Memoirs: A Horse Girl Rides Tackless

There are few things in this world that I have loved as long or as unconditionally as I have horses and riding.  When I was in middle school, there was a period of time where I could not take lessons, so I improvised.  My Oma lived near two older, Arabian ponies, the very same ponies that I first touched and sat upon as a three-year-old child.  I brought my brushes and a lead line and (with permission) gave those old horses the grooming of their lives. After a couple visits, I grew tired of just brushing them.  Obviously, I wanted to ride, too.  I poked around the barn looking for a saddle or bridle, but there wasn't much to be found.  I vaguely remember a dusty, Western saddle, which I could never have lifted at the time, and a loose bit hanging on a hook, but this was far from workable gear. So I did what any determined, horse-crazy girl would do; I decided to ride without tack.

First, I tied my lead line to the gelding's halter.  I wanted to ride him, because he was the more feisty of the two.  I saved the mare, the sweet Littlebit, for my sister to ride, if the experiment went well with King.  King enjoyed being brushed and fed carrots, but he wasn't completely on board with the whole riding thing.  He probably hadn't been ridden in a good ten years and did not show signs of missing it.  It took some coaxing to get him to stand on the low part of a slope, so that I could climb on.  I had never mounted without a block or a stirrup, so my first attempts were very awkward and probably hilarious to a bystander.  I wonder if the owners could see me from their house?

Once on King's back, I was cautious.  I patted and talked to him, trying to show the old boy that I just wanted a little time on his back.  I must have gotten on him a dozen times and just stood there, content to just sit, but eventually I wanted more.  One day, I took the lead line-reins and turned King around. Then I gave him a little nudge with my heels.  Unsurprisingly, he wouldn't move.  I tried several times, each time more insistence.  King had obviously mastered the stubborn pony routine long ago and was not the least persuaded by my efforts.  After careful thought, I formulated a better plan.  I slid off his back and walked him by hand away from the paddock gate and the mare (who was actually his sister).  I positioned him on the low part of the hill, so that I could (more) easily hop onto his back.  I knew before I got on, that my plan was going to work.  Suddenly, there was life in the old horse's eyes and a new anxiousness.  He wanted to be back at the gate.  I grabbed mane flung my leg over and clucked.  My pony cantered up the hill eagerly and stopped at the mare.

Victory!

I had done it! I had ridden King without a saddle or a bridle and survived!

And so began many happy visits where I rode King up the hill to his sister.  I dare say, he grew to enjoy our short jaunts, because he became less and less ornery.  I was even able to ask him to wait for my signal to run up the hill and later on, I was able to steer him around the paddock in his halter. He did try to buck me off a couple times when I urged him to walk away from his sister, but thankfully my young legs were wrapped tightly around his barrel and my butt never left his back.  I always rewarded him with carrots when he was compliant and eventually I had my sister riding the mare, so walking away from her was no longer a problem.  I learned a lot from those short, bareback rides and I think of them fondly.

I was reminded of what it is like to ride in a halter a little while ago.  I had not sat on my horse in many, many weeks.  I looked at his blanketed back and the thick rope lead line.  I looked at Harley and asked, "Are you up for a walk? "

Thankfully, he was.  I felt like a kid riding my pony again, but without any anxiousness about how he might behave, because this was Harley, and I knew he would be a good boy.  We walked around the yard and the riding ring, paying visits to the other horses and just enjoying one another's company. Harley snorted with happiness and I felt that twinge of excitement at being on my horses back tackless.

Memoirs: A Horse Girl & An Unquiet Horse

As a therapeutic riding instructor, I have worked with a fair number of donated or nearly donated (reduced-price) horses.  I have also test ridden and handled potential therapeutic mounts.  All of these horses had something in common: an owner or seller who described the horse as quiet and easy to handle.  I learned with time to take the opinion of owners and sellers of potential therapeutic horses or any sale horse with a grain of salt.  I do not mind if the horse has a quirk, one thing that really bothers him, or needs some remedial training.  What I do mind is the horse of an owner/seller who misrepresents their animal to the potential harm of others.  Such misrepresentation may not be intentional, but ignorance can cause just as many problems as outright deception.

For example, many years ago I test rode a horse who was outwardly quiet.  He stood quietly for grooming and tacking up.  The apparent trainer of the horse confessed that he liked the horse and found him easy to handle, but that his girlfriend let the horse get too nosy.  I made a note of this comment and said nothing.  The horse was taken out to a large round pen with high solid walls, the kind that you cannot see over.  The trainer worked the horse in the round pen, demonstrating the horse's obedience in all three gaits and both directions.  Then the trainer got on the horse and rode him around the round pen.  The horse never missed a step and moved on a loose rein like a good, Western mount.  The guy also stood upright on the horse's back demonstrating that the horse would stand reliably.  This was very impressive.

After observing the horse safely handled and ridden, it was my turn to handle him and to get on.  After some basic leading, I mounted the horse and he stood quietly.  I tested his "whoa" after taking a few steps forward and repeated the test several times using different degrees of rein pressure, seat, and my voice to see how sensitive the horse's brakes were.  Then we moved up a gear and I rode the horse in all three gaits in both directions.  The horse went just as easily for me as it had for the trainer and I rode him entirely on a loose rein, as I had seen the trainer ride him.  My employer and I were wise to the fact that horses may behave differently in different settings, so we asked to ride the horse in a fenced-in arena instead of the round pen.  The trainer obliged and we walked the horse to an outdoor riding ring.

The horse was mostly the same fellow in the new ring, except for a new discovery: he had no interest in rein contact.  Now, I do not expect a future therapeutic horse to be a dressage horse, but acceptance of the bit and contact with the bit is basic training for the ridden horse.  This horse was mildly rude about the contact if I shortened the reins.  This told me that the horse had some holes in his training and possibly some leadership issues.  Since his reaction to rein pressure was not huge, we considered that he was just not used to any sort of riding except that on a long, loose rein.  A horse that goes on a loose rein is desirable for therapeutic riding and considering his apparent good manners, we decided to take the horse on trial.  Our usual trial period was thirty days.

After getting the horse back to the farm, I made plans to work with him right away.  This was our typical procedure, as we wanted to see what the horse was like in an unfamiliar setting.  Once again, the horse stood nicely for grooming and demonstrated basically good manners.  We usually have to train more stringent rules about personal space and leading into therapeutic horses, but this horse seemed to be equipped with a reasonable foundation.  I took the horse into the indoor arena, with plans to work him at liberty, before tacking him up and riding.  I had watched the trainer work the horse at liberty and had a reasonable idea of what to expect from the new horse.  Or at least I thought that I had a reasonable idea...

Once in the indoor, I made my first mistake and this was most definitely my mistake.  I took the horse's halter off and turned my back on him to shut the gate.  The horse immediately followed me to the gate, intruding on my space and possibly thinking about walking out of the open door.  I suppose working with so many compliant horses that had been trained to stand and wait had made me complacent.  I forgot that I was dealing with a horse that may not have any of the understanding that I expected him to have, despite the obedience that I had observed the day before at the horse's home.

I noticed very quickly that the horse was following me, so I turned around and "got big".  This means that I made myself look physically taller by throwing up my arms.  I was telling the horse to back off.  This is a technique that I had employed many, many times to stop a horse in its tracks or deter a horse from entering my space.  Before I could move or react, the horse spun around and kicked into the air with both hind legs. 

It is difficult to appreciate how fast horses can move, until you see them in real space and time.  The kick was aimed at my head and, no doubt, would have made contact if the horse had really wanted to hit me.  The horse trotted off a few feet and stopped.  I stood in front of the open gate, shocked by what had almost happened, but physically unharmed.  I never in a million years expected that horse to react so violently.

Now the gig was up.  I knew there was more to this horse then we had originally been led to believe.  If this situation were to repeat itself in the same manner today, I would walk away right then and call the owner to come pick up the horse.   

Of course, I demonstrated less than swift learning skills in this story as the horse had clearly warned me with the resistance to contact and the double-barreled threat to my face, but I eventually did learn my lesson and will never make the mistake to "get big" to a foreign horse or work a horse initially at liberty again.  That was a lesson learned by the skin of my teeth.

At the time, I was not sure if the behavior was a true indicator of the horse's nature or a fluke that I caused by surprising the horse.  He had ridden and handled so easily the day before that I decided to continue my plan to work him at liberty in the indoor.  Truthfully, the horse had been so much fun to ride that I was really looking forward to riding him again and this pushed me to overlook the undeniable act of defiance.

Sometimes humans have thick skulls.  I am no exception.

I walked out into the arena with a lunge whip (at least I was not so stupid as to forget that) and asked the horse to start moving.  The horse reluctantly walked forward and stopped.  I swished the whip again, assertively, but careful not to surprise him this time.  The horse stared at me.  I asked him to move again, but he just stared and did not budge.  I increased my demands, swishing the whip with more energy and strength, clucking, and telling the horse to "walk" while walking closer to this very strange animal that was behaving less and less like the horse I had met the day before.  Finally, I was so close to the horse that I had no choice, but to give up or press the issue.  I was a fool for doing so, but the trainer in me was roaring.  I decided to press.  I whacked the horse smartly on the butt with the whip.

You would think the horse would have reacted more aggressively, but he only tossed his head and started trotting.  Feeling that I had called his bluff and asserted that my will was just as strong as his, I gained confidence.  I kept the horse trotting all around the indoor ring, swishing my whip and clucking if he showed signs of slowing down.  I value fairness, so I tried to forget any ill feelings that I had toward the horse for his previous behavior and praised him for moving out at my request.  I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that I had the situation under control.

And then the horse threw me for another loop.  This horse picked up the canter and dropped his head and neck all the way to the ground.  At first I thought that he was showing signs of submission and stretching, but once he reached the next corner of the ring, he turned and headed straight for me at the ring's center.  His teeth were bared, his ears were flat against his head, and his eyes were looking directly into mine.  His expression said one thing and he said it clearly:

"I want to kill you."

The gelding ran at me with his snake mouth open and his eyes as red as the sun.  All assertiveness left me.  I had the whip in my hand, but I forgot it was there.  Every cell in my body screamed,

"RUN!"

I dodged around a barrel, trying to create a barrier between my person and the wild animal in pursuit of my flesh.  The horse skidded to a halt, spun around, and came after me again.  This time I ran for the open fence at the front of the arena.  I could hear the horse behind me, but I didn't dare turn around.  I dove between the rails of the fence like a swimmer entering the water.  Dust and arena footing flew against the fencing as the horse stopped and spun again taking off, but this time away from me.  My friend and fellow instructor had walked in to see the monster's final attempt to savage me.  We stared at each other in utter disbelief.  My heart pounded in my ears and I felt light-headed knowing what had almost happened.  That horse had the shortest trial period in the history of trial horses.

For some reason, I had to convince my boss that the horse was truly dangerous.  My friend and I relayed the story, but it just sounded too crazy and she had seen the horse go so obediently the day before.  My employer had never seen a horse behave as I had described and frankly, before that day, neither had I.  I was worried that another staff member at the farm might attempt to work with the trial horse, which was common practice.  I was even more worried that another person might jump at the challenge to try and "tame" the animal that chased me.  I knew that type of person well and that no story would suffice in discouraging a determined personality.  My own mistake at ignoring the horse's dangerous initial behavior was proof of that.  I offered to show my boss exactly what the horse was capable of.  Let's just say that I am a fast runner and I feared for another person's safety enough to risk going head to head with that horse one more time.

True to the story, the horse came after me again with very little provoking while my boss was standing at the fence.  I had planned a path of escape this time and weaved a line around barrels before exiting swiftly between the rails.  My employer's face was priceless.  I do not think that she believed her own eyes at first.  This was a horse recommended by its owner/seller to be used for compromised riders and handled by volunteers.  We will never know for sure why the horse behaved so much differently at its home base or if the seller and trainer were aware of the horse's extremely aggressive tendencies.  That was one quiet horse that I was happy to never see again.

Memoirs: A Girl and Her Horse, Six Years

On December 9, 2006, Harley and I were officially a horse-owner pair.  An informal contract on notebook paper and the exchange of payment sealed the deal.  His previous owner was happy, because he felt that he had found the right person for a horse whom he had loved and cared for since he was a two-year-old and I was happy, because, well, no words can suffice to explain the incredible feeling of finally purchasing my own horse.  I had been waiting for Harley since I was three years old, when I first sat on Littlebit.  I had wished for him at every birthday and before every Christmas, even looking out the window into the backyard on Christmas mornings and for a split second allowing myself to believe that a pony with a ribbon would be standing there, staring back at me through the window.  I guess I liked to torture myself with that one!

On the other side of the coin, Harley had been waiting for me since March of 1998, which was just a few months before I graduated High School.  He was too young to know that he was waiting for me, but now that we have each other, I am sure that if he could look back on his life, he would realize that he is a very lucky horse.  Since horses live in the present, I am content with him being happy right now and, as far as I can tell, he is.
 

From the first moment that I saw Harley, I knew he was a project.  He was eight years old and had spent an unknown number of years as a pasture ornament.  He did not have other horses for companionship and although his owner loved him and paid him attention, I got the impression that he was more of a big dog than a riding horse.  I have since met a nice woman who was Harley's neighbor before he moved here to live with me.  She said that Harley and her dog were friends and that she saw him when he went out for walks.  I think she meant that Harley was the one going for walks and I also think she might mean that he was being walked on a lead just like a dog.  That is kind of cute.  I could see my social horse enjoying his (hopefully) daily walk and making friends with neighboring humans, dogs, and whoever would sniff noses with him.

My new horse on December 17, 2006: See how eager he was!

Project horses can be many things and they always have their own unique set of challenges.  Harley was no different.  He had a great mind and a great engine with a healthy dose of enthusiasm for activity, but his under saddle training could be summed up in three words: stop and GO.  He knew "stop" and he really knew "GO", but without any nuance.  He would turn and he was willing, but it was obvious that he had never been directed around a circle or corner under saddle.  In this blog, I write a lot about the awesome stuff that Harley can do and how easy it is to cue him.  I also boast about his balance and ability to collect or go on the bit for me.  What you must understand is that Harley was introduced by this blog as an experienced riding horse with a lot of miles under his "girth" and lots (and lots and lots) of time spent with me developing our communication.  He did not start out that way.  This story is about the original Harley and it is one of my barn owner's favorites.

I think that those of you who ride a horse who is very green or has some challenging training issues may appreciate reading about this side of my dear horse.

The Original Harley

Rewind to late December 2006/early January...

Harley is an American-bred quarter horse and based on his papers, he was bred from barrel racing stock.  I do not know much about barrel racing, but I believe that this is why his build is rather light and to my eye, resembles a small thoroughbred in some ways, although his cute face is decidedly quarter horse, as is his cute behind.  I know that his previous owner took him on trails for at least some point in the time that he owned him and the only other thing that I know about is that someone tried to race him around barrels.  I do not know if they were successful or how much "training" was involved, but two western saddles were gifted to me when I bought Harley and one had beautifully tooled leather indicating that it was a prize won at a barrel competition.  The implication was that someone (not his owner) won that saddle on Harley.  What Harley told me after beginning to ride him was that he strongly preferred cantering on the left lead and he had no concept of a leg cue to pick up his leads.  He was willing to canter, but he sort of rocketed into it from a fast trot and his back was so rigid that I could not sit on it.  You may be wondering why a dressage rider would choose such a horse for a project.  His mind and raw eagerness made him a joy to work with, but these things did not magically transform him into a made horse in sixty days or six months.

One of my first training goals was to teach Harley the leg cue to canter and to convince him that he could canter on the right lead.  I had cantered him in both directions for the prepurchase exam, but this was mostly a fluke as he picked up the right lead by accident going left and we went with it.  He was sound as an instrument, but he didn't play like one yet!  Harley learned that a "kiss" meant canter, from me repeating the sound each time he picked up the canter from a fast trot.  He learned the word "can-ter" with a distinct raising of tone in the second syllable and I used these two verbal commands to teach him the leg cue.  He caught on to the pattern very quickly, but the left lead remained his favorite.  He understand what I meant by "canter", but he did not understand that I might want him to pick up a specific lead.  He was more comfortable with a rider going on the left lead, even if he used both leads freely at liberty.  Carrying a rider changes everything.  Teaching an eight-year-old horse to accept a new balance is no small thing, but I was not inclined to give up.  After all, I finally had my own horse.

During one of our earliest rides, the barn owner and a few spectators were standing outside the big ring interested in watching "the new horse" be put through his paces.  I had warmed Harley up and decided that it was time to work on that right lead canter.  He picked up the left lead obediently, if not smoothly, and then I changed direction and proceeded to gently coax him into picking up the right lead.  I positioned my seat and legs as clearly as I could and used my voice to help him understand that I wanted him to move up a gear from trot.  Each time he obediently picked up the left lead, even though we were traveling right.  I did not praise him and gently brought him back to trot.  I tried asking in the corner.  I tried asking along the long and short sides.  I tried asking from a slow trot and from a fast trot.  I tried placing his nose a little to the inside and a little to the outside, but nothing was clicking.  I decided that I was just going to have to gently repeat the exercise until "luck" gave us the right lead and then I could praise him like crazy and hopefully his smarts would allow him to realize the lesson. 

Before too long, luck came through for us.  Harley advanced his right hip and shoulder and picked up the right lead canter.  The transition came through like an explosion.  It was so rough that I lost my seat for a moment and one of my stirrups.  I regained my balance quickly, but unfortunately my horse did not.  Harley was cantering so quickly that I had to assume the jockey position and this was in a bare-bones dressage saddle with no extra padding or knee rolls.  His back felt like a jackhammer and his neck shot forward and back like a piston in an engine.  Thankfully, the big ring is large enough to accommodate turns at speed, because we ripped around each corner in a very precarious fashion.  My stirrup flapped in the breeze, but I didn't dare move my foot to find it.  I was perched on my new horse's neck, with one stirrup and moving at break-neck speed.  The barn owner and bystanders looked on.  I couldn't see their faces, but I know their jaws had dropped.

"Mayday, mayday,"  I squeezed the reins, but my horse did not respond.
"Mayday, do you come in?", I used my voice to encourage him to slow or stop.  Harley's ears flicked back to me, but he continued forward, picking up speed with each long side.

At that point, I realized something.  My horse was green and untrained, but he was not a bad horse and he was not trying to kill me.  My horse was not being disobedient and I would not even call what he was doing a "dead bolt".  My horse was not slowing down, because he did not know how.  This is a scary realization.  I did not dare try to turn him as I was sure this would tip him over.  The dressage rider's most useful rebalancing tool, the half halt, was a silly notion in this situation.  Jerking on the reins or even a pulley stop were useless, because it would not explain to him what to do with his feet or his balance to stop the train.  I tried to sit back, but this seemed to make him hollow out and run more.  I felt at that moment, that the safest thing for both of us was to wait it out.  My horse had to stop eventually and he was moving straight ahead like a racehorse following the fence line, so I could stay with his predictable flight and even though I was perched on his back with one stirrup, I preferred this to bailing out.  I kept the reins short enough that I could feel his mouth and pressed my knuckles into his neck and mane.  The Black Stallion, my favorite horse story, flashed through my mind and I was Alec on a diluted black stallion.  The expression "be careful what you wish for" applied nicely.

Around and around we went.  During one pass by the barn owner, she asked if I was okay or if I needed help.  I said that I was okay and we continued by.  I am not sure what could have been done to help me.  Maybe a human wall could have persuaded my horse to find his brakes, but, honestly, I think we would have just plowed through them.  So I remained there, close to my horse's neck, sponging the reins gently and telling him "teee-rroottt" as the wind roared in my ears.

After what felt like an eternity and probably a good ten circuits around the large ring, my horse finally figured out where to put his feet.  He broke into a trot, at last, and I patted his neck with a ridiculously huge grin on my face that must be blamed on adrenaline.  It was still coursing through the both of us, as was the feeling of elation that we had survived in one piece.
 

An early canter picture: How is all that hind leg going to fit under his body?

My favorite early riding photo together

Harley never took off like that again, but I am not going to tell you that his canter leads were perfected a few weeks later or that it didn't take years for him to learn to remain balanced in the downward transition to trot.  I am also not going to tell you that I wasn't battling fear the very next time that I asked him to canter.  I hated the idea of being afraid of my own horse and that is probably why I forced myself to canter him again on the right lead after we caught our breath that very same ride.  Improving his canter (and the trot afterward) has been a long, slow process that has taken years.  Even today, his inclination is to speed up down a long side and in the trot afterward, so I still have to remind him to keep his tempo or allow him a few mistakes in the warm-up so he can find his balance again.

The good news is, six years later, he has a lovely, smooth canter that is easy to ride and his most enjoyable gait.  He is equally confident on both leads, but guess which one is his favorite?  The right!  He can collect his right lead more easily and dramatically than the left and he prefers to flying change and jump from this lead.

Harley has taught me so much over the past six years.  Learning how to ride a horse who has a "strong" canter was one of his important lessons.  We practiced every canter exercise in the book and then made up some of our own to improve his way of going.  I left the canter alone for weeks at a time and improved his balance in the trot and lateral exercises in a effort to help his most challenging gait.  I incorporated jumping later on and I entered clinics, watched dressage DVDs, and took lessons to improve my seat and my riding.  The most important ingredients to the improvement of his canter were time and creativity.  We didn't waste time and we didn't just let time pass, but I did allow time for all the various exercises to take hold.  I celebrated small improvements, but kept the image of the ideal canter firmly in my mind.  I tried many different training exercises and I incorporated those that worked and rejected those that didn't.  One of my favorites was leg yield in trot to canter on a circle.  My least favorites were "round-penning" and a dressage classic: trot-canter-trot transitions on a circle.  Both of these exercises played to Harley's tendency to anticipate and made him crazy and incredibly tense.  The most surprising exercise that worked was cantering him around the ring (circles and going large) without stopping.  This seemed to change his mindset.  If cantering is a marathon instead of a sprint, then you better conserve your energy and slow down!

I look forward to many more years of cantering with Harley and I hope that this story gives you some hope if you are near the beginning of the journey with your project horse.

October 2012: Six years later, Harley is still listening!

June 2012: Right lead canter

 

A fiery picture of Harley's strong canter

Memoirs: A Therapy Horse for a Horse Girl

As Thanksgiving approaches, I have decided that it is time to publish this memoir; I wrote this story almost one year ago.  For those of you who appreciate a disclaimer, this story includes personal loss, but also friendship, love, and gratitude.  I hope that you remember the special people and animals in your life during this week of Thanksgiving.

______________________________

I became a NARHA (North American Riding for the Handicapped Association) certified therapeutic riding instructor in May 2007.  This was a national certification which took me about a year and a half to complete.  There were two online courses with cumulative tests, a three-day workshop, a minimum of 25 fieldwork hours, a riding test, and a lesson test which included submitted lesson plans and teaching a pair of therapeutic students in front of two evaluators.  I found the certification experience to be both challenging and exciting.  I take a great deal of pride in this accomplishment.

In 2011, NARHA was changed to PATH International (Professional Association of Therapeutic Horsemanship International), which means that I am now internationally certified.  Wow.  I cannot help feeling a little unworthy!  The organization went global, because there were so many countries interested in joining NARHA. 

There were several reasons why I was inspired to pursue this certification and many of them had to do with the amazing people whom I met when I began volunteering at a local therapeutic riding farm.  I had always felt that horses were inherently therapeutic and that my desire to be around them so much was, in many ways, my own personal therapy.

Teen angst getting you down?  Try horses.
Need to build confidence and feel good about yourself?  Try horses.
Want the motivation to work hard at school or work?  Try horses.
Seriously.  This is no secret.
Horses are amazing creatures and this is not even the tip of the iceberg.

Pursuing a certification that allowed me to work with horses professionally and share in these wonderful animals with my students was a natural progression.  I had always wanted a career with horses, but never had the means to "go pro".  NARHA was my way of making it happen.  Of course, when I watched horses touch the lives of others over and over again, I received much more in return than I ever bargained for and much more than just a part-time job with horses.

This story is about my therapeutic horse.  I did not know that I needed one.  Or at least, I was not about to admit that I did.  I was physically and mentally able, but emotionally damaged.  I lost my only sister in March of 2004, just a few days after her 21st birthday.  I married my husband in September of the same year and we moved to our new home together.  I was eternally grateful for his support in this difficult time, but I was not suffering from a fixable problem.  The loss of a sibling is something that one must learn to live with and believe me, more than eight years later, it is never far from my mind. 

By January of 2005, I started looking for a place to ride.  I was about to enter graduate school and did not have money for a horse or even lessons, but you know how it is.  I needed horses.  I temporarily picked up a free lease at a nearby farm, which was an experience worthy of its own story, and then discovered the local therapeutic riding stable.  My riding experience was immediately noted and I became an official exercise rider for the program.  I could not believe my good fortune.  I was allowed to ride any horse in the barn, any day or time that I wanted as long as they were not in a lesson, and completely for free.  This in and of itself was an amazing gift and I was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Despite my enthusiasm and gratitude, my first ride on a therapeutic horse was disappointing.  I was given a dull, brown, 20 year-old quarter horse with a muddied blaze and an uncomfortable, all-purpose saddle.  I was also handed a crop with no questions asked.  The horse was in good condition and solid at 15.1 hands, but my butt had been spoiled by warmblood mares and expensive dressage saddles.  My last ride before I was married and moved away was on Harry, the beautiful Haflinger stallion.  Now I was riding an extremely unexciting, untalented, lazy quarter horse that looked more like a mutt than a quarter horse.  I tried to banish my prejudgments and enjoy the ride, because any horse is better than no horse, but my positive attitude started to waver as soon as I swung my leg over and legged on my new mount. 

Or maybe it would be more accurate to write "mounts".  I literally felt like I was riding two horses.  One in front of me and one behind me.  I was suspended in a sling between them and they did not always feel like they were traveling in the same direction.  I knew enough not to try and force this horse on the bit, but I did try to give him some guidance toward straightness.  In the back of my mind, I imagined riding half-pass on my trainer's Hanoverian mare and I silently worried that those days were gone forever.

When I moved on to canter, I was happy to see that the brown horse
a) could canter,
b) could pick up the correct lead, and
c) felt less like two horses.

I took advantage of his improved forwardness, and asked him to lengthen his stride.  I was surprised to discover that the brown horse had a nice, rocking canter.  Was it my imagination, or was this old fellow lifting his back?  The director of the program was watching my first ride and became worried that the brown horse was taking off (I guess few people cantered him past an ambling lope), so she rather abruptly asked me to slow him down.  The immediacy of her request triggered my dressage lesson reflexes and I engaged my core and half-halted without thinking about who I was riding.  The brown horse, whom I clearly had not given enough credit, shortened his canter and then transitioned to a slow, collected lope for the remainder of the long side.  I did not think this a big deal, but the feat earned me immediate status as a "good rider" and some kind of barn fame, as people would meet me and ask,

"Are you the one riding Skippy?"

That was his name: Skippy.  Apparently, many people avoided exercising him, because he had the strong will of a lazy horse, the gumption to turn buckaroo if a bee was in his bonnet, and the uncanny ability to run completely sideways on the trail.  That last one was seriously impressive.  I have never seen anything like it before or since.  Skippy was also notoriously rigid and stiff, like a board.  He never really felt that way to me though.  My years of dressage training has served me well.  I knew how to encourage with my inside leg while opening the inside rein and supporting with the outside rein.  When I did this, Skippy obediently wrapped his body around my inside leg.  Before long, we were riding three loop serpentines at the trot and canter with admirable changes of bend and a frame that was almost worthy of a dressage horse.  As he learned to reach from his shoulders and shift his weight off his forehand, his weird sideways running on the trail even melted away.  Suddenly, Skippy was on everyone's dance card.  Who says you cannot teach an old horse new tricks?  I certainly enjoyed the opportunity to do so.

I received positive feedback from his handlers and sometimes I passed up a ride to lead him in the therapeutic lessons.  Despite the hard time that he could give his able-bodied exercise riders, Skippy was always gentle and slow for his therapeutic students.  His gentleness was now accompanied by a greater motivation to move forward (This is even important for therapeutic horses!) and independent riders were able to ride him with less assistance.  There was even talk that "Skippy was less nippy."  All good news for a therapeutic riding horse and very rewarding for his unofficial trainer.  I was humbled by how many people took the time to express their gratitude for my work with Skippy.  Here, I thought that I was just riding him, because I wanted to ride.  I was ashamed when I remembered how unimpressed I had been with him on our first encounter.  I would admit to no one, that I once thought Skippy was anything less than a truly special horse.  His dull, brown coat had taken on a glossy, chocolate sheen.  Skippy was my chocolate horse, no longer just a brown horse, and now I had to wait in line to ride him, but I did not mind.  Every great ride that someone else had on him, felt like a personal accomplishment, and when I passed him in the aisle, I stroked his neck and looked into his big soft eye.

Skippy, the chocolate horse

  
"Are you being a good boy today, Skippy?"

He would nose my hand or blink at me, staring right into me, as if to say, "I am, Friend."  Working horses do not always have a special person the way pet horses do.  I know physically that Skippy benefited from the training time we shared together, but emotionally, I think that he just needed a new person, someone who did not know him or his wily ways, someone who also needed a friend in him.  Did I help Skippy, or was he just doing his job of therapy horse by helping me?  I guess that I will never really know and honestly, the truth would not change the outcome.  Skippy made me feel better and he gave me a job to do.  Skippy was a therapeutic horse who needed fixing and I was horse girl who needed the silent comfort and companionship that only an animal can offer.

Unfortunately, my time was Skippy was very limited.  He passed away in the summer of 2005, but like a good friend, he allowed me to say good-bye first.  It was a Tuesday, one of our usual riding days, and he was lying in his paddock when I arrived at the barn.  Although not in noticeable distress or pain, he was unable to stand and could only prop himself up with his front legs.  I hugged his neck and cried into his mane.  I thanked him for the many hours we had spent together.  I did not want him to go, but on some level, I realized that this was part of his lesson.  Skippy showed me that I was strong enough to love and lose and keep on going to love again.  He also showed me a whole new aspect of the relationship between horse and man.  Riding and working with him was so worthwhile even if he was far from a dressage star, but our partnership was not just about training.  In many ways, he taught me how to just sit on a horse again.  Just me and the horse.  Simple and happy.  He went to sleep with my fingers running through his chocolate mane.

Thank you, Skippy.  You were one special therapy horse.

Memoirs: A Girl's Horse Is A Prankster

The last memoir that I wrote about Harry, the 14.1 hand Haflinger stallion, ended on a rather sad note, because I shared that he passed away.  I have several fond memories of Harry, which are still worth sharing and certainly worth remembering.  Harry was quite the character and he had some funny quirks.

For example, Harry liked keeping his stall clean.  His fastidiousness was apparent, because he did not want to urinate in his stall.  He would wait until someone snapped on his halter and walked him out into the yard, and then he would promptly stop and relieve himself.  He did not care that his cleanliness might be infringing upon others by urinating where we generally walk and work around the stalls.  His stall was clean and that was all that mattered.  If he did not go immediately after leaving his stall, he would often stop and do his thing mid-lesson.  He even did this in the warm up at a horse show.  I have a very awkward picture of myself in full show attire sitting on Harry while he is going "number 1".  This picture was not staged or taken intentionally.  Harry just thought that picture time was as good a time as any.  The picture below was taken just before...

Harry had a funny way of showing that he knew how to jump.  I was riding him back from a lesson, when he spooked at a garden hose.  Paralyzed with fear, he pricked his ears at the hose and planted all four feet.  I urged and nudged with my legs, but Harry would not move.  I kicked and clucked and then resorted to smacking him with the whip.  Whether this was right or wrong, the tactic landed us on the other side of the hose.  It felt like Harry launched straight up into the air and flew over the hose like a UFO, touching down on the other side with all four feet at once.  It had to look like a cartoon.

Harry also jumped three ground poles from the trot the first time that I tried to lunge him over cavaletti.  The jump was beautiful and effortless.  He looked like he was jumping a triple bar.  Needless to say, he started jump-training shortly there after.

Not afraid to outdo himself, there was also the time that Harry took off with me after I asked him to canter.  He galloped full speed around an indoor arena for about five minutes straight.  He was totally and completely unreachable.  My only choices were "bail out" or "sit and wait".  I chose the latter and gritted my teeth as he careened around each corner and picked up speed with each circuit.  I still do not know why he ran like that.  I mean, Harry was a bit lazy.  I suspect the trainer who was hired to work with him may have installed a new "go" button.  I do not know what the training technique was, but I definitely missed the memo!

Along with getting carded for riding a stallion in a Haflinger show, these are some of my favorite Harry moments.  However, there is one more that may take the cake.  I was not there for the incident, but the story was relayed to me in amusing detail.  Here, I will try to do it justice.

Harry was a stallion.  He was entire and could breed if given the chance.  His home included a couple mares.  Pretty, warmblood mares.  Very tall mares.  Harry was not turned out with the girls, obviously, but he was well aware that they were around and was always the gentleman.  Remarkably, Harry was not mouthy or fickle with his manners.  I have met far more mouthy geldings.

One of the pretty mares was also very clever.  She knew how to open her stall from the inside.  She had learned this trick years ago from another smart mare, but for some reason she rarely made her escape.  On one particular day, she decided to fly the coup and one may be able to guess why.  She was in heat.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, there was a stallion on the property and each horse was stalled with dutch doors.  The top doors were usually latched open.

I am going to leave the next part of the story to your imagination, because, honestly, no one quite knows what happened.  What is clear, is that Harry was found with his front legs on the outside of his stall and his hind legs still on the inside of his stall.  In other words, Harry was straddling the dutch door and he was stuck!  The mare had left him high and dry.  She was grazing casually, away from the stalls, as if she had not been a contributing factor in the stallion's current predicament.  As luck may have it, I believe that someone other than the farm owners arrived at the property first (perhaps it was a lessonee), and decided to call the police.  Who else do you call in an emergency?

By the time the police arrived, the farm owners were home and there was a whirlwind of activity in progress, as everyone worked together to try and rescue Harry from himself.  The police car pulled into the driveway, producing a couple confused or, perhaps, annoyed officers, who exclaimed disparagingly that someone had called about "a horse stuck on a door".

One look at Harry straddling the dutch door and his owners removing the bolts and screws in the frame was all the officers needed to figure out that they had not been punked, pranked, or mislead.  They helped remove the stall door and Harry was freed of his trap.  Poor Harry.  Between his height, the stall, and the clever mare, the prank was on him!

Memoirs: An Old Photo

As I have been organizing and backing up photos and files on my computer, I found an old photo.  This photo was scanned for the slideshow at our wedding.  I cannot believe that I did not remember that it was saved on my computer until yesterday.

This is a photo of my aunt, dear Littlebit, and me, age three.  This photo documents my very first equine encounter.  I am so happy that someone in my family had a camera that day.  I wrote about this experience for the very first post for Memoirs of a Horse Girl.  I swear that I remember it.  Not this moment exactly, but the moment I was placed on Littlebit's back.  It was like a switch turned on and I finally opened my eyes.  I can still see her mane in front of me.  She lived to be well into her twenties on a farm near my Oma (Dutch for grandmother), so I saw her many times growing up.  She was also sister to King, whom I have written about before.  They looked very much alike.  What a delight it was to find this photo again.  I have added it to my "Welcome" post, but wanted to share it here as well.

Memoirs: A Horse Girl's Dressage Show Misadventure

It was an experience.  I am not quite sure where to begin.  How about with something nice.

Harley is a little girl magnet.  I saw exactly one little girl at the horse show and she came up to my horse right away.  Before I could introduce her to him, she was right next to him, stroking his nose and his neck, with eyes like saucers and a toothy grin.  Harley obliged her and stood like a statue despite the very unusual situation we found ourselves in.  I decided they had already met and instead introduced myself.  That little horse girl pretty much made my day, because not too much went well yesterday.  I just think about her smiling face and my horse's sweet expression and know that he is a wonderful and amazing boy, no matter what.  Thanks, fellow horse girl.

Weather wise, the good news is that there was not a heat wave yesterday.  The bad news is that it thunder-stormed and rained all day long.  My husband and I followed the trailer in a separate vehicle, so needless to say, my heart was in my throat when I heard thunder in the distance and it started to monsoon.  My horse and his trailer disappeared from sight when traffic at a toll separated us from the barn owners.  I couldn't help feeling a little sick.  I would not have been able to forgive myself if something happened to my dear horse, because we tried to trailer to a low-key schooling show.  Why didn't I just call up and scratch before we left or turn around and go home?  Well, the weather has been really strange around here lately.  It reminds me of Florida.  The weather forecast says "isolated thunderstorms" almost everyday, even though they do not happen every day, and sometimes it pours for twenty minutes while the sun is shining and then goes away.  So I conferred with the barn owners before we left and decided that we might as well just go.  Our destination was less than an hour away, so we decided to persevere.

I teach a science curriculum by profession, but a teacher's job also includes instilling certain values in young people.  One of the character qualities that I try to encourage is perseverance.  I like to think that this quality is rewarded in the face of opposition, unfortunately this is not always the case.  And, dually unfortunately for me, was not the case for us yesterday.  Ready for the gritty details?

We were separated from the trailer and arrived at the show grounds on our own.  The trailer had been well ahead of us, so when we arrived I fully expected my horse to be waiting for me, but he was no where to be seen.  I immediately became very nervous.  I tried calling, but it took a couple tries to get through.  Apparently, we had somehow passed them on route.  I did not feel better until I saw the trailer pull up about ten minutes later.

Harley was not totally soaked coming out of the trailer, but the windows had let a fair amount of rain in, leaving his face and sides streaked with water.  Thankfully, he is a sensible guy and did not seem too worried about this, although I did see that he barely touched his hay and had a loose manure in the trailer.  His pretty calm demeanor coming off the trailer was misleading.  Harley was nervous.  After checking him over and letting him mosey around and pick at some grass, I handed him to my husband and opened the tack room section of the trailer.

Uh-oh.  All of my gear was wet.  I forgot about those little windows with grates at the front of the trailer.  They were open, which is normally a good thing, but the rain had been beating down with a determination to drench everything I owned and it nearly succeeded.  I brushed it off, realizing that my gear was about to get soaked anyway, if I was going to go through with the tests.  The only saving grace was that the facility had an indoor, which I had been told was available for warm up.  Thank goodness.  All I could think about was getting in there.  At least I could give my horse the experience of riding somewhere new and maybe get a few positive moments out of a quickly deteriorating experience.

I found out that there was a place for me to change (I normally change in the trailer, but that would have been very unpleasant).  I was so, so grateful for that dry bathroom.  I took a few moments to compose myself.  I gave myself a pep talk.

"We are going to go out there and do our best.  The score doesn't matter.  We are here so let's make an experience out of it.  We can still take something worthwhile away from this."

I left the bathroom in my new, dry, show clothes and headed back outside.  Unfortunately, Mother Nature had decided that it wasn't raining quite enough yet.  She opened the flood gates and let out a down pour.

My husband and I walked back to the trailer, he with an umbrella and me with a rain coat, to find that my horse had been untacked and he was being asked to go back on the trailer.  I saw his nervous expression and raised tail and knew that he was not happy about going in a trailer in a downpour.  Of course the intention was to get my tack and my horse out of the rain, which I appreciate, but it just didn't work out.  One of many things on a growing list!  I was thankful for the efforts on my behalf.

My ride time was fast approaching, so I decided to take my horse and my tack to the indoor, tack up there and get on.  The rain was coming down in sheets, so tying him to the trailer and tacking up there was just not possible.  It was indoor or bust, so off we went.  My husband and a friend, who was a very, very welcomed helper, carried my gear as I led Harley.  I swear he stole a look at me that said,

"Woman, you have got to be kidding me."

I apologized to him silently.  I fully admit that my horse has better sense than me, but I was persevering.

I. was. persevering.

I was not going to give up just yet.  And I was careful to thank everyone who was helping me and profusely.  I understood that they were just as drenched and just as miserable as I was.  I kept that in my mind all the time.

We made it to the barn, only to find that the indoor was unavailable for warm up.  What?!  I was given a reason, but looking outside and seeing what the weather was doing, I just could not believe it.  Of all the days to close an indoor arena.  I felt a little shattered, but decided that I had no choice but to invite myself into the barn aisle.

"Please, just let me stand here and tack up my horse."

I was close to begging and that's when the cute little girl starting fawning over Harley who stood like a rock, despite the pouring rain, the unfamiliar barn full of new smells and new horses, and his owner's desperation.  He just stood there and he looked cute.  Cuteness does come in handy.  I think this was why we were allowed to hang around for a few minutes.  I am pretty sure that it is not typical to tack up anywhere but at your own trailer at a horse show, but like I said, there was a monsoon outside.  I believe this qualified as an unusual situation.

I accepted the fact that we would have to warm up in the pouring rain (the thunder had stopped).  I accepted the fact that we were going to get totally drenched, including my leather tack.  I accepted the fact that we were not going to get a good score today.  And then I decided to scratch the Second Level test.  That test was very challenging for us under the best of conditions.  Yesterday, it just would have been foolish.

Remember my warm up plan?  Completely went out the window.  Our warm up area was very small at maybe a third the size of a standard dressage arena, on wet grass, with standing water, and uneven terrain.  I had to be very conservative.  We did trot and canter, but I asked Harley to keep everything very small and controlled.  This is the complete opposite of how Harley likes to start out a ride.  His back simply never warmed up fully.  Some cantering and a few transitions helped, but there was no way to let him stretch safely, in my opinion.  He was listening, my sweet boy, but he was very tense.  He tried for me and that is all I can ask of him.  I love my horse.

I took a deep breath and we entered the show arena.  You can see in the pictures that there is a lake near "C" and standing water throughout most of the ring.  This was no one's fault and could not be helped.  You would think that since I was riding the sensible quarter horse, I would have had the advantage under these conditions, but that was not the case at all.  I watched a couple other riders ride their tests (I only saw about five riders brave the weather yesterday), and their horses marched through the puddles without much trouble.  I was pretty surprised, actually.

"Okay, maybe this isn't going to be that bad.  If they can do it, we can do it, too."

Wrong.  Very wrong was I.

First Level Test 3 was a train wreck.  Just about the worst test I have ever ridden in competition.  The only one that was worse was the Training Level ride on Blue, when I was first starting out, but that was for completely different reasons.  I didn't choke during the test.  I stayed present for the entire monstrous thing.  I smiled and shook my head a few times, but I kept it going.  I am the queen of keeping a test going.  No reader.  Just me and Harley and a burning determination to ride the pattern even if it barely looked like a dressage test.  At some point it became an exercise in getting it done, going through those puddles, and trying to ride a few nice strides here and there.  We broke gait about half a dozen times.  Harley absolutely refused to canter through the lake at "C".  He also had no stretch over his back so no stretchy trot, which was also supposed to happen in the lake.  Relaxation is one of the first elements on the training scale and we just didn't have it.  I cannot rebalance my horse when he is tense and tight.  Half-halts were a distant memory.  To his credit, he did not hop around, buck, spook, or do anything dangerous and we did manage one shallow counter canter loop on the left lead, when leaving the dreaded "Lake C".  What he did do, was raise his neck, drop his back, and lift his legs as high as he could to avoid the puddles.  He rushed around the arena and no amount of clever aiding or soothing on my part was going to convince him otherwise.  How the other non-quarter horses sauntered through those puddles without coming off the aids or losing frame is beyond me.  They still looked very nice, even in the pouring rain.  I guess they were just much better than us.  I could see that and I chose to ride anyway.

So my biggest disappointment, is that the judge didn't recognize our perseverance or the horrendous riding conditions.  I smiled at her as we headed down the centerline and turned left at "C" to begin our test.  We started off with a string of sixes, and during the test, I thought for a moment that maybe we were going to pull it off, but then Harley let me know that this was not our day.  During the second leg yield off my right leg, which is so easy we can do it in our sleep, Harley broke to walk, ignored my insistent leg taps, and proceeded to drop manure right in front of the judge.  At that point, the reality of the situation pretty much hit me.  I still continued to ride.  I still sought softness and connection and balance, they were just beyond my reach.  But I still tried for them for every step of the test.

When I halted in front of the judge to discuss the ride, I thought she was going to say something of our efforts.  Something witty or light-hearted would have been nice:

(in my words)
"Nice weather we're having, isn't?"
"So your horse doesn't like puddles, does he?"
"Bring your swimmies next time it rains."
Or even just,
"Thanks for coming out and riding."

Then lay it on me.  I can take it.  I knew that our ride was terrible, but so were the conditions and the day.  The judge did no such thing.  She began by asking if this was our first dressage show (ouch) and then proceeded to list every single thing that we did wrong.  I shelved my smile and replaced it with my game face.

"Okay.  Okay.  Okay.  Yes.  Thank you."

I can take the low scores.  I can take the 51%.  I know that is not indicative of what we can do.  I believe in my horse and myself.  What I have trouble swallowing is the disdain that the judge seemed to hold for us.  I mean it.  She seemed disgusted or maybe even insulted by our presence and our performance.  My husband said that she was probably having a bad day.  I get that, but we all were, and it is worth noting that she was sitting in a covered gazebo dishing it out while I was soaked to the bone.  She did not say even one nice thing to me and did not write anything encouraging on my test.  I hope that is very unusual for dressage judges.  It was certainly something that I have not seen before and hope not to see again.  And this was supposed to be a "laid-back" schooling show.  Whoa.  It didn't come off that way to me.  I saw some serious competitors, some serious horse flesh, and a very serious judge.  I am serious, too, but of more modest means.

So all in all, it was a bust.  Worst show experience of my life.  I am so, so grateful for my husband, my friend, and the barn owners.  They were such awesome people to come with me and spend their Sunday under those conditions.  My husband was so incredibly supportive.  He did everything from playing chauffeur to holding Harley, to being a human saddle rack, taking pictures, getting yelled at for holding an umbrella near the barn, navigating shore (tourist) bumper-to-bumper traffic on the drive home, helping me clean out the trailer later on, and then consoling me when we got home and the inevitable hurt set in.  I can only hold it together for so long.  I mean, I am human, and I do care a great deal about my riding and my horse.  I did not seek to fail, but, unfortunately, I did.  I am rarely in that position.  I should just take the bitter pill and move on.  It doesn't change anything that really matters.  Really.  I am very lucky.

I will try to remember the support of my husband and friends and the gigantic smile of the little girl petting Harley.  One bystander commented that Harley would be a good horse for the girl to ride.  Although she was unbelievably sweet and genuine, I am going to have to disappoint her there.  Harley belongs to this horse girl, and with me he shall stay!

Harley may not be a lot of things, but one thing is for sure: he is a good horse and he is a dressage horse.  I do not care who contests it.  We will just have to agree to disagree.

"C" is at our right as we enter the lake.  Harley's expression basically says it all.

Harley's carousel horse impression after breaking gait:  He just was not having it and I cannot blame him.

Shallow counter canter loop on the left lead.

This was a brief moment of success even if we didn't quite make it out to X.

Can you see all the rain drops in the photos?

If it looks like I can't see here, it is because I can't.  My new show bow (for my hair) was too big and was tipping my helmet forward over my eyes.  I couldn't fix it without taking my hair down and redoing the bun.  The judge nailed me for accuracy.  I didn't make any excuses when she was talking to me, but this was one of the reasons that I had so much trouble.  The other was, well the weather, and the fact that I have not ridden in a lettered dressage arena since my last show in October.  I guess that is catching up with me, although I know that I could have done much better.

Our final salute and glad it is over.

Harley expressing his opinion of the experience.

Looking cute while we take it unsweetened.

Leg yield left: I thought this felt pretty steady and nice.  We got a six, but the judge made it clear that she was not impressed.

Harley's infamous poop tour.

Oh well.  I will live.  Good thing showing isn't my favorite horse activity.

A picture from before we left and on our new patio stairs.  I am very glad that my husband took this photo in the morning.

Cute, just not functional, and I probably will not wear it again.  The bow detached from the net when I took my hair down.  Looks like my 15-year-old show bow will have to come out of retirement.

Memoirs: A Horse Girl Gets Dressed Up

I am somewhat embarrassed to say that the last time that I bought show clothes was when I was in high school, which was almost fifteen years ago.  Last year, I was forced to finally buy new high boots to replace my boots from high school, because the straps for the boot pulls snapped.  They didn't snap just from use and age.  They snapped because I was trying desperately to pull my calves into the space occupied by the boots.  By the laws of physics, no two things can occupy the same space, although my budgies constantly try to occupy the same spot on a perch, so something had to give.  The boots lost.

October 2011, First Level with Mr. Harley: I was deliriously happy just to have comfortable boots to wear at this show.  It could only have helped my riding, as it is difficult to concentrate and relax when your feet hurt.

When I took Harley to a local dressage schooling show in October, I vowed that if I should enter another horse show in the future, I needed to purchase some new clothes.  My jacket and my new boots were fine, but the rest of my clothes were outdated (dare I say discolored?) at best and downright uncomfortable at worst.

Waiting for a Training Level class in 2008.  Harley and I had been a team for just over a year, but those clothes and boots had been with me for over a decade.  Unfortunately, the relationship between me and my clothing had grown thin (pun intended).

Showing Blue in 1999, First Level.  Different horse but the same clothing!  Notice how my foot is too far in the stirrup?  Those boots were always a little too big in the foot.  I think this compromised my feel in the stirrups.  I had about an inch of empty space at the toes.

And The Mare a couple years later, also at First Level and in the same clothes again.  This was before I received the white gloves from my trainer.  Those were a honor to be gifted.

On Harry in 2003 in the only Introductory test that I have ever ridden.  Recognize the clothes?  At least dressage clothes are meant to blend in so the emphasis is on the horse and rider.  Black and white never really go out of style.

Harley's first horse show ever in October 2007 and I am in the same clothes, yet again.  We went out for Training Level, because I felt that Intro was not going to keep his attention and I did not want to compete against some friends who were new to dressage shows.

I just like how cute Harley looks here.  He seems to be asking, "Am I doing this right?"

My husband and I with a good shot of my duds.  How those pants have stayed white, I have no idea!

The white, full-seat breeches that I own were a gift from my original trainer.  They were an expensive pair with real leather for the seat and inner legs.  Unfortunately, this meant that they were not breathable and the fabric was really too thick for summer horse shows.  They looked really nice and they were too good quality to waste in the closet, so I continued to wear them at the occasional horse show that I attended.  To the manufacturer's credit, they still look new.  I will keep them forever and may wear them again, but for now they have been replaced by "cheap yet tasteful and, most importantly, summer appropriate" clothing!

I chose a white show pad (all-purpose style so that it doesn't dwarf Harley or my saddle), cotton full-seats, a microfiber, breathable shirt (hallelujah!), a pre-tied stock tie with pretty, delicate lace, and a new show bow to attempt to contain my mane.  Harley isn't the only one with some wild hair!

I still need to try everything on to see if they fit, but so far I am happy with the products, which I received having only viewed them in the online catalog.  SmartPak is so fast with delivery and has lots of reasonably-priced merchandise.  I also get a break on some items, because I purchase SmartPak supplements for Harley.  Needless to say, I am a SmartPak fan.

My original (and discolored) show bow and stock pin.  Look how stretched out the hair net is!  I absolutely cannot tuck my hair under my helmet.  I would need a larger-sized helmet for that and probably some headache medicine.

In addition to my black coat (a gift from Mom) and my yearling boots (although they don't look new anymore), I will continue to use my original stock pin, which my Mom bought for me when I was a little kid taking lessons, and the white, leather gloves, which my original trainer also gave to me for shows, and my velveteen helmet, although I keep the velveteen concealed with a smooth, black cover.  I have to remain a little old-school.  People already think that I look younger than I am, so I do not want to appear to be a total noob because all my clothes and gear are new.  Hopefully, my riding will lend some clue, but you never know!

This was not an expensive pin, but I think it is totally classic in its simplicity.  My Mom bought it for me at Ruthie's Tack Shop in Whitehouse Station, NJ, which used to be the closest tack shop in the days before online shopping.  I could spend hours there.  I remember my Mom would promise to take me after a visit to the dentist, which I really despised.  As a kid, I bought my first saddle from Ruthie's, my velveteen helmet, my grooming kit, and my first paddock boots all with savings from my allowance, birthdays, and holidays.

It seems an old expression is in order.

"All dressed up with no where to go."

I may be able to remedy that situation.  I am looking to visit a new site for a dressage schooling show.  There are many things that must fall into place before that can happen, such as transportation arrangements, and, of course, the weather has to cooperate, which is no small thing these days.  We will see!