Blue Ribbons

by Kim Ablon Whitney

  The judge, a woman in a navy pantsuit and a scarf with bright colors on it, was waiting for us, which was never good. I smiled quickly at her, a sort of apology, and tried to set Frankie up. She immediately went to stand in front of him and started evaluating him, letting me know that she wasn’t going to wait till he was standing perfectly. Frankie was acting fidgety and I just knew I wasn’t going to get him standing well. Then, I thought of how he’d halted so well on the lunge line. He’d pulled up into a perfect square halt and didn’t move until we told him too. I had nothing to lose so I said, “Brrr.”

  Frankie glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. I issued the command one more time with a little more confidence in my voice and Frankie set himself up square as could be. He looked at me again, and I swear he was saying, “Good enough?”

  I rubbed my fingers together in front of his nose to get him to keep his ears up. The judge jotted notations as she walked around him. She scrutinized his neck and body, hind end, and back legs. She spent a decent amount of time looking at him, which probably meant she didn’t think he was an absolute dog. For ponies with terrible conformation—an old bowed tendon or sickle hocks—judges would just quickly assign a low score and move on. After all, they had hundreds of ponies to look at and score. They only deliberated over the nicer ponies.

  The two other judges followed her and Frankie continued to stand still.

  After the judges had looked at each pony in line, we were asked to jog our ponies down the middle of the ring. I decided to use a voice command again, saying “tr-ot.” He listened and jogged down the middle even though the bay pony was skittering and spooking up ahead. The judges finalized their scores, adding or subtracting points for movement. Finally, we were excused from the ring.

  We gathered by the in gate, all eyes turned to the scoreboard. Hektor tossed a fly sheet on Frankie as the ponies’ names and scores appeared.

  Frankie had scored a seventy-nine. Not bad at all. The best ponies scored in the high eighties or low nineties. Seventy-nine wouldn’t earn him a ribbon in the model phase, but it was good enough to keep him in the hunt for an overall ribbon, especially since he was a good mover and, if he went well, could score a ribbon in the under saddle phase. It would be great to go into the jumping phase with a good shot at an overall ribbon. But I was getting ahead of myself. One step at a time—I had to remember, nothing was a given with this pony.

  Chapter 53

  * * *

  The medium green under saddle went after the model. Some people pulled their ponies front shoes to make them move even better, and I saw plenty of ponies walking up to the ring with their little blue booties on to protect their feet before they got into the ring. Susie and Tommy didn’t believe in pulling shoes. They said you never knew what might happen—maybe a pony would come up lame.

  The class was called to order. I decided to use the voice commands again along with my leg aids. In the first direction, Frankie stayed calm at the trot and I was able to get some really good passes in front of the judges. He shot forward a little when I asked him to canter, but I was able to get him to settle back down. In the second direction he became even more relaxed, giving me a better canter departure. We were excused and the next group invited in.

  When the scores were posted, Frankie had gotten an eighty, a seventy-seven, and an eighty-two, which meant I was standing seventeenth out of the seventy-one medium greens going into the jumping phase. In the greens, even more than in the regulars, a good round could shoot you up into the overall ribbons. Many ponies spooked, added a stride, missed a lead change, or even stopped.

  The regular medium model went after all the green models and under saddles were finished. Jane and Hailey were in the same section. I watched Jane and Hailey’s section. It was so much more fun to watch Tyler, although I did see several people leaning close and whispering as Jane led him into the ring. I wondered what they were saying. Perhaps that I couldn’t handle the pressure? But I didn’t even care—it felt right to be showing Frankie.

  Tyler drew the highest model scores of the day so far, averaging a ninety-three. On the other end of the spectrum, Donald scored an average of seventy. “At least I broke out of the dungeon,” Hailey said, which is what we called scoring in the sixties.

  By the time all the green and medium models were over, it was nearly time for the pony auction to begin. Most of the ponies up for auction were young: three, four, and five-year-olds. Sometimes trainers would auction off an older pony they were having a hard time selling. Tommy had spent the morning before evaluating the younger ponies. He’d had Jane try several later in the day, and he planned to bid on a few. Jane liked one in particular, a fancy three-year-old roan mare.

  Jane sat next to her father, with Hailey next to her, then Anna, and finally me. Just before the auction was about to start, Alex slid into the open seat next to me. I’d seen him around a little since we’d been in Kentucky, but this was the first time we’d talked.

  “Hey,” he said. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Not yet.”

  The first pony was brought into the ring and led around while the auctioneer gave a little background on it. Then the bidding began. Some of the young ponies spooked at the crowd, the noise, and the lights. The few older ones didn’t seem to care. Next to Alex, I was self-conscious about every little thing I did, like how I breathed or if I crossed my legs. The first pony Tommy bid on was a gorgeous five-year-old dapple gray with really good breeding, but he stopped bidding when the price reached over ten thousand dollars. He made a few half-hearted bids on another pony, but let someone else win the bidding.

  At one point, Alex leaned over to me and said, “My dad bought me one of my first ponies at this auction. You know, I actually kind of used to like riding.”

  “That’s hard to imagine,” I said.

  The auctioneer asked for final bids on a cute bay pony with a huge white blaze.

  Alex said, “I used to ride all the time, like Jane does. I was actually pretty good.”

  There were only a few bids on the bay pony. People must have noticed something when they tried it. Either it had a bad attitude or a soundness problem. It went for just twelve thousand dollars.

  The auctioneer started the bidding on the next pony. It was an older pony with a lot of miles. It would be a good teacher for the right young kid and a few hands went up.

  “Why’d you quit?” I curled and uncurled my program in my lap.

  “Because of my dad, but I said it was just because I didn’t like it. I’ve never really told anyone that.” Alex glanced over at Tommy, who was busy marking up his program.

  “Well, we already have a few secrets, right?”

  Alex smiled. “Yeah.”

  The bidding dropped off quickly on the older pony. Nobody was going to overpay for age and experience. The final bid was seven thousand. A good deal for someone.

  The roan was next. The auctioneer gave his little speech about the pony: “Next up we have American Icon. This 14.1 hand pony is a Virginia Pony Breeder’s Association registered half-Welsh half-thoroughbred gelding. At four years old, this fancy pony is ready to be a made into a winner.”

  “You’ve really got guts, you know.” Alex elbowed me. “Pulling the greatest switcheroo of all time?”

  I chuckled. “I guess so.”

  “I’m glad you did. Jane deserves a shot on a pony like Tyler and you didn’t want to ride him anyway.”

  At first, a few trainers bid on the roan. Soon several dropped out and it was just Tommy and Hugo. The price reached $20,000 and Hugo raised his hand. He looked like he could have been at a fashion show in his dark sunglasses and carefully gelled hair.

  “Twenty thousand. Do we have twenty thousand, five hundred?”

  I leaned forward to look at Tommy. He sucked in a deep breath. All of us sitting next to him were watching his right arm to see if he’d raise his hand. $20,500 was a lot of money for Tommy. Hugo was probably bidding for a wealthy customer and could
go higher. I was surprised Tommy was even bidding on a pony like the roan. He usually only bid on the diamonds in the rough, the ponies no one could see the value in.

  “Twenty thousand, five hundred?” the auctioneer repeated. “This kind of breeding does not come around often, folks.”

  I checked Jane—her fists were clenched. Maybe this would be the pony she’d bring along and be able to keep for a show like Devon, Pony Finals, or Indoors.

  Tommy raised his hand. “Twenty thousand, five hundred.”

  It continued back and forth by five-hundred dollar increments until the price reached $23,000. The last bid was Hugo’s.

  “Do I hear twenty-three thousand, five hundred?”

  Jane was at the edge of her chair, chewing on a fingernail.

  “Twenty-three thousand, five hundred,” Tommy called out.

  The auctioneer asked for twenty-four thousand and we waited. Hugo’s face was impossible to read, giving no indication of whether he would go higher.

  “The gentleman in the back? Do I hear twenty-four thousand?”

  I stared at the auctioneer. Why couldn’t he just say it already? Why couldn’t he just call out, “Sold!” He tried to get Hugo back in, asking once more for $24,000. “This pony is going to be a future Pony Finals winner, no doubt about it. Well-bred, good attitude. This pony has all the makings of a winner.”

  More silence. $23,500. I couldn’t believe Tommy was going to shell out so much.

  Hugo shook his head and finally, the auctioneer banged his mallet. “Sold!”

  Jane stood up and screeched. Then she reached over and hugged her dad.

  Chapter 54

  * * *

  The auction had been a fun diversion, but the next day it all began again—the pressure, the nerves, the intensity. Pony Finals was supposed to be about kids horse-showing and having fun and it was, but there was also no denying how seriously everyone took it, from the riders to the trainers, to the parents. As much as everybody pretended otherwise, it was about winning. The kids wanted to achieve something they would remember forever, the trainers wanted to prove their programs were the best, and the parents wanted it for their kids, but for themselves, too. Everyone there had put in endless hours of training and gobs of money to get to this point and they wanted to have something to show for it.

  I had dreamed of courses all night—winding, difficult courses where lines were set on the half-stride, jumps were spooky, and in-and-outs loomed higher than the maximum height allowed. In one of my dreams the designer had used the derby end of the ring and built a kind of miniature circus that you had to ride by and, of course, Frankie was terrified and wouldn’t go near it.

  Dad had arrived late the night before and we’d had breakfast together at the hotel although I couldn’t eat anything but buttered toast. He said Mom was doing okay. I wasn’t sure I believed him. The large greens went first so we didn’t have to get to the show until nine. Before the medium greens, everyone gathered at the in gate to look at the course. There were no impossible parts like in my dreams, but it still looked intimidating. Especially since I’d be on Frankie.

  The course started across the diagonal going away from the in gate over an eight-stride line of two wall jumps with birch colored rails. The eight was a little flowing and since it was the first line and going away from the in gate, I’d need to make sure I got up it okay. When Frankie got tense, his stride shortened. Then it was another line across the diagonal. This one had double jumps where you could choose the option of jumping the left or the right jump. Both were the same materials and height so it had more to do with whether your pony drifted one way or another. The second double jump was a hedge in the shape of a V that might be a little spooky to some ponies. After that line, you turned to go back up the middle of the ring over a two-stride. The two-stride wasn’t spooky—it was two simple white gates. But the long approach on its own might trip up some riders. The last line was three jumps in a row. The distance between the first two jumps was ten strides—almost too long to even bother counting. Then it was six strides to the last jump.

  I watched the first few rounds before going to the schooling area to get on Frankie. I didn’t want to watch others because it just made me more nervous. If someone made a mistake I’d worry I’d do the same thing and if someone was really good I’d feel like there was no way I could be as good.

  When there were twenty rounds before me, Martha gave me a leg up onto Frankie and I walked him into the schooling area where both Susie and Tommy were waiting for me.

  Frankie felt pretty good for the first part of my warm-up. I loosened him up and then we started jumping over a vertical. Tommy stood on one side of the jump and Susie on the other. Susie did most of the coaching. Every once in a while Tommy would add something.

  “Remember to be subtle with your aids,” he reminded me. “Don’t ride him any differently than you did at home.”

  As I was processing what Tommy was saying, another girl who was ahead of me in the order crashed her pony into the oxer she was schooling over, sending the rails flying.

  “You chased him to no distance again!” her trainer was screaming at her. My stomach sank as I noticed he was wearing a baseball hat. “If you do that in the ring you’re going to be on the ground!”

  Frankie took notice of the crash, but it seemed to be the man yelling that set him off more. Frankie had earplugs to keep the noise of the announcer and the crowd from bothering him, but he must have felt the vibrations or seen the trainer’s body language because he raised his head and picked up speed at the canter.

  “Just try to work through it,” Susie said. “Don’t make a big deal, see if he can get over it.”

  I took a deep breath and tried to relax, letting Frankie know that there was nothing to be worried about. A few trips around the schooling area and he still felt agitated. Susie had me jump a lot of small jumps, trying to get him to smooth out. It felt like nothing was working.

  “They’re on the thirty-eighth in the order,” the in gate guy called. Which meant I had only five more trips till I was in the ring.

  The girl on the pony who stopped got him back over the oxer a few times and her trainer said, “We better go with that.”

  The girl nodded and headed out of the ring. I hoped with him gone Frankie would relax, but he was still keyed up. I jumped a few more jumps with Frankie wanting to rush and be quick in the air.

  I heard Susie say to Tommy, “I’m not sure we’re going to get him to calm down now.”

  Susie told me to let him walk. She came closer and said, “We can try a few more but we need to head up.”

  “I don’t want to jump him out here any more,” I said. “I think it’s better to let him chill out and see if he can start over in the ring.”

  Of course the ring wasn’t just the ring—it was the Walnut Ring. He’d been in there to hack and for the model, but it was now filled with brightly decorated jumps. But giving him a chance to de-stress seemed like my only shot. On the dreaded long walk to the Walnut Ring, I gave Frankie lots of rein and tried to let him forget about what had happened in the schooling ring.

  At the in gate, I stood Frankie as far away as possible from where the trainer with the baseball hat was giving last minute instructions to his rider. Another trainer was talking with a rider who’d just come out of the ring, explaining where things had gone wrong. The girl was breathing heavily, her face red. Dad was up in the tent watching with Hailey and Jane.

  Hektor worked on cleaning off Frankie while Susie and Tommy talked to me.

  “This is a lot for this pony,” Susie said. “So whatever happens in there, just do your best to deal with it.”

  I nodded. “And Jane was supposed to be on him . . .” Right then the fact that I was riding him seemed crazy. I had no experience with green ponies and I’d only ridden Frankie a handful of times.

  Tommy frowned. “You know why I asked you to ride this pony that first day?”

  I shook my head.

>   “I felt sorry for you and I couldn’t think of anything else to do for you.” Tommy placed a hand on my leg. “And then you rode the hair off him. You rode him better than my own daughter. You ride this pony best of anyone. Do you think I’d let you be on him now if I didn’t think you could give him a good ride? No way.”

  Hektor painted Frankie’s hooves and wiped my boots. I couldn’t see all of the ring. Every now and then I’d see the pony on course come into view. It went out of view again and I heard the crowd groan.

  “Did he stop?” I asked Susie.

  “Don’t think about that. You know your course?”

  “Yes.”

  “If something goes wrong, just keep a clear head. Don’t fall apart and don’t give up.”

  The rider came out of the ring, head down and crying. A score of forty was announced, which meant she had one refusal.

  The girl who’d crashed in the schooling ring was next to go, and then it would be my turn. Her trainer told her to smack her pony with her crop and when she did, he shot forward.

  I tried not to watch what I could see of her round and instead kept my eyes on the braids near Frankie’s withers.

  “Regan, you’re in next,” the in gate guy called. “Mia in two, Taylor in three, Sophie in four.”

  At a loud crashing sound, I looked up to see the pony had stopped at one of the few jumps I could see, and as predicted by the trainer, the girl was on the ground. She was unhurt, though, and stood up as her trainer shook his head and sent the groom in to help her. One of the jump crew had caught the pony and handed him to the groom.