The Tale of the Dancing Slaughter Horse

by Shade, Victoria;

  “Ugh, Victoria, you are exhausting,” he sighed.

  __________

  I worked on him tirelessly. I continuously dropped hints that a car for me would make his life easier, and I would stop asking him for things. I told him that most of my classmates’ parents had gotten them brand new cars. He also knew of my infatuation with Beth, and I made him well aware of the fact that her parents bought her a brand new car for her seventeenth birthday.

  When Gunilla saw him at the farm, she pounced. She broke from the conversation she was having with another boarder and approached my father. She greeted me dismissively, “Hi, Victoria,” she said as she brushed past me and went straight to my father.

  “Hello, there,” she began, as she took him by the elbow and led him out of the barn. I watched from Moony’s window as she walked him up the steps into the office.

  Well, here it goes I guess. I knew she was as determined to get my father to buy me a new horse as I was for him to buy me a new car. Having her nag him for a new horse only worked in my favor, though, because he would soon grow tired of being solicited for money and would do anything not to come to the farm anymore—maybe even buy me a car.

  After my ride, I walked back to his car, where he waited, reading the newspaper.

  “Finally,” he said when I got in, as he always did after he had waited for me to finish up with Moonshine.

  “So, did you have a nice chat with Gunilla?” I asked innocently.

  “All you women ever want from me is money, money, money!” he exploded.

  I kept my cool.

  “I can’t take it anymore!” he let out.

  “Well, if I had a car and you didn’t have to drive out to the farm with me, no one would ask you for money,” I said confidently.

  “OK! Alright! I will get you a damn car already! I can’t stand this torture anymore!”

  “Oh, thanks, Dad!” I leaned over to hug him, overdramatizing, but sure he wouldn’t notice. “You’re the best!” I exclaimed.

  “Yeah, when I give you money, I’m the best,” he replied.

  I ignored him, and simply reveled in the fact that my scheme had worked.

  __________

  A month had gone by when I was home one Saturday morning, getting ready to go to the farm, and all of a sudden I heard an unfamiliar car horn being blown relentlessly. I followed the noise to the driveway. I saw my father sitting in a white Jeep Cherokee sport. I burst from the house and ran to the car.

  “Say hello to your new car!” he beamed, as he got out.

  “Oh my God, Dad! This is amazing!” I said as I jumped into the driver’s seat.

  My mother then came out of the house after me, and asked, “What’s all this? What is going on?”

  “I bought the child a car,” my father said, proudly.

  “Dad, thank you so much, thank you!” I gushed from inside the car.

  “Where did you get it?” my mother asked my father, skeptically.

  “New Jersey,” my father answered evasively.

  “Where? Is it new or used?” she asked, suspiciously.

  “The child does not need a brand new car,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Did it pass inspection?” she asked, suspecting that he purchased it for very little money at one of the car auctions he frequented in New Jersey.

  “I just bought it today and drove it here, so you handle those things. But I bought the car for her, not for you, so you better not drive it,” he warned.

  “I am not putting my daughter in a death trap. It has to be safe for driving!” my mother said.

  “Well, I just drove it myself, so it’s safe enough,” he said.

  Just then my sister bounded toward the white car in the driveway.

  “Oh my God, Vicky got a new car?” she exclaimed.

  “Yes, I bought it for her,” my father informed. “Let’s all go out for a spin!”

  Before my mother could object, everyone was in the car. She finally gave in and got in the back seat with my sister. My father was in the passenger seat, as he couldn’t fit in the small back seat.

  I backed it out of the driveway, but when I went to turn, the front wheels didn’t follow the direction of the steering wheel. I kept quiet, knowing that if my mother detected any problems with the car, she would end the ride and take the car away. I managed to wrangle the wheel and not hit any parked cars.

  “Is everything OK, Victoria?” my mother asked, noticing my spastic driving.

  “Yeah, Mom, I’m just not used to driving a Jeep and being so high up. Don’t worry,” I tried to assure her.

  “OK, turn here and let’s go down Union Boulevard,” my father directed.

  “OK,” I said, still trying to adjust to the loose steering wheel.

  I turned down Union Boulevard, where traffic usually traveled at about forty-five mph. The north and south sides of the highway were separated by a concrete divider. My father directed me to the left lane, where traffic was fastest. Just as I entered the left lane and was about to straighten the wheel, I heard a clicking noise come from the steering wheel, and then felt something pop. I turned the wheel slightly to the right to continue traveling straight in the left lane, but the car still drifted to the left. I noticed we were quickly approaching the concrete divider.

  “Oh my God, we’re going to hit the wall!” my sister screamed from behind me in the backseat.

  “Turn, Victoria!” my mother screamed.

  “I can’t!” I shouted.

  “Oh, shit!” I screamed as I turned the wheel as hard as I could to the right, and pushed it down to connect it again. I slammed on the brakes, but we were going too fast to come to a full stop. My new car hit the wall. The car continued to travel forward, and it grazed the wall on my side.

  I had slowed down to about twenty mph and was greeted by angry motorists, shouting and gesturing out of their windows as they passed by.

  I ignored what was going on around me. I pressed the steering wheel down hard to feel it connect again with the rest of the car. I managed to turn it into the middle lane and then the right lane. Then I turned down a local street and pulled over.

  My mother jumped out of the backseat and went to yell at my father in the passenger seat.

  “This is the car you buy for your daughter?” she accused. “How could you? She could have been killed, God forbid! How dare you! What kind of father are you?”

  “Woman, it didn’t do that when I drove it! It’s probably the kid’s bad driving!”

  “You know she is a good driver!” she replied. “Why would you get her a death trap, why?” she continued.

  As they argued, my sister and I also got out. Luckily, the impact on our side of the car wasn’t severe enough to trap us in the car.

  “You OK?” I asked her.

  “Yeah, you?” she asked me.

  “Yeah,” I said. I then inspected the scrape alongside the car. It was sizeable, but not too obvious, given that the car was white to begin with.

  My father hailed a cab to get back to his apartment in the city. My mother went looking for a pay phone to call AAA.

  The Jeep was my mother’s responsibility to repair, as my father would not return her or my own calls after that. She took it to my neighbor’s auto body repair shop, around the corner from our house.

  “Where did you get this piece of trash, a junk yard?” he asked. I was surprised by David’s aggressive tone, he was usually calm and relaxed. I had never seen him so animated.

  “No, her father gave it to her,” she said, gesturing to me.

  “Her father? What kind of father would do that? Do you have any idea how dangerous this car was when I first saw it?” he asked.

  “No, what was wrong with it?” she asked.

  “The alignment was shot! How did you even steer the car?” he asked me.<
br />
  “Not very well!” I said, stifling a laugh.

  “How bad do you want this car?” he asked me.

  “Really bad,” I said.

  “OK, then I’ll need at least another week,” he said to my mother.

  “Thank you, David,” my mother said.

  Within a week, I had my car. The steering wheel now controlled the front wheels. My mother, however, still did not trust the car completely, so she insisted on driving with me in it for at least a month until she was sure it was safe.

  37

  That month, Carol suggested that I submit an application for one of the Young Rider clinics, with Conrad Schumacher, a renowned German trainer.

  “Are you sure I’m good enough to apply?” I asked her.

  “I know you’re good enough—you and Moonshine,” she replied.

  “No, I mean advanced enough?” I clarified.

  “The selection criteria aren’t only based on show scores, Victoria. They’re also based on recommendations of each rider’s ability, potential, commitment, and experience,” Carol said.

  “Yeah, but the primary factors are show scores, right?” I asked.

  “I suppose,” she replied.

  I knew that would diminish my chances.

  “Just send in the application. Stop being such a pessimist, you never know how something will work out unless you try,” she said, slightly frustrated.

  “OK,” I said, not believing I had a chance to take a lesson from one of the most well-known Olympic trainers in the world.

  I nonetheless took the application from her, filled it out that night, and dropped it in the mail the next morning.

  The next day, Carol told me that since Moonshine and I were progressing so smoothly and would soon be competing at the higher levels of dressage, that I would need new equipment.

  “First, you need a double bridle. They’re pretty expensive, so until you can put together enough cash to buy one, you can borrow my old one,” she generously offered.

  “Thanks, Carol!” I was relieved.

  “The only problem will be finding the right bit,” she cautioned. “Since Moony is smaller than most warmbloods, finding a Weymouth bit small enough to fit his mouth might be tricky. I don’t think they sell pony-sized dressage bits, but you should look into it.”

  Finding a bit small enough for Moonshine’s mouth was tricky. None of the tack stores around the farm sold pony sized dressage bits. I also called some of the catalogs and none of them had pony sized dressage bits. So, I bought the smallest horse size dressage bit and crossed my fingers while I waited for it in the mail.

  Meanwhile, the mailman brought me an unexpected package from the United States Dressage Federation.

  “We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as one of the eight young rider participants in the spring Conrad Schumacher Young Rider Clinic series.”

  My mouth dropped open. I looked up at my mother, watching me with hopeful eyes.

  “I got into the clinic,” I said softly.

  “Oh my God!” my mother burst as she hugged me tightly.

  When she finished hugging me, she called Ava to share the good news.

  When she was done gushing to my godmother, she suggested calling Carol and letting her know.

  “Mom, she’s probably riding or teaching, we can tell her on the weekend,” I tried to calm her.

  But she had already dialed the number and was waiting for an answer on the other line.

  Jane, the secretary, answered.

  “Jane, hello, this is Victoria’s mother,” she started.

  I was amused by the fact that not only did everyone else at the farm identify my mother as “Victoria’s mom,” rather than by her first name, but that is how she now identified herself as well to people at the farm.

  “Is Carol around?” she continued.

  There was a pause.

  “OK, well then, please tell her that Victoria got into the clinic!” she gushed.

  “Thank you!” she said as she hung up the phone.

  That weekend, Carol congratulated me as soon as I saw her.

  “See? You never know until you try!” she said as she winked at me.

  “I still can’t believe they picked us.”

  “You’ll do great. Just give it your all in those lessons and don’t take everything he says to heart,” she warned.

  “They might ask you to ride in a double bridle. Have you found one yet?” she asked.

  “I ordered the smallest horse size Weymouth bit I could find. I couldn’t find pony-size Weymouth bits,” I informed her.

  “Well, hopefully it arrives before the clinic, you need some time getting used to riding Moony in a double bridle before you go to this clinic,” she said.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I get it,” I said.

  Two weeks later, my bit arrived. I brought it to Carol for her to examine before I latched it into the double bridle she had given me. She walked with me to Moony’s stall so that she would be the first one to put it on him and be able to adjust the straps.

  “Hmmm,” she said frowning, as she looked at it from both sides of my horse’s mouth.

  “What’s wrong with it?” I asked.

  “Well, you see how I can fit in two fingers between his mouth and the end of the bit on each side of his head?” she asked as she demonstrated.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “That means it’s too big,” Carol said.

  My heart sank. This was the smallest bit available and it was still too big. Moonshine had the typical Quarter horse nose—small and delicate.

  “Do you think I can ride with it anyway?” I asked hopefully.

  “You can definitely try. Just try not to hold the curb rein—try to hold onto the snaffle rein instead. Maybe if he doesn’t feel the curb, the fact that it doesn’t really fit won’t bother him too much,” she said optimistically.

  “Worth a shot,” I said.

  Moonshine did not need much time to adjust to the double bridle; most other horses required at least a month to get used to such new equipment. I was thrilled that Moonshine was still improving, despite the fact that I was asking him to work at his best in ill-fitting equipment.

  Then it was time to go to the clinic, which would be held at the United States Equestrian Team headquarters in Gladstone, New Jersey. I was familiar with the headquarters, having already been there last year, to watch the US Olympic trials. Moonshine would be stabled in the same historic barn as my idols when they competed here last year. I was also excited because the Young Rider participants were going to stay in the grooms’ quarters above the barn, for the duration of the three-day event. I was thrilled that I would be so close to Moonshine, instead of always being an hour away. I could be with him whenever I wanted, all hours of the day, with no other obligations or time limitations to take me away. Nora had a two-horse trailer, so she drove Moonshine down, with my mother and I following behind her. My mother did not trust the Jeep, so we took her station wagon. She also would not stay; she had to stay home with my sister, sick grandfather, and dogs.

  __________

  Since my grandmother had passed away, my grandfather had deteriorated. He had been overweight for as long as I had known him, but now he looked gaunt, with hollow cheeks, and his big belly had vanished. He was quiet most of the time now, which was a drastic difference from how loud he often was in the frequent arguments he had with my grandmother. I was always intrigued by the fact that they had been married for most of their lives, but seemed to be able to communicate only in explosive argument. And yet, for all the years I had known them, they were always near each other; if they weren’t in the same room, they would be soon. I realized after my grandmother passed away, and my grandfather seemed to cease existing, that they had not intensely hated each other at all; they had i
nstead been bonded by so many degrees of intensity—love, passion, hatred, friendship, and partnership.

  38

  On the drive down to New Jersey, my mother asked me, “Are you sure you will be OK, all by yourself?”

  “Mom, please, are you kidding me?” I said.

  I was extremely excited to be on my own, even if it would only be for two nights and three days.

  “I’ll be fine, I’ll be in the grooms’ quarters with all the other riders. I won’t be alone, don’t worry,” I assured her.

  She smiled with relief.

  Finally, we arrived at the USET headquarters. As we drove down the long driveway to the barn, I saw the same competition arena that I had seen the year before. Then, I saw the entrance of the historic barn just in front of it. I had not noticed it before, maybe because there were so many tents and banners at the Olympic trials last year. It looked magnificent, and I thought it would make a beautiful picture. I was glad that I had packed so many disposable cameras; I would take pictures of Moony standing in the threshold of the barn, and then at the entrance of the arena.

  Nora parked the trailer in front of the barn, and I backed Moony down the ramp and out of the trailer as soon as she opened it. Moonshine looked to his left, then to his right, to take in his new surroundings, as he always did when I took him to a show. Then he started toward the barn, perhaps smelling the other horses, or maybe he knew that was where he needed to go anyway. As we entered the barn, he stopped. The floor was unlike any other floor either of us had seen—it was made of peachy-yellow cobblestone. The stalls were shiny waxed wood on the bottom and had dark green bars. The corners of the stalls had brass posts. It was the most beautiful barn I had ever seen.

  “Hi, who are you?” I was greeted immediately by a woman who was helping to set up.

  “I’m Victoria, and this is Moonshine,” I said.

  “Oh, great, you’re right here, in the corner stall,” she said.

  I knew Moony would love this stall—it was in the middle of the barn, amidst all of the action. It was across from the wash stall, so he could watch horses getting bathed, and it was just in front of the main entrance, so he could watch people and horses coming and going. I knew he was extremely curious, and being able to watch everything was perfect for him. As I led him into the stall, I was impressed by its massive size. It was almost twice the size of his stall at home. I was glad that I brought extra bags of shavings with me. Nora helped me unload the shavings, bales of hay, and tack trunk from her trailer, while my mother grabbed a bucket and filled it with water for Moony to drink.