Every year I go to Devon, and I have a bad show. It’s a wonderful, incredible show, but there is an electricity to Devon that can’t be quantified or explained, and most horses pump up, and since I ride horses that are already hot and loopy, I go to Devon and bad things happen. And I swear I’ll never come back (to ride— as a spectator, it’s a pleasure!). And then I get conned into it again.
So here we are, and Fender, probably the most civilized and rideable creature I’ve ever owned, walked very sweetly and calmly around the arena a few times before catapulting, for no particular reason, into the air. KaPOW. Fortunately, he’s only got one, MAYBE two good leaps in him before he’s done, and while I was on a long rein at the time, I’m pretty quick. So I gathered him up, buried my heels in his side, and we were off to the races.
It took a surprisingly, out-of-character long time to get him settled; he didn’t do any more major leaps, but his back just wouldn’t let go. He eventually did settle, and made perfectly fine canter circles both directions, and some leg yields, and a little trot lengthening, and then walked around like an old hat. Twerp. Even at the end he didn’t feel like I want him to in the show ring, but I knew that if I spent him Wednesday I’d be totally out of gas by Friday. Or at least that was the theory—here, who knows?
So even Fender fell to the Devon boogey-men. That’s ok. He’s otherwise been perfectly delightful, especially since this is the first time I’ve taken him anywhere by himself. He’s made frienemies with the horse next to him. He makes nasty faces to the fellow when I throw Fender his hay or grain, but whines when the other guy leaves his stall. Other than that, and the fact that he’s pretty convinced I need constant pestering when I’m in, or near, his stall, he’s been Mr. Uncomplicated. I’m not worried; it’ll be what it’ll be.
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What will also certainly be is poor weather. It should go without saying that after the hottest, driest summer on record, Tropical Storm 16 (where were 1-15?!) is going to land square on top of the Philadelphia area today. And the worst of it? Between 2 and 6 p.m., to prepare things nicely for my 5 p.m. ride. Groovy. The technical delegate was already fretting the storm yesterday, and apparently there are plans to possibly move my classes back a day. (I was scheduled to ride the 4-Year-Old test tonight in the open class, and tomorrow mid-day in a class for U.S. bred horses.) It would mean an extra day on the road and an extra night in a hotel, which would be a major bummer, but not nearly as much of a bummer as getting struck by lightning and dragged away, so there you go.
Wet fall storms? Another staple of Devon, something we all know… and sign up for anyway.
So in spite of the guarantee of wet, crummy weather, and in spite of the atmosphere making my perfectly civilized 4-year-old into a nutter, here we are. To top it all off, Devon is always on my birthday week (today’s the day), guaranteeing that something will most certainly go wrong.
