by Gigi Amateau
Claire, who was already in jump position, fell up onto my withers and over to my right. As soon as I felt Claire falling, I stooped and slid my neck and shoulders under her to keep her with me. That save would have made Mac proud.
Mrs. Maiden wasted no time in correcting us. “You dropped him! That wasn’t Chancey’s fault, Claire. What happened? What did you do wrong?” she asked.
Claire knew her mistake right away.
“I looked down at the ground.”
“What else? What did you not do?”
“I didn’t hold him up with my right leg,” Claire confessed.
“Why not?” Mrs. Maiden always pushed her students, especially Claire, to think about their riding and find their own answers.
“I was losing my stirrup on the right, and I was trying to get it back.”
Mrs. Maiden was waiting for that exact detail from Claire. Once she knew the cause of Claire’s mistake, she set about fixing it.
“Okay, I know you’re both tired, but let’s end your lesson right. Try the outside line again. This time, no stirrups.” Through our combined willpower only, Claire and I cleared the outside line.
For many lessons after that, we jumped without Claire’s feet in the stirrups or hands on the reins so that Claire and I could learn to succeed without them. And so it went, with Mrs. Maiden pushing Claire and me to become a solid team. Only once in all of our training did I let Claire off of my back.
Our mistake occurred on the second in a series of two jumps. We approached from the left, and though I knew in my muscles and memory that there must be a second jump following, Mrs. Maiden had paced it differently; I panicked when I failed to hear Claire’s counting.
I ducked out again — in the instant before the jump, I grew impatient, old fool that I am, and second-guessed Claire, whom I had come to love and trust more than any person. This time I was unable to scoop her up, and she fell abruptly off of me, brushing my outside foreleg on her way down. I managed to lift my back leg high over her body, and so we avoided what could have been an accident of serious consequence for Claire.
I knew right away that I had lost her and trotted immediately back to her. I dropped my head down and blew into her face. Claire laughed and blew her own breath across my cheek. “I’m okay, Chancey. Don’t worry, boy.”
Claire picked herself up and together we took the line again; this time Claire guided me perfectly through both jumps. After our lesson ended, Mrs. Maiden lectured us before letting us out of the ring.
“Claire, you’re so good for Chancey. And he’s so good for you. You’ve really grown together over the last few months. I’d like for you two to show in the short stirrup division next week at Tamworth Springs.”
Claire squealed and patted my neck. “We’d love to go! We’ll be great together; won’t we, Chancey?”
“Hold on, Claire,” Mrs. Maiden continued. “If you’re going to show Chancey, you’re going to have to concentrate. He loves you and he listens to you. Sometimes, though, you get too distracted by other things. Chancey is a good horse; he might even be a great horse. But you’ve got to help him be great. He needs you to count his strides, and he needs you to concentrate.”
Mrs. Maiden let her words sink in before asking, “Can you do that?”
Claire did not hesitate. “Yes! We can do it; I promise.”
“You’re used to Daisy, Claire. Chancey is not Daisy; he is his own horse. Daisy will jump over anything you point her at. That’s why beginners ride Daisy. You and Chancey are a team now; you’ve got to help each other.”
I don’t think Claire heard a word of Mrs. Maiden’s lecture to us; she walked me down to the barn, all the while making preparations for Tamworth Springs. Claire untacked me and rinsed me off with a cool bath, which I welcomed. She rubbed my entire body with a dry towel and walked me around the paddock before turning me out. We had worked so hard that Claire took extra care to stretch me out again after our lesson.
I leaned into Claire’s shoulder with each leg she pulled, enjoying the full extension of my muscles. I looked at Claire, so petite, yet so strong and confident. I realized then as Claire held me, unafraid of taking my weight and holding me in balance, how delicate the matter of balance really is.
When we missed the second jump and I let Claire fall, we lost our balance in an instant. Whether I had dropped Claire or Claire had dropped me made no difference. We had recovered and resolved to go forward to our first showing together. I had never felt better; Claire’s confidence was soaring. Our sights were set on Tamworth Springs.
Claire and I spent the eve of our Tamworth Springs debut together turning me into, in Claire’s words, a “fancy pony.” I am not a fancy pony. Technically, I’m not a pony at all. Claire prepared me for our little show as if it were a rated show at the horse center in Lexington, where horses from all over the country come to compete. I’ve been to the horse center, and I’m not the least intimated by the fancy horses and stately brick barns.
As much as I looked forward to our daily grooming before lessons, the beautification that is required to turn out well for a show is something else altogether. Show turnout is a routine that I’ve been through many, many times with many different riders. You don’t get to be a twenty-two-year-old school horse without having your mane pulled now and again.
Claire readied me for the show with a demeanor that I had not seen since that first day of our meeting when Claire barely offered me a smile. I could not relate this girl to the same lighthearted girl that Claire had become. I asked myself, could this serious little Miss be the same one who loved to ride me backward in the saddle? Was this somber girl really Claire, who in the middle of a lesson, would often stop to remove the saddle because it felt freer to ride bareback? My Claire was nervous. She did not speak a word out loud, but the racing of her heart told me so.
Claire dragged the mounting block alongside my right shoulder and began pulling my mane to get it short and even for the show. While Claire silently wrapped thin strands of mane around the braiding comb and then yanked off the ends to make for a uniform length all the way down my neck, Mother worked on removing knots and briars from my tail, which had grown so long that it dragged the ground. Claire and Mother pulled briars and mud from my mane and tail with such steady and even rhythm, I felt almost as if I might melt in their hands. Feeling secure in the cross-ties, I even allowed myself to enjoy a light sleep.
Neither of them spoke a word. Mother, standing directly behind me so that I could feel her presence, knew that I would not kick. With no tentativeness about her at all, she had me detangled in a matter of minutes using both a comb and her fingers. Claire still had not spoken a word, and Mother, too, seemed content to work in silence.
I could hear all of my friends eating their dinner. The familiar smell of beloved sweet feed filled the barn. Though I knew grain and fresh hay would be waiting for me when our work was complete, I felt it more important to stand quietly while Claire and Mother finished than to dance around insisting that I have my hay and grain at once. I liked standing between them, feeling both of them attend to me together, and yet lost in their own thoughts. I liked it very much. Never, I thought, had preparing for a show been so enjoyable.
I closed my eyes and bent my head nearer Claire’s heart. Despite her steady hands and quietness, her heart still beat furiously.
“Don’t worry,” I tried to tell her. “Don’t worry, Claire. I’ll take good care of you tomorrow.” Claire remained too deep in her own mind to hear me.
Claire decided not to bathe me that evening before the show because I love to roll after bathing. A clean white horse will not stay clean for long, especially one who loves to roll, as I do.
There are two kinds of rolling. The frightful kind of rolling is because the pain inside you must be let out. Rolling to relieve pain is often symptomatic of a horse who is threatening to colic. But rolling in the field immediately after a bath is perhaps the most joyful kind of rolling for a horse. Extending all
four legs to the sky for a good deep stretch, which then causes the earth beneath your weight to crumble into dirt particles of all sizes that massage your entire back in a most exquisite manner, is bliss itself. No other kind of rubbing or scratching can replace this rolling around with the earth
Had Claire bathed me that night, we likely would have had to repeat the exercise anyway, because I would not have even tried to resist the urge to cover myself in dirt and dung.
Show day started with a hectic pace. Claire and I were both accustomed to taking our time. We had grown used to our routine of Claire riding me bareback a bit in the field before our lesson, dawdling in my room before tacking up, and then Claire deeply stretching my legs before training. On the morning of our first show, Claire and I did not follow our usual routine. Those around us were impatient to get everything loaded, and we had much to do.
Before light — before breakfast even — Claire and Mother arrived to bathe me. A wisp of moon and one star remained lit when Claire walked into the field to catch me. She did not have to walk far in the dark as I was standing near the gate, waiting for her. After a good night of rolling in my field, Claire often jokes that I am no longer a white pony, but a red one. Not to disappoint, I was anything but white when Claire and Mother arrived on show day. I could not help but roll many times during the night.
Claire kissed my cheek and teased, “You can’t be Chancey! You look like a pretty palomino. What did you do with my beautiful albino pony?”
I nickered at Claire and danced around the gate, unable to contain my excitement any longer. “Come on, boy.” She pulled me out of the field. “Let’s get you cleaned up; you’re the reddest I’ve ever seen you.”
Before I could even taste one morsel of my morning grain, Mother and Claire had me secured in the cross-ties and had begun bathing me with cold water. It made for a most uncomfortable start to my day. Claire left the bathing primarily to Mother so that she could load our tack into the trailer.
“Oh, great, Chancey rolled in poo. His whole backside is green,” Mother pointed out to Claire.
Claire laughed, which annoyed Mother further.
“Claire!” Mother reprimanded. “Poo is not funny on show day. You know as well as I do that a big part of showing is how well you’re turned out.”
Mother turned back to me. “Let’s get you white again, Chance.”
She had brought with her a stack of clean towels and a special shampoo which promised to make even the dirtiest white horse glisten. Mother made no effort to help me adjust to the cold water by first starting with my legs, as Claire would have done. Cold water is more tolerable on my feet and legs; I find that if I can just have a moment to relax, I am able to endure the cold all over my body. Mother was in a hurry, however, and was disinclined to baby me.
I could hear Claire and the other girls near the trailer and could smell the hay nets being prepared for our outing. I could hear Claire, but I could not see her. In a flash of panic, I feared going to the show. I whinnied for Claire. Still wet and cold in the cross-ties, I began dancing from side to side. My nervous stomach rumbled. I wanted to stay with Claire and not let her out of my sight. My routine was off; everything seemed different to me. My bath was cold, I had not eaten yet, nor had I been stretched, and I could not see Claire. I whinnied for Claire again.
Mother tried to calm me. “You’re okay, boy. Shhh, you’re okay.”
I did not respond to her in any detectable manner. I could not find it within in myself to touch Mother’s shoulder, as I would have liked to do. I averted my face and turned away.
Finally, Mother dried me off and led me back to my room to eat. I inhaled every morsel of grain and did not pay homage to Dante by leaving grain along the wall between us. I was relieved to taste that my pain-ease supplement had not been forgotten.
Claire came and finished pulling my mane and tried to soothe the both of us. “Don’t worry, boy. It’s just a little b-b-barn show. There’s no reason to be nervous. We’ve both been in bigger shows than this one, just not together. Don’t worry. Everything will be f-fine.”
Claire’s word stumbling had returned. I sighed a deep sigh to encourage the same in Claire. She leaned against me. With Claire beside me, I breathed easier and knew that everything would indeed be fine. After all, I had many years of barn shows to my credit, though truly I had never shown with a partner for whom I felt as much affection and loyalty as I did for Claire. I touched Claire’s chest with my muzzle and nickered deep to let her know that I would do my best, too.
She was not thinking of me anymore; Claire was watching Mother talk, rather animatedly, to a man I did not recognize. “That’s my dad! My dad’s here! I better go over there before he and Mother start f-fighting,” she said. Leaving me in my room, Claire ran to her father’s side and hugged him with nearly as much squeeze as she usually reserved for me.
“Dad, come meet Chancey.” Claire pulled her father by his hand toward my room.
He shuffled his feet, reluctantly following behind Claire. Though of course my loyalty resided with Mother, who had saved the vision in my right eye and given me a stable home with Claire, it did surprise me that my ears, quite on their own, instinctively pinned themselves back at Claire’s father. I caught myself before Claire noticed, however, and stretched my neck out toward him in an offering of friendship. He stood a step or two beyond what was necessary to make a connection.
“Come on, Dad,” urged Claire. “Let him smell you. That’s how horses say hello.”
Mother interrupted the two of them. “Claire, your father’s afraid of horses. Maybe if you bring Chancey closer to him?”
Her father stiffened. “No, I’m fine. I can see the horse just fine.”
Claire resumed brushing me, chattering with her father about the classes we would compete in later and how hard the two of us had been practicing. Her father began to relax, and I was glad to have met him, for despite my allegiance to Mother, my highest faithfulness was to Claire, and the child was beaming in her father’s presence.
Mother stood watching them with her arms folded across her heart. She allowed the two of them only another moment before she interrupted. “Claire, come on. Let’s get Chancey loaded into the trailer.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there. I want to show Dad around the barn first,” Claire said.
I could see that Mother badly wanted to pull Claire away from her father, but she did not. Mother nodded to Claire and walked back over to me. She hooked my lead rope to my halter and led me to the trailer. I could feel in Mother, the way she so tightly gripped the lead and yanked on my halter, that the morning was difficult for her for reasons unrelated to Claire or me. I stopped, intent that I should have a moment with Mother before loading.
Mother tugged on the lead; I refused to go. She pulled harder on the rope, forgetting momentarily that I weighed more than a thousand pounds. Mother loosened her hold on the rope and turned to face me. I blinked my eyes at her and threw my head up for her to come nearer. She stepped back to my cheek and rested her face against mine.
“It’s just not fair that he waltzes in here like a big hero. He doesn’t even want Claire to ride. He thinks it’s too dangerous. I get tired of fighting with him about it; anyone can see how happy Claire is out here.” Mother’s eyes filled up to the lids with water, which then spilled over onto my neck.
I pressed my cheek into Mother’s until finally she began to breathe in an equal and deep rhythm.
“You’re a good horse, Chancey. You know, you’ve saved Claire’s life in these past few months. She has taken the divorce so hard. Without you, I don’t know that there would have been any joy at all in this little girl’s life right now. You’ve seen her through the hardest thing she’s ever had to face,” Mother told me. “Thank you, Chancey.” She patted my neck softly in one of my favorite spots.
Claire came running up to us, and she was a sight to behold, as her freshly pressed show clothes were already disheveled and soiled from the morni
ng’s work. Still, Claire was as radiant a girl as I have ever seen. Mother observed this as well. “Claire, you’re beautiful! You and Chancey are going to have a fine time today.”
Mother put her arms around Claire and pulled her in so close that I could barely hear her whisper, “Have fun today, my sweet girl.”
As the sun had not yet fully risen, I concluded that with Claire nearby, perhaps the sun did not need to wake so early today.
I believed Claire and I were ready for Tamworth Springs. Everyone believed we were ready. We had worked hard throughout the spring and summer, building first our friendship and then our skills. With each other’s help, Claire and I had conquered our respective troubles. We were now a team, and Tamworth Springs was to be our debut. All of us certainly expected that Claire and I would compete without incident. Mrs. Maiden had even predicted that we would come back to Maury River Stables with a champion ribbon, although we were only at Tamworth Springs to get our legs under us.
Hunter shows have never been my favorite. I detest the stressful conditions under which one must compete. The number of times that I’ve been cut off, kicked, or rear-ended because of rude or novice horse-and-rider teams is not worth counting. But then I am not much of a counter anyway. Coaches and spectators alike move in and out of the show ring with great inconsideration and little awareness. There are those who thrive at hunter shows; I am not among them.
Daisy would rather spend a day at a hunter show than most anywhere else. Of course, because of her sacred bubble, Daisy has always been permitted to show with a red ribbon tied around her tail. Tamworth Springs was no different. The ribbon warned that all who dared to enter the space around Daisy’s Welsh rear end would receive a swift, hard kick. I, without a red ribbon to excuse me, was expected to behave amid some quite poorly mannered teams.
