“Be good a good boy, OK?” I told him as I fastened the straps on the bridle.
I led him outside, to the competition arena, where I warmed him up for fifteen minutes. Five minutes before my ride time, I headed to the indoor arena.
__________
At the conclusion of the previous lesson, Mr. Schumacher gestured for me to come over to him.
“Come here, young lady,” he ordered.
“Hello, I am Conrad Schumacher,” he said as he extended his hand for a handshake.
I removed my glove, as my mother had instructed me to do a long time ago, having told me it was rude to shake another’s hand with my glove still on. He smiled as I took off the glove and leaned over to shake his hand.
“Hi, I’m Victoria,” I said.
“What breed is this horse?” he asked.
Great, cutting right to the chase, I thought.
“Appendix,” I replied.
“Vas ist that?” he asked in his thick German accent.
“Half Thoroughbred, half Quarter horse,” I replied, bracing myself for a torrent of insults.
“What? A Thoroughbred!” he exclaimed, slightly horrified, slightly amused. “Thoroughbreds are not dressage horses,” he continued. “Do you know you cannot do dressage with a Thoroughbred, young lady?” he asked.
“I know I can try,” I replied, before I realized what was coming out of my mouth.
I heard some scoffs and muffled giggles from the audience. I knew it was probably a mistake to retaliate so assertively to such a famous trainer, but sometimes words slipped out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying.
“Ha! You sure can try!” he repeated.
“So, good, go and try to pick up the rising trot, please,” he ordered, commencing the lesson.
He pushed Moony and me to our limits. Despite the crisp spring air, I was sweating from every pore of my body. I felt sorry that I was pushing Moony so hard, harder than I had ever asked him to go. But I had no choice, I had to comply with the German’s commands.
“Keep your hands together, stop shaking, keep them still!” he ordered.
I had never noticed that my hands shook, but glancing down a few times, I noticed that my left one did vibrate frequently. It seemed to be doing it on its own, like it wasn’t a part of me. Nevertheless, I willed it to stop and be still.
“What are you looking at?” he shouted into the microphone.
I don’t know why a man this loud had a microphone, he really didn’t need one.
“Look UP! Look where you are going!” he shouted, animated.
“Now your hands again! Egh! Concentrate, young lady! Keep your hands still!” he commanded.
“The left hand is out of control!” he bellowed.
I was trying hard to keep my left hand still, but it refused to hold the rein steady, like my right hand.
I could feel Moony tense up slightly any time the loud voice screamed through the speakers. I tried to keep my back relaxed, so that he would relax in his back as well. But I was being yelled at by a famous trainer in front of a sizable audience, which included my own trainer. For me, though, when I was highly agitated or upset, the first emotion to surface was always anger.
“Your left hand is a disaster!” he roared, in his thick German accent.
That’s the last time I hear anything about my stupid left hand, you crazy German, I thought, now furious.
I continued looking up and straight ahead through Moony’s ears, but I imagined there was now an invisible rope that tied my hands together. My two hands became one entity. Instead of asking Moony to bend left with my left rein, I asked him to bend with my left leg. I was grateful to Carol for teaching me how to control Moony with my whole body, and not just my hands. I was grateful for all of the lunge lessons she gave me where she forced me to learn how to control my horse with just my seat. Now I realized what an extraordinary trainer I had. “Better,” he said calmly, through the speakers.
Then the lesson was over, and I went to the middle to receive my review. I was surprised that he did not begin with Moony and how unsuitable he was for dressage.
“You are a good rider, but you need to work on keeping your left hand still. You have talent, but if you want be a dressage rider, you had better find a dressage horse,” he said, as he petted Moony’s neck with his massive hand.
I wanted to tell him that I already had a dressage horse and to get his hand off my horse, but I reconsidered.
__________
I walked back to the barn, somewhat dejected, but not feeling as discouraged as I thought I would. I definitely was nowhere near shedding a tear over what this big trainer thought. I was more irritated than anything else. But I put my emotions on hold to fawn over Moony a little bit, after all, he had worked his heart out for me, and I was really grateful for that.
“You were such a good boy,” I said, as I dismounted and petted his neck. Then he shoved me sideways with his head. I knew this meant, “I don’t need to hear it, I know I was good, just give me my carrots.”
Then Carol and my mother appeared in the barn.
“You did great!” Carol beamed.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Yes, honey, you were fantastic!” my mother gushed.
“What did you think?” Carol asked. She usually liked to discuss rides and events for my impression and so that we could exchange ideas and work on issues in our subsequent lessons.
“He’s wrong about Moony, how he said that he’s not a dressage horse. There are so many people who made it without warmbloods,” I started, still angry.
“OK, what did you think about the lesson, do you feel that you learned anything?” she asked, still smiling.
“I didn’t know my left hand was so bad,” I started.
“We’ll work on that,” she said.
“What else?” she asked.
Then we fell into a detailed discussion, theorizing about the dressage principles introduced at the lunch break, and how they applied to Moonshine and me. We continued our talk as I untacked Moonshine. Then it was time for me to hose him off, and Carol said she had to be off, but that she would come back tomorrow to watch my lesson.
I also told my mother she could go home, because I was fine on my own. She looked at me quizzically, to which I responded, “Just go, Mom! I’m fine, really!”
Then she kissed me and said she would be back the following day.
I missed the last lesson of the day, spending the hour with Moonshine, making sure he was cooled off and clean. Then I cleaned my tack before the sweat and foam could dry on the leather. Lastly, I looked for a spot to hang my soaked saddle pad.
Before I knew it, an hour had passed and the first day of the clinic was over. Everyone gathered in the barn. I noticed that all of the riders had red and wet eyes except for Katie and me. I was not expecting that, and found it slightly humorous that the two girls with the least talented horses were the only ones who had not shed a tear that day.
We had an hour until the dinner. I dumped Moony’s grain in his bucket, threw him some hay and headed upstairs to wash up. I loved this part, just going upstairs to get cleaned up, not having to sit in the car for an hour until I could shower. I also loved that I could see Moony again after dinner.
__________
The dinner was just for us juniors and Mr. Schumacher. I jumped at my chance to pick his brain while he ate, hoping he would be more content if he was eating, and give me the answers I wanted to hear. If I could convince my cheap father to buy me a car, I could surely convince this German that my horse could be a serious dressage contender.
“Mr. Schumacher, I have a question about my lesson today,” I began matter-of-factly.
“Yes? What is your question?” he said pleasantly through his accent.
“It was about what you said about Thoro
ughbreds not being able to do dressage,” I continued.
“Ach, ja, you are die girl mit das Thoroughbred horse, nicht?” he said, slipping in some German.
“Yes,” I replied, somewhat dejected that he had identified me, apparently from his “hopeless” category. “You have a good horse,” he said.
I was shocked. I thought he hated Moonshine!
“He is well trained, and he is very responsive to you. He has a strong will to work, which is valuable for a horse to have,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, bursting with pride.
“But he is still just a Thoroughbred horse, young lady. He cannot go far at all,” he started.
I was deflated.
“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to ask you about,” I said. “There are lots of people who don’t have warmblood horses who do end up going very far,” I persisted.
“Maybe in dis country, but not in Germany,” he scoffed. He didn’t care at all that he was in a room full of Americans. He was perfectly fine with reminding us that Germans are the best in dressage.
“Well, there have been Thoroughbreds who have gone to the Olympics,” I said, grateful that I knew my dressage history.
“Ha! Maybe a hundred years ago. But not now! As I told you before, if you want to be a dressage rider, you must get yourself a dressage horse. You cannot do dressage with a racehorse!” he insisted.
“OK, thanks,” I said, even though I was ungrateful for his feedback.
I slunk back in my seat beside Katie; I knew she had overheard my entire conversation with the German.
“Just forget about it,” she whispered, “let it go.”
But I couldn’t and wouldn’t let it go. I was grateful that I had two more days to prove to him how wrong he was about my horse. Moony wasn’t limited by his breeding, he had no limitations at all.
__________
The following day, the German was just as demanding on all of us riders as he was on the first day, but apparently most of the participants had grown a thicker skin overnight, as fewer tears were shed. I was also a lot less nervous. Maybe it was because I knew what he had to say now, and that he thought Moonshine and I had no chance of being a successful competitive team. Or maybe I was still fuming over what he told me the day before. I still rode my heart out, though, trying to force him to eat his words and recognize that Moonshine was a dressage horse, despite his conformation and breeding.
“Good job today, young lady,” he said as he ended the lesson and petted my horse on the neck.
See, Moonshine can do it, I thought.
I was fully satisfied and gave Moony extra carrots that night.
Sunday was the last day of the clinic. I was ready to make this German rescind his initial comments and recognize that my horse truly was a legitimate dressage contender. That morning, the organizers told me that I would ride earlier than my previously scheduled ride time because some of the other girls had gone home early.
I looked around the barn, incredulous. It was true, the three horses that had been stabled around Moonshine were now gone.
Just then Katie walked by.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” she said, flashing a bright smile.
“Some girls left early?” I asked her.
“I guess so,” she replied as she walked to her horse’s stall at the other end of the barn.
I called Nora to tell her that if she wanted to pick Moonshine up earlier than I had previously told her, I would be ready to go. I also called my mother to tell her that my ride time had been moved up. I didn’t call Carol because she had told me she wouldn’t be able to make it down for the final day of the clinic.
On the last day, the clinic was moved outside, to the show ring. I was delighted. Bleachers were set up to the right of the arena, as they had been for the Olympic trials the year before. By the time I had to ride, the audience had filled all of the seats that were set up outside. The final lesson was just as demanding as the first two. Mr. Schumacher pushed Moonshine and me until we were again breathing heavily and dripping with sweat. I did notice a dramatic improvement in Moonshine, though. He was crisper in his executions, longer in his extensions, rounder, and straighter in his general movement. Even though I disagreed with Mr. Schumacher’s final assessment of my horse’s potential, I was grateful for the improvement that he had brought out in both of us.
“It was a pleasure working with you, young lady,” he said at the end of my lesson.
“Likewise, Mr. Schumacher, thank you for the lessons,” I replied.
“I hope to see you again—on a dressage horse,” he ended.
I kept my mouth shut and forced a smile.
Don’t pick a fight on the last day, don’t pick a fight, I coached myself.
39
The following weekend, in my lesson with Carol, she asked me what I thought of the clinic. I knew what she wanted to hear.
“It was a good learning experience,” I said professionally.
I could tell from the way she raised her eyebrow that she didn’t believe me.
“Yeah, why?”
“Umm. I learned a lot?” I asked. I might as well not even try to hide it now.
“What specifically did you learn?” she pressed.
“That my left hand is a disaster!” I bellowed in a fake German accent.
She laughed.
I was relieved that I had thought of a clever way to get out of a sticky situation with my trainer.
“Here’s what I think,” she started. “I think it was good exposure for you. It was good for you to ride in front of so many people, and in front of someone so famous. Now you’ll see that Germans aren’t the best just because they have some magic potion that they feed their horses and riders. They are the best because they ride to their absolute limits. They push themselves to perfection. I think you might realize that what you thought was perfect before, is actually only good now. That might explain that just because you can do a movement doesn’t mean everything when you compete. The key is how well you execute the movement. How round and straight is your horse? Are you maintaining the same rhythm for the entire ride? How perfect is your position? It’s not just about doing a shoulder in or flying change, it’s about how harmonious and easy that movement looks. Does that make sense?” she explained.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Are you just saying that or do you really get it?” she asked.
“I get it now,” I assured her.
“OK, so we’ll pick up where he left off,” she said as she began the lesson.
__________
Shortly after that clinic with Mr. Schumacher, I learned that I would compete in that year’s United States Equestrian Team’s Festival of Champions—the very same competition that had hosted the US Olympic Trials the previous year, to be held again at very same USET headquarters in Gladstone, New Jersey!
When Carol first told me the news, I thought I was invited to participate as some sort of exhibition junior rider, not participating in the actual competition; the competition was a prestigious event that drew the most advanced and qualified riders from the entire country. There was no way I had qualified to compete in the main event or even the juniors’ division because my scores had been consistently mediocre. I asked Carol how it was possible that I had been invited to compete at the Festival of Champions—a national competition.
“You qualified,” she simply said.
“How? I never get good scores,” I said.
“Like the clinic, it’s not just based on scores. They want to show off consistent junior riders, and I guess they looked at all the shows you’ve done and then word got out about how well you did at the clinic . . .”
I had a feeling that meant that Gunilla had made a call to the United States Dressage Federation and recommended that I represent Junior riders. It was a new youth
division that targeted younger riders than the Young Riders. The Juniors’ test would be the equivalent of Third Level, while the Young Riders’ test was a more advanced test, similar to Prix St. Georges. However, both youth riding divisions would be sponsored by the FEI—International Equestrian Federation—which meant that I would compete in the FEI uniform. I would compete in a top hat instead of a helmet, shadbelly coat instead of the plain short coat, and mandatory white gloves. The horse was required to be in a double bridle, rather than the simpler snaffle bridle. When Carol told me about the required apparel, I was delighted.
“Oh, and I’m riding in the open division, so we’ll trailer down there together,” she added.
“Really? You’re competing too? It’ll just be the two of us going down there?” I asked.
“Yep,” she said, smiling.
I wondered if she knew how much I adored and idolized her. I had gone to shows with her before, but with the whole team. This time, it would just be us going to show together.
“Oh, and Gunilla has to judge too, so she’ll drive us down in her trailer,” Carol informed me.
I knew Gunilla was a judge, but I had just recently read some articles in my dressage magazines announcing that she had now achieved international judging status. She never said anything at the farm. I guess there was no reason I should know, because other than a casual greeting in passing, we rarely spoke.
__________
Moony and I trained hard leading up to the prestigious show. I had read an article in one of my dressage magazines where Michelle Gibson’s trainer said that if a rider wanted to get a 60% at a show, then in training at home, she had to ride for a 120%, because there are inevitable distractions at shows, which would always bring down the score. I had never heard anything like that, but it made sense and it was my new guiding principle. I pushed Moony as hard as I had at the dressage clinic the month before. The greatest advantage of this upcoming show being at the same USET headquarters as the clinic was that Moony was already familiar with the show grounds, having just been there. I was grateful for this lucky advantage. Then, finally, it was time to go to the Festival of Champions.
The Tale of the Dancing Slaughter Horse Page 23