(“Why were they pouring cheese all over that woman? “)

Got a wall full of notes—stuff worth telling you about—but all things too brief to deserve their own blog.

First, an admission of a misjudgment—an indiscretion—on my part (Who, me?) way back when I was teaching a clinic in north Texas. A woman professional whom I knew marched into the bleachers above me followed by four of her adult students. They were all decked out in their stable colors, featuring matching purple breeches which they seemed especially proud of. I took one look at them and invited them all to turn around, facing away from me. “There,” I announced, “now you look like a bunch of grapes!” This endeared me to them somewhat less than I had anticipated. A vow of silence ensued which has gradually worn off over the years.

 

At a recent schooling show:  I was judging a rider doing Western Intro Test 2 on a huge Percheron mare. It was a very pleasant ride. The collective marks were mostly sevens and eights. After the final salute, I motioned her to come up to my table.

“That halt at A was a nine,” I said.

She looked at me blankly and said, “What’s that?”

“That’s really good, ” I explained. “I’ve only given a handful of those in the New Year so far.”

“Oh,” she mumbled as she turned and trundled off without much emotion, apparently less impressed than I was.

 

Later during lunch another Intro rider approached me. After a few moments of chitchat, she asked, “Mr. Woods, I don’t know a lot about upper level riding. Why were they pouring cheese all over that woman? ”

She was referring to the Photoshopped picture I had posted on Facebook after my student, Laura, had finished acquiring the scores she needed for her USDF gold medal. Having seen an ad for the product in question on TV, I had removed Coach Pete Carroll from an Internet shot of a sideline Gatorade bath and substituted Laura, describing in the caption the “traditional ceremonial Velveeta shower–Liquid Gold–which she had earned.

I couldn’t tell if my questioner was more relieved or disappointed that it had not really happened.

 

While on the topic of Laura’s gold medal—something she’d been dreaming about accomplishing for the past 20 years—last weekend was her 45th birthday. She had a regular lesson with me the following day, and during a break, she whispered conspiratorially, “Know what I did yesterday for my birthday? … 45 one tempis!”

Kasper, who is a good sport about almost everything, was happy to please her.

 

On the veterinary front farrier John Berkeley explains the cowboy way of knowing how long a horse must recuperate from an injury: “It depends on how many letters are in the word of what ails him. If it’s a bone problem, “bone” is four letters. The horse has to rest for four months. Tendon problem? Six letters – no work for six months. And if he has a ligament injury, count’em up. Eight  letters means eight months in the stall.” Pretty close to true!

 

Wrote on the bottom of a test which I judged last weekend (to a rider whose horse had been allowed to go in a very long, at best,  passively connected frame—an outline which could have been less charitably described as “strung out”):

When you show your horse in this frame, you are leaving his shores farther apart than the bridge you’re trying to build is long.

 

I was pondering the word “hanger,” apropos of a rider denying she was guilty of such an act. “I wasn’t hanging,” she exclaimed. But this assumes that to hang or be a hanger implies an active behavior. Sometimes yes, but a coat hanger is a passive object which nonetheless permits or invites hanging to take place. You must prevent that from happening as well. Sins of omission are tallied on your ledger too!

 

And the highlight of my week: the story of a rider who was truly in the zone during a First Level test. The test was taking place in a large, enclosed amphitheater. Her coach was going to read for her. Right before the bell rang, the coach noticed a young boy along the rail merrily creating a cloud of soap bubbles which were wafting across the arena about head-high. Knowing the horse, a “sensitive to his environment” OTTB, would take serious, if not violent, exception to the bubbles, the coach detoured to squelch the kid, deciding it would be better for her student to fend for herself in the ring.

When the rider came out after a successful performance, her coach apologized for not being there to read the test. “You weren’t?” the woman responded. “I heard you call every word!”

 

So my wall is now bare. Till next time . . .