It’s T-minus one week ‘til Fender’s off to Devon, and I’ve got mixed feelings. He was a superstar, really cooking, until we tacked hind shoes on him about a week ago, and now he’s fairly convinced his hind legs are falling off. The strength and coordination is slowly building back up (honestly, how is 17.1 hands of Oldenburg felled by two thin strips of aluminum?), but the last piece of the puzzle, the real, no-holds-barred connection from hind legs to bridle that I’ve been lacking all season and was FINALLY starting to feel is still nowhere in sight. Stupid shoes.
On the other hand, he is just GORGEOUS. He’s always been a looker, but he’s starting to look like a Grown Up Horse, at least in his body. He’s got a splendid set of glutes, a nice strong shoulder and even a bit of a neck. There are cute brown highlights to his mane and tail from the sun. And he’s got that adorable Sandro Hit face from his grandsire.
Some of the other pieces that I didn’t have back in April and May are showing up. Better upward transitions, and WAY better downward transitions. An actual trot lengthening that carries me, instead of the other way around. And looking towards next year, I’m getting real half-halts at canter, and the taste of real shoulder-in at trot. He even managed a big turn-on-haunches today without ending up like a pretzel.
My worries about him aside, Devon and I just don’t have the best track record. I had a big win my first year in attendance, and my last year as a Young Rider. My big angry Holsteiner gelding, Struppie, and I won the young rider freestyle with a whopper 74 percent and went home with a swell saddle and bridle, among other nifty prizes. The year after that Billy nearly took me out of the ring in our first CDI Grand Prix, earning a big, shiny 51 percent; and last year’s debacle, where Cleo sliced her mouth open in the stall and Ella did pretty much the worst fourth level test ever, is still awfully fresh.
Best of all? Devon is always on my birthday. It means I’m either going to have lots to celebrate or a good reason to drown my sorrows; no room for shades of gray here.
So I’ve got all that stuff to fret over, but not until I get through this week—one of my busiest ever, teaching until the wee hours and riding a bajillion horses, and doing it all in temps back into the 90s. And oh-by-the-way, I’ve got a clinic with Michael Barisone this weekend… that I haven’t yet filled. Because apparently this weekend is Everyone-Go-On-Vacation weekend, and I missed the memo, so all of my usual suspects are out of town. AHHH.
ADVERTISEMENT
Fortunately, Ella and Midge and Tres all got together and decided to take pity on me, because they feel amazing. I popped Ella back in the double bridle today for the first time since July, and while she’s in season and a little stale in the back, the throughness was absolutely stellar. All that time in the snaffle is paying off in spades. Duly noted for the future!
I’ve been working on Midge’s conditioning for the passage (as I get about 20 good steps per day before he poops out, and none of those steps better be turning left or all bets are off), and lately I’ve felt like the canter’s been backsliding. So today I made piaffe instead, and voila—beautiful twos, consistent bursts of five ones, and nice quick half-pass zigzags.
And I’m not sure little Tres is for sale anymore—I’m having way too much fun riding him. I had a big ah-ha on both him and Ella last week about being in front of my seat versus in front of my leg, something I’m struggling to put into words. But I feel like with both, the more leg I use in the passage, the slower and more backed-off they get. Leg away and make them respond to a seat cue alone? Bingo—quick but still floaty, and a transition to piaffe that is SO easy-peasy. And for Tres, it’s making his extended trot find a whole new gear. Sweet.
Michael will see all four of the hooligans this weekend, plus a client horse, plus my mom’s wonderful Indy with working student Nicole. And, with any luck, a whole schedule of other riders. Yet to be determined. With 48 hours left to go. Oh boy.
