“I’m just telling you what other people told me.”
“What other people?” he inquired.
“My trainer, for one.”
“Who is your trainer?” he asked.
“Carol.”
He was silent. I was unsure what to make of it, so I was also quiet until we got to the farm. He always waited in the car, reading the newspaper, while I was at the barn.
On this particular occasion, however, when I was in the middle of my lesson, he entered the arena and approached Carol. He didn’t wait until after the lesson to talk to her, like a normal person would have. No, when he wanted to chat, the whole world needed to stop spinning.
Great, here we go. Well, she knows he’s a deadbeat so hopefully she’s ready for whatever he has up his sleeve, I braced myself.
He whistled at her, and gestured for her to walk over to him. I was horrified.
She held up her hand, until my lesson was over. Good, Carol, just ignore him, I thought. But, he remained in the same spot, in the indoor.
Apparently, most people knew of my deadbeat father, even Gunilla, the owner of the farm. She was an international rider, trainer, and judge. Gunilla had a reputation for being a tough, no-nonsense person. She was also riding, at the same time as my lesson, in the same arena. She was instantly annoyed at seeing a visitor inside the arena, where only instructors and riders were allowed. She trotted over to my father.
“You cannot stand here. This arena is for training only!” she huffed.
“Do you know who I am?” he spat, astonished that someone, especially a woman, had the nerve to tell him what he could and could not do.
“Do you know who I am?” Gunilla retorted, clearly annoyed.
Carol had me trot in a circle at the other end of the arena, possibly anticipating an explosion. We continued in the lesson, but I couldn’t help trying to overhear the exchange between my father and Gunilla; I knew Carol was doing the same.
“I am Gunilla Peterson! This is my farm!” she exploded. “You are interrupting serious training here! Remove yourself from this arena immediately!”
“I am Victor Radulescu—Victoria’s father!” he exploded back to her in his heavy Romanian accent.
“I don’t care if you are the Pope! Get out of my arena now! You are interrupting important training here!” she now reached a higher octave.
“Hmph!” he declared as he turned toward the exit. He then stood in the entrance of the arena, blocking anyone who wanted to get in or out with his corpulent 300-pound frame.
“Not there!” Gunilla shouted after him.
I relished the fact that someone finally had enough courage to yell at him.
He moved over to the bleachers, where he stood silently for a minute, until he cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed all the way across the arena, “CAROL! CAROL I NEED TO SPEAK WITH YOU IMMEDIATELY! PLEASE COME HERE NOW! THAT OLD BITCH FORBADE ME TO COME TO YOU!”
Oh my God, I thought, mortified. I knew Gunilla heard what he said. Please don’t kick me out, please! I thought.
Carol, with her trademark grace and elegance, simply ignored him.
At the end of my lesson, she walked over to him. I walked Moonshine around the arena to cool him down after the workout.
“Yes?” she said to my father.
“I am Victor Radulescu!” he declared.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“Listen, just between us, this is all bullshit, right? I mean, come on, isn’t it a joke?” he started, loudly. I couldn’t believe he was mocking her profession right to her face. I wanted to melt away.
“No, it’s not,” she responded flatly.
“Why not? Is there money in it, like in the horse races?” he asked.
“No.”
“But they still win some money, right?” he asked.
“Rarely,” she stated.
“RARELY? Then what is the point?!” he exclaimed. “Victoria! Get off that horse right now! This is a huge waste of money, just as I thought!” he bellowed to me.
“Sir, with all due respect, your daughter is a talented rider,” Carol stated. It was strange to hear her praise me, as I rarely heard it.
“So?” he challenged.
“Well, that is rare.”
“So?” he repeated.
“Rare things are often special,” she was growing frustrated. It was interesting to see Carol get annoyed, when not even the most obstinate horse could irritate her.
Apparently, Gunilla had had enough as well, so she trotted her horse over to where Carol was standing.
“Sir,” she began, “what Carol is trying to say is that your daughter is a good dressage rider. She has talent that others would die for, and if she continues on in her training, the way she has been doing, she will be an international sensation. Don’t you think that is special?” she asked.
“You really think she has a chance?” he asked Gunilla.
“Yes!”
Then Gunilla exited the arena and Carol left to teach her next lesson.
I followed after Gunilla, and my father remained motionless.
“Your father is a piece of work, kiddo,” she said as we walked to the barn.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s not your fault,” she said flatly.
Gunilla had a reputation for being tough, so it was strange for her to reveal a soft side.
After I had finished cooling Moonshine down, cleaning tack, and putting everything away, I walked back to my father’s car in the parking lot.
“Victoria, please tell me you don’t want to be a joke like these crazy women here,” he started.
“I don’t think the Olympics are a joke,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
“That’s what I want.”
He was silent.
“So, how are you going to get there? How will you pay for it all? How will you support yourself?” he asked.
I knew the right answer. “I’ll be a lawyer, just like you.”
He smiled and was quiet for the entire drive back.
When he dropped me off at home, I was greeted by my mother just as I entered the house.
“How was the farm?” my mother asked.
“Oh, you know, the usual. He met Gunilla, called her an old bitch, and said she and Carol were jokes.”
She gasped. “OK, from now on, he will drive you only when I absolutely have to work.”
24
Summer came again and I was ecstatic that I could now ride every day, instead of just weekends. I looked forward to being Carol’s assistant again.
“Victoria, I would love to have you as a working student again, but I have to hire an official helper, now,” Carol told me at the beginning of the summer.
“Why?” I was confused.
“Just new farm policy,” she said. I knew that she wasn’t telling me the whole truth, but I simply responded with, “OK.” I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to spend all day every day at the barn with Carol and Moony.
I was still at the barn every day, but now I spent all of my time with my horse. I only had two lessons a week with Carol, but when I rode on my own, I pretended she was teaching me. I practiced the same exact things she made me do in our lessons. When it was too hot to train, I got on Moony bareback for a light hack around the farm. I washed him every day and polished his hooves after every ride. I also practiced braiding his mane once a week, because I wanted his mane to look perfect at horse shows.
Gunilla passed me once, while I was untacking Moonshine in the aisle. He now stood like a statue for me in the aisle. All four legs remained on the ground, and he no longer tried to attack passersby.
“Hey kiddo, when are you going to show me what a superstar you are?”
“Umm, what?”
I was genuinely surprised, as Gunilla was almost always stern and short with everyone.
“You’re all I ever heard about when I was in Europe. Carol raved about you every time we spoke! Now that you’ve learned the basics from her, you are ready to take a lesson with me. Carol learned everything she knows from me.”
“Umm, OK . . .”
“Hey, good job with this horse, his muscles are really strong,” she said as she patted Moonshine on his hindquarters before she walked off.
“Thanks,” I replied.
__________
A few days later, the farm organized a clinic. Gunilla was the featured clinician. A sign-up sheet was posted in the tack room.
“What’s a clinic?” I asked Betty, who was signing up.
Betty was one of Carol’s students. She had the most expensive saddle, bridle, and blankets. She once asked me what brand of breeches I rode in and scoffed when I revealed I rode in thirty dollar breeches. She emphasized that real dressage riders wear the full seat breeches she wore—that were well over one hundred dollars. She also joked that I might win a class one day when I got myself a real horse, a warmblood, like she had. Almost all of the other boarders were dismissive of me and Moony, except Jean. Not only did she talk to me when we saw each other, but also lit up when we spoke. The way she spoke to me was in stark contrast to the gruff attitude she showed most of the other boarders. Also, Jean never passed Moony without petting him.
“Oh, it’s a really exclusive event where there is one famous trainer, the clinician, and only a few slots for really good riders to take a lesson from them. It’s great because you can learn from watching other people’s lessons too, and there’s usually an audience. It’s for advanced riders, not for kids,” she said, looking down at me.
Jean was in the tack room, too, and had just overheard what Betty said to me.
“She’s more advanced than you’ll ever be, Betty. Quit kidding yourself.”
“Hmph!” Betty let out, grabbing her tack and storming out of the tack room.
“Ignore her, Victoria. You sign up if you want to,” Jean said.
“So, did you sign up?” Carol said, when I entered the arena for my lesson with her.
“For what?” I asked.
“The clinic, genius,” she teased.
“I heard it wasn’t for kids.”
“I want all of my students in that clinic, including you,” she advised. It was nice to be lumped in as part of “Carol’s students.” It was validating.
The clinic would take place in one week, and it was the talk of the farm. Everyone would participate. I was looking forward to watching Beth’s lesson, as I was still pseudo-obsessed with her and her beautiful, huge, sweet horse. Beth was much more advanced than me, so she had ridden with Gunilla on prior occasions. This clinic was a big deal in my world, but probably just another lesson to Beth.
__________
On the day of the clinic, I sat in the bleachers along with almost all of the other boarders, waiting for Beth’s lesson to begin. It started with basic work on improving the horse’s walk, trot, and canter. When Gunilla told Beth to start schooling some advanced movements, Beth turned to Gunilla and said, “Are you kidding? No walk break?”
Gunilla blew up.
“No, I am not kidding! And definitely no walk break, you spoiled brat! You could use the work!”
The crowd grimaced and winced. I was sitting next to Beth’s mother and stayed completely silent.
Beth began to laugh.
“She’s nervous. She laughs when she’s nervous,” Beth’s mother said, more to herself than to me.
“What is so funny? I wouldn’t laugh if I were you. I don’t even know why you still bother riding. You don’t have half of your horse’s talent!” Gunilla spewed.
Oh my God, she is mean! She is going to rip me and Moonshine apart, I thought, now dreading my lesson.
I left the bleachers an hour before my scheduled ride time, to have enough time to get Moonshine ready. I hoped that grooming him to a spotless sheen would salvage us from the barrage of insults I expected.
As I groomed him, I pleaded with him not to embarrass me.
“Please don’t buck today, Moony, be a good boy, OK? If you’re good, I’ll give you a whole bag of carrots,” I whispered to him as I brushed his coat.
I arrived ten minutes early, and had warmed up in one of the outdoor arenas, so I was ready for the lesson.
At 2:00 p.m. sharp, just when the previous lesson ended, Gunilla gestured for me to walk over to her. I complied. When I came to her, she put her hand up and ordered, “Halt.”
While Moony stood, she circled us slowly. She scrutinized the buckles of the bridle, the leather of my saddle, his shiny coat, and white leg wraps.
“He is clean. Good girl.”
“Have you warmed up?”
“Yes,” I replied robotically.
“Good. Pick up the trot on a twenty-meter circle, then do a shoulder-in down the long side,” she instructed.
“OK,” I said, as I nudged Moonshine with my legs to move off into a trot.
“More, MORE!” she yelled.
I bumped Moonshine with my legs to go faster.
“Not faster, bigger! Bigger trot! Open the stride, more expression!”
She didn’t explain how to do a bigger trot, unlike Carol, who explained everything before she had me do anything. Carol would explain the movement, how to execute the movement, how the movement was supposed to improve the horse, and how it should look. Plus, she knew what Moonshine and I were capable of and had been trained to do. And finally, she was funny. She was simply the best.
In my next lesson with Carol, she asked me, “So, what did you think of your first clinic?”
“It was OK,” I replied.
“Just OK?” she asked, astonished.
“I think your lessons are better,” I said seriously.
She smiled.
25
It was yet another show season full of fourth and fifth place ribbons. I was growing frustrated again.
Carol told me it was my fault.
“How could it be my fault? All the judges say he’s ‘limited.’” I was offended.
“It’s your fault because there’s more in there, and you’re not pulling it out.”
“So how do I do that?” I asked.
“If you want him to be good, you have to be perfect,” she replied.
“What do you mean by that?” I wondered what was in store for me now.
“You have to be crystal clear in your communication with Moonshine. And how do you communicate with a horse you are riding?” she asked.
“My seat,” I answered.
“Exactly,” she said. “We have to perfect your communication with Moonshine, and that means perfecting your seat.”
“How do I perfect my seat?” I asked.
“I thought you’d never ask!” she seemed delighted, as she grabbed a lunge line, a really long cord, and attached it to Moonshine’s bridle.
“I’ll lunge him on a circle around me. I’m going to keep Moony on a circle, but you have to control everything else, how fast he goes, slowing him down, and stopping him—using only your seat—no reins and no stirrups.
“What? That’s impossible,” I said.
“Nothing’s impossible,” she insisted.
“I can’t stop without reins!” I exclaimed.
“Just pick up the trot,” she ordered.
“What am I supposed to do with my hands if I have no reins to hold?” I asked.
“Pretend like you’re holding them,” she stated. “Now, trot.”
I squeezed with my legs for Moonshine to pick up a trot. I could make him move forward since I still had my legs to use, but there was no way I would ever stop him without any reins!
“Your seat sets the rhythm of each gait. If you want to speed up, just speed up your seat to set the rhythm you want. If you want to slow down, slow down your seat to the rhythm you want. Keep your back relaxed, but firm. Be adjustable,” Carol instructed.
This is so not going to work, I thought.
In order to pick up the pace, I sped my seat up. Amazingly, Moonshine followed my lead by picking up his pace.
Incredible! I thought, as I smiled.
“Good, now, slow it down, with just your seat,” Carol instructed.
I slowed the speed of my seat, and Moony instantly slowed down again!
“Let’s just try it a few more times to make sure it’s not beginner’s luck,” I heard.
I sped up, slowed down, sped up, slowed down as many times as Carol instructed. Then we tried the same exercise in the other direction, and it still worked! I was amazed. I often felt like Moonshine was a very callous horse, almost like driving an old truck, because he ignored me so much. So, now with none of the extra reinforcements, and using just the most basic communication for dressage, my seat, I was amazed at how sensitive he was to my commands.
“I have a question!” I blurted out.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“I don’t understand how he’s more reactive off my aids when I have no reins and no leg.”
“What do you think?” she responded.
It drove me crazy when teachers made me answer my own questions. By now, I was totally comfortable being myself with Carol. And myself could get sassy sometimes, so I said, “Well obviously I have no clue, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked the question.”
Carol almost doubled over. Her face had turned bright red and her eyes were squeezed shut while she laughed.
“OK smarty-pants, I’ll help you out this one time, but I want you to become more independent and start thinking these things through on your own. I won’t be around forever, and I definitely can’t help you out in the show ring.”
“OK, OK,” I said impatiently.
“You don’t need all the extras. You’re a more advanced rider now, so you don’t need to steer and stop with your reins, like beginners. Dressage riders control their horses with their seats. That’s why in the higher level competitions, the more advanced riders don’t look like they’re moving any part of their bodies to control their horses. They’re still controlling, but just with their seats. And if you think about it, that’s really the most effective way to ride because when you use the core of your body, you’re using the strongest muscles you have—your back, abs, and upper legs.”
The Tale of the Dancing Slaughter Horse Page 13