“I heard that too,” yet another one agreed.
Nora began loudly, as if to silence the chattering and take the stage again, “Vic, they really mistreat horses at those places. Moony was in pretty bad shape. I remember. See that scar right there on his heel and how hair never grows on it? You don’t want to know how he got that. Poor guy, he looked worse and worse every time he came back.”
“Every time?” I asked.
“Yeah, he went back and forth three times. Every time he came back he was skinnier, had more bruises, and was more hostile,” her bright eyes clouded and she looked down as the memories rushed back.
“Carol saw it too,” her tone changed, slightly more optimistic. “She thought it was horrible that Richard kept sending Moony back to the correctional facility and they would send him back here when they couldn’t fix him. She wanted to stop yo-yoing the horse, so she started riding and training him for free. She stuck to him like glue, Vic, you should’ve seen it. Any time Moony would throw a buck or lunge or rear up on his hind legs, she just sat there and let him have his fit. She rode him for a while, a few months or maybe even a year, I think, until she thought Moony would be a good match for one of her students, George Beck. George wasn’t rich but he married into money, and bought Moony so he could brag to his country club friends that he had a boat and a horse,” she sneered at the memory. “Such a jackass,” she said to herself after a long pause.
“Anyway, after about a year and a half or two, George’s wife divorced him and he was broke. He stopped coming to the farm and just stopped paying the board. Since no one was paying Moony’s bill, he just stayed in the stall—no training, no turnout, no nothing. He just rotted away in his stall until you came along.”
The others chimed in, “Yeah, no one took him out of the stall, poor guy.”
Learning Moonshine’s story was enlightening. So I managed to stay on his back after he hospitalized so many other (presumably more advanced) riders. I took some pleasure in knowing that. But I also felt so sorry for him. How rough his life had been. How unfair.
“Thanks, Nora,” I said.
“Sure, kiddo,” she beamed.
I didn’t know what sparked her sudden interest in Moonshine or me or both, but I really was appreciative. I was thankful because now I knew Moonshine and I weren’t all that different. Of course he hated people; he had never known a kind hand. Of course he preferred to be left alone; that way, no one could hurt him. It all made sense now.
17
Moonshine and I clashed regularly. Every ride was a fight. I insisted that he work like every other horse—I gave the cue and he should automatically do whatever I wanted. That was rarely the case. With Moonshine, the more forceful the cue, the more inclined he would be to ignore it completely. The more he resisted my cues, the more frustrated I became, and the more we battled. Were it not for Carol’s coaxing, soothing, firm, and confident training (and sense of humor) we probably would never have gotten along.
“He’s just not listening to me!” I let out in total frustration during countless lessons.
“Just keep asking, Victoria,” she frequently encouraged.
“No, Carol, I can’t . . . he’s not listening; he won’t even go straight!” I insisted.
Anytime I applied a cue with my legs, Moonshine either bucked with his hind legs or drifted so close to the rail of the arena that he squeezed and dragged my leg against the entire length of the wall. I had scratch marks on both boots to show it. Luckily, my boots were cheap.
“Yes, he will, Victoria,” she coaxed. “Be persistent, don’t give in. Just keep asking the same way, and stay calm.”
I always followed Carol’s instructions exactly. I trusted her completely. But also, I idolized the way she rode and wanted to be just like her, both as an equestrian and as a person.
She was perpetually calm, patient. I found it fascinating that nothing rattled her. She was always in control. Even though she spent most of her waking hours in a barn, she was the most elegant person I had ever known. She carried herself with an effortless grace and poise. She didn’t just walk through a barn like everyone else, she glided through it. What was amazing to me was that even with all the elegance she exuded, there was not a shred of arrogance. She treated everyone the same. And she was always in the same good mood.
When she rode a horse, she became part of it. They were so united that it was difficult to imagine one without the other. And even though it didn’t look like she was doing anything, somehow that horse picked its legs up higher, floated across the ring, and seamlessly transitioned from one movement to the next. Not only did she have a secret language with every horse, but every horse performed its absolute best when she was on its back—even Moonshine.
“Carol, I can’t get him to bend,” I let out, exasperated and in a full sweat, in January. “I can’t feel my left arm!”
“Hop off,” she said, taking off her jacket.
Yes! She’s going to fix him! I was jubilant.
I loved when she would jump on, like a plumber fixing a deep clog, and then hand me the finished product.
“But don’t get used to this, Victoria. I’m training you not just to be a rider, but to be a good trainer. I won’t always be around, so you have to be learn to fix these things on your own.”
“OK,” I said, not expecting that harsh dose of reality.
“Inside leg to outside rein,” Carol repeated over and over in probably every one of my lessons. How does she never get tired of saying the same thing over and over? I marveled. I would have killed me by now. Not Carol, she always smiled and joked with me.
In spite of her consistent and clear directions, I frequently dropped my outside rein and used both legs when she told me to use just one. It didn’t matter. When I disobeyed, she never got angry or yelled at me. All she did was calmly repeat the instruction.
I think I disobeyed for two reasons. First, I stopped thinking about those basic dressage cues and let myself get caught up in everything else that was going wrong. If Moonshine was bent too much to the inside, I would pull his head to the outside. Then his shoulders would fall to the inside and he would bend the wrong way! Too many things would go wrong all at the same time, and I needed to fix them all. How could I ignore everything that was going wrong and just focus only on inside leg to outside rein?
The second reason I didn’t listen is that I wanted to test Carol’s theory. Did I really have to always apply pressure with my inside leg and hold on to my outside rein? Was that really the only way to ride dressage? Would it make any difference with a horse as terrible as Moonshine? He would always be impossible to ride, so why bother doing all that work?
“Inside leg, outside rein,” I heard again. “You know, Victoria, pretty soon you’ll be hearing this in your sleep.”
“I already am!” I let out, trotting past her, still wrangling with Moonshine.
“Aww, I’m flattered. Dreaming of me every night?” she joked.
It was true, I heard it so much, I dreamed her voice. It was powerful and calm, loud but close, “Inside leg, outside rein, inside leg, outside rein . . .”
I didn’t just hear her voice when I slept; I heard her all the time. I heard her when I brushed my teeth, on my way to school, and when I sat in class.
Even though I heard her repeating the same instruction over and over, at virtually all hours of the day, I still resisted. It didn’t register, my body wouldn’t do it. I continued to drop my outside rein and my inside leg would hang loosely by Moonshine’s side. Nevertheless, she continued to repeat calmly, patiently, and cheerfully the same instruction. I was grateful that she was so calm—if she had been as emotional as I was, that would have surely pushed me over the edge.
Another show season was going by, and I again noticed that most of Carol’s students went to away shows. I still yearned to be considered one of Carol’s advanced student
s and be good enough to compete off the property. I was thirteen, I had been riding for years. I was ready.
“Carol, when can I go to the away shows with everyone else?” I asked.
“When you’re ready,” she replied.
“I’m ready. I want to go to away shows, too,” I insisted.
“I know, you’re ready for the Olympics,” she teased. “Away shows are very different from the shows we have here. You would have to compete against top, imported European horses and professional riders and trainers. It’s a different world.”
“I don’t care. I’m ready. I hate being stuck here when everyone else gets to go,” I insisted.
“How about this—when you hold on to your outside rein for an entire lesson, then we’ll talk,” she bribed.
“Fine,” I sighed.
__________
That summer slipped by without us going to any of the elite away shows. I was more frustrated than ever. Moonshine didn’t make it any easier. He kept me honest in my riding, which means he never cut me any breaks, like a nice horse would have. Trained horses will sometimes cover up a rider’s mistakes. When I rode Carol’s horses, it didn’t even matter that I was on their backs, they would still go through the entire routine by themselves. Needless to say, if I made a mistake, they just kept going as if it were business as usual.
Not Moonshine. If I ever dropped my outside rein, he would turn his head away from it and broadcast to everyone watching, “Look everyone, she dropped her outside rein again!” Not even the school horses would sell me out like Moonshine did—and school horses take any shortcut they can get. Moonshine seemed to do whatever he could to piss me off. His attitude only fueled my irritation. But I trusted and respected Carol, so I did whatever she said.
Months rolled by, and we weren’t progressing. I didn’t get to do the fancy upper level dressage movements like some of Carol’s other students. It was the same lesson, over and over, every weekend. For almost a year, I was only allowed to canter in a circle. If Moonshine ever saw a straight line at the canter, he would take off running. It was so frustrating being forced to ride on a circle, when Carol’s other students got to do pirouettes and flying changes—and it looked so easy. I felt like we would be in training wheels forever.
I was particularly envious of Beth. She was 17 and her parents had bought her a huge, beautiful warmblood—the type of horse that was bred specifically for dressage. Their whole bodies were designed to do all of the upper level dressage moves. Moonshine, on the other hand, was an Appendix—half Quarter horse, half Thoroughbred—which was really half cowboy’s horse, half racehorse. Moonshine’s long hind legs and short back were all wrong for dressage. Beth’s horse, Lugano, with his elegant long limbs and high neck, had the perfect conformation for high level dressage. Plus, he was sweet. He never slapped his ears back on his head or tried to kick people, horses, and dogs, like Moonshine.
Beth had everything I wanted—the superstar horse, the loving parents, and the stable family. She even had the car I wanted, a brand new Toyota RAV4. She was also Carol’s most advanced student. Lugano knew how to do all the cool tricks in upper level dressage. Not only was Lugano already trained to the highest levels of dressage, but he also adored her. She didn’t have to bribe him to like her with bags of carrots like I did with Moonshine. Lugano always nickered as soon as she stepped in the barn. I wouldn’t dare open Moonshine’s door without a carrot, certain I would be greeted by gnashing teeth. And then, I would be on the never ending twenty-meter circle in one of my lessons with Carol, while Beth floated by on her spectacular horse, doing trick after trick.
Comparing Beth and Lugano to me and Moonshine made me question why I should keep riding. Maybe it wasn’t just that Lugano was better than Moonshine, maybe Beth was also better than me. Maybe everyone was a better rider than me. Maybe I was a terrible rider and no one had the heart to tell me the truth.
Why am I doing this? I started asking myself. What’s the point? Even if Moonshine is perfect, he’ll never compete against a horse like Lugano. I couldn’t answer. It seemed as though I was riding whenever I wasn’t in school because it was the schedule I created for myself. Was I riding so much just because this had become part of my routine, or did I really love it? Sure, I love being at the barn, but what’s the point of riding if I’m not getting any better?
On the hour-long drive to the barn, I would daydream about doing pirouettes in my lesson. And on the drive back home, after having spent the entire lesson on a twenty-meter circle, I would wonder if I would ever be good enough to do a pirouette, or any other advanced dressage move.
18
Spring brought another show season. The barn was buzzing with boarders getting ready for the big show in April, in Washington, D.C.
“So, Vic, don’t you want to do the D.C. show?” Nora inquired when I was grooming Moonshine in his stall, getting ready for a lesson. I always groomed Moony in his stall because he was too dangerous to be on cross-ties in the barn aisle; he would either lunge at people or kick at horses, even if he was tied up. I didn’t mind grooming him in his stall, except that if someone wanted to chat while I was in the stall, I was forced to talk to them, instead of spending every precious moment at the barn exclusively with Moony. All of my barn time was spent in a bubble with Moony, and intrusions were generally not welcome.
“Yeah, but I can’t,” I replied, still brushing Moony.
“Why not?” I heard Carol’s voice, and then saw her face appear in front of Moonshine’s stall.
I was at a loss. Was this a trick? Was I supposed to say out loud, in front of Nora, how crappy a rider I was?
“Umm . . .” I stammered, “because I’m not ready?”
“You’re ready,” Carol said conclusively.
“Seriously?” My heart jumped.
“Seriously,” she said, turning back toward the indoor ring.
Nora’s eyes met mine, and she smiled. “Moony will ride in the big trailer, with all the other horses that are going.”
We were finally part of the team!
I was thrilled that I would be able to compete off the property. I was now good enough to ride in a big, important away show, just like all of Carol’s advanced students!
I trained harder than ever, obeying Carol’s instructions and making every effort to ride with my inside leg to outside rein.
“This show will be a good start for you because they have an equitation seat competition only for Juniors,” Carol informed me after one of my lessons.
“What’s that?” I inquired.
“It’s a class just for kids between fourteen and eighteen, where you ride around the arena. The hitch is that the judges are only judging the riders’ positions, so they don’t look at the horse at all. I think it would be a good class for you, now that you’re fourteen.” Carol said.
“OK, I’ll enter it,” I responded.
The date of the show was fast approaching, but for me, it couldn’t come fast enough.
Then, finally, it was time.
Richard told everyone that he would ship all of the horses himself. But we would have to get our horses on his six-horse trailer ourselves and we had to pack all of our equipment in our own cars and drive down with him in a caravan. Load time would be 4:00 a.m.—sharp.
“If you’re late, I’m leaving without you,” he warned.
Shipping day finally came. I arrived a half hour early to make sure I wouldn’t be late. Luckily, my mother didn’t object too much to being woken up at 2:30 a.m.
When I got to the barn, I threw a bag of carrots into Moony’s feed bin, and immediately wrapped his legs, to protect them while he was in the trailer. I finished just in time—I had secured the last wrap when he stopped crunching on his last carrot.
“Good boy,” I whispered. “Ready to go to a show? Let’s go!” I said, slipping his halter on his head.
He followed me out into the darkness, to the end of the property, where the trailer was parked and waiting. As we approached the huge rig, I sensed Moonshine getting tense. He was nipping at my jacket, and slowing down his stride. His ears pricked forward and his neck shot up when he heard the voices and then the loud echoes of hooves on the trailer’s ramp. He stopped walking shoulder to shoulder with me, and started to pull on the lead rope, to go back to the barn. I learned this maneuver and how to trick him into moving forward by allowing him to move in circles around me. I would move the center of the circle closer and closer to my ultimate destination. But when he saw the trailer, he started snorting, pawing at the ground, and dragging me backward.
“It’s OK buddy, you’re OK,” I coaxed.
Richard stormed toward us, and ripped the rope from my hand.
“Moonshine, GET ON!” He screamed as he marched toward the ramp with Moonshine pulling back on the lead rope. As soon as Moony resisted, he bellowed, “Beth! Get me the whip!” Beth immediately complied.
As soon as he had the whip in his hand, he cranked his arm back and whipped Moonshine hard on his shoulder.
“No!” I screamed.
Moonshine reared up on two legs and struck out at Richard’s head. He missed by a small margin. The small crowd of the five other horse owners did nothing but gawk.
“Damn good-for-nothing piece of shit!” Richard shouted as he raised his hand again.
“Stop!” I shrieked.
“Shut up! This horse is getting on the trailer NOW!” he yelled back at me.
“He won’t if you keep whipping him!” I yelled but was ignored and Moonshine continued to struggle with Richard on the other end of the lead rope.
I knew Richard wouldn’t listen to me, so I started toward Moonshine.
“Victoria, no, stay here,” my mother commanded, as she grabbed my shoulders, but I easily slipped through her fingers. I was by Moonshine’s hindquarters in an instant. I had always been told never to stand by a horse’s hindquarters because you could get kicked, but I knew Moony wouldn’t kick me, not even now, as he was battling with Richard.
The Tale of the Dancing Slaughter Horse Page 8