So yesterday my daughter and some people from her barn were planning to
enter a local horse show. DD had driven out to the barn earlier in the
day to give Reno a bath, braid his mane and tail and pack her equipment.
An hour before the show was about to start I got a phone call. The
people who were supposed to pull the trailer had backed out and DD had
no way to get to the show. This was to be Reno's first show and she was
crushed. So, in spite of some fairly serious misgivings, my husband and
I located our ball hitch and took the van (my 10 year old van with the
dinky 6-cylinder engine) to see if we couldn't get her and Reno out to
the fairgrounds in time for at least some of the events.
When we pulled up at the barn, there was Harley, the Bernese Mountain
dog we'd taken care of last summer. I'd been worried about him and had
thought of him often, but hadn't seen him since. I don't know if he
remembered us or if it was simply a case of a gloriously sunny
disposition but he greeted us like long lost friends. He came gamboling
over like a giant puppy, his butt periodically overtaking his front end
and causing him to spin around. Healthy, happy and in great shape! It
felt so good to kiss his muzzle and dig my fingers into the teddy bear
fur behind his ears.
We hitched up the trailer, loaded the horse and tack and set out on the
40 mile drive to the fairgrounds. My husband drove and I rode shotgun,
alternating between looking behind us to check the trailer and DD,
following behind in her little truck, and watching the gauges nervously,
expecting the engine to overheat at any time.
We made it there safely and although she'd missed the halter classes
she was in time to sign up for western pleasure, trail, poles and barrels.
During western pleasure Reno was edgy and tense; he'd never been in a
show ring before, never heard a loudspeaker, never ridden under harsh
sodium lights. Nevertheless, he did everything he was asked to do,
although he carried his head so far up and lifted his feet so high that
several people asked DD if he was gaited ("No, just nervous"). He
didn't place but didn't disgrace himself, either.
By the time the trails class came up, he'd settled down and negotiated
the obstacles quickly and with style. The third place ribbon they earned
was made even sweeter by the defeat of DD's arch rival and nemesis, a
woman from her previous barn who had gone far out of her way to sabotage
my daughter. I have to admit, I smiled when her horse balked
repeatedly, reared and threatened to dump her on her ass when she lashed
her with the reins, trying to force some speed out of the crackheaded mare.
Poles was next and I was a little worried. Reno had never even seen a
pole, let alone run the pattern. Once again, though, he gave DD
everything she asked for, navigating the pattern at a goofy trot that
was a lot faster than it looked. They placed a respectable 5th, earning
a green ribbon and a glare that could bubble paint from their enemy,
who'd been denied once again.
Barrels was the last class of the evening. I noticed that my jaw was
aching, made a conscious effort to unclench my teeth, rolled my neck,
shrugged my shoulders, trying to relax. Barrels was the event the other
woman considered her specialty, something she took a lot of pride in.
DD knew it as well. She and Reno had done some work with the barrels,
but her rival had been at it for years.
The other went first, screaming and spurring her mare, whipping her
with the reins. She turned in a good time, but it wouldn't be enough to
place, not with the crew from the local speed barn there in force. I
knew that the same would go for DD and Reno. This wasn't about the
ribbon, it was personal, a grudge match, time against time for the most
delicious of prizes - bragging rights.
"Don't do anything stupid", I warned her, as she waited in the hole for
her run. "Don't worry, Mom, he won't let me", she replied.
As I moved away to watch from the stands with her dad I saw her lean
forward and hug Reno around the neck and whisper in his ear. Then I saw
her do something that literally brought tears to my eyes when I
understood what I was seeing. She'd reached down, pulled off her spurs
and handed them to the judge.
Her rival edged her mount forward through the crowd, rudely shouldering
horses and riders aside for a better vantage point. People rounded on
her indignantly, then yielded, forfeiting front row seats for a view of
both the ring AND herself's face. Good theater, that.
And then DD's number was up. Dust hung in the air like fog. The big
paint gelding and his 17 year old red-haired rider cast razor-edged
black shadows in the yellow light as they entered the ring, the gate
swinging shut behind them. They circled, gaining speed, once, twice,
then exploded forward, breaking the sensor beam and beginning their run.
The first barrel was gorgeous, textbook tight. He was on the wrong
lead at the second barrel, his butt drifted wide, barely missing the
sensor beam and I held my breath.
They rounded the third barrel and she gave him his head, leaning
forward as he dug deep, driving for home. The picture they made will be
etched in my mind forever, two beings with a single purpose, totally
focused, totally intent. They broke the beam at full speed and my heart
was in my throat. The people leaning on the gate scattered, it looked
like horse and/or rider might be coming over.
At the last possible instant Reno braked and turned, throwing up a
scattering of dirt clods, DD clinging to his back by the grace of thigh
muscles that could crack walnuts and an inherited 80 year old high
cantled roping saddle.
They waited, Reno dancing with excitement, ready to do it again, DD
gulping air, pale with adrenaline. Then the announcement came, of a
clean run and a time two tenths of a second faster than her rival's.
The older woman jerked the reins, sawing at her horse's mouth to wheel
her in a tight circle, then trotted off, trailing a banner of excuses
and rationalizations behind. I was sick and dizzy with relief and pride.
I'm getting too old for this stuff....

"Kathleen" wrote in message
...
snipped

At the last possible instant Reno braked and turned, throwing up a
scattering of dirt clods, DD clinging to his back by the grace of thigh
muscles that could crack walnuts and an inherited 80 year old high cantled
roping saddle.
They waited, Reno dancing with excitement, ready to do it again, DD
gulping air, pale with adrenaline. Then the announcement came, of a clean
run and a time two tenths of a second faster than her rival's.
The older woman jerked the reins, sawing at her horse's mouth to wheel her
in a tight circle, then trotted off, trailing a banner of excuses and
rationalizations behind. I was sick and dizzy with relief and pride.
I'm getting too old for this stuff....



Great story! I was on the edge of my seat reading it. Congratulations to
your daughter and Reno. And wonderful you got to see Harley again.

best,

td

"Kathleen" wrote in message
...
So yesterday my daughter and some people from her barn were planning to
enter a local horse show. DD had driven out to the barn earlier in the
day to give Reno a bath, braid his mane and tail and pack her equipment.
An hour before the show was about to start I got a phone call. The
people who were supposed to pull the trailer had backed out and DD had
no way to get to the show. This was to be Reno's first show and she was
crushed. So, in spite of some fairly serious misgivings, my husband and
I located our ball hitch and took the van (my 10 year old van with the
dinky 6-cylinder engine) to see if we couldn't get her and Reno out to
the fairgrounds in time for at least some of the events.
When we pulled up at the barn, there was Harley, the Bernese Mountain
dog we'd taken care of last summer. I'd been worried about him and had
thought of him often, but hadn't seen him since. I don't know if he
remembered us or if it was simply a case of a gloriously sunny
disposition but he greeted us like long lost friends. He came gamboling
over like a giant puppy, his butt periodically overtaking his front end
and causing him to spin around. Healthy, happy and in great shape! It
felt so good to kiss his muzzle and dig my fingers into the teddy bear
fur behind his ears.
We hitched up the trailer, loaded the horse and tack and set out on the
40 mile drive to the fairgrounds. My husband drove and I rode shotgun,
alternating between looking behind us to check the trailer and DD,
following behind in her little truck, and watching the gauges nervously,
expecting the engine to overheat at any time.
We made it there safely and although she'd missed the halter classes
she was in time to sign up for western pleasure, trail, poles and barrels.
During western pleasure Reno was edgy and tense; he'd never been in a
show ring before, never heard a loudspeaker, never ridden under harsh
sodium lights. Nevertheless, he did everything he was asked to do,
although he carried his head so far up and lifted his feet so high that
several people asked DD if he was gaited ("No, just nervous"). He
didn't place but didn't disgrace himself, either.
By the time the trails class came up, he'd settled down and negotiated
the obstacles quickly and with style. The third place ribbon they earned
was made even sweeter by the defeat of DD's arch rival and nemesis, a
woman from her previous barn who had gone far out of her way to sabotage
my daughter. I have to admit, I smiled when her horse balked
repeatedly, reared and threatened to dump her on her ass when she lashed
her with the reins, trying to force some speed out of the crackheaded
mare.
Poles was next and I was a little worried. Reno had never even seen a
pole, let alone run the pattern. Once again, though, he gave DD
everything she asked for, navigating the pattern at a goofy trot that
was a lot faster than it looked. They placed a respectable 5th, earning
a green ribbon and a glare that could bubble paint from their enemy,
who'd been denied once again.
Barrels was the last class of the evening. I noticed that my jaw was
aching, made a conscious effort to unclench my teeth, rolled my neck,
shrugged my shoulders, trying to relax. Barrels was the event the other
woman considered her specialty, something she took a lot of pride in.
DD knew it as well. She and Reno had done some work with the barrels,
but her rival had been at it for years.
The other went first, screaming and spurring her mare, whipping her
with the reins. She turned in a good time, but it wouldn't be enough to
place, not with the crew from the local speed barn there in force. I
knew that the same would go for DD and Reno. This wasn't about the
ribbon, it was personal, a grudge match, time against time for the most
delicious of prizes - bragging rights.
"Don't do anything stupid", I warned her, as she waited in the hole for
her run. "Don't worry, Mom, he won't let me", she replied.
As I moved away to watch from the stands with her dad I saw her lean
forward and hug Reno around the neck and whisper in his ear. Then I saw
her do something that literally brought tears to my eyes when I
understood what I was seeing. She'd reached down, pulled off her spurs
and handed them to the judge.
Her rival edged her mount forward through the crowd, rudely shouldering
horses and riders aside for a better vantage point. People rounded on
her indignantly, then yielded, forfeiting front row seats for a view of
both the ring AND herself's face. Good theater, that.
And then DD's number was up. Dust hung in the air like fog. The big
paint gelding and his 17 year old red-haired rider cast razor-edged
black shadows in the yellow light as they entered the ring, the gate
swinging shut behind them. They circled, gaining speed, once, twice,
then exploded forward, breaking the sensor beam and beginning their run.
The first barrel was gorgeous, textbook tight. He was on the wrong
lead at the second barrel, his butt drifted wide, barely missing the
sensor beam and I held my breath.
They rounded the third barrel and she gave him his head, leaning
forward as he dug deep, driving for home. The picture they made will be
etched in my mind forever, two beings with a single purpose, totally
focused, totally intent. They broke the beam at full speed and my heart
was in my throat. The people leaning on the gate scattered, it looked
like horse and/or rider might be coming over.
At the last possible instant Reno braked and turned, throwing up a
scattering of dirt clods, DD clinging to his back by the grace of thigh
muscles that could crack walnuts and an inherited 80 year old high
cantled roping saddle.
They waited, Reno dancing with excitement, ready to do it again, DD
gulping air, pale with adrenaline. Then the announcement came, of a
clean run and a time two tenths of a second faster than her rival's.
The older woman jerked the reins, sawing at her horse's mouth to wheel
her in a tight circle, then trotted off, trailing a banner of excuses
and rationalizations behind. I was sick and dizzy with relief and pride.
I'm getting too old for this stuff....

My daughter has been doing the dressage and hunter/jumper thing since she
was six and there aint nothing sweeter than to open up a can o' WA on
someone who deserves it. Some horse people can be really nasty.

I was happy, too, to know Harley was settled in and doing well.

Excellent story!

Kind regards,
(the)duckster

"Kathleen" wrote in message
...

They waited, Reno dancing with excitement, ready to do it again, DD
gulping air, pale with adrenaline. Then the announcement came, of a
clean run and a time two tenths of a second faster than her rival's.
The older woman jerked the reins, sawing at her horse's mouth to wheel
her in a tight circle, then trotted off, trailing a banner of excuses and
rationalizations behind. I was sick and dizzy with relief and pride.
I'm getting too old for this stuff....

A good story and three cheers for the triumph of gentle cooperation and
strong human/animal bonding over brute force and nastiness. I will have to
print this out and give it to my friends at the horse rescue farm. They
have a website and email, but are not active on the internet. They are very
much into dressage, and they also have a joust every summer, but mostly
they are involved with the rescue and care of horses in need. They will be
having a 30th birthday celebration in a couple of weeks for a horse named
"Grandma".

I like your writing style. And people here say I am dramatic??

Would you like me to see if some of your stories could be published on
their website? People might enjoy reading them, especially if you write
them on a regular basis, and it might increase traffic on their site with
the ultimate goal of getting more contributions and volunteers for their
charitable work.

www.horserescue.com

Paul and Muttley

On 2008-06-22 13:46:07 -0400, Kathleen said:

I'm getting too old for this stuff....

Wow, GREAT story! Brava DD!

Kathleen wrote:
So yesterday my daughter and some people from her barn were planning
to enter a local horse show. DD had driven out to the barn earlier
in the day to give Reno a bath, braid his mane and tail and pack her
equipment. An hour before the show was about to start I got a phone
call. The people who were supposed to pull the trailer had backed out and
DD had
no way to get to the show. This was to be Reno's first show and she
was crushed. So, in spite of some fairly serious misgivings, my
husband and I located our ball hitch and took the van (my 10 year old van
with the
dinky 6-cylinder engine) to see if we couldn't get her and Reno out to
the fairgrounds in time for at least some of the events.
When we pulled up at the barn, there was Harley, the Bernese Mountain
dog we'd taken care of last summer. I'd been worried about him and
had thought of him often, but hadn't seen him since. I don't know if
he remembered us or if it was simply a case of a gloriously sunny
disposition but he greeted us like long lost friends. He came
gamboling over like a giant puppy, his butt periodically overtaking
his front end and causing him to spin around. Healthy, happy and in
great shape! It felt so good to kiss his muzzle and dig my fingers
into the teddy bear fur behind his ears.
We hitched up the trailer, loaded the horse and tack and set out on
the 40 mile drive to the fairgrounds. My husband drove and I rode
shotgun, alternating between looking behind us to check the trailer
and DD, following behind in her little truck, and watching the gauges
nervously, expecting the engine to overheat at any time.
We made it there safely and although she'd missed the halter classes
she was in time to sign up for western pleasure, trail, poles and
barrels. During western pleasure Reno was edgy and tense; he'd never
been in a show ring before, never heard a loudspeaker, never ridden under
harsh
sodium lights. Nevertheless, he did everything he was asked to do,
although he carried his head so far up and lifted his feet so high
that several people asked DD if he was gaited ("No, just nervous"). He
didn't place but didn't disgrace himself, either.
By the time the trails class came up, he'd settled down and negotiated
the obstacles quickly and with style. The third place ribbon they
earned was made even sweeter by the defeat of DD's arch rival and
nemesis, a woman from her previous barn who had gone far out of her
way to sabotage my daughter. I have to admit, I smiled when her
horse balked repeatedly, reared and threatened to dump her on her ass when
she
lashed her with the reins, trying to force some speed out of the
crackheaded mare. Poles was next and I was a little worried. Reno
had never even seen a pole, let alone run the pattern. Once again,
though, he gave DD everything she asked for, navigating the pattern
at a goofy trot that was a lot faster than it looked. They placed a
respectable 5th,
earning a green ribbon and a glare that could bubble paint from their
enemy,
who'd been denied once again.
Barrels was the last class of the evening. I noticed that my jaw was
aching, made a conscious effort to unclench my teeth, rolled my neck,
shrugged my shoulders, trying to relax. Barrels was the event the
other woman considered her specialty, something she took a lot of
pride in. DD knew it as well. She and Reno had done some work with the
barrels,
but her rival had been at it for years.
The other went first, screaming and spurring her mare, whipping her
with the reins. She turned in a good time, but it wouldn't be enough
to place, not with the crew from the local speed barn there in force.
I knew that the same would go for DD and Reno. This wasn't about the
ribbon, it was personal, a grudge match, time against time for the
most delicious of prizes - bragging rights.
"Don't do anything stupid", I warned her, as she waited in the hole
for her run. "Don't worry, Mom, he won't let me", she replied.
As I moved away to watch from the stands with her dad I saw her lean
forward and hug Reno around the neck and whisper in his ear. Then I
saw her do something that literally brought tears to my eyes when I
understood what I was seeing. She'd reached down, pulled off her
spurs and handed them to the judge.
Her rival edged her mount forward through the crowd, rudely
shouldering horses and riders aside for a better vantage point. People
rounded on her indignantly, then yielded, forfeiting front row seats for a
view
of both the ring AND herself's face. Good theater, that.
And then DD's number was up. Dust hung in the air like fog. The big
paint gelding and his 17 year old red-haired rider cast razor-edged
black shadows in the yellow light as they entered the ring, the gate
swinging shut behind them. They circled, gaining speed, once, twice,
then exploded forward, breaking the sensor beam and beginning their
run. The first barrel was gorgeous, textbook tight. He was on the
wrong lead at the second barrel, his butt drifted wide, barely missing the
sensor beam and I held my breath.
They rounded the third barrel and she gave him his head, leaning
forward as he dug deep, driving for home. The picture they made will
be etched in my mind forever, two beings with a single purpose,
totally focused, totally intent. They broke the beam at full speed
and my heart was in my throat. The people leaning on the gate
scattered, it looked like horse and/or rider might be coming over.
At the last possible instant Reno braked and turned, throwing up a
scattering of dirt clods, DD clinging to his back by the grace of
thigh muscles that could crack walnuts and an inherited 80 year old
high cantled roping saddle.
They waited, Reno dancing with excitement, ready to do it again, DD
gulping air, pale with adrenaline. Then the announcement came, of a
clean run and a time two tenths of a second faster than her rival's.
The older woman jerked the reins, sawing at her horse's mouth to wheel
her in a tight circle, then trotted off, trailing a banner of excuses
and rationalizations behind. I was sick and dizzy with relief and
pride. I'm getting too old for this stuff....

Congrat's. Sound's like you duaghters a good rider. I miss riding!
--
~shady angel~