Dear Ella,

Hey, birthday buddy! This is a big year for both of us—I turned 13 yesterday, officially a teenager. You turn 10 today, the big double-digits. I hope you’re well; I’ve moved to Lauren’s aunt’s house, where I am really enjoying my retirement, chasing my two boyfriends around and keeping them in line.

But you’re still a working girl, and I thought I would write you this note, on your Big 1-0, to give you a little advice. I had a pretty great career, but it was nothing compared to the one you’re on the brink of, and I’d like to share what I learned.

First, Ella, you gotta relax. Competition is stressful. Lauren’s great with the UlcerGard and the turnout and the routine, but there’s no way to completely eradicate it all. You’re going to have to do shows back-to-back weekends. You’re going to have to travel. You’re certainly going to have trailers break down, stalls fall apart, and neighbors in the stabling who kick all night. Breathe. Remember that Lauren loves you and will do her darndest to never let you down.

Learn to love baths. You’re going to get a lot of them, and you’re not even gray like me! You get way less water and soap in your eyes and ears if you put your head down and just take it. Lauren’s aim is pretty good.

Self-load. I know you rarely go anywhere by yourself—you’ve always got that pain-in-the-butt Midge with you; do give him a kick for me, wouldja? I hate him. But when you do, and Lauren takes the little trailer, everyone’s life is easier if you just walk on… and then STAY on. I know, you do that sneaky little trick where you fly on and then fly off again before anyone can do the butt bar up. That is not a good way to get cookies, so don’t bother with it; you know they’re going to make you get on the thing one way or the other.

Speaking of cookies, eat up! At a CDI once, I didn’t eat for four days. I still won everything—because, let’s face it, I’m pretty great—but I had all these people coming to stare at me all the time with worried expressions: Lauren, her trainer, her vet, her friends. It’s really annoying. If you just eat, they leave you alone.

But on that note, if something’s bothering you, speak up. At Gladstone, I tried really hard to be good and play through the pain of passing a bad follicle. We placed really badly, and then I ended up colicking. Talk about a lose-lose situation! It ended up OK, but if I’d spoken up a little earlier and told Lauren something wasn’t right, maybe the second day of competition wouldn’t have been the only big ribbon we’d have won. And I know you’re a tough, stoic girl like me. This one’s a biggie, Ella. You don’t have to be a hero all the time.

Enjoy those awards ceremonies. Everyone’s there to see how great you are—bask in the spotlight!

Last but not least, Ella, know your own brilliance. Girl, I know you are a little common looking just standing around, especially when you’re standing around next to me. Because, once again, I’m awesome. But I also know how flipping fabulous you are. You can work it, girl. Know it, love it and flaunt it.  Reach with that beautiful neck. Keep those gorgeous hind legs up and under. Let your back swing and your eyes twinkle. No one will call you common in motion.

Now that you’re 10, you’re a big kid. No more baby stuff. Be empowered. Be a role model for the next generation of girl horses. Show ‘em what you’ve got, kid. You’ve got a lot.

Happy Birthday!

Love,
Cleo