As soon as I changed my mindset, Moonshine and I flew through the levels. Most horses struggled for at least a year to learn how to perform pirouettes at the canter. Moonshine learned pirouettes in two months. Most horses took years to learn how to perform piaffe and passage, the most advanced movements in dressage, Moonshine learned piaffe and passage in two months. It took most horses about four to five years, minimum, to learn all of the most advanced dressage movements. Moonshine learned them all that winter.
“Look at you! Pirouettes and piaffe and passage!” Jean exclaimed as she caught the end of one of my workouts that winter.
“Yeah, he’s a good boy,” I said as I patted his neck.
“He’s a superstar!” she emphasized.
__________
When Moonshine and I reached the more advanced levels and began schooling the most difficult movements in dressage, others began to notice us. Our Saturday lessons would draw a small audience. I was perplexed and also flattered that someone else thought they could learn from us. I also noticed that Gunilla was watching.
“Gunilla is bringing over a few horses from Europe, I think you should sit on some and give them a try,” Carol suddenly suggested.
“Why?” I asked. I now had everything I had ever wanted—a horse that knew me inside and out, that did not take advantage of me, and that truly loved me. I had also come to love him more than I had ever thought possible. I couldn’t imagine my life without Moonshine. It wasn’t just that he was now my horse, my partner, my loyal companion; he had become my life, my reason for being. I wanted to make him as happy as he made me. This bond that we had formed convinced me that he was the only horse in the world for me.
“Moonshine can only go so far. You can’t go as far as you want to go with him. He is limited, he’s not a dressage horse, he’s just an Appendix,” she tried to reason.
“But he already has come so far, Carol. We’re schooling almost all of the Grand Prix moves,” I reasoned.
“Yes, but he’s not an Olympic-level horse. Just because he can do the movements doesn’t mean he’s Olympic material. It’s not just being able to do the movements, it’s the quality of the movements and the horse. You need a horse that can match your talent.”
“I don’t think it’s just about talent, Carol. I think anyone can make it if they really want, even if it’s a horse. You know how Moony loves the spotlight, how he puffs up if he knows he’s got a big audience. He’s a show horse,” I countered.
“You’re not listening. I didn’t say he’s not a good show horse, I never said he’s not a good horse. I said he’s just not a talented horse, are you going to argue with that?”
“No, I just think there’s more to it than that,” I argued back.
“OK, how about this—how many Appendix horses did you see at the Olympics in Atlanta?”
“None,” I answered, deflated. I knew had lost.
“Right. Let’s just see what you look like on a warmblood—no strings, no commitments. I’m not telling you to give Moony up. I’m just curious to see how you sit on a warmblood, so just humor me, alright?”
“Fine,” I had to agree.
Gunilla brought back so many horses from Europe that Richard built her a whole new barn. She now had two barns full of her exclusive European imports.
“Hi, Kiddo!” Gunilla greeted me one Saturday. “Listen, I spoke to Carol, and you’re going to ride one of my horses after your lesson on Mr. Moonshine.” I was irritated by the way she referred to my horse, like he was a cute little pony, not a serious dressage contender. I was tempted to correct her, but was sure I would simply end up in an argument trying to defend Moonshine—probably a bad idea, being that she was the farm’s owner.
“OK, which one?” I asked.
“Don’t worry which one, Tracy, my groom will get him ready for you and bring him to you in the indoor, right after your lesson.”
“But what about—” I wanted to know what would happen to Moonshine while I was forced to get on this new horse. But she knew before I asked.
“Don’t worry about Moonshine, she will take him and take excellent care of him, cool him off, untack him, hose him. He’ll be fine without you.”
I did not agree with her last statement, but understood its context, or at least I thought I understood.
After my lesson, Gunilla appeared in the indoor from the office, and Tracy appeared with the new horse. Carol told me she would give me a mini-lesson on the new horse. I hopped out of the saddle and rolled up my stirrups. Moonshine turned his head, not understanding this break in our usual routine—I always walked him for about ten or fifteen minutes to cool him out. He knew I was betraying him.
Tracy brought the new horse to me just then.
“Can you walk Moonshine for about ten or fifteen minutes? He’s still pretty hot and needs to cool down,” I said to Tracy as she appeared.
“Sure,” she said casually. “This is Angelo,” gesturing to the new horse.
“Thanks,” I said as I took his reins and placed Moonshine’s reins in her hands. I turned my back to Moonshine, to try to avoid the questioning look in his eyes. I also knew that he watched me walk away with a new horse and I would have to deal with a jealous, angry horse later.
“Just take your time in getting to know him,” Gunilla called from the center of the arena, where she stood beside Carol. “He is trained to Fourth Level, and you could probably qualify to do Young Riders with him!” she enthused.
I knew Young Riders was a prestigious competition where riders ages 17 to 21 had to qualify at a test that was the equivalent of Fourth Level. The qualification criteria were competitive, and only twenty young riders in the country were invited to compete. Beth had gone twice.
“Moonshine is schooling Fourth Level,” I started.
Gunilla scoffed loudly.
“Ha! Kiddo, there is no way you can do Young Riders with that horse! You need a real horse if you want to go to the real shows.”
Now I was furious. Again she tried to rob me of any hope of achieving greatness with Moonshine, again she was completely ignorant of the incredible progress we had made, not just in the last two years, but also particularly in the last few months. The self-control I had learned to maintain on Moonshine had vanished. I almost felt sorry for this new horse; he was innocent, and did not deserve me and my wrath. But I was overcome with anger now, and incapable of rational thinking. I rode by instinct. I gave the horse forceful cues, and he was accepting. He did not object or even have an opinion. He was submissive and obeyed. It was like sitting on a robot.
“Wow,” I heard from the center of the arena, as well as from the sides, where various spectators had gathered. I imagined it was quite eventful to see anyone other than Gunilla riding her horses, especially when she watched from the ground. As more and more people crowded around the sides of the arena, I realized that besides Tracy, no one else had ever been seen riding one of Gunilla’s horses, not Carol or Beth, or any of the other best riders from the farm.
The more people gathered, the angrier I became that they only came to watch Gunilla’s fancy horse. They didn’t all come to watch Moony; only a handful of people were impressed with Moony’s progress.
This is so unfair, I thought. Just because this horse was born into the right label, he’s automatically ‘better’ than Moony. He’ll never have to work as hard as Moony, and probably never will, and he’ll still always win if he competes against Moonshine.
Sitting on one of Gunilla’s horses, a ‘fancy’ horse, should have been a thrill for a young dressage addict, but it only broke my heart all over again. It reminded me of what people wanted to see—everyone wanted to see the talented horses, and no one had any interest in Moonshine, except me. I still believed Moonshine would be great. He had advanced too quickly, he performed his tests too solidly, and he was too well trained. There was still something I wasn
’t doing to show everyone how extraordinary he was.
“OK, good job, Victoria, come to the middle for a chat,” Carol waved me in.
“So, what do you think?” Gunilla asked, through the widest grin I had ever seen on her face.
“He’s nice,” I said. The horse was indeed a good horse, obedient and polite.
“Nice enough to buy?” Gunilla asked.
“Buy?” I almost choked on the word. “I can’t buy another horse, no way . . .” I began, but Gunilla interrupted me.
“Isn’t your father a lawyer?” she asked.
“Ha!” Now it was my turn to scoff. “He’ll never pay a dime for any horse,” I concluded.
“Not even for a horse like this?” she asked.
“Not for any horse,” I repeated.
“Doesn’t he know you want to go to the Olympics?” she asked.
“Sure, he knows. He just doesn’t care,” I said plainly.
“Can’t be!” she exclaimed.
“Can be,” I corrected. Carol nodded in agreement.
“Bring him to the farm, I will talk to him,” Gunilla decided.
“I don’t really think that’s going to do anything,” I warned.
“You never know until you try,” she said.
“Oh, trust me, I’ve tried!” I almost laughed.
“Well, I haven’t tried,” she ended.
“OK,” I said, my voice rising to warn her of the futility of her new project.
After she turned to head back to the exit, Carol and I exchanged a look of disbelief and anticipation of what we were sure would be a memorable show. Carol and I no longer needed words to communicate—a look was enough.
__________
I called my father every week, asking him to be my designated driver out to the farm. I had my learner’s permit, so I could drive, but I needed a licensed driver to supervise.
“Victoria, are you nuts? It’s winter! It’s too cold! Who rides horses in the winter?” I heard from the other end of the phone.
“You know there’s an indoor,” I grumbled back.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” he exclaimed as he slammed down the phone. Having telephone conversations with him was increasingly irritating because he had a habit of hanging up on me. He was the only person I knew who was fine with not concluding a phone conversation with any kind of “goodbye,” “talk to you later,” or “I love you.” Apparently, I was done talking when he was done listening.
The following weekend I arrived at the farm with my mother, as usual.
Gunilla found me in Moonshine’s stall.
“Where is your father?” she asked, seemingly surprised I had not obeyed a direct order.
“Hibernating,” I replied.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s too cold for him,” I explained.
“Are you kidding me?” I could detect the anger and frustration in her voice.
“Nope, sorry,” I replied, somewhat relieved that someone else was experiencing firsthand what a deadbeat father I had.
“Well, we’ll make the best of it. You can try out all the horses I brought over from Europe, then by the time spring comes, you will know which one you want, and I can have that discussion with your father,” she decided, out loud.
I already had the horse I wanted, but it would still be entertaining to watch Gunilla try to persuade the cheapest man on Earth to indulge his teenage daughter in what he considered a stupid hobby, so I simply agreed with her.
“Alright,” I said with a smile.
“Unbelievable,” I heard her mutter as she walked away.
For the first time, I was somewhat grateful for my father not believing in me, it had at least bought me a few more months of Gunilla being forced to acknowledge Moony as my horse, and stop trying to get me to buy another one.
36
My birthday was in March. I had never been so excited for a birthday. I had taken a driver’s education course after school so that I could get my license when I turned seventeen. My mother was actually looking forward to it as well so that I could drive myself out to the farm, and she could work more. She had observed my driving for the last year as my designated passenger and I had earned her respect with the way I handled myself in heavy traffic, around other drivers’ interesting navigational choices, and in bad weather. I was more comfortable driving than she was, so I drove almost every chance I got since turning sixteen. I was genuinely surprised that she was so calm about such a monumental event in my life; after all, she seemed to get excited over virtually everything. It didn’t matter. I knew what driving meant—freedom. I would be free to go anywhere at any time, or at least whenever she didn’t need the car. Since my mother was the only licensed driver in our household, we only had one car. My grandfather, sister, and I had been totally dependent on her to take us where we needed to go. But that would now change.
“Honey, we need to talk,” she told me a month before my seventeenth birthday, fast approaching in March.
“I know you are excited about driving by yourself, and being able to get to the farm without asking anyone to sit in the car with you, but I will still need the car sometimes.”
“OK, so what are you saying, Mom?” I asked impatiently. I wanted to know what she was getting at.
“Can you please try to talk to your father about helping you get your own car so you can be totally independent? It would be so helpful,” she asked delicately.
“Of course!” I exclaimed, jumping up to hug her. Nothing would have thrilled me more than to be completely independent.
“Are you sure you’re up for it?” she said, apparently remembering the last time I had asked my father for a large sum of money, when I asked him to help in the purchase of Moonshine.
“Yeah!” I let out gleefully. Nothing would stand in the way of my pursuit of total independence. I was willing to do anything. My father hung up on me on a regular basis now, so that no longer bothered me. Petitioning him for money was now almost a hobby, so I was immune to his perpetual rejections. I would just pester him until he couldn’t take it. I had nothing to lose.
I thought I would have fun on my first try, so I called him that night.
“Da,” he answered in Romanian.
“Dad, I need a car,” I said.
“No.” Click.
I laughed.
My mother was in the same room and had correctly guessed the outcome.
“He said no?” she asked.
“Of course, don’t you know what a cheapskate you married?” I teased. I could not stop grinning.
Just as she was beginning a rant, I stopped her to say, “Mom, relax, you didn’t really think he was going to say yes on my first try, did you?”
“That’s what a normal father would do!”
“Well, we already know he’s special,” I joked. Then I said, “Seriously, Mom, don’t worry, I have this soliciting him for money act down to a science. I just bring it up, he rejects me, and then I keep pestering and badgering him until he’s almost out of his mind and starts talking about how he wants to kill himself. Then I tell him not to do that because he would be depriving the world of one of the greatest legal minds in the world.”
She scoffed in disbelief.
“Mom, it might work. He really believes he is the smartest lawyer alive. All I need to do is feed that already massive ego and tell him that if he bought me this car, I would never bother him again because he would never need to sit in the car with me ever again. I would just drive myself out to the farm all the time if I had my own car. Don’t you think he would love that idea? For just a small chunk of change, he would never have to see or hear from me again. He would totally jump at the idea!” I declared.
“Well unfortunately, you might be right. Where did you learn how to do all this scheming and manipulating anyway?”
she asked.
“From the greatest legal mind in the world!” I exclaimed.
She laughed.
__________
I pestered my father for a new car relentlessly. I called him every day, both at home and at work. In the spring, he finally agreed to drive out to the farm with me, I jumped at my chance to nag for the whole hour that I had him trapped in the car. It was one of the few times I actually appreciated living so far away from the farm.
“Dad, I need a car,” I began.
“No.”
“Dad, come on, I have to be able to get out here,” I whined.
“Drive your mother’s car,” he answered.
“Mom won’t always be able to give up her car for the entire weekend. You know she works weekends too,” I explained.
“Victoria, I am not buying you a new car!” he huffed.
“Who said anything about new? I don’t care if it’s new or old, I just want something on four wheels to get me out to the farm,” I stated.
“Well, you still want too much. You want a horse, a car, it’s just too much!” he exclaimed.
“Dad, I don’t want a car just to have a car. I want a car so I can drive myself out to the farm and not have to depend on anybody. Wouldn’t you like it if I stopped calling you to waste your entire Saturday just to drive out to the farm with me?”
“Yes! I would love that!” he declared.
“So then get me a car!” I persisted.
The Tale of the Dancing Slaughter Horse Page 20