Then Nora left to beat the rush hour traffic, and my mother hurried to follow in her car, as she was sure to get lost if she tried to go back without a guide to lead her. She was terrible with directions.
“Are you sure you’re going to be fine?” she asked me again.
“Mom, I’m sure, just go already!”
“OK, here is your bag,” she said, handing me my suitcase. “Can you call me tonight?” she asked, worried.
“Ugh, do I have to?” I whined. I didn’t want to stay connected to reality, I wanted to completely immerse myself in this new world where it was just me and my horse.
“I would really feel better if you did. Just a quick five minutes so I know you are OK,” she bargained.
“Fine,” I said, giving in.
Then she kissed me on my forehead and left. Now it was just me and Moonshine. I set up his stall while he inspected what I was doing, sticking his nose over my shoulder as I set up his water buckets, nuzzling my back as I set down some hay. I knew he would be easily distracted by food and I could continue with my chores without him shadowing me. I ran my hands up and down the walls of the stall, to make sure there were no loose nails to hurt him, as I always did when I put him in a new stall. Then I threw down all of the shavings I had. I knew he would love this part and roll in the new shavings. I was right. As soon as he saw a pile of clean, fresh shavings in the middle of the stall, he was down, rolling around in them. I think one of his favorite parts of going to shows was the fun of rolling around in fresh shavings.
“Moony, you’re such a little freak,” I said as he thrashed the shavings around and covered himself in the big white flakes. At least he saved me the job of having to spread them around with a pitchfork.
“Someone’s a happy camper,” another rider’s mother said as she passed by, catching a glimpse of Moonshine’s hooves in the air.
“Yeah, he loves to roll,” I said, smiling.
Then he got up and shook off the excess shavings, like a wet dog drying itself.
“Happy now?” I asked him. I always talked to him like he was a person. I was convinced he understood everything I said. He grunted and then blew his nose at me.
“Thanks, Moon,” I said, checking my shirt to see if he had gotten me this time. He hadn’t. I knew this meant, “You can leave me alone now, I’m eating.” He liked to be left alone when he ate, so I headed to my room upstairs.
On my way to the staircase leading up to the sleeping quarters where the riders would stay, my eye caught the other barn entrance—the one I had seen from the driveway, with the main competition arena in front of it. I dropped my bag and was pulled in by the magnificent sight. The historic barn had an elegant vaulted entrance right out to the main arena. I stood in the opening, and saw Moonshine and me in the ring.
I walked slowly onto the sand; it was still wet from all of the rain we had been getting that spring. The bleachers where I sat the year before at the Olympic trials were gone, but I knew where they were supposed to be, to the right. I knew the exact spot where I sat, watching the competition. I looked in that direction, and then back to the center of the arena. This is what those competitors saw when they came in here—the audience to the right, the arena straight ahead. I wanted to see what they saw just before they set foot in this ring.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The air was damp and cold, unlike the hot and humid air I remembered from the day of the Olympic trials. The show grounds were so different now. There were no tents, vendors, or crowds. It was empty. But, we had made it here. Moony and I were still going to ride in exactly the same place that I saw the best riders in the country compete for a spot on the Olympic team. I was standing where history was made. I knew we were just at a Young Riders’ clinic, and this event was nothing compared to the Olympic trials, but we were still here, at the United States Equestrian Team headquarters, and we had earned the right to be here. I got lost in the pride I had in my horse—the horse that everyone dismissed as useless and worthless, was the horse that brought me here, to the USET.
“Hey, are you going up to check out the rooms?” I was pulled out of my daydream by a loud voice behind me.
“Yeah, I was just headed up there,” I said, as I saw the owner of the voice, another young rider like myself, but with blond, curly, unruly hair.
“Let’s go check it out! I’m Katie,” she said, extending her hand.
“I’m Victoria,” I said as I shook her hand.
She went up the spiral staircase first. This was my first time on a spiral staircase. It went up in the middle of the barn. We were one floor above our horses, and the top floor was perfect. It had a main room, a few bedrooms at the end, and a bathroom.
“Wow,” I said.
“Pretty cool, right?” she said in agreement.
“Yeah, you would never think there was a barn downstairs,” I said. I was tickled by the thought that I would be sleeping just upstairs from Moonshine. For the first time, I would be able to see him at whatever time of day I pleased.
“I’ll take this room,” she said, throwing her bag on the bed in the first bedroom.
“I’ll take the one across,” I said, setting my bag down beside the bed. I looked out through the window—it was the same scene by which I had just been mesmerized—the show ring.
“Is your trainer here?” she asked.
“No, she’s coming tomorrow,” I said.
“Yeah, mine too. She’s so busy,” she said.
“Yep,” I agreed. This girl was nice, but I had had enough socializing and wanted to be back in the barn.
“OK, well I’m going to get my horse and ride,” I said.
“Cool. I already rode. You should ride in the indoor, it’s so wet out there,” she advised.
“I know. How’s the footing inside?” I asked.
“It’s good,” she replied.
We headed back down the spiral staircase to the barn.
__________
I walked up and down the aisles, looking for a wheelbarrow. As I walked down one end, I saw the horses in the stalls, all bigger than Moonshine. There was no wheelbarrow at that end, so I turned around and walked all the way down the aisle to the other end of the barn. Again, the stalls were filled with huge, dark horses.
They’re all warmbloods, I thought.
I finally found a wheelbarrow and cleaned Moonshine’s stall before I tacked him up.
As I worked him, he felt just as solid and reliable as he did when we were working at home. Nothing seemed to faze or excite him. I didn’t work him too hard, as Carol had taught me to save the energy for the show, and not use it all up on the warm up day. I decided that for a cool-down, we should walk around the competition ring, just in case the weather would be nice that weekend and the clinic would be moved outside. I couldn’t resist rationalizing the need to walk around this ring, when I really just wanted to indulge my fantasy.
I expected Moony to step proudly onto the sand where so many famous horses had competed. It didn’t take his breath away. Instead, he kept his head down, and simply ambled straight down the middle. I again looked to my right, and instead of seeing the emptiness that was actually there, I saw the bleachers, the flags, the audience. I heard the cheers, the announcers, the scores. Moonshine did one lap around the ring and headed for the barn. I knew he wanted to get back to his stall and finish his hay. All this horse ever wanted to do was eat. He picked up the pace when he realized I wasn’t going to steer him away from the exit; I looked back at the ring and saw Moonshine’s hoofprints—they had formed a perfect teardrop in the wet sand.
__________
That evening, the clinic organizers had arranged for all of us young riders to dine upstairs in the main room and get to know each other. They also wanted to give us the ride schedule and let us know what to expect.
“For those of you who have never par
ticipated in a clinic before, you should know that certain things will be expected of you. First, this is a learning experience. You should make every effort to learn as much as you can. So, when you are not riding, you should be watching. You can learn a lot from watching each other’s rides. Second, do not be late. This is a German trainer, with German punctuality. Give yourselves enough time to warm up and be ready to go as soon as your lesson starts. Finally, tomorrow we will dine with Mr. Schumacher, at both lunch and dinner. You will have the opportunity to ask him questions. Your parents and trainers are invited to attend the lunch. He will give a lecture on dressage principles. The dinner is just with Mr. Schumacher and you guys. Be polite and professional, keeping in mind that he works with Olympians,” the organizers instructed.
My new friend Katie looked at me and rolled her eyes. I smiled in response.
At the end of the talk, the ride schedules were passed around. I had a perfect ride time—three o’clock in the afternoon. This would give me a chance to watch some of the morning rides and get a feel for the new trainer. It would also give my mother enough time to get here, factoring in time for her to get lost and find her way. I also hoped Carol would be able to make it.
__________
The next morning, I got up early and went down to the barn to give Moony his morning hay and grain, fill his water buckets, and muck his stall while he ate. He still didn’t like it when I was in his stall while he ate, keeping his ears pinned back, and whipping me in the face with his tail when I was near his hindquarters. But I was pressed for time. The clinic would start in fifteen minutes and I did not want to be late to watch the first ride. I quickly cleaned his stall while he ate, dumped the wheelbarrow, and headed to the restroom to wash up. I then grabbed coffee and a bagel from the breakfast table and went to the indoor arena. I was one of the first to sit down in the bleachers.
I spotted Katie and sat down next to her.
“Hey, how’s it going?” she asked, as she watched the first rider warming up.
“Good, you?” I replied.
“Good,” she said as she sipped her orange juice.
Precisely at 8:00 a.m., an imposing figure entered the arena. He was massive—he stood about six feet four inches, with broad shoulders and a heavy build. His voice was deep, as I expected, and he had the heaviest German accent I had ever heard. He had deep blue eyes and not one of his dark gray hairs was out of place.
“Good morning, young lady. Come to the center please, I would like to meet you,” he said.
They chatted briefly and then the lesson began. He was demanding, animated, strict, and he forced her to be precise. He was unforgiving, pushing her physically until she was bright red in the face. Her horse breathed so heavily it seemed to hyperventilate. It was still cold in the morning, but the horse was dripping sweat within ten minutes, and was foaming on his neck, where the reins lay. After ten minutes, the instructor gave them a break. The break was short and they resumed the work. She had two chances to do what he said, when she didn’t do as she was told on the third try, he exploded.
“I SAID KEEP YOUR LEG ON, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? ARE YOU ASLEEP UP THERE?” he shouted forcefully into the microphone, which was connected to speakers all around the arena. This stung all of our ears and spooked the horse—he bolted to the other side of the arena.
Katie and I exchanged looks. I realized that if he was this tough on a rider with a talented dressage horse, he would be ruthless with me and Moonshine. Katie also didn’t have one of the more talented horses at the event, so she was probably thinking the same thing.
The next rider came in with another lovely horse. That was irrelevant to the German. He was still demanding and unrelenting. After repeating the same instruction to the rider several times, he exploded: “You do not deserve this horse! He is too good for you! You had better find another hobby!” Now everyone in the audience was exchanging looks. I felt pained for the girl. I saw tears in her eyes as she left the arena at the end of her lesson.
The German went even further with the third equestrian. After explaining to her that her horse was a hundred times more capable than she could ever hope to be, he instructed her to dismount. We all looked at each other, wondering what his next step would be. He walked to the horse and rider, took the reins from her, and put his foot in the stirrup. He hoisted himself onto her horse. The horse was visibly agitated by the extra weight on its back; the man was easily an extra hundred pounds of weight. Nevertheless, the horse obediently complied with his new rider’s orders. After about ten minutes of working the horse, he stopped and brought the horse back to its owner.
“Now, get on and feel how it should feel. Try to memorize the feeling before you ruin it,” he instructed.
By now Carol had arrived. She spotted me in the audience and made her way to the free spot on the bench to my right.
“So, how’s it going?” she asked.
“He’s going to tear us apart,” I muttered.
Katie smiled sympathetically.
“Why?” Carol inquired.
“You’ll see,” I said.
He continued to berate his third victim of the day, and Carol fell silent.
At the end of her lesson, the lunch break was announced. Everyone was invited to the lunch lecture.
“What time do you ride?” Carol asked me.
“Three,” I answered.
“I’m right after lunch,” Katie said.
“If you need to leave early to tack up, I’ll let you know if you miss anything good,” I offered.
“Thanks,” she replied.
As we walked through the barn, I saw that the girls who had ridden that morning were still in tears. They were huddled in corners, bent over tack trunks or bales of hay to hide their grief. I genuinely felt sorry for them, and also dreaded that I would soon share their fate.
The lunch lecture was highly informative. The German was knowledgeable and provided lucid explanations of dressage principles.
He also provided a brief instruction, complete with diagrams, on the ideal dressage horse’s conformation. He showed how the croup, or hind end, had to be at least level with the first half of the horse, so that the horse can rock back and take more weight on his haunches as he accepted the higher degrees of collection required in the more advanced levels of the sport. He noted that certain horses are impossible to ride in dressage. I had read certain articles of other famous trainers who had said that any horse can do dressage, regardless of breed and conformation. I sided with that camp of dressage experts. But then he explained why dressage is impossible for some horses.
“Thoroughbred horses, for example, are bred to run, to be fast. Therefore, they are bred to have longer hind legs than any other horse in the world. Having much longer hind legs makes it virtually impossible for them to rock back on those long legs and accept the higher degrees of collection.”
“Is that true?” I whispered to Carol.
“Don’t worry about it. And Moony’s only half Thoroughbred anyway,” she encouraged.
Katie got up and rushed out to prepare for her lesson. I wished her good luck and hoped that the German wouldn’t annihilate her and her horse. If he had been so brutal on the girls with the beautiful horses, how would he react to Katie and me, the only ones at the event with homely horses?
__________
After the lunch break, we all piled out back to the indoor arena. Katie was still warming up, and as soon as she saw Mr. Schumacher enter the arena, she went over to introduce herself and tell him about herself and her horse. He was just as demanding of her as he was with all of the other girls, but in his final review at the end of her ride, he actually praised her. I was a combination of surprised, thrilled, and relieved. He didn’t chastise her because she had shown up on a non-warmblood horse. I hoped that he would take it easy on Moony and me.
Then my mother showed up and sat down nex
t to Carol and me.
“Hi honey, how are you? Did you eat? Did you sleep well?” she began.
“Hi, Mom; everything is fine. I actually have to go and get Moony ready now, though,” I said.
“But you don’t ride for another hour,” she interjected.
“Yeah, but I have to make sure he’s clean, and all warmed up before my time,” I said.
“OK, good luck,” she said.
“Good luck, Victoria,” Carol repeated.
“Thanks,” I said as I headed back to the barn.
Moonshine was fine, relaxed and calm, as usual. I loved how mentally sturdy he was, I hardly ever saw him rattled, even when all the other horses around him were excited. And I knew exactly what mattered most to him—food. He was always content if he had food. He did not need my undivided attention at all hours of the day. At an event like this, where I had to be away from him except when I had to ride, I was extraordinarily grateful for his independent nature.
“Moony! Time to ride!” I called in his direction as I approached his stall.
His head popped up and his ears flew forward. The shape of his ears always amused me. They were little, a common characteristic of Quarter horses, but they were slightly crooked, so that when he perked them straight up, they actually inverted a little inward, making them look like devil horns, as my mother often said.
“Hi Moony monster,” I said as I opened the stall door and patted him on the neck.
He took this opportunity to shove me in my belly, his favorite greeting. He always had to make the point that he was the boss.
I groomed him until his dark coat was gleaming. I also sprayed him with a little shine spray to make him extra shiny. Then it was time to put the white polo wraps on his legs, then the white saddle pad, the saddle, and then finally, the double bridle. He only wore white for shows and special occasions, like this clinic.
The Tale of the Dancing Slaughter Horse Page 22