“Now, all canter, all canter please!”
I was happy to pick up the canter with no other horses around, so I wouldn’t have to worry about Moony attacking any innocent bystanders.
I noticed that some horses did start kicking out at others, in a more crowded part of the ring, and was thrilled that I was not a part of that mess.
Yes! I missed it! I rejoiced. I was sure that if Moonshine had been around those bucking horses, it would have been worse than the minor scuffle it was.
“All riders please trot and then come to a walk, proceed to center of arena and line up!”
All fourteen riders obeyed immediately.
“The following riders are dismissed. . .”
I braced myself. Please don’t let me be first to lose, please don’t call me first, I closed my eyes and prayed.
“Numbers eighty-seven . . . one-hundred and eighteen . . . fifty-six . . . twelve . . .thirty-one . . . sixty . . . ninety-three . . . one hundred and three . . . two hundred and six!”
“Oh good, that wasn’t us, Moon,” I whispered, relieved, scratching his withers with my knuckles.
“In sixth place, we have number fourteen. Number fourteen, please approach the judge and accept your ribbon!” The rider did as she was told. The judge hooked the ribbon to the horse’s bridle, and then she was directed to stand on the other side of the ring.
I tightened my grip on the reins, preparing to be the next one called.
“In fifth place, we have number forty-two!”
Cool! That wasn’t us, either! I was pleasantly surprised.
“In fourth place, we have number . . .”
OK, this is us, I know we got fourth, we always get fourth or fifth, I thought.
“. . . seventy-seven!”
That didn’t sound like my number. I leaned over, and looked down at my right boot, where Carol had hooked my number, to see what it was. Maybe I forgot my number. Man, that would be embarrassing! I thought. I saw my number was still thirty-three. Thirty-three, thirty-three . . . I repeated to myself. I didn’t want to embarrass myself and my team by not stepping up to the judge when he called my number.
“In third place we have number thirteen!”
Now I was panicking. Did they forget my number? Am I actually entered in this class? Why are they not calling me? Was I disqualified and they’re going to tell me after they announce the winner? Why am I the only rider left other than this girl to my right? What’s going on?
“And the winner of the 1994 Junior Dressage Seat Equitation class is number thirty-three! Number thirty-three, please come up and accept your prize!”
I was frozen. I stared at the judge, waiting for him to realize his mistake.
“Number thirty-three, please come up and accept your prize!” the announcer repeated.
And then I heard a rumble of cheers, whistles and screams from the Oakwood team, my team, sitting in the bleachers. They were standing, jumping, waving their hands at me. I suddenly couldn’t hear. I saw them jumping up and down, but it was as if I were underwater—everything was muffled.
Suddenly, I saw the judge pinning a beautiful blue ribbon to Moony’s bridle. Moonshine objected to wearing the small cardboard number on his bridle, but the huge, flowing blue ribbon was fine with him. He even threw his head up, proudly displaying it after he was pinned.
“Congratulations,” the judge said, as he took my right hand off the rein and shook it. My mouth was open, but I couldn’t speak. I was in total shock. I simply nodded.
Someone else came up behind the judge and handed me a shiny silver plate, with some sort of engraving that I couldn’t read, because my eyes wouldn’t focus. And then a third person came up with a sash that she draped around Moony’s shoulders. Moony didn’t object at all. He stood motionless, waiting to be adorned with more stuff and admired by his public.
“Wave, dear! And smile for the cameras!” the judge suddenly ordered.
I looked up into the stands, to the Oakwood team cheering loudly. I lifted my right arm to wave at them, and was blinded by a lightning of flashes.
Then, I found myself back where it all started, at the entrance of the stadium, with Carol and my mom. Now my mother’s face was red, but Carol was glowing. I had never before seen her smile so widely.
“Wow, what’s that?” Carol asked as she took the plate from me, so I could have both hands on the reins.
Just then, the Oakwood team rushed to Moonshine, while he still stood calmly, appreciating the attention.
“Let’s see it!” I heard Nora command.
“We’re posting your ribbons to our ‘Oakwood Farm’ banner, Victoria!” she announced, as they took the ribbons off Moonshine.
In that instant, they vanished into the night, with the blue ribbons I had just won. I had made my contribution.
“Congratulations, Victoria,” Carol smiled broadly, after the others had run off.
“Thanks, Carol.”
“Congratulations, darling!” my mother said in Romanian, clearly trying to contain herself.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Cool him out and get to bed, you have another day of showing tomorrow,” Carol instructed.
“Thanks for your help today, Carol.”
“No sweat!”
“I am so proud of you!” my mom gushed, after Carol left.
“Thanks, Mom.”
I dismounted and walked Moonshine back to the barn in the darkness. He wasn’t afraid of the dark if I walked on foot alongside him. I petted his neck as we walked.
“Thanks, Moony,” I whispered.
__________
The rest of the show was uneventful compared to that first night. We earned our usual fourth and fifth place ribbons. There was no contest against the superior horse and rider pairs. We didn’t stand a chance against those fancy horses.
One time, however, I watched the rider before me—Marie Annette Matthews. I knew her from her advertisements in all of the dressage and horse magazines I read. She owned Mountain View Farm, a premier breeding facility full of beautiful warmblood horses. She was in my class, competing on one of her talented horses.
I watched her horse glide across the arena, executing the movements of the test. I did see her make some mistakes, she made one circle too early, picked up the canter depart too late, but still, if dressage was judged mostly on the horse’s talent, like Carol said, then this horse was definitely winning this class.
After she saluted, it was my turn.
Moonshine and I trotted in, and saluted in the center. Our test was precise, we executed each movement exactly where it was supposed to be done, our lines were straight, our circles were round and the right sizes. But that was never enough when we were competing against a prancy warmblood. Still, I always hoped for a different outcome.
I saluted at the end, ready for my fifth place ribbon. But this time, we won third place, and Marie Annette Matthews won fourth. Moonshine beat the fancy Mountain View Farm horse! I was exultant. We may as well have won the class. I was so happy to see that for once, a judge valued the accuracy of the test over another horse’s talent. Our hard work to be precise and perfect in the ring paid off this time!
Even though I only won one blue ribbon at my first away show, I went home feeling exhilarated and ready for more.
19
In my first lesson after the show, Carol asked me what I had learned.
“Well, if Moony and I are going to be competitive with the warmbloods, we have to be perfect in the test,” I said.
“OK, what else?” Carol pressed.
“Don’t take him out on any racetracks!” I answered, remembering how Moonshine had taken off with me.
Carol laughed.
“OK, but I want you to know that those equitation seat judges recognized your talent and that you have a good seat, so w
e should work on developing your riding skills as much as we can.”
I found it curious that Carol emphasized “your” as though I could improve my riding without Moonshine. It’s probably just all in my head, I thought dismissively.
That summer, I continued in my training with Moony and Carol; I also worked as Carol’s assistant in exchange for free lessons once a week. I was content spending every day at the barn and working for Carol. I watched her ride during my lunch breaks, and envisioned the movements as she schooled them.
In one lesson, she told me that she would teach me a more advanced movement called a half-pass, where a horse moves sideways, with his front and hind legs crossing. This was one of the movements I regularly saw her train, so I knew what the cues were. It was different from a leg yield because in this move, the horse had to look in the direction he was going, whereas in the leg yield, the horse’s head was kept looking straight ahead.
“So today, we’re going to learn how to half-pass,” she said.
“I already know how to half-pass,” I joked confidently.
“Oh, really? And how do you know how to half-pass all of a sudden?” she questioned.
“From watching you,” I replied.
“OK, hotshot, show me what you got. Do a half-pass to the left,” she challenged.
I was on one of Carol’s client’s horses, which was a more advanced horse that knew how to perform the movement. I picked up the trot, found an open spot in the arena, and applied my right leg to his side so that he moved away from it, to the left.
“Not bad!” Carol said when I stopped to obtain her feedback. “But I’m going to explain how to do it, just to be official,” she said in a teasing, matter-of-fact way only she could pull off.
I translated the new things I had learned to Moonshine, or I should say tried to translate them, as I was often met with resistance. Moonshine was still not an easy horse, as he challenged everything and seemed to say, “make me,” with every new movement I introduced.
Despite the fact that Moonshine was still a difficult horse, he had become an integral part of my life, and of me. I spent as much time around him as I could. Our bond was growing, and apparently was becoming evident to others.
Kim, the barn manager, who rarely spoke to me because I was “just one of the barn kids,” even paid me a compliment once that summer. As she passed me in the barn, she said, “You and Moony are coming along pretty fast, kid. Keep up the good work.” I was astonished because Kim only spoke to me to reprimand me for something I had done or to reiterate the long list of barn rules.
__________
Then, one evening, the phone rang and my mother picked up.
“It’s a man, he says it’s for you.”
“OK . . .” we both looked quizzically at each other, not knowing who the caller was.
I picked up the line.
“Victoria?” The voice inquired.
“Yes?” I answered.
“This is George Beck, Moonshine’s owner.”
Moonshine’s owner had become a phantom memory to everyone, since he no longer paid the bills for the horse.
“Hi . . .” I said warily, curious as to his sudden emergence from the past.
“Listen, I have to get rid of the horse. You need to buy him by the end of the week or I’m shipping him to slaughter.”
The room started to spin.
“Wait, what? Why?” I stammered.
“I just have to get rid of it,” he concluded curtly.
I hated him for calling Moonshine an “it.” Moonshine was a “him.” Moony deserved the proper pronoun. Moony had as much personality as any person I knew. But this was not the time to correct George Beck.
“But . . .” I began, but he interrupted.
“Just call me at the end of the week to set up a meeting so you can give me the money. Bring $3,500 in cash.”
“But, I can’t, I don’t have . . .”
“(845) 932-5555. Bye.”
The line went dead. I was still holding the phone to my ear when my mother walked into my room.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” she asked. I felt my face turn white, and I could feel all the blood fall from my head to my heart. Tears pooled my eyes. My ears were ringing. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear. An invisible boulder crushed my chest, and I had just been punched in the stomach.
“Victoria!” my mother demanded to know what had just happened.
“Moonshine’s owner . . . He said we need to buy him by the end of the week or else.” I blurted out.
As soon as I got the words out, hot tears poured down my face.
“WHAT?” she yelled. “He said that to you?!” she roared.
And then she went back to the phone in the living room, dialed his phone number, and began yelling.
“WHAT did you just say to my daughter?”
She paused and listened.
“I don’t care what you want, it’s her horse now! I have been paying for the horse for the past year! And where were you? You have no right to do this!” she replied.
She paused again, listening.
“There is NO WAY you will get away with this, you fucking pig!” she exploded. She hardly ever cursed, so when she did, it was bad.
She then slammed down the phone and then called her best friend, my godmother, Ava, for advice. I knew she would be a while, so I went to the farthest room of the house—the bathroom in the master bedroom—closed the door, sat on the floor, and sobbed. It was over.
There was nothing I could do. I would lose Moonshine. The fear of losing him, the idea of life without Moonshine, began to plague me. I still had to go to school, and attend my classes. But as soon as the lesson started, my eyes drifted to the window and I wondered what Moony was doing at that moment. When I sat with my friends at lunch, I envisioned Moony in a crammed auction house, waiting with hundreds of other innocent horses for their doom. I had recurring nightmares. In one dream, I was at a huge show, and there was a big crowd outside of the arena, waiting for me to enter the ring. And then I entered, on foot. No horse, just me.
In another nightmare, I had a vision of Moony being stabbed to death in a slaughterhouse, ropes around his ankles, leaving him defenseless against his assailants. And then I saw his bloodied legs on a steel table.
“NO! MOONY!” I screamed.
“Vicky, Vicky, wake up!” My sister was shaking me awake.
“They’re going to kill him.”
“No they won’t, they won’t,” she said.
“Yes they will. I know Mom can’t afford to buy him, you know Victor cleaned her out with the stupid divorce. There’s no way.”
“It’ll be OK, Vicky,” she insisted. Then she called for our mother, realizing there would be nothing she could say to diminish my despair.
__________
The following Saturday morning, my mother drove me to the farm, as usual. However, instead of dropping me off like she usually did, she parked the car, and strode off to the office. I plodded to Moony’s barn. I don’t know how long she was there, but Carol, instead of coming into the barn at 8:00 a.m. to tell me which horses she wanted me to get ready for her that morning, like she always did, didn’t come into the barn until 9:30 a.m. I knew she was at the farm because her car was parked in her spot.
Then, at 9:30 a.m., Carol appeared. Her face was red and agitated. For the first time, I saw her frown lines, most notably two vertical lines between her eyebrows. There were no smiles, no jokes.
“Hey, there. Can you get Solstice now, Sunny after him, and then Prinz?”
“Sure,” I said, avoiding eye contact, as I headed for the tack room.
The day was work as usual.
At the end of the day my mother picked me up. Once I was in the passenger seat, she ordered, “You have to call your father.”
&nbs
p; “What, why?” I asked. I had not spoken to or seen my father since that ill-fated vacation at Lake George. I didn’t even know if he was in the country or if he had gone back to Romania.
“It’s our only hope,” she said. “If you want Moonshine, you have to fight for him. I can’t afford it on my own.”
“It’s not going to work,” I said.
“It’s our only chance,” she insisted.
“Fine.” I gave in. I would do anything for Moony, even beg my absentee father for money.
__________
I dialed his number when I got home. My mother listened silently on the other phone.
“Da,” he answered in Romanian, almost sounding offended.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Faaaaafi?” he replied, addressing me by my nickname. I knew he was drunk when he lingered on vowels like that.
“Yeah, hi Dad.” It was strange to call him Dad. Whenever my family and I talked about him, we called him by his first name. But I knew he liked to be called Dad, and I needed him to be on my side this one time.
“Dad, I need help,” I started.
“Yeaaah . . . what kind of help?” he spoke slowly.
“Well, I’ve been riding this horse Moonshine. His owner abandoned him a long time ago, so Mom’s been paying the bills so I can ride him and have my own horse.”
“Sooo . . .?”
“So, now, out of the blue, the owner calls me and wants me to pay thirty-five hundred dollars to keep Moonshine. And the reason I’m calling is because Mom can’t pay it all by herself.”
He interrupted.
“That’s a lot of money . . .”
“Yes, I know. I wouldn’t call if I wasn’t desperate, Dad. I mean, you don’t even have to pay the whole thing, can you just pay as much as you can? Can you maybe split it with Mom?”
“You want me to pay half?” he exclaimed, like I was absurd for even asking.
“Can you?”
The Tale of the Dancing Slaughter Horse Page 10