For all intents and purposes, there’s three reasons I show a horse. One is to win, or at least to do as well as I possibly can. This is the end goal, when I’m ready, when the horse is ready, when we together as a pair have the experience to do what I want to do, and an end game in mind. The second is to increase the value of the horse—horses need competition scores to prove their worth, or for sport predicates or breeding achievements. And the third is to help a horse (or me!) gain experience. I take my baby horses to shows as kids not because I’m expecting to be World Champion of Training Level, but to give them a taste of their future. And I take them out later, when they’re more finished but not yet Finished, so that I know what they’re like to ride in the ring as adults.
As a trainer of horses, I’m always thinking about The Plan for any of the horses in my care that I’m developing. Of course I want them all to become the best they can be in the long run, short run achievements be damned, so I don’t tend to compete them much at First and Second and Third and Fourth Levels. But I also know that the reality of this business is that I might need to sell something at any time, and so when they’re ready to do so, I build them upper-level show records, so they’re as valuable as I can make them.
With Johnny at 7 and Danny and Dorian (who’s actively for sale) both 8, they’re all entering that Golden Era where they’re capable of pulling off an upper-level test. But when is ready enough? When is it time to pull the trigger on going to a show?
For Johnny, the answer is Not Yet. I’m getting his flying changes, but sporadically at best, and only if the sun, moon and stars are all in perfect alignment. He is phenomenal, so cool between the ears and keen to do and perform, but he’s also a little bit too cool sometimes. I’ve had Johnny since he was four, and he did go to a few shows at Training Level to make sure he’d behave (he does), but I also want that value, that proof of his skill. I had in the back of my mind that I wanted him ready for Third Level by the end of the show season, but that darned change to the right is still our Waterloo. And if it was there, I’d probably be showing him a bit, even though the elasticity and suppleness I’ll need from him as a Grand Prix horse is still developing, and shows up in the lateral work; it’s fine, just not nearly as fine as it’s going to be. So maybe it’s 2017, or maybe I’ll bypass Third Level and move right on to the Prix St. Georges-ish work (Fourth Level is, for me, harder than the PSG, and as such I very rarely show Fourth Level.)
One who did spend a little time at Fourth Level is my delightful Dorian, who is a phenomenal genius at collection, but who was also very, very insecure about the flying changes for a long while. It’s a little funny having Dorian and Johnny in my life at the same time, because, if you all will indulge me in a bit of ego, I’m pretty smart at installing flying changes. I could teach this laptop on which I’m writing this blog the changes if you give me enough time, and yet for months I had two super world class horses who just couldn’t wrap their heads around them.
So Dorian spent a little time showing Fourth Level, which has all the lateral and collection demands of the Prix St. Georges—a half pass zig zag at canter, and various versions of a canter pirouette—but with fewer flying changes. In the last month or so, he’s had a paradigm shift, and now not only can I ride tempi changes (4s, 3s and 2s) with virtually no drama, but several of my students have gotten them as well. And so he’s entered in his first Prix St. Georges next month. I showed Dorian a bit at First Level when he came to me, just to make sure he’d be cool away from home (he is), so now it’s about putting on those tails.
Last but not least is Danny, who’s undeniably the most talented horse I’ve ever owned. Danny, at 6, could already do multiple flying changes on a line, some half steps, some passage, and all with incredible expression… at least, of his front legs. Danny is terribly, terribly bright, and no challenge at all to teach “tricks” to. But doing them with an honest connection to the bridle, with straightness, with balance, and without having to be a wicked good rider? That was a non-starter. Danny went to a horse show last year because Lisa, one of my assistant trainers, needed one more 60%+ at Third Level, and at the time Danny was the only horse at my disposal who could do a change without drama, so even though he was not remotely balanced or organized enough to do Third Level well, off to the show he went, got his 62%, got Lisa her USDF Bronze Medal, and we all had cake to party.
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But other than that, Danny has spent much of the two years I’ve owned him on a 20m circle, figuring out how to carry himself. It is tremendously, tremendously better, and there was a wild hair in my brain for about 15 minutes in Florida in March where I thought maybe he could pull off an invite to the Developing Prix St. Georges Championships at Lamplight this year, for 7-9 year old horses. But again, here’s the thing: there’s a difference between being trained to the level, and getting away with the level. I’m a good rider, but I’m also a big, strong girl—5’10” and, let us delicately say, not petite—and so I can use my muscle to support a developing horse. And that’s ok, to a point. But it’s not sustainable, and it’s not productive long-term.
So Danny has stayed home, until I realized a few weeks ago that the big group of clients I have this year who are all showing at the Prix St. Georges were all, for no particular reason, bypassing a show we were going to already, Dressage at Lexington. I had room on the trailer, and no students’ rides with which my ride could conflict. At some point, he had to go to a show, with me on his back: I need to know what he’s like to show, and because he came into my life older, I’d missed out on that four-and-five year old stretch where I show them at Training or First Levels until I know what they’re like in the ring, so I had to find out eventually. So Danny got entered, even though I knew it would not be our magnum opus of Prix St. Georges.
And sure enough, it was not. He was an absolute rockstar on Thursday and Friday, and then twirled around a bit when we actually went to go in the competition ring on Saturday. I couldn’t get him to carry his own head and neck to save my life during the trot work, and in the canter, I couldn’t keep him consistently in front of my leg, so he trotted in the canter half pass (a new one for us!), did drive-by shootings in both canter pirouettes, and blew the 4s rather spectacularly. But there were also some fine things: he let me reorganize in the corners as much as I’m ever really able to. The 3s were quite good. Even though he was a squirrel going around the ring, he settled right in once we came down centerline. And the talent is undeniable.
So if I get hit by a bus tomorrow, don’t let Danny’s uninspiring 62% debut at Prix St. Georges fool you—he’s going to be one helluva horse.
Sometimes, you just have to go in the ring. Maybe it’s not perfect, maybe it’s not all there yet, but you have to go. And sometimes it’s too early to pull that trigger—we’ve all seen those rides where clearly a horse or rider are in over their heads. Ultimately, it’s not for us on the sidelines to judge. But this is what national shows are, for me: a valuable step along the way to the CDI ring, one where mistakes aren’t so punishing, where experience is gained, and where the kinks are worked out along the path to—I hope!—world class performances.
