When we went in the ring that day, we had an absolutely flawless, perfect jumping round. Unfortunately, Ro was ultra-excited about the perfect round as well, so much so that right after the last jump, nearly mid-air, he let out an enormous, rodeo-worthy buck. Of course, this put me out of the ribbons completely. Now, Ro was a registered quarter horse, and his hind end was extremely strong. He didn't act up much (hardly at all), but the rare times he did buck -- boom -- the rider, any rider, was toast. (A few years before, I watched him do it to his former owner on a trail ride. One buck, and she was gone). Usually, bucks wouldn't throw me, but this buck was massive; it definitely caught me off guard. So I went flying over his head, and I landed in the soft ring sand. Ro was still so jazzed up that he went tearing around the horse park. All around, people yelled, "Loose horse! Loose horse!" like they did, while eating a sandwich or teaching a kid or walking a dog.
I remember feeling the sand in my pants, and I remember the long, horrific walk out of the ring and back to the barn. Head down, tears, the works. The epitome of horse show humiliation. At the time, it seemed like the end of the world, similar to the day when I had a piano recital, and my second page of notes was blocked by a piece of paper, and I couldn't see what was next, so I just banged my hands on the keys, made some terrifying sound, and left. And it was all recorded -- this monstrosity of sound. (My last piano recital ever)
Show horses were hilarious when they got loose. Usually they took a quick trip around, a victory lap or two, and then they went back to the barn, or the ring, or right into their stalls. Many times, they ran around crazed, heads held high, and then they'd end up chilling somewhere, quietly grazing, as if to say, Well, that was fun. Now I want my dinner. Usually it was quite anti-climactic.
So it didn't take long for Rojo to end up right back where we were stabled. When I saw him, he was chilling in his stall, eating hay. He didn't feel bad about it. I think he thought he did the right thing -- helped his girl have a perfect round, and then let the whole horse park know how awesome he was. Seemed to make sense to him, to celebrate his victory. And yes, the pro show horses knew when the round was good or bad, for sure. But he did know that I was mad at him, and he knew he was in trouble for some reason, but I think he was confused as to why.
When my trainer found me, he smirked a little, patted me on the back, and said, "Man that was the best round ever! If you just would've hung on, you would've won the class!" Then he chuckled. He was trying to get me to lighten up, but it didn't work. Getting bucked off was one thing, but getting bucked off after a perfect round really hammered home the embarrassment and such. In our makeshift show tack room, my trainer's brother tried to comfort me through a few jokes and a hand on my shoulder. I remember looking at him, nodding, and listening intently, hiding in the shade of the red and black curtains. Teary, I smiled at him a little.
To this day, when I bring up this show to my Dad, his entire face sinks, and he says, "Oh, God, I remember that day," and he says it in this deep, drawn-out, dreadful tone, as if we're talking about a world catastrophe. Like the piano recital, ha.
As kids, I suppose these things are catastrophes. And then we learn to ride on. And the people around us give us the strength to do so. And we get ready for the next show. Time for a comeback.
Me years later, as a Prof. Trainer
C.A. MacConnellP.S. A day later at the show with Rojo, I signed up for an equitation jumping class in the big ring, and the jumps were bigger than I'd done with him, and we rocked it. And we ended up getting ribbons in the small ring as well. It ended up sweet.
