I feel like, as an equestrian, one of our main pursuits is knowing when to apply pressure and when to take it away. That can be true with anything from loading a horse in a trailer, teaching it something new, deciding if/when to retire them, or even evaluating soundness and fitness. Our lives can often feel like one big game of “do I push with this, or do I back off?”, and I’d even go so far as to say that it’s a big part of what makes a horseman versus a rider. It’s something that we all share in common, amateur or pro, across every discipline. It’s also one of the hardest things to get right, constantly trying to think from the horse’s perspective instead of our own, and something that usually takes a whole lot of mistakes before we start to get it right more often that not. And I still have yet to see anyone who manages to get it right all the time.

It’s something I spend a lot of time thinking about. I try not to think about it so much that I become paralyzed into indecision, but I also want to be flexible and willing to re-think and re-evaluate constantly. Horses aren’t machines, after all. I especially feel the weight of that responsibility with having such a young horse. They change and evolve so fast, and the things you do in the beginning can carry weight for the rest of their lives. Admittedly, I tend to err on the side of “When in doubt, back off”. For me it’s the bigger sin to push when I shouldn’t as opposed to not pushing when I should. There are probably those out there who would disagree, but that’s just been my own experience and preference.

While I’m especially mindful of this with Presto, I think about it a lot with Henry too, albeit more from a performance perspective than a training perspective. The very last thing I want to do is ask too much of him, or use him up. Having a happy, healthy, sound Henry is my #1 priority, more than any riding goal or horse show or level achievement.

I’ve also never forgotten what he is, as a horse. An ideal eventing specimen, he is not. He’s built downhill, naturally travels a bit croup high, has crooked legs, a jumping style that really uses his whole body, a middling amount of scope, and his gallop is not exactly the most efficient thing in the world. He also has a respiratory condition that means his fitness needs to be maintained at a higher level than most horses at his same level would require. Those things all make his job harder. Yet despite them all, he’s managed to be a successful event horse – mostly because he loves the game and his heart is 110% in it (well, the cross country at least, he could do without the other two phases). But to find that success, he has to work extra hard to make up for his natural deficits, putting more wear and tear on his body than another more naturally suited, more talented, better-built horse might. None of these facts have ever escaped me, especially as we started to make the trek up the levels to Training and then Prelim.

He’s got 4 successful Prelim XC runs under his girth now. No XC jumping penalties at any of his 4 starts at the level. It’s something that makes me immensely proud of him, and if you just looked at it on paper you’d probably be like “Rock on, this horse seems suited to the level”. But what I can’t ignore, as someone who sits on him every day and is responsible for his well-being and care, is how much competing at that level takes out of him. The conditioning work in particular that is required to keep him at Prelim – it’s a lot for his body. It’s too much.

I really came to terms with that fact starting last fall. Then covid hit, and all the pressures were taken away, and his conditioning schedule has stayed much more scaled back, and I couldn’t deny it. Physically he feels better. Cutting a chunk of that fitness work out of his weekly schedule suits him much better. He still needs to be conditioned and fit enough to be a healthy and sound riding horse, of course, but there’s a difference between more basic conditioning and the serious stuff. The writing has been on the wall for a while now – I don’t think I would have a sound horse for more than a couple more years if I tried to keep campaigning him at the upper levels.

It’s a reality that maybe should bother me, but it doesn’t. Not at all. The horse owes me nothing. He’s far exceeded anything he was ever meant to accomplish, and he’s already taught me so much and given me so much confidence, and he still has so much more left in him. He feels better now than he has maybe ever, and he hasn’t had any maintenance of any kind (no chiro, no acupuncture, no massage, no injections, no magnawave, no ulcer meds, etc etc) in a year or more. Trainer solidified my thoughts last Sunday, when, while we were warming up, she watched him trot and said “this might be the best I’ve ever seen him look” and the thought I’ve been having all year finally spilled out – “I don’t think he’s meant to be a Prelim horse”. We discussed it briefly, agreed that he can school bigger questions and lesson over bigger fences, but as a show horse he’s best at Training or below, at least if I want him to last. The difference between Training and Prelim is a big one, especially the fitness work and the speed, and it’s just not worth it to try to push it when it really toes the edge of his natural capability.

What it really comes down to is that I don’t want to have to be writing a post in a couple years about his retirement. I want Henry to be his happiest self, hopping around cross country at whatever level until he’s old and gray. And hey, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he could have a long career at Prelim and I’m taking my foot off the gas pedal for no reason. I don’t think I’m wrong though. I feel it in my gut, and I can’t ignore it. I’d rather back off before there’s a problem, when he’s still feeling great and capable of doing so many other things for hopefully a long time. I owe him that much.

So while you won’t be seeing anymore P’s on Henry’s record, he’s far from finished. Scaled back, perhaps, but certainly not out of the game.

Y’all know about alignment charts? You’ve probably seen them as memes, I think we all have by now, and that’s probably how most of us know of the concept.

I didn’t know until later that it’s a thing from role-playing games and it’s like A Thing and there are even Buzzfeed quizzes about it, so… must be legit right?

Anyway, it occurred to me the other day that Presto is definitely in the Chaotic category. Usually solidly in Chaotic Good, described as: “A chaotic good character acts as his conscience directs him with little regard for what others expect of him. He makes his own way, but he’s kind and benevolent. He believes in goodness and right but has little use for laws and regulations.”. Although sometimes dipping into Neutral (when he’s being a cantankerous child) or even once in a while into Evil (if you’re asking his far-too-submissive 2yo pasture mate JB). Always 100% in the chaotic category though, that much is certain. Rules and regulations are not his bag.

I was musing over all of this on Sunday after I rode him, because he’s just so distractible he can’t even help himself. A great example: I had forgotten put on my gloves before I mounted, so, as I often do with Henry, I asked Presto to just walk off around the arena while I pulled them on. OMG. He could not handle that level of personal responsibility. He bee-lined for a pile of poop, reaching down to sniff it. I finally got him booted away from that and he wandered drunkenly down the long side, with me trying to semi-steer and semi-pull my gloves on, while accomplishing neither. Presto stopped suddenly at one of the letters that was leaning over and tried to grab it. I again booted him on and he zig-zagged his way around the short side, again stopping abruptly at a letter to try to nudge it over. At that point I’d still only managed to put one glove on so I halted him, facing him toward the wall of the arena, and tried to pull the other one on.

And I almost succeeded before, once his 3 second attention span was up, he tried to walk right over the wall of the arena. Very narrowly managed to pull him away before it happened.

Looking at the Pivo footage later, it took us 2 minutes to make that first lap around the ring with me trying to put my gloves on and him weaving around and investigating everything. I had to laugh at it, because it’s just so very typically Presto. He can’t help himself.

And for as much handling and groundwork as he’s had, he’s certainly not the most perfectly behaved animal. He knows about personal space, he’s known about it for years, the rules on that front have never changed. But it’s like he just can’t help himself from being like “HI WHAT YOU DOING?” and then you remind him to remove himself from your space and he’s like “Oh right, whoops…” two seconds later: “HI WHAT YOU DOING?”. He’s never rude or pushy about it, he just genuinely forgets himself and your silly rules. Like the labrador puppy that can’t contain his enthusiasm and curiosity. Riding him isn’t much different.

I also entered him in his first ridden show this weekend, and knowing all these things about him shaped my strategy as far as what to enter. It’s at the small venue close to us where I take Henry to do jumper classes sometimes, and where Presto did his in-hand trail class a while ago. They’ve limited entries due to covid protocol so I think it’s the perfect opportunity to dip his hoof into the show horse thing. Originally I was thinking of doing the most basic w-t dressage test, but when I thought about this venue and how his brain works, I didn’t think that was the best idea for his first time. Their dressage ring is in the middle of EVERYTHING, with lots going on around it, and usually a little pop up tent for the judges and big flower pots at all the letters. I think that would be a lot of outside stimulus with only some w-t work and a couple circles to attempt to keep his focus.

So instead we entered “Pile of Poles” jumper classes. The jumper ring has a lot around it too, but 1) knowing how his brain works, I think it’ll be less overwhelming to him 2) I think it’ll be easier to keep his brain occupied by trotting a course of poles rather than having to follow a more precise flatwork pattern. If I need to circle or do a transition or leg yield or stop and pat him, no big deal. Poles require more of his attention and focus, and a jumper class gives me more leeway with how I ride him. So we entered two poles classes HC, since all I’m really there for is to get him in the ring and ride around. We’ll see how it goes. I plan on getting there early so he can have a little lunge first and stand around taking in the atmosphere before I get on him. Maybe after his poles classes I can take him over to the dressage arena and let him check it out in a less formal way.

He’s starting to fill out again, as he does every fall, and he’s losing the gross sun-bleached look really quickly, thank goodness. Maybe we’ll make a show horse out of this ADHD giramoose yet.

How do you make Henry happy? Well ok, give him Oatmeal Cream Pies and back scratches. But, ya know, if you insist on riding him, how do you make him happy? Point him at a cross country fence.

It’s been a, uh… long time since we’ve been out on XC in any capacity. I really thought we went schooling last fall but I scrolled back through the blog a bit (until my eyes crossed, which granted was pretty quickly) and couldn’t find it, so… it’s been at least a year I think? Maybe longer. He got that awful bruise last November and was out for 2 months, then I brought him back slowly, and right when he was pretty much back to normal covid happened, and then by the time that settled enough for things to start opening up again it was hot AF, so… time accumulated quickly.

I have to admit that I was in a little bit of a weird head space the night before. I wasn’t nervous or scared or whatever, but I also wasn’t particularly excited either. I felt… weirdly apathetic. I quite literally had a dream that Henry pulled a shoe and I couldn’t go and my reaction was a shrug and an “oh well”. Maybe it had been so long that I’d just forgotten. Maybe I’m just too distracted with other things in my life right now. I dunno. It was weird.

I did put up a poll on Insta to ask which pompom I should wear, though, and rainbow won with 64% of the vote. The people had spoken. Rainbow it was.

Henry was a little skeptical when I threw him in the trailer before dawn, but when I unloaded him at Pine Hill he surveyed the area, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and I swear to god he smiled. He knew exactly where he was and he seemed pretty pleased about it. I tacked him up, got on, and walked down to warmup. Where the first thing trainer shrieked was “I VOTED FOR NAVY!” – because she did indeed vote for the navy and cream pompom, but hey what can I say? Do a better job campaigning for your candidate next time I guess. Instagram’s poll uses the popular vote, it’s totally fair. Rainbow won fair and square.

Anyway, after we warmed up on the flat a bit I pointed him at the smallest log in the line of jumps, and he cantered up to the base, peered down at it like “WTF IS THIS A TRICK” and leaped awkwardly over. Uh… yeah. A little rusty. We came around and jumped the BN one, then the N one, and by then he was like “ooooooooh right” and we finished on the T one. Once the group was done warming up we headed up the hill and Trainer gave us a couple jumps to string together – Training 1, a boat, up the hill to Training 2, a train car. Henry jumped the first one and it was like I just felt his brain click. He landed galloping, marched up the hill, and gleefully hopped over fence 2. He’s baaaa-aaack.

Then we headed over to 3, where he got a little too cocky. On the first approach I went to rebalance and he was like GIRL NAH I DO WHAT I WANT… so I pulled him up, because no you’re most certainly not going to run flat at a Training rolltop thank you, and we reapproached much more politely. We had our discussion and that was that, he settled back into normal Henry XC mode.

I didn’t want to do a whole lot with him since 1) it was his first time back out in forever 2) he’s still not fit yet after his easy summer. After that we just did a few more combinations, including one of the Prelim ones.

We didn’t jump very much, but it was enough. We were both pretty happy by the end, remembering exactly what we love about all this, and where this horse truly shines. When we were warming up I was a little worried it would be a total shitshow and we’d both be terrible, and while sure there was definitely some rust, it really wasn’t bad. It all came flooding back pretty quickly. The dressage is a slog, the showjumping is meh, but give me a hundred Henry’s for cross country. I certainly wasn’t feeling apathetic about the outing anymore by the time we were done thanks to that wonderful creature, who was having a grand time being back in his element.

Now that the weather is cooling down I can plug away a little more at his fitness and hopefully get out for more schooling and lessons. Maybe we can even make it to a one day show or two over the winter, if the weather cooperates? I think he would like that… or at least the cross country part.

When the foals were younger their lives were pretty solidly split into 3 sections: eat, play, nap. On average they were split into pretty equal chunks, perhaps a bit heavy on the napping. As they’ve matured those three chunks have changed size a bit, first with less napping and more playing, and then slowly into less playing and napping and more eating. Like it or not they’re slowly morphing into baby horses instead of actual foals, and weaning time is just around the corner. Not to say that there isn’t still plenty of playing going on…

Of course, most of the playing tends to be happening with the boys. They’ve still got that little extra bit of colt pizazz. Ollie in particular, shockingly, still spends plenty of time running amok. His chunk of play time is definitely the biggest.

Oakley likes to join in on the zoomies sometimes (probably just to remind those colts of who REALLY runs the world), but it’s definitely gotten a bit more half-hearted and short-lived.

As for Ellie? Well Ellie’s chunk of play time is relatively non-existant… take her “play” piece and re-label it to say “PET ME”… that’s more accurate. She’s pretty much only interested in food and rubbies.

Otherwise? They eat. A lot. Yeah I know, they’ve gotten a little more boring with age and maturity. But they eat and they eat and they grow and they grow, and such will be their lives for the next 3 or so years probably. This is the beginning of the perhaps less exciting part of their stories.

But then there’s Ollie of course, who somehow manages to even turn eating into a game. Who says you can’t combine play time and food time? I have a feeling this kid will never actually be boring, no matter what he does.

Our time with these guys is growing a bit short, and it’s bittersweet. It’s almost weaning time, and then off they’ll go to their new homes, to start their lives for real, and then before you know it it’ll be time to prep for the foals of 2021… all SEVEN of them. For now though, these guys are still fun to watch, just in a bit of a different way.

So maybe I’m just a little bit pre-irritated all the time with eventing at the moment, or maybe this year has been such a big lesson on how much words really matter, but… I saw something the other day that made me cringe and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

It was a post on facebook, by a professional, saying that the horse in the photo was the person’s first “real event horse”. I stumbled over those words, and came to a screeching halt. “Real”? The assumption of course was that they meant first “upper level horse” and I went to the USEA records to confirm. Indeed, that’s what the person meant. Which… bothered me a lot, for a few reasons.

We’ve talked about level-shaming before. Sometimes it’s blatant and obvious, but most of the time it’s in little ways like this. Microagressions, if you will. I have no doubt that the person meant no actual harm by this comment, honestly I doubt they even realize they said it. I’ve probably said something similar plenty of times before and not realized it. But it signals an underlying mindset doesn’t it? One that is all too prevalent in all equestrian sports. Anyone reading gets the “ah, you aren’t a real eventer and/or you don’t have a real event horse until you’re at the upper levels” message, even if subconsciously. Intentional or not, this is what we’re telling people when we use words like that.

I have to admit that it especially bothers me when words like this come from a professional who’s entire business is built upon teaching people and training horses at the lower levels. People who are probably chained to their desks at least 40 hours a week, trying to juggle a life and a family and still enjoy the sport they love. Are they not “real” eventers? I would argue that perhaps they are the most real of all. The sport gives them nothing tangible, it doesn’t pay them or give them a career. They show up and they do the hard work day in and day out and they ride all the highs and lows even though it costs them a lot – mentally, physically, and financially. They don’t deserve to be swept under the rug or automatically dismissed. They do it solely for the love of the horse and the sport, even though the sport doesn’t love them back. That’s the most pure form of “real” that I can think of.

The same goes for horses – are they not “real” event horses until they reach a certain level? Is a horse who can be trusted to carry kid after kid around BN safely not worth it’s weight in gold? Is a horse that can throw down three solid phases at Training level at event after event after event for it’s amateur rider (even if/when said amateur rider makes mistakes) not a “real” event horse? Again, I would argue that perhaps these horses are the most real of them all.

Words matter. What we say is a direct representation of what we think. The fact that someone isn’t legit or doesn’t count or is seen as less committed or less important because they haven’t reached a certain level – that message is very prevalent. It’s natural to want to be taken seriously, and the prevailing message in our sport is that in order to get respect, you have to be “real”, and in order to be “real”, you have to be at the upper levels. Aside from being bullshit, I also think it’s a super dangerous message. It leads people to push themselves and/or their horses too quickly, or to levels they aren’t suited for, or to do things they don’t really want to do at all; something that has also come up many times this year in discussions about rider safety. On one hand, we want people to be aware of their abilities and not overface themselves or their horses. On the other hand, we’re also constantly sending signals that they don’t matter unless they’ve reached X level. At some point you have to admit that the culture we perpetuate, the words we use, are at least partly to blame for some of this. And that trickles down from the very top.

This mindset is so beaten into most of us from so early on that we even degrade ourselves without even thinking about it. How often do you see it? The amateur on facebook posting a show recap from the weekend but saying “it was just BN”? I’ve said it. You’ve probably said it. We say things like that all the time and never even think about it, because it’s so normal, so deeply ingrained. It’s like we’re apologizing in advance for being happy about something or succeeding at something, because it’s not actually considered “real” by anyone’s standards. It’s sad, because 99.9% of the time, the person has worked their ass off for that accomplishment. They shouldn’t feel belittled in advance. It’s not hard to imagine how this could slowly wear away at someone and eventually turn them away from the sport – I’ve seen it happen more times that I can count.

We also have to consider that the lower levels are the lifeblood of our sport. Lower level riders are what pay the vast majority of trainer’s bills, and those lower level horses are the most commonly needed and bought and sold. The membership and starter fees from those riders are what keeps USEA alive and running, which makes a lot of things possible for upper level riders that wouldn’t be happening otherwise. Those low-level entries are the ones making up the numbers, keeping the venues afloat, keeping horse shows available. They are what keep our sport alive. So again, I have to ask… what is “real”?

In a time where we’re being asked to examine the things we say and the impact those words have on other people, maybe we (myself absolutely included) should be applying the same concept in everything we do, including our little horse world as well. What if people felt more welcome, more relevant, less inclined to push themselves into potentially unsafe territory? Would that not be good for the sport as a whole? What do we have to lose? If nothing else, keeping a little more kindness and compassion in our words sure wouldn’t hurt.

Anyone with the balls to leave the start box is a real eventer in my book, whether it’s at Advanced or Intro. I see you, and I think you’re a badass.