The Tale of the Dancing Slaughter Horse

by Shade, Victoria;

  “No, it’s crazy!” I shouted back, over the sound of the pelting rain on the indoor’s metal roof.

  “Are you still going to ride?” she asked

  “Yeah!” I said.

  “Well, I don’t know if I will. I’ll try, though,” she yelled.

  I barely heard what she said.

  Then, Beth’s mother appeared through the office window and shouted, “Hey girls—I just checked the weather—this is Hurricane Bertha!” she called out, thoroughly amused.

  Nikki and I completed our warm ups and walked out into the rain, together, since we would ride at the same time in the two outdoor arenas.

  “Good luck!” I yelled to her.

  “Thanks, you too!” she replied.

  I walked Moonshine down to the farther arena, where I was scheduled to ride. My leather saddle was soaked, and the wet leather was slippery. I was starting to slide from side to side. I shoved my heels down in my stirrups as far as I could push them, hoping they would anchor my legs. As we walked around the arena, waiting for the judge to ring the bell to begin my test, I saw the worn track in the sand had become a long, deep stream of water. The entire arena was flooded, but at least the small rivers showed me where the tracks were. As I passed by the judge’s booth, waiting for her to ring the bell, she shouted, “Good luck! Just think white water rafting!” Then she rang the bell. I noticed a small crowd of boarders and trainers under umbrellas at one end of my arena. Why are they out here in this rain? Are they crazy? I’m just riding my little Second Level test, this isn’t Grand Prix, I thought.

  I entered the arena, and saluted. I couldn’t see anything, except Moony’s neck and ears. The poor horse had laid his ears flat on his head, not because he was angry, but because there was so much water falling into them.

  I can’t see anything, I thought, how am I going to do this? Moonshine trotted forward willingly, as if he didn’t mind the rain beating down on the both of us.

  Oh, there’s a straight line of water, that must be the center line track, we’ll go straight until we see the wall, then we’ll turn, I strategized.

  The wall came up sooner than I thought. I quickly steered Moonshine to the left, and almost slipped off the saddle. I grabbed his braided mane, which barely helped me to stay on. As Moonshine continued to trot, I struggled to center myself in the saddle. It was as if I were sitting in slick oil, I so easily slid from one side to the other in the wet leather. The next movement was the extended trot down the diagonal.

  There is no way I’m going to stay on for this, I thought, as I nudged Moonshine forward into the movement.

  I slid from side to side in the saddle. But every time I nearly fell off the right side, Moony swerved right; whenever I almost fell off the left side, he raced to catch me. I couldn’t believe it—my horse was not letting me fall! This horse that used to buck so much and tried to throw me so many times in just the past year, was now doing everything he could to keep me safely in the saddle.

  The ride was finally over, and I saluted. I patted Moonshine, as he walked hurriedly to the exit. The crowd was applauding.

  My friend Sarah, cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted “I can’t believe you stayed on!”

  “Me neither! Moony was catching me every time I almost slipped off!”

  Then Sarah’s mother declared, “Victoria, that horse will jump through fire for you.”

  I believed her.

  A larger crowd of boarders had assembled by Moonshine’s stall.

  “You are crazy, kid!” one said.

  “I had to try to get a qualifying score,” I reasoned.

  “Yeah but this is really nuts, they should cancel the show. You know Nikki disqualified herself right after she started her test—that would have been the normal thing to do,” another jumped in.

  Then I saw Carol coming toward me and I knew she had heard, she said, “Don’t slam my student for being so dedicated!”

  Then, through the sound system, we heard an announcement, “Due to the inclement weather, the rest of today’s classes will be held tomorrow, after 4:00 p.m.”

  Are you kidding, they couldn’t re-schedule my class? I thought. Whatever, Moony was a superstar, I smiled fondly, as I fed him his well-deserved carrots.

  27

  August arrived and we shipped off for the Regionals. Richard finally realized that it was easier to let me load my own horse. Moonshine followed me into the trailer without any pressure on the lead rope. We walked shoulder to shoulder everywhere, even up the trailer’s steep loading ramp.

  When we arrived at the show, Carol told me to take it easy in schooling Moonshine, since it had been a long trip, and he might be sore and stiff. She said I should just do relaxing work like letting him stretch his head down, at the walk, trot, and canter. No collection, she ordered. I was nervous about not doing a full workout the day before the show—it was sort of like not studying the night before a test. But I did whatever Carol said.

  The next day, Moonshine was relaxed, fluid, and elegant in his first test. To reward him, I untacked him and led him out to graze. I wanted to watch the top riders performing in the more advanced levels, so I led Moonshine out to graze by the main show ring. There was a crowd seated on the grassy hill around the arena, watching the performances below. I was instantly captivated by the beauty and elegance with which they rode and their horses moved. I let the lead rope slacken so Moony would stop pulling me while he looked for good patches of grass. I didn’t want to be distracted from watching the show. Then, all of a sudden, he started charging right into the crowd of people sitting on the grass, causing them to jump up and run out of his way.

  “Moonshine, STOP!” I whispered loudly, horrified that he was stampeding these innocent bystanders. I could do nothing to stop him. I dug my heels into the ground and threw all my weight back, pulling against the lead rope, but he continued to plow through to wherever it was that he wanted to go. The mayhem in the crowd caught the attention of the horse performing in the arena. The horse spooked, and took off.

  Holy shit! I thought, horrified and humiliated.

  Luckily, the horse was being ridden by a skilled rider, who managed to regain control, and resumed her test. She shot me an angry glare.

  I wanted to run away and crawl into a hole.

  “Damn it, Moonshine! Come on, we’re going!” I said as I pulled him back to the barn. I was humiliated. Moonshine, on the other hand, did not seem to care, and followed me nonchalantly back to the show barn.

  I was frustrated and furious, and unfortunately, those emotions did not subside quickly. I was angry all the way into the next day, so any little thing that Moonshine did now was totally unforgivable. Our performance on that day was lackluster, even for us. I knew we could have done better, but I was too angry to “ride smart,” as Carol put it, and Moonshine just didn’t care, as usual.

  __________

  After my last class, I declared to my mother, “I’m quitting, this is pointless.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, bewildered.

  “I suck. Moonshine sucks, we never get good scores. So, what’s the point?”

  She said nothing, which was highly unusual for her. She left me alone in the barn, to clean up and pack for the trip home. Then, Carol appeared.

  “What’s this I hear about you quitting?”

  I was instantly furious with my mother and decided I would never again tell her anything in confidence.

  “I never win, we never get good scores, so what’s the point?”

  She started with one of her usual speeches, which I ignored. I wasn’t in the mood for a pep talk or lecture. I wasn’t listening. She apparently noticed, and left.

  I was alone for an hour until she reappeared.

  “Come with me,” she ordered.

  I walked with her, following her to the warm up arena. An older-lo
oking gentleman, with an old looking horse, stood waiting, in the center of the ring. We approached them.

  “Victoria, this is Dr. Max Gahwyler,” Carol said.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young lady,” he said in a foreign accent, as he removed his glove from his hand, and extended his arm down to me for a handshake. As he lowered his body from where he sat on his horse, his thin, loose skin fell toward me.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said politely.

  His horse looked just as ancient as he did. The animal’s bones looked large and heavy. The hair on his dark face was peppered with white. The horse did not prick his ears forward at all, like most horses do when they notice new things. Instead, he simply kept them pointed back, toward his rider, almost as if he were listening to his partner as he spoke.

  “Dressage is not about the tricks you see in the ring. It is about the feel—how united one is with the horse. The tricks are simply a result of the feel. Allow me to demonstrate.”

  As soon as his horse began to walk, those weathered eyelids unveiled a spark in his crisp blue eyes.

  “Did you see me give the walk command?” he asked.

  “No,” I replied.

  “Good, because the communication was not meant for you—it was meant for the horse. Now, lightness,” he said as he edged his inside hand forward, showing slack in the rein.

  “What changes when I give my inside rein?” he asked

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Correct. That is because I don’t need my reins, I ride from my seat and legs,” he stated. “You must also make sure that the horse is using his back when you are riding—by that I mean, he must be rounded over his back, as it is the connection between back and front. Imagine that the engine of the horse is in the rear, the rear legs begin the forward motion, it must pass through the back, and if the back is working, it will be slightly elevated, or, in other words, rounded. When the horse is round, that forward energy passes into the bridle, where the rider then has total control of it, and therefore the horse. Do you understand?” he asked.

  “I think so,” I said. I actually did understand, since Carol had already explained roundness a long time ago. But then he showed me the difference between a hollow horse, where the horse drops his back and picks up the neck, and a round horse, where the forward motion is coming from the rear end, passing through the back, and going through to the neck. He showed me the difference in all three gaits—walk, trot, and canter. The horse did look a lot harder to control when he wasn’t round.

  When he finished the demonstration, he asked, “Do you see the difference between round and not round?”

  “Yes,” I replied. It was remarkable to see how the average looking horse could look so impressive just from becoming round. It was also impressive to see how subtle the rider’s commands were on a round horse.

  “Good. I wish you the best of luck in your dressage career. It was a pleasure meeting you, young lady,” he concluded.

  “Thank you, it was nice meeting you, too,” I said.

  Carol and I turned and walked back to the barn.

  “I think I know why the canter is so much harder for me than the trot,” I said to Carol.

  “Why is that?” she asked.

  “I don’t think he’s really round all of the time,” I said.

  “We’ll work on it,” she encouraged.

  “Who was that guy anyway?” I asked.

  “He judged you in one of your classes. He is also a pretty famous trainer.”

  __________

  The following weekend, everyone who didn’t go to the Regionals wanted an update on my experience.

  The first person who asked how my first Regionals went was Jean.

  “Hi, Victoria!” she seemed elated to have found me by Moonshine’s stall the following Saturday.

  “So, how were the Regionals? Did Moony strut his stuff?” she asked excitedly.

  “They were OK,” I stated.

  “Are you being modest again?” she beamed. I was struck by her radiant smile. She looked so much prettier when she smiled, I thought. She really should smile more.

  “No, we mostly got scores in the fifties, again,” I said.

  “Well, it takes years and years of practice. Plus, those judges have no clue what a superstar Moony is,” she said.

  I swelled with pride—nobody ever called Moony a superstar.

  “Yeah, those judges can’t stand that he’s not a warmblood, but I don’t care, he is a superstar,” I said, more to myself than to Jean.

  She smiled, patted me on the shoulder, and walked off to her barn.

  28

  “Your grandmother has stomach cancer,” my mother told us. “She will be in the hospital for a while.”

  The house was different—quiet, without any aromatic smells coming from the kitchen. We no longer heard the angry clanking of pots and pans. There was no more bickering between her and my grandfather. And all of the dogs that previously had tailed her with purpose everywhere she went, now wandered around the house aimlessly.

  My mother was at the hospital most evenings and weekends. She insisted that I call my father for rides to the farm, and also Sandra, my sister’s classmate, who had a horse at the same barn.

  My father, surprisingly, did show up occasionally to take me to the farm.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said.

  “Bonjour!” he said as he donned his beret and driving gloves. He was in his eccentric mood, I recognized. Good, this means he’s playful.

  “Nice outfit,” I teased as I scanned his plaid blazer with elbow patches, corduroy pants, black beret, and gloves.

  “Are you jealous?” he smiled.

  “So jealous,” I joked.

  Good thing you’re not a woman, you’d be broke with all your crazy outfits and jewelry, I thought. I never saw him in the same outfit twice, and he seemed to have a different get-up for every occasion. Today was his Saturday driving day, so he was in his Saturday driving outfit.

  “Is that a new necklace?” I asked noticing the gaudy gold chain strangling his double chin.

  “Yes, it is! Do you like it?” He was elated that I noticed his new jewelry.

  “Amazing,” I said sarcastically. My sarcasm never bothered him if I was paying him a compliment.

  “But you’re still poor, right?” I asked, annoyed he could buy himself new outfits and wear obnoxious gold jewelry, but always declared how poor he was and that’s why he couldn’t afford child support, or help with school tuition or Moonshine or my sister’s figure skating.

  “It was a gift!” he exclaimed.

  “From who? You have no friends,” I replied.

  “Very funny, you know everyone wants to be my friend, that’s why they are always buying me these nice things!”

  “Right,” I said. “So, can you pay Moony’s board this month?”

  “Nope.”

  “Half?” I bargained.

  “Not possible!” he said gleefully.

  “Can you at least pay for a lesson? It’s sixty dollars.”

  “Too much money!” he let out, as he turned up the music. Unlike my mother, who couldn’t stand my taste in music, my father actually let me listen to my favorite radio stations, maybe because he learned that it sometimes kept me quiet. But today I turned it down.

  “OK, well if you’re so broke, why don’t you pawn your gold chain? I’m sure it’s worth something,” I stated.

  “This was a gift from a friend!” he gasped in horror.

  “Is it more important than me?” I asked.

  “You are a child, you cannot possibly understand,” he stated, as he usually did when he had grown weary of being asked for money.

  “I’m not a child, and I think the problem is that I do understand.”

  “Oh, really?” he was amu
sed.

  “Yeah, really,” I said, getting angry. “I understand Mom is struggling to pay off the house, to pay both of our tuitions, and to pay for riding and figure skating. I also understand that you pay for nothing, you never pay for board even though I always beg you to, and you haven’t paid child support since I was eight!”

  “Enough! You are making me crazy!” he cried out.

  You’re already there, you selfish fucking pig, I seethed.

  __________

  When we arrived at the farm, I leaped out of my father’s car, happy to escape his miserable company. I walked into the barn to find Kim, the barn manager, holding my horse still in the barn aisle, while the vet, Dr. Sheila Danberry, was examining Moonshine’s left front leg.

  “What’s going on?” I asked as I approached Moonshine and petted his nose.

  “Good, you’re here. Here, take your horse. I have to get back to work,” Kim said gruffly, handing me the lead rope.

  “Kim called me this morning because Moony was lame on his right front. It’s not terribly serious,” the vet said when she looked up and saw my face.

  “Moony just has a condition called Navicular Disease,” she said.

  “What’s Navicular Disease?” I asked.

  “There are two bones down here, by his ankle, that are separated by cartilage. But when a horse has Navicular, that cartilage disappears, and the two bones start to wear against each other,” she said.

  My eyes widened at the horrific image of two bones grinding away at each other.

  “You can help Moony by adjusting his shoeing. Instead of regular horseshoes, I would recommend that the farrier put on bar shoes, which look like full ovals, so that he has support on his heels. You should also ask the farrier to put rubber pads between the hoof and the bar shoe, to give Moony more support on the front legs. The hind feet can still be shod with regular shoes, since he only has Navicular in the front. However, you should also keep an eye on the hind legs, since he has arthritis back there,” she advised.

  Great, he has no good legs, I thought. Like I needed another challenge.