in owning my own riding academy or boarding barn. I was also, once upon a time, considering a job in event planning. And then I found out the salary and ran for the hills.
But I found this marketing speaker of more value than I expected. I went to see her based on the suggestion of a friend of mine, and I realized halfway into her presentation that not only was this a job I wouldn't mind doing (hands on, creative, only four years of college needed, and the possibility of promotion and growth), but it was also very possible for me to tie a job in marketing to the equestrian world.
I read in What Color is Your Parachute? that you can take almost any job you can think of, any skills you have, and apply them to your passion or interests. If your passion is flight, but you can't be a pilot, you can contribute by designing seats for airplanes, getting a job planning flight schedules, working to create a greener plane fuel... Anything, really. By connecting the jobs you are capable of having to things you are passionate about doing, you are much more likely to find your job fulfilling. And for me, that means the possibility of connecting my career to the horse world.
It's my first thought when I consider a job: How can I apply this to horses or riders? I want to write; I can write about equestrians. I am interested in psychology; I can become a performance psychologist and help competitive riders. I may want to study and research neuroscience; as a researcher, I could use my findings to recommend safety regulations to horse show regulations. The application of a job to the horse world is not a must for me, but it is a huge perk. As I considered marketing, the thought came to my mind: I could work in the marketing department of Dover Saddlery or SmartPak.
So what did I do when I got home but check out big equine supplies companies and their marketing programs. I found a little blurb on the Dover website about interships, nothing on the Equestrian Collections or State Line Tack sites, but on the SmartPak website? Jackpot! Not only do they list their current job openings, but they also provide what qualifications those applying should have and the skills they will need: a useful tool for me to look into the future. Really, SmartPak sells you on working there. They've garnered tons of awards from national magazines, such as the Best Bosses/Winning Workplaces award and the Globe's 100 Best Places to Work (rare awards, really, for an equine company). And then I saw their benefits.
You may have also heard my concern about affording a horse in The Price of Owning a Horse. Well, SmartPak seems to share the same concern about their employees, and as a company, they take measures to ensure that those who want a horse can afford one. Forget the usual employee discount (although they have that, too), and say hello to the Active Riders Program. "Board a horse and ride regularly?" the company asks. "In exchange for monthly testing and using SmartPak products and reporting on the results, we’ll pay a percentage of your horse’s monthly board or lease." Now that's a perk! If only they offered it to non-employees willing to test out products! ^^
At any rate, the world of marketing is definitely a possibility for me, and the equine world can make that job worthwhile. Will you being seeing me at SmartPak a few years from now? You never, folks. You never know.
Today was the infamous Career Day, and I heard from an array of professionals in all different lines of work. My unique predicament with careers is that I know what I want to do, but at the same time I don't. It has always been my dream to be a writer, but I am not the starving artist type. I realized long ago that I would need a "real" job to support me after college until my earnings from writing can financially support me. On that note, an English major is out of the question; I am not a teaching type (except maybe at the postsecondary level, but even so I can't afford to pay for a private school PhD right now), and other than teaching and writing, there isn't much else an English degree is good for. So my career search has long revolved around finding a job that I'm interested in doing until I can do what I simply love to do: write.
I've been waffling around through a large hub of possible jobs for the past year or so, and today, I discovered a choice I would probably never have considered on my own: marketing. There weren't many speakers with careers I was interested in (postsecondary education, neuroscience, performance psychology, diversity management), so I found myself hitting up all the business and mass comm speakers. After all, I've always been mildly interested in owning my own riding academy or boarding barn. I was also, once upon a time, considering a job in event planning. And then I found out the salary and ran for the hills.
But I found this marketing speaker of more value than I expected. I went to see her based on the suggestion of a friend of mine, and I realized halfway into her presentation that not only was this a job I wouldn't mind doing (hands on, creative, only four years of college needed, and the possibility of promotion and growth), but it was also very possible for me to tie a job in marketing to the equestrian world.
I read in What Color is Your Parachute? that you can take almost any job you can think of, any skills you have, and apply them to your passion or interests. If your passion is flight, but you can't be a pilot, you can contribute by designing seats for airplanes, getting a job planning flight schedules, working to create a greener plane fuel... Anything, really. By connecting the jobs you are capable of having to things you are passionate about doing, you are much more likely to find your job fulfilling. And for me, that means the possibility of connecting my career to the horse world.
It's my first thought when I consider a job: How can I apply this to horses or riders? I want to write; I can write about equestrians. I am interested in psychology; I can become a performance psychologist and help competitive riders. I may want to study and research neuroscience; as a researcher, I could use my findings to recommend safety regulations to horse show regulations. The application of a job to the horse world is not a must for me, but it is a huge perk. As I considered marketing, the thought came to my mind: I could work in the marketing department of Dover Saddlery or SmartPak.
So what did I do when I got home but check out big equine supplies companies and their marketing programs. I found a little blurb on the Dover website about interships, nothing on the Equestrian Collections or State Line Tack sites, but on the SmartPak website? Jackpot! Not only do they list their current job openings, but they also provide what qualifications those applying should have and the skills they will need: a useful tool for me to look into the future. Really, SmartPak sells you on working there. They've garnered tons of awards from national magazines, such as the Best Bosses/Winning Workplaces award and the Globe's 100 Best Places to Work (rare awards, really, for an equine company). And then I saw their benefits.
You may have also heard my concern about affording a horse in The Price of Owning a Horse. Well, SmartPak seems to share the same concern about their employees, and as a company, they take measures to ensure that those who want a horse can afford one. Forget the usual employee discount (although they have that, too), and say hello to the Active Riders Program. "Board a horse and ride regularly?" the company asks. "In exchange for monthly testing and using SmartPak products and reporting on the results, we’ll pay a percentage of your horse’s monthly board or lease." Now that's a perk! If only they offered it to non-employees willing to test out products! ^^
At any rate, the world of marketing is definitely a possibility for me, and the equine world can make that job worthwhile. Will you being seeing me at SmartPak a few years from now? You never, folks. You never know.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
West Coast Friendship: Part One
Gray skies, a slight headache, and nothing to do. I'm feeling story-time coming on once again...
I think I made it clear enough at the end of The Story that Never Was that, once Jake left, I did not stay long at Carousel Farms. At that point in my life, I was a very immature rider, and I think as you compare that story with my life today, you can tell the difference between the insecure, unguided child I was and the confident horseman I am today. I owe a great part of that equestrian metamorphosis to a wonderful riding instructor I happened to stumble across after my departure from Carousel Farms. She was a woman by the name of Maura, and this is the story of how I found her--and, in the process, found myself.
_____________________________________
Flash, for a moment, back to Carousel Farms. It was a time after Jake had been sent away, when my lessons were being taught by college students trying to work off their board fees. Carousel Farms was hosting a weekend schooling show for local riders, and though I wouldn't be competing, I decided to go and watch for the fun of it.
I was walking around the grounds with a friend mine before the Saturday morning classes began when I heard someone call out, "Abigail?" I turned for one second, and then did a double-take, because the girl who had just called my name was leading an absolutely stunning chestnut paint horse and looked very much like my old friend Reyna, whom I had once gone to school with. Only Reyna, as of the last time I saw her, had never been on a horse in her life.
It took a bit of an explanation on her part for me to realize that yes, it truly was Reyna, and yes, she did now own this overly-expensive, breathtaking horse. (Life likes to be unfair, but what it loves more than anything is to rub my face in it.) Apparently, she had been taking several lessons a week for the past year, briefly engaged in a two month lease with a flighty mare, and then settled on buying the gelding. The sale had only been final a week.
I gave her a tour of Carousel. The grounds are fairly big for a city barn, and it can be hard to find everything your first time there. As we walked around, Reyna kept up a commentary on the barn. "Oh, you don't have warm water in the wash rack? My horse is used to warm water." "This is place so big. You don't get to know anyone. At my barn, we're like family." "How many rules do y'all have here? Everywhere I turn, there's more rules posted!"
It was slightly irritating, although I wasn't fan of the barn myself either. I was, at this point, idly looking around for a new place to ride. The location where I live is not horse country, and I knew of all the local barns- I also knew there was no place I truly wanted to ride. But, out of curiosity, I asked Reyna what barn she and her horse happened to call home.
"Oh, I ride at Magnolia." Of course. That explained it. I knew several people who rode at Magnolia, and they were all stuck up about it. It seemed the one thing that barn guaranteed to all their students was a lesson in gloating. Which was slightly amusing, because they seemed to get all the cast-off trainers and horses from Carousel Farms.
And so commenced my day of hearing praises sung about the glorious Magnolia, and how Reyna could not have been happier to be there. I simply rolled my eyes at most of it, chalking it up to exaggeration and snobbery, but what did pique my interest was hearing that their former trainer, Alexis, had left. I had ridden briefly with Alexis at Carousel Farms years before; she had been my trainer at my first real show and, after telling me nothing about what to bring or what to wear, screamed at me in my face for wearing the same attire I wore to lessons. I was all of about nine years old. I never did like Alexis much after that.
So the first day of the show passed with me hearing about Reyna's wonderful horse and wonderful barn, but also of how she was in between trainers and how she hoped her new one would be good. The second day didn't go much differently, only this time Reyna actually had classes to compete in, and, at the end of the show, she and her mom offered me a ride home.
"We only have to stop at Magnolia first to put the horse up," she clarified. "If you don't mind."
Little did I know, those were the words that would change my life.
To be continued.
I think I made it clear enough at the end of The Story that Never Was that, once Jake left, I did not stay long at Carousel Farms. At that point in my life, I was a very immature rider, and I think as you compare that story with my life today, you can tell the difference between the insecure, unguided child I was and the confident horseman I am today. I owe a great part of that equestrian metamorphosis to a wonderful riding instructor I happened to stumble across after my departure from Carousel Farms. She was a woman by the name of Maura, and this is the story of how I found her--and, in the process, found myself.
_____________________________________
Flash, for a moment, back to Carousel Farms. It was a time after Jake had been sent away, when my lessons were being taught by college students trying to work off their board fees. Carousel Farms was hosting a weekend schooling show for local riders, and though I wouldn't be competing, I decided to go and watch for the fun of it.
I was walking around the grounds with a friend mine before the Saturday morning classes began when I heard someone call out, "Abigail?" I turned for one second, and then did a double-take, because the girl who had just called my name was leading an absolutely stunning chestnut paint horse and looked very much like my old friend Reyna, whom I had once gone to school with. Only Reyna, as of the last time I saw her, had never been on a horse in her life.
It took a bit of an explanation on her part for me to realize that yes, it truly was Reyna, and yes, she did now own this overly-expensive, breathtaking horse. (Life likes to be unfair, but what it loves more than anything is to rub my face in it.) Apparently, she had been taking several lessons a week for the past year, briefly engaged in a two month lease with a flighty mare, and then settled on buying the gelding. The sale had only been final a week.
I gave her a tour of Carousel. The grounds are fairly big for a city barn, and it can be hard to find everything your first time there. As we walked around, Reyna kept up a commentary on the barn. "Oh, you don't have warm water in the wash rack? My horse is used to warm water." "This is place so big. You don't get to know anyone. At my barn, we're like family." "How many rules do y'all have here? Everywhere I turn, there's more rules posted!"
It was slightly irritating, although I wasn't fan of the barn myself either. I was, at this point, idly looking around for a new place to ride. The location where I live is not horse country, and I knew of all the local barns- I also knew there was no place I truly wanted to ride. But, out of curiosity, I asked Reyna what barn she and her horse happened to call home.
"Oh, I ride at Magnolia." Of course. That explained it. I knew several people who rode at Magnolia, and they were all stuck up about it. It seemed the one thing that barn guaranteed to all their students was a lesson in gloating. Which was slightly amusing, because they seemed to get all the cast-off trainers and horses from Carousel Farms.
And so commenced my day of hearing praises sung about the glorious Magnolia, and how Reyna could not have been happier to be there. I simply rolled my eyes at most of it, chalking it up to exaggeration and snobbery, but what did pique my interest was hearing that their former trainer, Alexis, had left. I had ridden briefly with Alexis at Carousel Farms years before; she had been my trainer at my first real show and, after telling me nothing about what to bring or what to wear, screamed at me in my face for wearing the same attire I wore to lessons. I was all of about nine years old. I never did like Alexis much after that.
So the first day of the show passed with me hearing about Reyna's wonderful horse and wonderful barn, but also of how she was in between trainers and how she hoped her new one would be good. The second day didn't go much differently, only this time Reyna actually had classes to compete in, and, at the end of the show, she and her mom offered me a ride home.
"We only have to stop at Magnolia first to put the horse up," she clarified. "If you don't mind."
Little did I know, those were the words that would change my life.
To be continued.
Monday, March 15, 2010
The Price of Owning a Horse: Who can afford this?
I long ago realized the amount of time and money it takes to keep and ride horses. Not having a horse of my own to worry about cut the time and money by about 90% and as I was never the one paying my Dover bills or my training fees, I never much worried about the money.
Now, as I contemplate the step from simply exercising other people's horses and taking lessons to leasing (and eventually buying) a horse of my own, I can't fathom how people make it work. It seems to me that the people whose jobs make enough money to allow them to own a horse would be too busy working to take care of it, and the other percent of the population can't even afford one! Given the numbers of people who do own or lease horses, this logic is obviously flawed, but even so, I can't imagine the sacrifices some people must make in order to have their own horses.
Let's see... The fees I've seen locally are $700/month for board, plus you have to buy bedding and feed (unless the barn chooses to include feed in the boarding fee), plus shoeing every other month (what's that? like $80, from what I've heard), vet bills (again, I've heard about $400/year if the horse remains perfectly health- a big if!), as well as any miscellaneous fees like if a piece of tack breaks, if the horse gets sick or has foot problems, any lessons, or surprises that may come up. And if, on top of that, you want to show! Good God!
Let's see, excluding show fees and lessons, that's about $10,000 a year! Factoring in that most people check in with a trainer, go to shows, buy new tack and new clothing (for riding and for everyday), as well as the fact that everyone has to eat and has countless bills to pay, even the minimum cost for keeping a horse is a chunk of money bigger than my private school tuition!
I can't fathom how people who aren't born into money manage to make it work--and yet thousands of them do! As I calculate the costs (of both time and money) of leasing a horse, I can't help but feel respect for all the people who manage to own horses without going broke. And I also can't help but feel that I, for one, will never be able to afford to lease, much less buy, a horse.
Hats off to those of you who lease or own. Any thoughts on how to make this work?
Now, as I contemplate the step from simply exercising other people's horses and taking lessons to leasing (and eventually buying) a horse of my own, I can't fathom how people make it work. It seems to me that the people whose jobs make enough money to allow them to own a horse would be too busy working to take care of it, and the other percent of the population can't even afford one! Given the numbers of people who do own or lease horses, this logic is obviously flawed, but even so, I can't imagine the sacrifices some people must make in order to have their own horses.
Let's see... The fees I've seen locally are $700/month for board, plus you have to buy bedding and feed (unless the barn chooses to include feed in the boarding fee), plus shoeing every other month (what's that? like $80, from what I've heard), vet bills (again, I've heard about $400/year if the horse remains perfectly health- a big if!), as well as any miscellaneous fees like if a piece of tack breaks, if the horse gets sick or has foot problems, any lessons, or surprises that may come up. And if, on top of that, you want to show! Good God!
Let's see, excluding show fees and lessons, that's about $10,000 a year! Factoring in that most people check in with a trainer, go to shows, buy new tack and new clothing (for riding and for everyday), as well as the fact that everyone has to eat and has countless bills to pay, even the minimum cost for keeping a horse is a chunk of money bigger than my private school tuition!
I can't fathom how people who aren't born into money manage to make it work--and yet thousands of them do! As I calculate the costs (of both time and money) of leasing a horse, I can't help but feel respect for all the people who manage to own horses without going broke. And I also can't help but feel that I, for one, will never be able to afford to lease, much less buy, a horse.
Hats off to those of you who lease or own. Any thoughts on how to make this work?
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Lessons from the Grand Prix Ring
I truly got to see some flying horses last night at Tails But No Black Tie, New Orleans's only grand prix event. It's a calcutta that raises money for City Park, and it's held at a stable where I used to ride. It was fun, of course. (When is it not fun to watch world-class riders in their element?) But it was also a night filled with lessons. As it turns out, the atmosphere of the Grand Prix Ring fosters an educational environment.
As I compared this other stables and these other riders with my current riding situation, I had a moment of spiritual insight, in which I realized what it truly is that d
raws me to a barn. It's not the facilities or the horses or the trainers or anything that ever logically occurred to me. All along, I've been thinking that those things were what appealed to me in a riding center, but that's not it at all. What I really want is acceptance. And don't we all? To feel like a part of the family; to be, as I was identified as last night, "a Magnolia girl"; to feel like my presence at that place makes a difference to not only the horses but the people who are there. The physical qualities of a farm are all very important, but it's really the intangible things that matter. And I think that's at least a little bit true for everyone.
I also learned that everyone shows off, just a little bit (you should see these riders try to impress the crowd!), but humility can pay off. There was a little bit sad/mostly funny moment last night when I rider in the jump-off had flown around the course impossibly fast and was clean riding up to the last fence. Assuming he would make the last fence (which is generally an easier jump for the horses), the audience began to applaud the fantastic round, and the rider began to show off. He urged his horse into a head-long gallop, beelining it for the last fence and then the finish line, but in his display, he got his horse too flat and they positively tore down the last fence. They were so busy showing off, he couldn't regain enough of his horse to make it over the jump in one piece! Humility pays off, my friends.
I also had the reaffirmation
that, yeah, they may not blink as they gallop up to a six foot fence, but regardless, Grand Prix riders are not the equestrian gods some people make them out to be. As the celebrities of the horse world, "they're people, too." It was strange, watching firsthand as women I had just seen storm the arena with power and passion fuss with their horses as they put them back into their stalls, talking idly about whether to trailer back that night or the next morning, making jokes about their rides and their horses. How they're able to come off the high of rushing over huge fences in order to chat idly with their friends just minutes later, I'll never understand. But somehow they can do it. I guess it's somewhat of a normal ride for them.
I love horse shows of any kind, because there's something to be learned just from people watching, never mind actually watching the riders and their trainers. But there's something about watching the grand prix shows, with their great riders and amazing horses, that's truly inspiring. I wish I could stand on their sidelines more often.
As I compared this other stables and these other riders with my current riding situation, I had a moment of spiritual insight, in which I realized what it truly is that d
raws me to a barn. It's not the facilities or the horses or the trainers or anything that ever logically occurred to me. All along, I've been thinking that those things were what appealed to me in a riding center, but that's not it at all. What I really want is acceptance. And don't we all? To feel like a part of the family; to be, as I was identified as last night, "a Magnolia girl"; to feel like my presence at that place makes a difference to not only the horses but the people who are there. The physical qualities of a farm are all very important, but it's really the intangible things that matter. And I think that's at least a little bit true for everyone.I also learned that everyone shows off, just a little bit (you should see these riders try to impress the crowd!), but humility can pay off. There was a little bit sad/mostly funny moment last night when I rider in the jump-off had flown around the course impossibly fast and was clean riding up to the last fence. Assuming he would make the last fence (which is generally an easier jump for the horses), the audience began to applaud the fantastic round, and the rider began to show off. He urged his horse into a head-long gallop, beelining it for the last fence and then the finish line, but in his display, he got his horse too flat and they positively tore down the last fence. They were so busy showing off, he couldn't regain enough of his horse to make it over the jump in one piece! Humility pays off, my friends.
I also had the reaffirmation
that, yeah, they may not blink as they gallop up to a six foot fence, but regardless, Grand Prix riders are not the equestrian gods some people make them out to be. As the celebrities of the horse world, "they're people, too." It was strange, watching firsthand as women I had just seen storm the arena with power and passion fuss with their horses as they put them back into their stalls, talking idly about whether to trailer back that night or the next morning, making jokes about their rides and their horses. How they're able to come off the high of rushing over huge fences in order to chat idly with their friends just minutes later, I'll never understand. But somehow they can do it. I guess it's somewhat of a normal ride for them.I love horse shows of any kind, because there's something to be learned just from people watching, never mind actually watching the riders and their trainers. But there's something about watching the grand prix shows, with their great riders and amazing horses, that's truly inspiring. I wish I could stand on their sidelines more often.
Friday, March 12, 2010
With Breeches Comes Strength
All of the good souls stand unafraid.
The hospital was cold, stark. Grace was lost in its maze like a lone bluebird left behind for the winter, dwarfed by the frozen, twisting branches among which it nested.
Even in a hospital, Grace was getting looks. She was shivering violently, uncontrollably. Her skin had lost all its color, and she could trace the bright blue veins beneath her porcelain skin. Her blue eyes sat motionless in their lids, staring unblinkingly at the paths across her shaking arms.
Grace knew she looked the part of a patient. From the blood stains on her breeches to the cuts on her face, she looked as if she belonged in the first-floor emergency room. But as she kept insisting, she was fine. It was useless to wait for the doctors; precious time was slipping by.
She wanted to turn to her mother and ask where Christopher was. Or at least where they had taken his body. He had yet to be revived, and every second the life was draining out of him. She could feel that much.
The hours passed them slowly, dragging their feet. Every so often, a hesitant question would flutter from Cynthia’s lips. Grace attempted to answer each time, but speaking was a trial. Her replies came in one or two syllables.
Once, Cynthia quietly demanded, “What happened out there, Grace? Can you explain to me what he was doing, what you were doing?”
Grace couldn’t answer for Christopher. She could hardly answer for herself—because she wasn’t herself; she didn’t feel like herself.
She felt like a little girl, caught in a lurid, confused dream.
And it was this dream-child who sat that day in the ER, who wandered that evening through the hospital halls.
The hospital was cold, stark. Grace was lost in its maze like a lone bluebird left behind for the winter, dwarfed by the frozen, twisting branches among which it nested.
Even in a hospital, Grace was getting looks. She was shivering violently, uncontrollably. Her skin had lost all its color, and she could trace the bright blue veins beneath her porcelain skin. Her blue eyes sat motionless in their lids, staring unblinkingly at the paths across her shaking arms.
Grace knew she looked the part of a patient. From the blood stains on her breeches to the cuts on her face, she looked as if she belonged in the first-floor emergency room. But as she kept insisting, she was fine. It was useless to wait for the doctors; precious time was slipping by.
She wanted to turn to her mother and ask where Christopher was. Or at least where they had taken his body. He had yet to be revived, and every second the life was draining out of him. She could feel that much.
The hours passed them slowly, dragging their feet. Every so often, a hesitant question would flutter from Cynthia’s lips. Grace attempted to answer each time, but speaking was a trial. Her replies came in one or two syllables.
Once, Cynthia quietly demanded, “What happened out there, Grace? Can you explain to me what he was doing, what you were doing?”
Grace couldn’t answer for Christopher. She could hardly answer for herself—because she wasn’t herself; she didn’t feel like herself.
She felt like a little girl, caught in a lurid, confused dream.
And it was this dream-child who sat that day in the ER, who wandered that evening through the hospital halls.
Excerpt from The Circular Path
_______________
I went to the hospital this afternoon (not for myself, but for my grandmother). It reminded of this scene from The Circular Path, a novel I drafted up last year. This scene, in particular, is part of a larger one titled "Dismissed". Grace is struggling through a world of abuse, both of substance and emotion, and the only person who has offered her hope has just been in a serious cross-country accident.
There's something beautiful about Grace to me; she always finds her way into my head to offer me strength.
I went to the hospital this afternoon (not for myself, but for my grandmother). It reminded of this scene from The Circular Path, a novel I drafted up last year. This scene, in particular, is part of a larger one titled "Dismissed". Grace is struggling through a world of abuse, both of substance and emotion, and the only person who has offered her hope has just been in a serious cross-country accident.
There's something beautiful about Grace to me; she always finds her way into my head to offer me strength.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Art Therapy
Sometimes, life gets very stressful. I'm a big believer in art therapy. And horse therapy.
In case you can't read it (it's supposed to be larger, but it won't fit on the page at it's full size) it reads lyrics from a Sing It Loud song. "I can't get myself over you" and then, "I'm over you." Photo-manipulation is a hobby for me, though not a talent.
In case you can't read it (it's supposed to be larger, but it won't fit on the page at it's full size) it reads lyrics from a Sing It Loud song. "I can't get myself over you" and then, "I'm over you." Photo-manipulation is a hobby for me, though not a talent.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
First-Class Farms: Seventh Farm, St Paul, MN
As I go on a college hunt, I have the pleasure of getting acquainted (through the Internet) with many boarding stables and riding academies throughout the country. If I'm considering a particular college or area, one of the first things I do is head to GoogleMaps and run a search for nearby barns. On this hunt of mine, I've discovered many fabulous farms that I would never have come across or even heard about otherwise.
Today, I'd like to feature Seventh Farm in St. Paul, Minnesota.
What tru
ly struck me about Seventh Farm was its dedication to horsemanship rather than simply to riding. Their mission is "to develop effective, independent and knowledgeable riders and horse people." They build from the ground up, with a four-week introduction to riding for beginners that is based on classical traditions. For one two-hour class each week, beginners are given a hands-on lesson in the saddle and on the ground covering everything from walking and trotting to horse psychology. In addition to these lessons, riders can attend social workshops to further their knowledge of horsemanship and form a bond with the horses.
For more advanced riders, there is a similar program that covers dressage and jumping basics, biomechanics for effective riding, stable management courses, and trail rides.
Such an extensive program is, I've learned from my search, rare in riding academies. But Seventh Farm wisely chooses to focus on the horses. "Our school is not just about riding horses," the website reads. "We believe you can not be a good rider if you do not know and understand the whole horse."
True words. And they seem to be effective ones, as well. Their site boasts several testimonials from truly satisfied riders and beautiful pictures of happy horses. And in the eyes of Flying Horses, that's what truly makes a First-Class Farm.
Today, I'd like to feature Seventh Farm in St. Paul, Minnesota.
What tru
ly struck me about Seventh Farm was its dedication to horsemanship rather than simply to riding. Their mission is "to develop effective, independent and knowledgeable riders and horse people." They build from the ground up, with a four-week introduction to riding for beginners that is based on classical traditions. For one two-hour class each week, beginners are given a hands-on lesson in the saddle and on the ground covering everything from walking and trotting to horse psychology. In addition to these lessons, riders can attend social workshops to further their knowledge of horsemanship and form a bond with the horses.For more advanced riders, there is a similar program that covers dressage and jumping basics, biomechanics for effective riding, stable management courses, and trail rides.
Such an extensive program is, I've learned from my search, rare in riding academies. But Seventh Farm wisely chooses to focus on the horses. "Our school is not just about riding horses," the website reads. "We believe you can not be a good rider if you do not know and understand the whole horse."
True words. And they seem to be effective ones, as well. Their site boasts several testimonials from truly satisfied riders and beautiful pictures of happy horses. And in the eyes of Flying Horses, that's what truly makes a First-Class Farm.
Monday, March 8, 2010
The Dating Game
Step right up, folks! Tonight's game night on Flying Horses!
I have explained that my horse and I are currently on a hiatus, and in the meantime, I get to mix it up and try out some other horses. For tonight's show, we have three contestants, and I'm going to let you as the audience decide which one I ride next! It's so exciting, I can hardly stand it! ;D
Let's introduce the lucky horses, shall we?
Behind door number one, we have... Sparky!
Known in the show ring as "Kamikaze", Sparky is a quirky little gelding measuring barely fifteen hands. He is a sorrel Quarter Horse known for his overzealous lead changes and striding that needs a little push. He's a great jumper with a rider that keeps him focused, but can easily get lazy with his jumps or settle into a poky pace. He requires a steady, easily-adjustable rider with iron calves and an intimidating-looking whip.
Behind door number two we have... Paris!
"Paris Lights" is a petite red chestnut mare of glossy coat and fine features. Paris's training is not completely polished yet, as is reflected in her sometimes skittish responses. She is a mare of sharp tongue and sensitive feelings who needs some encouragement over fences, although she can and will jump 3 feet on a good day. (Again, her training is a work in progress.) Her jumping has greatly benefited from her brief dressage training. She requires a rider who knows when to be gentle and when to be tough.
And our last bachelor of the evening! Behind door number three we have... Bombay!
Bombay is an ex-racehorse gelding who stands at least a hand above our follow contestants (literally, not figuratively). He can be exhilarating to ride, as he has a smooth, powerful jump that decides to show itself from time to time. He can also be a handful (i.e. the last time I rode him, I was flung into the metal fence [pictured above behind Sparky] of our arena when he panicked halfway through a jumper turn). He has a great heart, but he sometimes needs a reminder that he does have a brain as well.
And now that you've met our final contestant, it's time for the questions!
Question #1: What do you look for in an ideal rider?
Sparky: Someone who doesn't mind having to put some (okay, a lot) of effort in to push me to my potential, and certainly someone who doesn't mind sitting through a few little bucks now and then when I get excited.
Paris: I want a rider who can calm me down if I get a little freaked out and who'll let me follow Sparky over the scarier jumps. I also want a rider who's okay with not jumping too much because that gets to be more than I can handle.
Bombay: My ideal rider isn't afraid to go fast and can take control so that I don't have to. They're willing to work with my phobias and philias and give me a chance before judging me based on my past.
Question #2: What is the most appealing part of your personality?
Sparky: It'd have to be my charm, of course! And my easy-going nature.
Paris: My loyalty. When I find a rider I trust, I stick by their side.
Bombay: My love of fun and sense of adventure!
Question #3: If you were stranded in a deserted pasture, what would you do?
Sparky: Call at the top of my lungs for help! Anyone, anyone?? I CAN'T be alone out here! And even if I AM alone, at least I have the sound of my own voice to comfort me...
Paris: Find some decent shade, a good patch of grass, and eat a bit. No work to do? Count me in! I can exercise myself, thank you very much.
Bombay: Explore the land myself! If I liked the place, I could claim it as my own. If I didn't, I'd be bound to run into someone or find some way out.
Question #4: What is your life's motto?
Sparky: Don't do today what you can put off until tomorrow!
Paris: When in doubt, duck on out!
Bombay: Carpe diem, carpe noctem, carpe omnious. (Seize the day, seize the night, seize it all.)
And finally, our last question of the night folks! One more chance for our contestants to make a lasting impression...
Question #5: What is your idea of the perfect ride?
Sparky: Something nice and romantic... A lazy midnight canter on the beach with a trough full of apple cider waiting for us back at the barn. No need to rush or work too hard. Just you, me, and a pocketful of peppermints.
Paris: Dressage to music! I can relax into the beat and bend and flex and dance without worrying about jumping or other pesky horses being in the ring. I can be beautiful and the center of attention without having to stare down those big oxers!
Bombay: Probably something along the lines of a gymkhana. Lots of different little activities. Nothing I have to work too hard at, but can just have fun with and go for it! Still competitive, but without the stress and seriousness of a huge horse show. And plus, no snooty foreign warmbloods!
Well, ladies and gentlemen, that's all our time for questions! You've heard about the horses and seen them questioned intensely! Now it's time for you to make the decision: Which contestant will be the lucky horse? Is it Sparky, behind Door Number One? Paris, behind Door Number Two? Or Bombay, behind Door Number Three? Sign in and cast your votes now!
_________________________
Disclaimer: I'm equally capable of handling all these horses, and I don't have a preference as to who I ride, or there would be no need for our little game show! Go ahead and vote; it's all in good fun!
I have explained that my horse and I are currently on a hiatus, and in the meantime, I get to mix it up and try out some other horses. For tonight's show, we have three contestants, and I'm going to let you as the audience decide which one I ride next! It's so exciting, I can hardly stand it! ;D
Let's introduce the lucky horses, shall we?
Behind door number one, we have... Sparky!
Known in the show ring as "Kamikaze", Sparky is a quirky little gelding measuring barely fifteen hands. He is a sorrel Quarter Horse known for his overzealous lead changes and striding that needs a little push. He's a great jumper with a rider that keeps him focused, but can easily get lazy with his jumps or settle into a poky pace. He requires a steady, easily-adjustable rider with iron calves and an intimidating-looking whip.
Behind door number two we have... Paris!
"Paris Lights" is a petite red chestnut mare of glossy coat and fine features. Paris's training is not completely polished yet, as is reflected in her sometimes skittish responses. She is a mare of sharp tongue and sensitive feelings who needs some encouragement over fences, although she can and will jump 3 feet on a good day. (Again, her training is a work in progress.) Her jumping has greatly benefited from her brief dressage training. She requires a rider who knows when to be gentle and when to be tough.
And our last bachelor of the evening! Behind door number three we have... Bombay!
Bombay is an ex-racehorse gelding who stands at least a hand above our follow contestants (literally, not figuratively). He can be exhilarating to ride, as he has a smooth, powerful jump that decides to show itself from time to time. He can also be a handful (i.e. the last time I rode him, I was flung into the metal fence [pictured above behind Sparky] of our arena when he panicked halfway through a jumper turn). He has a great heart, but he sometimes needs a reminder that he does have a brain as well.
And now that you've met our final contestant, it's time for the questions!
Question #1: What do you look for in an ideal rider?
Sparky: Someone who doesn't mind having to put some (okay, a lot) of effort in to push me to my potential, and certainly someone who doesn't mind sitting through a few little bucks now and then when I get excited.
Paris: I want a rider who can calm me down if I get a little freaked out and who'll let me follow Sparky over the scarier jumps. I also want a rider who's okay with not jumping too much because that gets to be more than I can handle.
Bombay: My ideal rider isn't afraid to go fast and can take control so that I don't have to. They're willing to work with my phobias and philias and give me a chance before judging me based on my past.
Question #2: What is the most appealing part of your personality?
Sparky: It'd have to be my charm, of course! And my easy-going nature.
Paris: My loyalty. When I find a rider I trust, I stick by their side.
Bombay: My love of fun and sense of adventure!
Question #3: If you were stranded in a deserted pasture, what would you do?
Sparky: Call at the top of my lungs for help! Anyone, anyone?? I CAN'T be alone out here! And even if I AM alone, at least I have the sound of my own voice to comfort me...
Paris: Find some decent shade, a good patch of grass, and eat a bit. No work to do? Count me in! I can exercise myself, thank you very much.
Bombay: Explore the land myself! If I liked the place, I could claim it as my own. If I didn't, I'd be bound to run into someone or find some way out.
Question #4: What is your life's motto?
Sparky: Don't do today what you can put off until tomorrow!
Paris: When in doubt, duck on out!
Bombay: Carpe diem, carpe noctem, carpe omnious. (Seize the day, seize the night, seize it all.)
And finally, our last question of the night folks! One more chance for our contestants to make a lasting impression...
Question #5: What is your idea of the perfect ride?
Sparky: Something nice and romantic... A lazy midnight canter on the beach with a trough full of apple cider waiting for us back at the barn. No need to rush or work too hard. Just you, me, and a pocketful of peppermints.
Paris: Dressage to music! I can relax into the beat and bend and flex and dance without worrying about jumping or other pesky horses being in the ring. I can be beautiful and the center of attention without having to stare down those big oxers!
Bombay: Probably something along the lines of a gymkhana. Lots of different little activities. Nothing I have to work too hard at, but can just have fun with and go for it! Still competitive, but without the stress and seriousness of a huge horse show. And plus, no snooty foreign warmbloods!
Well, ladies and gentlemen, that's all our time for questions! You've heard about the horses and seen them questioned intensely! Now it's time for you to make the decision: Which contestant will be the lucky horse? Is it Sparky, behind Door Number One? Paris, behind Door Number Two? Or Bombay, behind Door Number Three? Sign in and cast your votes now!
_________________________
Disclaimer: I'm equally capable of handling all these horses, and I don't have a preference as to who I ride, or there would be no need for our little game show! Go ahead and vote; it's all in good fun!
Sunday, March 7, 2010
An Arm to Lean On: A Horse Story
A true story by Duaa Anwar of Cairo, Egypt
Some people say that horses kept on full livery never form strong ties with their owners. As an owner of a horse on full livery, I am writing this story in defense of all of us busy people who strive to provide the best accommodation for their horses.
I have always viewed and treated my horse as an individual. Always considered his point of view, always allowed him to express his feelings. After all, my horse is my friend, and on occasions, my psychiatrist.
On one particularly gloomy day, I felt I have lost all purpose for existence. The despair somehow left me longing to see my horse, who in time of crisis, is the last candle of hope. Unconsciously, I found myself driving to the stables.
Arriving in the early hours of the afternoon proved to be a good time for some privacy. The stables were deserted, except for the horses of course. Grooms were napping and the office was closed. No riders where there at that hour. I headed directly to my horse's stall, where I expected him to be hiding in the corner, ears drooping, half asleep.
I stood at the door and he came to me eagerly. The sheer joy in his eyes when he saw me had instantly put the world back into focus. Leaning against the stable door, I stroked and patted him. He was calm and content - perhaps too calm - because he rested his head on my arm. The entire weight of his head rested on my upper arm which was atop the stable door. Although his head was solid and painfully heavy, it lifted the weight off my heart. His muzzle was over my shoulder, snugly against my back.
I talked to him of my troubles. His ear never turned away from me... always listening. The words made no sense to him, but he was listening to my voice. He was still and quiet, as if to reassure me that he is indeed listening. The weight of his head was cutting off the circulation to my forearm, but I held him for as long as I could. When I shifted my arm slightly, he lifted his head for a moment, before bringing it down again over my shoulder.
Agony seeped out of my body as easily as rain washes the leaves of a tree. Grief was history. He did not retreat until I decided I had to leave. He was there for me, quietly listening, and, in a way, holding me. It takes a lot of heart from a person to listen to someone else's trouble, so you can imagine how deep the soul of horses are. Such gentle creatures horses can be.
Some people say that horses kept on full livery never form strong ties with their owners. As an owner of a horse on full livery, I am writing this story in defense of all of us busy people who strive to provide the best accommodation for their horses.
I have always viewed and treated my horse as an individual. Always considered his point of view, always allowed him to express his feelings. After all, my horse is my friend, and on occasions, my psychiatrist.
On one particularly gloomy day, I felt I have lost all purpose for existence. The despair somehow left me longing to see my horse, who in time of crisis, is the last candle of hope. Unconsciously, I found myself driving to the stables.
Arriving in the early hours of the afternoon proved to be a good time for some privacy. The stables were deserted, except for the horses of course. Grooms were napping and the office was closed. No riders where there at that hour. I headed directly to my horse's stall, where I expected him to be hiding in the corner, ears drooping, half asleep.
I stood at the door and he came to me eagerly. The sheer joy in his eyes when he saw me had instantly put the world back into focus. Leaning against the stable door, I stroked and patted him. He was calm and content - perhaps too calm - because he rested his head on my arm. The entire weight of his head rested on my upper arm which was atop the stable door. Although his head was solid and painfully heavy, it lifted the weight off my heart. His muzzle was over my shoulder, snugly against my back.
I talked to him of my troubles. His ear never turned away from me... always listening. The words made no sense to him, but he was listening to my voice. He was still and quiet, as if to reassure me that he is indeed listening. The weight of his head was cutting off the circulation to my forearm, but I held him for as long as I could. When I shifted my arm slightly, he lifted his head for a moment, before bringing it down again over my shoulder.
Agony seeped out of my body as easily as rain washes the leaves of a tree. Grief was history. He did not retreat until I decided I had to leave. He was there for me, quietly listening, and, in a way, holding me. It takes a lot of heart from a person to listen to someone else's trouble, so you can imagine how deep the soul of horses are. Such gentle creatures horses can be.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Get off your high horse!
Note: I won't be able to post tomorrow, as I'll be on a retreat and away from any internet connections. I should be back in civilization by Friday, but I may be too tired and have too much to unpack to write then, either. So look for some new posts possibly Friday, but definitely Saturday.
Onto to the real post... I hate having posts that revolve solely around me, but this story was just too much for me NOT to share to the world.
Last week, my horse was high. (And to answer the question I've gotten every time I say that sentence... Yes, high as in drugs.) He's been put on this new medicine that is messing with his head, and halfway through our ride he started feel real good (drugs are known to do that). He completely galloped through a bending line and soared over a 2'3" oxer like it was four feet high. When I tried to halt him, he was backing up and tossing his head, and my trainer finally had enough. She made me calm him down, jump a final fence on him (which he took beautifully), and then quit for the night. She promised to talk to the barn owner about his meds and give him plenty of turnout.
Fast-forward to today, the first time I've been back to the barn to ride since then. They changed my horse (Blaze)'s dosage and let him run around in the paddocks, and supposedly he was back to normal. Of course, the moment I got him in the cross-ties I could tell he wasn't. He was antsy as I tacked him up, but that's sometimes just how he is. When I got into the arena and tried to mount, he wouldn't stand still. That's when I could tell he was really keyed up. He has much better manners than to move when someone's mounting. He immediately trotted off before I could get my other foot in the stirrup, but I settled myself and made him halt. He started backing up again and snorting like last week, but I just closed my leg and kept him moving, holding the reins so he couldn't trot or canter through the bit.
And then a large dump truck came rumbling onto the property. Of all days! Blaze is the closest thing to bombproof horse that I've ever seen. He doesn't spook. Ever. But he was not himself tonight and that truck sent him trembling. I just tried to keep him walking forward and talked to him to keep him calm, but it wasn't working. One stray noise from the clattering engine and he flipped, half-rearing, landing, and then giving a little buck. I wasn't going to sit on him when the truck that had spooked him was still growling away next to the arena, and I was halfway out the saddle at that point anyway, so I didn't fight to stay on. I let myself fall and managed to stick the landing on my feet in a fashion that any gymnast would be jealous of.
Meanwhile, the other people in the ring were halted on their horses, and one was even mounting up; no other horse was anywhere near as bothered by that truck, but Blaze was still on his toes. I held his reins and kept circling him, trying to get his mind off the truck, talking to him to distract him. At that point my trainer had approached the ring, and I laughingly told her, "Oh, you missed all the action!" But the real action hadn't even begun.
The truck finished unloading and then rumbled its way out of the parking lot, which was WAY too much for Blaze to handle. (What has happened to my Ole Reliable horse?) He flipped out again, reared up all the way (at which point I dropped the reins and backed away), gave a buck or two and took off at a headlong gallop around the arena.
The other riders had to execute some emergency dismounts as my horse did not mind running up the tails of every other horse in the ring. There was some few missed kicks, and it was almost comical as my trainer and I failed in our attempt to corral my runaway horse. He'd slow to a trot and then halt in a corner, we'd approach him, be inches away from grabbing him, and he'd take off again.
At one point, he halted next to another rider in the ring who was kind of rattled at that point, bless her soul, and instead of grabbing his reins as he started walking up to her, thought it was a good idea to say, "No, Blaze," and wave her hands toward him to shoo him away. And of course, with hands flying in his face, he took off again.
It took us a good fifteen minutes (maybe twenty) of him galloping around, halting in a corner, us almost catching him, and then him slipping by us again, before my trainer finally caught him. She was completely pissed off at the stunt and hacked him herself for a few minutes to get him to behave. And then she turned him back over to me.
The poor boy had thoroughly exhausted himself at this point, and he moved around the rail like it was any ordinary lesson, completely sane. He was yawning before we finished the warm-up. Too bad it was his fault he was so tired. We pushed him through the lesson, keeping the jumps small, the contact firm, and the pace fast. I pushed him over a regular course and then, when he thought he was finished, kept him running to repeat the course again. Sixteen fences at what I would loosely describe as a hand-gallop and he was dead tired by the end of lesson.
I felt almost bad for him, he looked so sleepy when I brought him back to the barn. But I don't think he'll pull that stunt with me again anytime soon. And I think we've proven that he needs to get off the drugs and get some more turn out.
Oh, life with a high horse... Never a dull moment, huh?
Onto to the real post... I hate having posts that revolve solely around me, but this story was just too much for me NOT to share to the world.
Last week, my horse was high. (And to answer the question I've gotten every time I say that sentence... Yes, high as in drugs.) He's been put on this new medicine that is messing with his head, and halfway through our ride he started feel real good (drugs are known to do that). He completely galloped through a bending line and soared over a 2'3" oxer like it was four feet high. When I tried to halt him, he was backing up and tossing his head, and my trainer finally had enough. She made me calm him down, jump a final fence on him (which he took beautifully), and then quit for the night. She promised to talk to the barn owner about his meds and give him plenty of turnout.
Fast-forward to today, the first time I've been back to the barn to ride since then. They changed my horse (Blaze)'s dosage and let him run around in the paddocks, and supposedly he was back to normal. Of course, the moment I got him in the cross-ties I could tell he wasn't. He was antsy as I tacked him up, but that's sometimes just how he is. When I got into the arena and tried to mount, he wouldn't stand still. That's when I could tell he was really keyed up. He has much better manners than to move when someone's mounting. He immediately trotted off before I could get my other foot in the stirrup, but I settled myself and made him halt. He started backing up again and snorting like last week, but I just closed my leg and kept him moving, holding the reins so he couldn't trot or canter through the bit.
And then a large dump truck came rumbling onto the property. Of all days! Blaze is the closest thing to bombproof horse that I've ever seen. He doesn't spook. Ever. But he was not himself tonight and that truck sent him trembling. I just tried to keep him walking forward and talked to him to keep him calm, but it wasn't working. One stray noise from the clattering engine and he flipped, half-rearing, landing, and then giving a little buck. I wasn't going to sit on him when the truck that had spooked him was still growling away next to the arena, and I was halfway out the saddle at that point anyway, so I didn't fight to stay on. I let myself fall and managed to stick the landing on my feet in a fashion that any gymnast would be jealous of.
Meanwhile, the other people in the ring were halted on their horses, and one was even mounting up; no other horse was anywhere near as bothered by that truck, but Blaze was still on his toes. I held his reins and kept circling him, trying to get his mind off the truck, talking to him to distract him. At that point my trainer had approached the ring, and I laughingly told her, "Oh, you missed all the action!" But the real action hadn't even begun.
The truck finished unloading and then rumbled its way out of the parking lot, which was WAY too much for Blaze to handle. (What has happened to my Ole Reliable horse?) He flipped out again, reared up all the way (at which point I dropped the reins and backed away), gave a buck or two and took off at a headlong gallop around the arena.
The other riders had to execute some emergency dismounts as my horse did not mind running up the tails of every other horse in the ring. There was some few missed kicks, and it was almost comical as my trainer and I failed in our attempt to corral my runaway horse. He'd slow to a trot and then halt in a corner, we'd approach him, be inches away from grabbing him, and he'd take off again.
At one point, he halted next to another rider in the ring who was kind of rattled at that point, bless her soul, and instead of grabbing his reins as he started walking up to her, thought it was a good idea to say, "No, Blaze," and wave her hands toward him to shoo him away. And of course, with hands flying in his face, he took off again.
It took us a good fifteen minutes (maybe twenty) of him galloping around, halting in a corner, us almost catching him, and then him slipping by us again, before my trainer finally caught him. She was completely pissed off at the stunt and hacked him herself for a few minutes to get him to behave. And then she turned him back over to me.
The poor boy had thoroughly exhausted himself at this point, and he moved around the rail like it was any ordinary lesson, completely sane. He was yawning before we finished the warm-up. Too bad it was his fault he was so tired. We pushed him through the lesson, keeping the jumps small, the contact firm, and the pace fast. I pushed him over a regular course and then, when he thought he was finished, kept him running to repeat the course again. Sixteen fences at what I would loosely describe as a hand-gallop and he was dead tired by the end of lesson.
I felt almost bad for him, he looked so sleepy when I brought him back to the barn. But I don't think he'll pull that stunt with me again anytime soon. And I think we've proven that he needs to get off the drugs and get some more turn out.
Oh, life with a high horse... Never a dull moment, huh?
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Shock in Slow Motion
I should think these pictures speak for themselves, if you look at her facial expressions.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Story That Never Was: Part Seven
It is a stormy, stormy night. Perfect weather for story-telling. I thought I'd treat you with the end of The Story that Never Was. Here goes...
Need to catch up?
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
______________________
"All horses deserve, at least once in their lives, to be loved by a little girl." (Author Unknown)
Jake was going downhill fast. He was a young, talented horse who was slowly being ruined: by Donna's ambition, by Shannon's incompetence, and by his own moody disposition.
Donna had plans for Carousel Farms. Her farm was the biggest and the best, and from there, it could only get bigger and better. Her reign was rough on all the school horses: she took more riders than the horses could handle, and she held them to no standards. Riders who hauled on their horses mouths or wielded crops like a fencer wields a sword were welcome in the barn so long as their checks didn't bounce. There were even students (grown girls, not children) who would sneak the beginner's pony, Captain, out of his stall and jump on him bareback and grab on to his halter. Even when Captain had to be retired due to back troubles (obviously resulting from 120 pound girls jumping on his back when the trainers weren't looking), these girls could be found hanging out with Donna and Shannon almost every day. And more importantly than all of this, Carousel Farms was just a very dynamic place. Horses came and went; the school horses were always being moved to different stalls; and there was always people everywhere: laughing, crying, singing, screaming. It takes a very particular kind of horse to deal with that environment.
Jake was not that kind of horse. He was still green, and he was put into three, sometimes four lessons a day in order to accommodate the growing clientele. He was not happy sitting through three hours of low-standard equitation lessons, and the constant changes around the barn did nothing to soothe his mood.
I talked to Shannon about leasing him. He was still a talented little horse, and he would throw his heart into every one of our lessons, even if it was plain to see that he would have preferred something other than hunters and equitation. He could act annoyed or irritated or bored with me, but at the end of the day, he would never let me down. He would snort a complaint or toss his head, but then I would reprimand him with my legs (Come on, let's go.) and he would carry himself like Adonis over our course. It was killing me to see him suffer through his work and through the pony parties Donna subjected him to. He wasn't cut out to be a school horse. I wanted to make it so that he didn't have to be one. But Shannon didn't consider my inquiry into a lease a serious one. She brushed it off with an, "Oh, I'll get you the information, but I think we need him in lessons."
I never got the information. I wish I had.
I distinctly remember my last lesson on Jake, because it was the first time that I could truly feel the difference between the horse he was now and the Super Star he had once been. His gaits were flat. His jumps were dull. He didn't put up a fight when the lesson dragged on ten minutes longer than normal. He didn't prick his ears up when I headed for the in-gate, and he didn't nicker at me when I offered him a peppermint. He didn't do much of anything. I could only look at him and thing, What happened? He had always been a surly horse, but he had always had a little bit of sparkle. What had happened to turn my sparkly little gelding into the morose recluse I led into his stall that day? I don't think I'll ever know the full story.
When I arrived for my next lesson, I was told that I would not be riding Jake. His stall was empty as I passed it on my way out to the ring, and my heart sank. My nerves were eased as I saw my gleaming chestnut Jake being held by Shannon in front of the in-gate. Shannon was talking to Donna, and as I approached I got the gist of their conversation: Jake's lesson had not gone well. He had been acting up all day: giving small bucks, running through the bit, flashing his teeth at the other horses. Donna's temper was high that day, and her words came loud and fast: This was ridiculous; she hadn't paid for him only to act this way. And then, voice thundering, she swooped closer to Shannon, sideswiping Jake and coming around behind him.
Jake saw an opportunity to release his frustration and get the better of Donna and took it. He tucked his haunches in, aimed, and then swiftly launched a kick at the owner of Carousel Farm.
It was like pulling a fire alarm. The reaction was instant and overpowering. "I am done with this horse!" Donna screamed. "Done! Jake is gone!"
I never once dreamed that she would act on that threat, nor that she would act so quickly. The next time I came to Carousel Farm, I stopped short in front of Jake's stall. There was a horse in it; he looked tauntingly similar to Jake: a taller, less compact version. He was part Quarter Horse with a dusty red chestnut coat, a white black, and two white stockings. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought it was Jake. And then I realized that it wasn't.
In twenty-four hours, Donna had called the dealer where Jake had come from and arranged to have him sent back. No one thought to call me and see if I wanted him (I would have taken him in a heartbeat). After all, I was just a kid. To them, I knew nothing about owning a horse.
But I like to think I know more about the nature of horses than Donna did. Or at least the nature of Jake. I once referenced in a post that there is "a princess buried inside every broodmare." I believe there was a prince buried not too deep within Jake. I felt it the moment I first laid eyes on him, and I continued to feel it throughout our time together. Sometimes, all it takes is the right girl working with the right horse to bring out the best in both. Jake gave me my foundation for working with real horses, not the mindless school horse drones kept at Carousel Farm. He also taught me how to handle green horses, and, from Shannon and Donna, how not to handle green horses. He showed me a part of myself that I never knew existed. From him, I gained the confidence of a real rider and the courage to find some place different than Carousel Farms, some place where I could truly work with horses, not just watch as other people took them away from me.
Instead of telling the story about a bond with a school horse that ultimately came to nothing, I should be telling you about how I bought my first horse, Jake, and about our adventures in finding a discipline that truly suited him. I should have stories about our training, our showing, our search for a good boarding barn. But that's not how life works.
I found my happy ending, at a new barn with a more suitable trainer. I hope Jake found his, too. Rumor has it that he ended up in retraining with Martin Klein at Benchmark Farm, but that might not be true. I wish I could find out what happened to him. I wish I could have found him under better circumstances and made him mine. I wish I could have truly appreciated everything he taught me before he was taken away. But sometimes, you just have to cut your losses and take fate for what its worth.
If it hadn't been for Jake and our Story that Never Was, I wouldn't be the woman or the equestrian that I am today. And that's worth more than all the horses in the world.
The End.
________________________________
This post is dedicated to all the riders out there struggling to find themselves, that they may meet a horse who touches them as much as Jake has touched me.
Need to catch up?
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
______________________
"All horses deserve, at least once in their lives, to be loved by a little girl." (Author Unknown)
Jake was going downhill fast. He was a young, talented horse who was slowly being ruined: by Donna's ambition, by Shannon's incompetence, and by his own moody disposition.
Donna had plans for Carousel Farms. Her farm was the biggest and the best, and from there, it could only get bigger and better. Her reign was rough on all the school horses: she took more riders than the horses could handle, and she held them to no standards. Riders who hauled on their horses mouths or wielded crops like a fencer wields a sword were welcome in the barn so long as their checks didn't bounce. There were even students (grown girls, not children) who would sneak the beginner's pony, Captain, out of his stall and jump on him bareback and grab on to his halter. Even when Captain had to be retired due to back troubles (obviously resulting from 120 pound girls jumping on his back when the trainers weren't looking), these girls could be found hanging out with Donna and Shannon almost every day. And more importantly than all of this, Carousel Farms was just a very dynamic place. Horses came and went; the school horses were always being moved to different stalls; and there was always people everywhere: laughing, crying, singing, screaming. It takes a very particular kind of horse to deal with that environment.
Jake was not that kind of horse. He was still green, and he was put into three, sometimes four lessons a day in order to accommodate the growing clientele. He was not happy sitting through three hours of low-standard equitation lessons, and the constant changes around the barn did nothing to soothe his mood.
I talked to Shannon about leasing him. He was still a talented little horse, and he would throw his heart into every one of our lessons, even if it was plain to see that he would have preferred something other than hunters and equitation. He could act annoyed or irritated or bored with me, but at the end of the day, he would never let me down. He would snort a complaint or toss his head, but then I would reprimand him with my legs (Come on, let's go.) and he would carry himself like Adonis over our course. It was killing me to see him suffer through his work and through the pony parties Donna subjected him to. He wasn't cut out to be a school horse. I wanted to make it so that he didn't have to be one. But Shannon didn't consider my inquiry into a lease a serious one. She brushed it off with an, "Oh, I'll get you the information, but I think we need him in lessons."
I never got the information. I wish I had.
I distinctly remember my last lesson on Jake, because it was the first time that I could truly feel the difference between the horse he was now and the Super Star he had once been. His gaits were flat. His jumps were dull. He didn't put up a fight when the lesson dragged on ten minutes longer than normal. He didn't prick his ears up when I headed for the in-gate, and he didn't nicker at me when I offered him a peppermint. He didn't do much of anything. I could only look at him and thing, What happened? He had always been a surly horse, but he had always had a little bit of sparkle. What had happened to turn my sparkly little gelding into the morose recluse I led into his stall that day? I don't think I'll ever know the full story.
When I arrived for my next lesson, I was told that I would not be riding Jake. His stall was empty as I passed it on my way out to the ring, and my heart sank. My nerves were eased as I saw my gleaming chestnut Jake being held by Shannon in front of the in-gate. Shannon was talking to Donna, and as I approached I got the gist of their conversation: Jake's lesson had not gone well. He had been acting up all day: giving small bucks, running through the bit, flashing his teeth at the other horses. Donna's temper was high that day, and her words came loud and fast: This was ridiculous; she hadn't paid for him only to act this way. And then, voice thundering, she swooped closer to Shannon, sideswiping Jake and coming around behind him.
Jake saw an opportunity to release his frustration and get the better of Donna and took it. He tucked his haunches in, aimed, and then swiftly launched a kick at the owner of Carousel Farm.
It was like pulling a fire alarm. The reaction was instant and overpowering. "I am done with this horse!" Donna screamed. "Done! Jake is gone!"
I never once dreamed that she would act on that threat, nor that she would act so quickly. The next time I came to Carousel Farm, I stopped short in front of Jake's stall. There was a horse in it; he looked tauntingly similar to Jake: a taller, less compact version. He was part Quarter Horse with a dusty red chestnut coat, a white black, and two white stockings. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought it was Jake. And then I realized that it wasn't.
In twenty-four hours, Donna had called the dealer where Jake had come from and arranged to have him sent back. No one thought to call me and see if I wanted him (I would have taken him in a heartbeat). After all, I was just a kid. To them, I knew nothing about owning a horse.
But I like to think I know more about the nature of horses than Donna did. Or at least the nature of Jake. I once referenced in a post that there is "a princess buried inside every broodmare." I believe there was a prince buried not too deep within Jake. I felt it the moment I first laid eyes on him, and I continued to feel it throughout our time together. Sometimes, all it takes is the right girl working with the right horse to bring out the best in both. Jake gave me my foundation for working with real horses, not the mindless school horse drones kept at Carousel Farm. He also taught me how to handle green horses, and, from Shannon and Donna, how not to handle green horses. He showed me a part of myself that I never knew existed. From him, I gained the confidence of a real rider and the courage to find some place different than Carousel Farms, some place where I could truly work with horses, not just watch as other people took them away from me.
Instead of telling the story about a bond with a school horse that ultimately came to nothing, I should be telling you about how I bought my first horse, Jake, and about our adventures in finding a discipline that truly suited him. I should have stories about our training, our showing, our search for a good boarding barn. But that's not how life works.
I found my happy ending, at a new barn with a more suitable trainer. I hope Jake found his, too. Rumor has it that he ended up in retraining with Martin Klein at Benchmark Farm, but that might not be true. I wish I could find out what happened to him. I wish I could have found him under better circumstances and made him mine. I wish I could have truly appreciated everything he taught me before he was taken away. But sometimes, you just have to cut your losses and take fate for what its worth.
If it hadn't been for Jake and our Story that Never Was, I wouldn't be the woman or the equestrian that I am today. And that's worth more than all the horses in the world.
The End.
________________________________
This post is dedicated to all the riders out there struggling to find themselves, that they may meet a horse who touches them as much as Jake has touched me.
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