August arrived and we shipped off for the Regionals. Richard finally realized that it was easier to let me load my own horse. Moonshine followed me into the trailer without any pressure on the lead rope. We walked shoulder to shoulder everywhere, even up the trailer’s steep loading ramp.
When we arrived at the show, Carol told me to take it easy in schooling Moonshine, since it had been a long trip, and he might be sore and stiff. She said I should just do relaxing work like letting him stretch his head down, at the walk, trot, and canter. No collection, she ordered. I was nervous about not doing a full workout the day before the show—it was sort of like not studying the night before a test. But I did whatever Carol said.
The next day, Moonshine was relaxed, fluid, and elegant in his first test. To reward him, I untacked him and led him out to graze. I wanted to watch the top riders performing in the more advanced levels, so I led Moonshine out to graze by the main show ring. There was a crowd seated on the grassy hill around the arena, watching the performances below. I was instantly captivated by the beauty and elegance with which they rode and their horses moved. I let the lead rope slacken so Moony would stop pulling me while he looked for good patches of grass. I didn’t want to be distracted from watching the show. Then, all of a sudden, he started charging right into the crowd of people sitting on the grass, causing them to jump up and run out of his way.
“Moonshine, STOP!” I whispered loudly, horrified that he was stampeding these innocent bystanders. I could do nothing to stop him. I dug my heels into the ground and threw all my weight back, pulling against the lead rope, but he continued to plow through to wherever it was that he wanted to go. The mayhem in the crowd caught the attention of the horse performing in the arena. The horse spooked, and took off.
Holy shit! I thought, horrified and humiliated.
Luckily, the horse was being ridden by a skilled rider, who managed to regain control, and resumed her test. She shot me an angry glare.
I wanted to run away and crawl into a hole.
“Damn it, Moonshine! Come on, we’re going!” I said as I pulled him back to the barn. I was humiliated. Moonshine, on the other hand, did not seem to care, and followed me nonchalantly back to the show barn.
I was frustrated and furious, and unfortunately, those emotions did not subside quickly. I was angry all the way into the next day, so any little thing that Moonshine did now was totally unforgivable. Our performance on that day was lackluster, even for us. I knew we could have done better, but I was too angry to “ride smart,” as Carol put it, and Moonshine just didn’t care, as usual.
__________
After my last class, I declared to my mother, “I’m quitting, this is pointless.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, bewildered.
“I suck. Moonshine sucks, we never get good scores. So, what’s the point?”
She said nothing, which was highly unusual for her. She left me alone in the barn, to clean up and pack for the trip home. Then, Carol appeared.
“What’s this I hear about you quitting?”
I was instantly furious with my mother and decided I would never again tell her anything in confidence.
“I never win, we never get good scores, so what’s the point?”
She started with one of her usual speeches, which I ignored. I wasn’t in the mood for a pep talk or lecture. I wasn’t listening. She apparently noticed, and left.
I was alone for an hour until she reappeared.
“Come with me,” she ordered.
I walked with her, following her to the warm up arena. An older-looking gentleman, with an old looking horse, stood waiting, in the center of the ring. We approached them.
“Victoria, this is Dr. Max Gahwyler,” Carol said.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young lady,” he said in a foreign accent, as he removed his glove from his hand, and extended his arm down to me for a handshake. As he lowered his body from where he sat on his horse, his thin, loose skin fell toward me.
“Nice to meet you,” I said politely.
His horse looked just as ancient as he did. The animal’s bones looked large and heavy. The hair on his dark face was peppered with white. The horse did not prick his ears forward at all, like most horses do when they notice new things. Instead, he simply kept them pointed back, toward his rider, almost as if he were listening to his partner as he spoke.
“Dressage is not about the tricks you see in the ring. It is about the feel—how united one is with the horse. The tricks are simply a result of the feel. Allow me to demonstrate.”
As soon as his horse began to walk, those weathered eyelids unveiled a spark in his crisp blue eyes.
“Did you see me give the walk command?” he asked.
“No,” I replied.
“Good, because the communication was not meant for you—it was meant for the horse. Now, lightness,” he said as he edged his inside hand forward, showing slack in the rein.
“What changes when I give my inside rein?” he asked
“Nothing,” I said.
“Correct. That is because I don’t need my reins, I ride from my seat and legs,” he stated. “You must also make sure that the horse is using his back when you are riding—by that I mean, he must be rounded over his back, as it is the connection between back and front. Imagine that the engine of the horse is in the rear, the rear legs begin the forward motion, it must pass through the back, and if the back is working, it will be slightly elevated, or, in other words, rounded. When the horse is round, that forward energy passes into the bridle, where the rider then has total control of it, and therefore the horse. Do you understand?” he asked.
“I think so,” I said. I actually did understand, since Carol had already explained roundness a long time ago. But then he showed me the difference between a hollow horse, where the horse drops his back and picks up the neck, and a round horse, where the forward motion is coming from the rear end, passing through the back, and going through to the neck. He showed me the difference in all three gaits—walk, trot, and canter. The horse did look a lot harder to control when he wasn’t round.
When he finished the demonstration, he asked, “Do you see the difference between round and not round?”
“Yes,” I replied. It was remarkable to see how the average looking horse could look so impressive just from becoming round. It was also impressive to see how subtle the rider’s commands were on a round horse.
“Good. I wish you the best of luck in your dressage career. It was a pleasure meeting you, young lady,” he concluded.
“Thank you, it was nice meeting you, too,” I said.
Carol and I turned and walked back to the barn.
“I think I know why the canter is so much harder for me than the trot,” I said to Carol.
“Why is that?” she asked.
“I don’t think he’s really round all of the time,” I said.
“We’ll work on it,” she encouraged.
“Who was that guy anyway?” I asked.
“He judged you in one of your classes. He is also a pretty famous trainer.”
__________
The following weekend, everyone who didn’t go to the Regionals wanted an update on my experience.
The first person who asked how my first Regionals went was Jean.
“Hi, Victoria!” she seemed elated to have found me by Moonshine’s stall the following Saturday.
“So, how were the Regionals? Did Moony strut his stuff?” she asked excitedly.
“They were OK,” I stated.
“Are you being modest again?” she beamed. I was struck by her radiant smile. She looked so much prettier when she smiled, I thought. She really should smile more.
“No, we mostly got scores in the fifties, again,” I said.
“Well, it takes years and years of practice. Plus, those judges have no clue what a superstar Moony is,” she said.
I swelled with pride—nobody ever called Moony a superstar.
“Yeah, those judges can’t stand that he’s not a warmblood, but I don’t care, he is a superstar,” I said, more to myself than to Jean.
She smiled, patted me on the shoulder, and walked off to her barn.