I was little, in the four foot tall range, and I was supposed to ride this small, chestnut gelding, a schoolhorse named Blazen Two Socks, who was a pretty good fit for my stubby legs. Usually, he wasn't too difficult to maneuver. The horse was appropriately named, since he had a pronounced white blaze and two white socks. He wasn't complicated, but the little guy definitely wasn't my favorite, and I think he sensed that. Late Night, a calm, sweet, dark bay gelding, and Honda, a little, wild, neurotic, white gelding, were my favorites, but neither of those guys did jumping lessons for some reason (probably for good reason).
Now, schoolhorses at Red Fox Stables were usually extremely reliable; the staff was ultra-experienced and utterly careful, but when dealing with horses, of course there was always the unknown factor. Seems that old Blazen had a few secret tricks stored up in his compact body.
We had been practicing for weeks, and I had the course down, so I thought. The day before the show, we had a "schooling session," otherwise known as practice. Waiting behind the indoor ring, the students sat on their horses, checking stirrup length, tightening girths, and trying to stay still. No one wanted his/her horse to shift too close to someone else's. No one wanted a horse fight. Still, horses pinned back their ears here and there, flattening them, looking tough. And yeah, some creatures let out half-hearted kicks and squeals. The people didn't talk much. I was mute, and as was my custom, I was way too intense.
Usually, the instructors didn't open the enormous indoor ring back door, but that day, with great effort, the staff slid it wide open so we could practice coming in the back one at a time. In the real show, we'd have to enter this way. It was my turn to practice, so I trotted right into the indoor ring, then picked up a canter, and Blazen and I practiced the jumping course like superstars. Well, at first. After the last jump, old Blazen was pretty bored and/or excited about his performance, so instead of calmly stopping and walking outside to join the rest of the riders and horses, Blazen went momentarily insane, madly galloping out the back door, running smack into several horses, shaking everybody up. That's right, everyone was yelling at me, pissed as hell.
Usually, the instructors didn't open the enormous indoor ring back door, but that day, with great effort, the staff slid it wide open so we could practice coming in the back one at a time. In the real show, we'd have to enter this way. It was my turn to practice, so I trotted right into the indoor ring, then picked up a canter, and Blazen and I practiced the jumping course like superstars. Well, at first. After the last jump, old Blazen was pretty bored and/or excited about his performance, so instead of calmly stopping and walking outside to join the rest of the riders and horses, Blazen went momentarily insane, madly galloping out the back door, running smack into several horses, shaking everybody up. That's right, everyone was yelling at me, pissed as hell.
I held on until Blazen jumped over a huge ditch, and my little body went flying right into the ditch. Like a cartoon character, I sat there shaking my head, confused and embarrassed. I checked my arms and legs, moving everything. My body seemed to be working all right, so I sat there, chilling in the ditch, covered with mud. Like a wild mustang stallion, Blazen ran off to freedomland. No worries. Someone tracked him down before he got flattened by a semi truck barreling down Route 50.
Now, since my adventures with Blazen took a lot of time, I wasn't able to practice on Redford the day before. So the plan was that I would just show him cold turkey the next day. Well, the next morning, the morning of the big show, since Redford was so damn slow, the instructors handed me a crop, told me to canter him around fast, and then they sent me off to the side ring to gear up Redford for the ride. Get his attention, were the last instructions I heard. Well, I suppose I did a good job getting his attention because when the time came for me to ride Redford in the show ring, that horse was freaking flying. I remember hanging on to his mane, feeling the wind in my face even though we were in an indoor ring. Basically, throughout the course, I didn't do anything at all. I didn't move. I didn't steer. I was frozen, hanging on to that mane. Really, he did the course all on his own. Good thing he knew where to go. How, I have no idea.
And then there were all of the grins, chuckles, and out-right cackles.
The instructors mulled it over, and I guess they felt sorry for me, so they decided to give me a new horse for the show day. Old Blazen went back to his stall where he belonged, but that guy had a shit-eating grin on his muzzle, I swear. Now the new plan was for me to ride Redford -- not because he was awesome, but because no one wanted to ride him. On the ground, Redford was known for being mean as hell. Like Blazen, Redford was also appropriately named; he was a strange pinkish, godawful red color. Part draft horse and part dinosaur, Redford was damn ugly and huge. Well, his head was huge, and it was definitely out of proportion to his body. To me, since I was so vertically challenged, he looked like a red monster. I'd heard that Redford bit people when they tried to tack him up, but I knew that once I got up on his back, there shouldn't be too many problems other than that he was super slow. Usually, a rider had to start up a jet plane under Redford's ass just to get him to trot. Usually.
Now, since my adventures with Blazen took a lot of time, I wasn't able to practice on Redford the day before. So the plan was that I would just show him cold turkey the next day. Well, the next morning, the morning of the big show, since Redford was so damn slow, the instructors handed me a crop, told me to canter him around fast, and then they sent me off to the side ring to gear up Redford for the ride. Get his attention, were the last instructions I heard. Well, I suppose I did a good job getting his attention because when the time came for me to ride Redford in the show ring, that horse was freaking flying. I remember hanging on to his mane, feeling the wind in my face even though we were in an indoor ring. Basically, throughout the course, I didn't do anything at all. I didn't move. I didn't steer. I was frozen, hanging on to that mane. Really, he did the course all on his own. Good thing he knew where to go. How, I have no idea.
At a hunter horse show, a course is usually comprised of eight jumps; that usually means four "lines." A "line" means one jump followed by another, and there are a certain number of canter strides that you must do in between the jumps in the line. Well, where we were supposed to do five strides, we did four (or a little less) each time, which means that we were going so fast, Redford took up some amazing ground. I finished the jumps, and we exited the ring like champs, but I was still clutching his mane. My fingers were bluish.
When I went out the back door, the instructors all looked at me in shock; their mouths all turned into big "O's." I heard things such as this:
When I went out the back door, the instructors all looked at me in shock; their mouths all turned into big "O's." I heard things such as this:
"Wow, that was fast! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha."
"I've never seen Redford go that fast, ever."
"You looked like a speedy peanut up there!"
"Whoa."
"Oh my god."
"You looked like a speedy peanut up there!"
"Whoa."
"Oh my god."
"Whoa."
"Oh my god."
"Whoa."
"For the love of god, what was that?"
"For the love of god, what was that?"
And then there were all of the grins, chuckles, and out-right cackles.
No one had ever seen Redford go that fast, and I don't think anyone had ever seen any of the schoolhorses go that fast either. One of the barn workers held Redford while I joined my parents in the barn lounge; they were cheering like crazy. See, they thought the whole point was to be the fastest, and they assumed that I was a child prodigy at riding. But with hunters, the whole point is not to go fast at all. The point is to canter in a nice, smooth rhythm, jump the lines correctly at a sane speed, and get the right striding. To put it bluntly -- I totally screwed it up and none of us had any idea. Basically, it was so bad, it was as if I scored a basket for the other basketball team, and my parents and I were clueless.
Now, later in life I learned about showing and striding and all that, but what I remember most about that first horse show was the speed, the fun, and how ridiculously excited we all were about the horrible ride. That's right, we were oblivious to the reality that my performance was absolutely hilarious. That day, it didn't really matter. Since I didn't know any better, I was just beaming at my ride, my light speed course. In some ways, not knowing was a gift.
Weirdly, I ended up getting third place; this was because the people in 4th, 5th, and 6th place had some major issues that were way worse than mine...like they probably knocked jumps over or trotted by accident. And I believe someone's helmet went flying off and landed in the ring dirt. But I was still pretty proud of my yellow ribbon. When I returned to Redford and showed him our winnings, Redford had a pained, angry look, and I knew he just wanted to go back to his stall and eat. Alas, I didn't feel like the horse whisperer, but I had my damn yellow ribbon, so I gave him a pat on the neck and thanked the jerk.
Weirdly, I ended up getting third place; this was because the people in 4th, 5th, and 6th place had some major issues that were way worse than mine...like they probably knocked jumps over or trotted by accident. And I believe someone's helmet went flying off and landed in the ring dirt. But I was still pretty proud of my yellow ribbon. When I returned to Redford and showed him our winnings, Redford had a pained, angry look, and I knew he just wanted to go back to his stall and eat. Alas, I didn't feel like the horse whisperer, but I had my damn yellow ribbon, so I gave him a pat on the neck and thanked the jerk.
When I returned to the barn lounge, the older kids were cracking up, all whispering about my terrible, speed demon ride. Hearing them, I started coming to, realizing my ride was all wrong, but in my heart, I also knew that it was still the beginning of something, so I shrugged and clutched my yellow ribbon, checking out the snacks, feeling stubborn. And I thought to myself, I'll show you.
However awkward it was, it was definitely a beginning. Sucking at my first show made me work all the harder. And because I had to work hard at it, I didn't even realize it, but I was slowly learning how to pass on the wisdom of many trials and errors. I was learning how to become a good teacher. At fifteen, at the very same farm, I started teaching kids and adults. Years later, I was an assistant trainer there, and I got to watch my students practice for their first horse shows. Full circle. Hey now, wouldn't that be a good name for a horse? Has a nice ring to it...Full Circle. Hm...
However awkward it was, it was definitely a beginning. Sucking at my first show made me work all the harder. And because I had to work hard at it, I didn't even realize it, but I was slowly learning how to pass on the wisdom of many trials and errors. I was learning how to become a good teacher. At fifteen, at the very same farm, I started teaching kids and adults. Years later, I was an assistant trainer there, and I got to watch my students practice for their first horse shows. Full circle. Hey now, wouldn't that be a good name for a horse? Has a nice ring to it...Full Circle. Hm...
Redford wasn't such a bad guy. Simply, he was making his way in the world like the rest of us, and I have a soft spot for him now. Thinking back, something has occurred to me -- Redford took care of me that day, and he did exactly what he was told to do. I took him to the side ring to wake him up, and he responded. Despite his rough looks, and although all throughout the barn he was known for his resentful attitude, wild eyes, and rumored biting and kicking, I think it was all for show. He never tried to hurt me. Not once.
C.A. MacConnell
C.A. MacConnell
