Events page
I had the bright idea to take them out while we wait for the Championship classes (we weren’t called for any of those). I
moved back into desperate mode and looked for grass, any green material that resembled the stuff, and let them eat.
Blessing nibbled between bucks and rears. When I next looked up, I saw Whisper halterless and my husband on the ground.
Panic mode hit me for the second time that day. Deb was right there and took Blessing. Whisper came to me, so I gently put
my arms around her neck. Then, Kennedy’s mom, who’s never touched a show halter before, slipped it back on perfectly.
Kennedy said it just fell off when she was adjusting it. Mark asked if I really want to finish the two classes left. I assured him I
did. They’re easy color classes. All we have to do is walk in a circle. Blessing and I had already done about 4623 of them,
what’s a few more? Besides, maybe there may be more ribbons coming, or pretty 50 cent slips. Kennedy’s mom asked if
she should get their barn halters, (an idea Deb had suggested earlier). We secured them and decided to leave them on for
the color classes. Practicality and having more control took precedence over everything else.
There were no ribbons for Blessing in solids, but Whisper moved into 6th again, out of 8. And that meant more paper slips
bearing the 50-cent value. Mark was getting quite a collection as we handed everything to him.
While Whisper was in her multi class, I walked Blessing over to the bleacher area to watch and listen. Blessing is now a
hurricane on a lead. She’s had it. Nothing comforted her. She wanted to go home. Me too.
After all our classes were over we got the fillies on the trailer and sat on the edge to catch our breath. We did it; we finished
our first show. We had several of these tickets with $.50 on them and one blue ribbon. Kennedy and I decided we must’ve
won money and headed over to an office to claim our $2.50, knowing we’ll have to think long and hard before deciding what to
spend it on. But that’s when we discovered we could have ribbons instead! I didn’t mention it, but I would’ve paid good
money for a ribbon, a lot more than $0.50. We got 5 more to add to Kennedy’s blue one (okay, light blue one). SIX ribbons!!!
SIX RIBBONS!!!! We were grinning ear to ear as we walked back to our families trying to hold our bounty. Funny how a 10
year old and a 46 year old can meld into the same age for moments in time. Finally the day was worth every rear, buck, and
escape. I kept one for each filly, and Kennedy will find a good place for the rest.
The best barn buddy in NY headed home with her parents, and Mark and I went straight to Burger King. I had been too
nervous to eat, but now with RIBBONS in my hand I was starving.
Several folks came up to me and asked if I was on the forum because they recognized the fillies. They’re so popular. I met
Jen (forgot her forum name?), Hillary (binky), Jessica (mini seasons), Kristina Slobody, and Linda Best (fred). What beautiful
horse-loving woman. Jen and Hillary deserve a gold plaque because the two drove 10 hours and showed 7 horses, 4 of
which were stallions, if I remember correctly. They even had time to catch Whisper on her first escape. I hope each posts her
wins because it’s difficult to pay attention when one is holding a hurricane on a rope. I’m sure I saw a purple sash draped on
one of Kristina’s.
So, Kennedy and I thought it over, and decided we are not show people. We are parade people. We are take-the-horses-to-
adult-home kind of gals. Walk-the-horses-down-the-country-lane women. We greatly admire and have a deep appreciation
for show folks and plan to spend many hours cheering for them from the bleachers.
I have exceeded my goal of earning one horse ribbon of any color, so can check that one off my list. It’s even green, my
favorite color.
Later, at home, it was a wonderful feeling to free the fillies to familiar green pastures. I thanked them for doing their best. I’m
looking forward to no bathing, clipping, training, lunging, or even haltering tomorrow. They’ll be pasture ornaments to just hug,
kiss, and smell, until the next parade. That feels just right.
Before you start, I want to say I make mental goals for myself. They just kind of pop up along this journey of life. One goal I
haven’t reached yet is: win a ribbon in a horse show, any color (not a low achiever, but a realistic person).
My first show:
Got up at 4:15AM to do all the chores and get ready. The day started rainy. It stopped and went to cold and windy.
Kennedy came at 5:45 and off we went. Mark drove. After 90 minutes we pull in to the fairgrounds. Got the horses out to
find where we have to be measured. Blessing: 28.25, Whisper: 30. Got our numbers. Kennedy and I were pretty excited
about those numbers; she kept looking at it so she wouldn’t forget it in case they called hers. We knew they’d be
treasured mementos.
Took the horses up to the cold and windy grassy spot where we parked the trailer. Whisper bolts from the wind whipping
her sheet and Kennedy goes flying into a belly flop on the grass. She hangs on for dear life and Whisper’s force actually
drags her several feet, but she can’t hold on and Whisper tears away from us. I do what I always do when I panic: I
screamed for Mark, then mustered up some professionalism and yelled, “Loose horse!” Two angels, by the names of Jen
and Hillary, remain calm and Hillary gently got a hold of the escapee. Kennedy is so sad and apologetic, which tears at
my heart. So I got a grin out of her when I shared my regret at not getting a picture of her stunt. We checked her for
injuries, dried her tears and got back to work. At one point we walked them down past the arena to some wind protected
paddocks, and allowed them to do what I said I never wanted them to do: eat grass. Since it was a strip between two
riding areas for big horses, we hoped it was fairly safe from germs. After many minutes we regrettably left this area where
the two were behaving so well, and put them back into the trailer so we could watch some of the show. I’m sure I heard
sighs of relief from them, or maybe it was the wind.
As our first class got closer the butterflies increased their activity level. Deb (Dimimore) came and had an incredible
calming effect on us. Confidence bloomed. Nerves settled. Our first class got closer...closer…our hands were perched
over the baby oil gel…and then they announced the judges would be taking their lunch break after class 155; our first was
157. Kennedy’s family came and headed to eat. She and I paced around the trailer, alternatively grinning ear to ear that
the time had finally come, and letting out brief shrieks of panic that it was so close. Finally, we experimented with baby oil
gel in the forelocks sticking out of the back of the trailer. Boy! That stuff is slippery on one’s hands! I wiped it off. Then we
couldn’t take the waiting any more, so we got the fillies out of the trailer and got their show halters on. We added more
goop in various places. We wiped some shoe polish on Whisper’s hooves. (Never did Blessing’s) Then we made the
horses pace with us. They’re very good at pacing.
Deb suggested we take the girls into the stand by area to get them used to it. That was a brilliant idea. The fillies were
almost perfect in there. They walked, they trotted, they stood, and they set up. I mentally patted myself on the back for
being such an awesome trainer and wondered if anyone was watching, impressed with the horses I brought.
Then Kennedy and Whisper’s first class comes: Youth Halter. I watched as much as I could, but Blessing started a new
routine, one we hadn’t practiced at home: rearing and bucking. I sneaked peaks at my two girls in the ring and feel teary
at how awesome they looked. Whisper was behaving calmly. Kennedy was handling her just fine. They looked so darned
professional, so beautiful together. A real team. The winners are announced and WE’RE NOT LAST!!!!! Our amazement
with this concept stunned us both. When I caught her eye, she mouthed the words to me and even with many distractions
between us, I knew exactly what she was saying. And, we weren’t even next in line, but 6th out of 8 in the class! I was
fighting to maintain my jubilee. I waned to dance. My horse’s name sounded cool over the loudspeaker and I wanted to
hear it again, and again.
As Kennedy and Whisper came out, Blessing and I headed in for Ammy Halter. Blessing is not doing what I taught her,
but instead more of those new moves she’s created. I decided to pull out all the stops and moved to the last resort in the
training plan: feed treats. She held still while she licked it. I practically stuffed it into her mouth, and she spit it out. I tried
again. She repeated her refusal. Maybe it tastes like baby oil gel? More new moves, bigger this time. Her height of
28.25 made all the new moves manageable, but I wondered if the audience thinks this is what we’ve practiced for hours at
home. Should I allow her to stand still if she’s backwards? How about sideways? I never looked at her hooves, it didn’t
really matter. Winners? We got 6th out of 6. BUT THAT MEANT A RIBBON!! (Refer back to goal mentioned in first
paragraph.) But what I was given was a piece of green paper with 50 cents stamped on it. I didn’t have time to wonder
about it then.
Early on I noticed Blessing wincing just a bit when she got a wee bit too close to another horse. Poor baby, I think. She’s
scared of them. I patted her reassuringly on her back and add some scratches. She bucked, then reared. My touches
have always comforted her; I feel sad at her state of discontent. Later, I noticed her ears going backwards just a little, and
then the added buck. Oh my goodness, I have a bully on my hands. Kennedy’s father is a principal, should I report her to
him? I worked very hard at keeping her away from all other horses. Not an easy task at a horse show.
Kennedy and I spent a few minutes chatting and walking the fillies before the next class: Open yearling mares. A memory
flashed through my mind as I recognize big name folks there: I remember standing on the #3 starting block at a college
swim meet with a boy who was encouraged to try for the Olympics on #5. What’s wrong with this picture? Me and my
horses in a ring with those big name folks and their horses. A parallel situation.
We went into the class of 10. Whisper was okay, from the few glances I was able to cast her way. Blessing was high wind
on a lead. I did actually attempt to move one hoof, twice. A futile attempt. I pretended I was the only person in the ring,
just practicing. Winners are announced. Neither of our numbers are called. On the way out, Blessing gave an
impressively aggressive kick to the wall. Oh boy. I wondered why there’s not a “spunkiest” award.
Warning--I'm a writer so it's natural for
me to record life events in words.
me to record life events in words.
The First Show (the only show?)
Title: Got snow? Got time? Want to get some exercise?
Or: When life gives you lemons…..
Or: What did you do on your vacation?
We got some snow last week, about 20 inches worth. It appeared pretty manageable, before the winds came. The
whole landscape changed from a beautiful blanket of fluffy white to mountains, canyons, valleys, and even a few desert
spots. With a bit of shoveling, there were two out of four pastures workable for the horses. The five horses need at least
two separate places right now, seeing as there’s a stallion and two-year old fillies. The pregnant mares are
interchangeable between either pasture. In each pasture there’s plenty of room for running around. Beyond this it looks
like it’ll be June before we’ll have access to the rest. However, I need at least three available by mid March, as the
pregnancies near their end. I eyed the situation. I pondered the possibilities. Snowblow? Husband says it’s too heavy
and it won’t work. Besides, the bottom half in some areas is crusty. Hire a tractor with a scoop? Nope. It won’t fit
through the gate even if it ever got through the 5-foot drift in front of the section that would need to be lifted. Okay, so we
wait for it to melt. Sigh, I’m not always good at waiting.
But I had a hankering for some physical activity. My size 10s are feeling snug and I can’t seem to cut the carbs these
days. The answer is exercise. And there’s all that snow…that I want to get through…. to connect to the back pasture.
The quote that fits here is the one about a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, OR the way to the back
begins with a tiny loop. Husband finds me in the pasture moving snow with my muck fork. It works pretty good I assure
him, offering a demonstration. He asks what my plan is. I explain I’m just trying to uncover some wire so the current is
stronger, and while I was at it, I thought it might be fun to dig a loop for the horses to run in. Kind of like a track. A speed
track. I need the exercise I tell him. He says when we hit 50 years things are expected to sag a bit, so to not worry
about it. Humph! I say we’re only 46 and nothing’s sagging on him, and nothing’s going sag on me! He rolls his eyes,
leaves, and returns with a real snow shovel. “You’re going to help??” I asked happily. He smiles and says he doesn’t
want me to get too tired. (Both teens were gone for the day -- hey, whatever motivates him.) Amazingly, he can cover
twice the distance I can in the same time. But, darn I hate to admit that.
So we dug. Jazz came to offer assistance. He’s such a helper in these situations. (Remember the soil we moved?) He
energetically pawed at the drifts, helpfully moved in beside me to let me know where the path needed widening, and let
me rest by lying on his back. Then he scampered enthusiastically off down the paths to demonstrate his appreciation
for my efforts.
Husband dug a bit, then asked if I wanted the shovel while he took his weekly trip to the dump. Sure! Of course, a
quick goal was made to impress him with the distance I cleared by the time he got back. And, by the time he returned,
the loop was nearly done! He tossed a few more loads and WAH LA! -- the jogging trail was complete! At this time
every one of the five horses was standing stock still in the first warm sun rays in weeks. I ran all the way to the house for
the camera. Once 50 pictures were snapped, I headed in to load them and talk husband into going out for lunch.
Tired? No. As a matter of fact, I felt fabulous. I changed into my size 10 jeans and we headed out to eat.
Or: When life gives you lemons…..
Or: What did you do on your vacation?
We got some snow last week, about 20 inches worth. It appeared pretty manageable, before the winds came. The
whole landscape changed from a beautiful blanket of fluffy white to mountains, canyons, valleys, and even a few desert
spots. With a bit of shoveling, there were two out of four pastures workable for the horses. The five horses need at least
two separate places right now, seeing as there’s a stallion and two-year old fillies. The pregnant mares are
interchangeable between either pasture. In each pasture there’s plenty of room for running around. Beyond this it looks
like it’ll be June before we’ll have access to the rest. However, I need at least three available by mid March, as the
pregnancies near their end. I eyed the situation. I pondered the possibilities. Snowblow? Husband says it’s too heavy
and it won’t work. Besides, the bottom half in some areas is crusty. Hire a tractor with a scoop? Nope. It won’t fit
through the gate even if it ever got through the 5-foot drift in front of the section that would need to be lifted. Okay, so we
wait for it to melt. Sigh, I’m not always good at waiting.
But I had a hankering for some physical activity. My size 10s are feeling snug and I can’t seem to cut the carbs these
days. The answer is exercise. And there’s all that snow…that I want to get through…. to connect to the back pasture.
The quote that fits here is the one about a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, OR the way to the back
begins with a tiny loop. Husband finds me in the pasture moving snow with my muck fork. It works pretty good I assure
him, offering a demonstration. He asks what my plan is. I explain I’m just trying to uncover some wire so the current is
stronger, and while I was at it, I thought it might be fun to dig a loop for the horses to run in. Kind of like a track. A speed
track. I need the exercise I tell him. He says when we hit 50 years things are expected to sag a bit, so to not worry
about it. Humph! I say we’re only 46 and nothing’s sagging on him, and nothing’s going sag on me! He rolls his eyes,
leaves, and returns with a real snow shovel. “You’re going to help??” I asked happily. He smiles and says he doesn’t
want me to get too tired. (Both teens were gone for the day -- hey, whatever motivates him.) Amazingly, he can cover
twice the distance I can in the same time. But, darn I hate to admit that.
So we dug. Jazz came to offer assistance. He’s such a helper in these situations. (Remember the soil we moved?) He
energetically pawed at the drifts, helpfully moved in beside me to let me know where the path needed widening, and let
me rest by lying on his back. Then he scampered enthusiastically off down the paths to demonstrate his appreciation
for my efforts.
Husband dug a bit, then asked if I wanted the shovel while he took his weekly trip to the dump. Sure! Of course, a
quick goal was made to impress him with the distance I cleared by the time he got back. And, by the time he returned,
the loop was nearly done! He tossed a few more loads and WAH LA! -- the jogging trail was complete! At this time
every one of the five horses was standing stock still in the first warm sun rays in weeks. I ran all the way to the house for
the camera. Once 50 pictures were snapped, I headed in to load them and talk husband into going out for lunch.
Tired? No. As a matter of fact, I felt fabulous. I changed into my size 10 jeans and we headed out to eat.
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