(“I sink ze pirouettes vould be ze best place to begin.”)

Stranger things have happened. If you’re around horses long enough, there’s always another story to top the last one. Here are a few to add to your list.

I was competing at a recognized show in New England back in the early ‘80s. I was on my thoroughbred, Adam, at the time doing Second Level. As was the case then more than now, the judge’s “booth” was a two horse trailer parked at C with the ramp down. As I rode my left shoulder-in up the track from F to B, I glanced over to see what the judge was up to—gazing intently at my prowess, dozing, whatever—and discovered his seat was empty! Scribe—present. Judge—absent! To some riders the question might come to mind Now what do I do? For me it was simple—just keep making shoulder-in and hope he turns up.

In fact, as the ride proceeded, his whereabouts was detected. Back then things were a little less formal, and the judge, Max Gahwyler, had decided that to better view if the horse was on three tracks, he’d stroll over to the corner to see the movement head on. Subsequently, he was advised that judges should stay in their booths, but at the time his walk-abouts caused quite a stir!

In the mid ‘80s, I was present when another judge left his booth. At the Sunshine State Games in Jacksonville, Florida, I was assigned to Ring 2, and Major General E.C.D. (Pony) Scherrer who had driven down from South Carolina with his wife was presiding in Ring 1. It was a Florida-hot late spring day, and Joyce, Pony’s wife, was napping in their great boat of an Oldsmobile under a tree not far from his arena. To ward off the humidity, she had the car running with the AC on. When the elements overcame its coping abilities, the car overheated and steam began to pour from under the hood. Joyce awoke with a start, panicked, and ran to his judge’s trailer screaming, “Pony, the car’s on fire! The car’s on fire!” That prompted an equally rapid Major General dash from the trailer to the car until Pony realized it was less than a life threatening situation. No one thought to ask the rider how she had felt about being abandoned in mid test, but in the end, order was restored, and Boring Old Dressage continued.

Another showing story comes to mind. In this case the protagonist was a rider’s husband. He was a dentist by profession, and although he had a thick German accent, other than polishing off his wife’s boots and running the video camera, he had zero working knowledge of anything dressage-like. It so happened that also competing that weekend was an S judge (a False Positive in the eyes of some) known for being a bit of a flake. Her groom wasn’t available to perform the service, so she asked the dentist if he could possibly film her I-1 ride for her. As a friendly gesture he did so. When she exited the arena and he Sie sind herzlich willkommen-ed in response to her thanks, she jumped at the chance to pick his Germanic (take that to mean “Dressage-wise” brain).

“What do you think I should work on?” she inquired.

The dentist drew upon one of the few bits of dressage jargon he’d overheard in conversation and obligingly offered, “I sink ze pirouettes vould be ze best place to begin.”

The (goofy) rider gushed her thanks, adding “Yes, I think so too,” and marched off happily back to the stable.

Okay, one more—a story related to me during a recent clinic trip to Shreveport. One of my regular riders is the morning drive time DJ at 93.7 KISS Country (which you may feel free to conclude is not part of NPR). Although she owns a warmblood and a couple of TBs, as part of her cowboys and country schtick when them folks are in town, her station is actively involved. Not long ago that involved promoting a visit to Shreveport by three time bull riding World Champion, Tuff Hedeman. Doing human interest stuff, she dragged Tuff out to Paul and Donna Kroehnke’s Wildwood Farm and persuaded him to get in English tack and have a jumping lesson.

Now clearly this guy is a world class athlete and knows his way around a horse, but you can guess how different it all must have felt to him. I saw the video. The short version is that within minutes, Tuff had figured out the mechanics of a viable half seat/ jumping position and was soon doing cavaletti and lines of small fences—quite admirably, I should add!

When asked how he adapted so quickly, Tuff offered sage advice that has a lot of general applicability: “I just tried to stay in the middle of him and not overthink too much!”