𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐘'𝐒 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋 - rvec mustang million entry

[caf.]

Riot’s introduction to being “on the bridle,” so to speak, was surprisingly uneventful. I’d expected several explosions of small mare frustration due to the pressure-and-release nature of the exercise, but she seemed to understand, from the moment I started lightly taking up my reins, what exactly I wanted. It wasn’t beautiful by any means - her head lowered very hesitantly, an inch at a time - but she figured out my game very quickly; drop the head, hold it there, pressure released.

Of course, I started her at the halt; her walk was much improved but I still wanted her to be very clear on what I was asking. Within a few minutes of reinforcing the basic head-down-nose-in aid, I had no issue with moving her up to the walk. Naturally, from an observer’s perspective, it looked inconsistent and awkward; she’d lower her head and stretch over her back, then quietly pick it up and tuck her nose onto the vertical for an instant, and then jerk her head upward and hollow her back or throw her head back down to her knees where she was used to it being from previous training. Going from long and low to round was a difficult transition; after all, for an untrained horse, stretching over the back and flexing the poll at the same time is very hard work.

Of course, no matter how deeply and descriptively I describe it, the fact is that this exercise gets boring to the horse (and any observer who doesn’t understand what they’re watching) quickly. She started switching her tail and snapping her head from side to side, telling me in no uncertain terms that it was time to be done with that.

I still wanted to keep going, but I figured keeping her at the walk was only going to make her throw a tantrum. Lightly, tactfully, I closed my calves around her, hoping that perhaps she wouldn’t object as hard as she usually did under saddle.

Fat chance. Riot threw a large, spirited buck before settling into the trot. She objected hard to leg aids still; it seemed I had some work to do in that regard. Her trot, too, was resistant and hackneyed; she clearly didn’t have this in mind. I silently promised her to be fast as I took my reins back up and lightly tipped her nose inward.

As stated before, it wasn’t pretty, but it was progress. Huge progress. Her nose was almost on the vertical and her topline was, well, round. It lasted for a few seconds at the time, but it was a fantastic foundation. With one lap around the arena I slowed her to the walk, gave her all the reins, and scratched her withers, allowing her to be done for the day.

When I dismounted, she knew she’d done well; immediately she tried to mug me for food, shoving her muzzle into my hip. I shooed her and rewarded her as soon as she stood patiently, then wasted no time in untacking her and turning her out. I really wanted her to know how good she was today; the bigger a reward she got, the more likely she was to retain and willingly perform what she’d learned.

In another case, I’d have waited until my horse was a tad more consistent in dressage before starting jumping, but I had no more time to waste. It was time to start her over fences. I sensed this would be an exciting venture.

[caf.]

I decided to free jump Riot before I rode her over obstacles; she’d begun to trust and bond with me but she still was more feral horse than saddle horse at this point. As a result I spend about an hour after my morning riding lesson dragging obstacles, jumps, and standards out of the storage shed, setting up a makeshift chute in the arena along with a small bridge, some backing chutes, poles, things we might encounter at the Million.

I started the free jump chute with one crossrail, barely six inches off the ground. By the time it was all set up I was sweating hard; even though I’d been back in the game for a year I still didn’t work out as much as I should. Being a depressed washup for a few years really saps your motivation it seems.

I closed off the arena, made my way to the center, and turned Riot loose as soon as I got her in there; she was full of fire and I figured she could have a few minutes to get all her giggles out. Predictably she cruised around with her tail flagging in the air like an Arabian’s, sloppily flipping her leads and bucking. She scooted around the obstacles warily, nostrils flared, galloping towards the bridge or the poles only to screech to a stop and wheel on her heels.

Finally, after a few minutes of acrobatics, she stopped at the end of the arena and stared at me, ready to play a game. Gently, I pointed to my right and clucked, raising my other hand towards her hindquarters. Already fairly good at free lunging, she leapt into a large trot, showing off in hopes of a reward. She circled me easily but skirted the jump chute warily, cutting her loop off at the edge. Slowly I began to move her towards the jump chute, an inch at a time, gently urging her to at least approach the fence. Predictably, she bolted into the chute once I got close enough to it, attempted to gallop through it, then stopped dead when she saw the crossrail.

I worried that she might turn around and bolt back out, but being the willing/greedy thing she is, she leapt up onto her hind legs, tucked her forelegs tightly into her barrel, lifted from the ground, and crashed down on all fours on the other side before bolting off in a fit of bucking, confused and excited by the whole ordeal. As soon as she was done ‘celebrating’ I stopped and treated her, stroking her neck generously.

I had her canter down the chute several times, each repetition less eventful than the last. She started off with her mighty four-legged leap of faith, realized that expended too much energy, and settled for awkwardly bunny-hopping. Stop, treat. She still bucked excitedly as she cantered away, but I didn’t much mind - even the top showjumpers get excited now and again, and I could correct it later under saddle.

During the session she never quite got the hang of jumping normally and her takeoff spots were awkward, but truthfully I don’t much mind. Before I can assess her talent she needs to learn to manage fences calmly and effectively, so overwhelming her would be quite ineffective. Instead, I stopped her, treated her, and reattached her lead to begin walking her over the bridge and other obstacles.

Riot didn’t mind the bridge at all; I’d apparently done a good job with her trailer ramp training, because she stepped onto it calmly, stopped, waited for her treat, then stepped back off. She still stamped and pawed and pranced next to me, but she was clearly eager to play my game. Always a game - she was having a grand time learning what buttons to push to unlock her rewards.

The tarp was difficult, naturally; Riot wouldn’t go anywhere near it at first. With some careful counterconditioning I managed to edge her closer, though she reared often, irritated that I seemingly didn’t understand her hesitation. After she warily sniffed the plastic from a few feet away, I rewarded her, let her climb over the bridge again, and quit; she’d done extremely well, and I had no qualms about stopping. It would be easy to repeat sessions like these weekly - for all of her guff and spirit, she was really a quick learner.

[caf.]

After a few admittedly wild sessions of free jumping, Riot had finally figured out how to jump; hind legs plant, front legs over, back legs over, front legs down. She only landed on the right lead about half the time but even though her flying lead change leaves something to be desired, her simple change is relatively easy (when she doesn’t buck in objection to your lower leg). As such I figured it was time to get it over with and jump her under saddle for the first time.

She warmed up well; my little mare was markedly improved in terms of her frame, and while her poll was still somewhat too low her topline and poll flexion were more than adequate for her level. I trotted her over a line of poles to start, then briefly dismounted to spread them out to canter poles. She handled these energetically, flipping her tail and, once again, poorly attempting to change her leads. I had her repeat the line a few more times until she quit landing in an awkward crossfire canter.

Once she was consistently cantering down the line, I dismounted once more and raised the last pole on a set of pole raisers, then added another pole to make a small crossrail, even smaller than the one she’d jumped on her first day. By now, she was handling two feet in the free jump chute with no issues. My lesson kids certainly questioned why I had such an odd setup in the arena.

After kicking the remaining poles back into a trot setup, I vaulted back up onto her back from the ground. Riot was still pretty terrible for mounting - something I’d have to work on - but she rarely did much save for a little wiggling and trotting off once I was mostly settled. Either way, she was riled, tossing her head playfully and breaking between a trot and canter. Before sending her down the poles I halted her, patted her when she was still, and sent her off again at a cleaner trot.

Naturally, she forgot what her feet were doing at the base of the crossrail and awkwardly left a hoof behind over the fence, then set up a spirited bucking on the other side. At least she wasn’t kangaroo-jumping like a couple of the new geldings. Not yet, anyhow.

To be truthful, it was rather dull jumping her under saddle. Each time it got a little smoother, but the pattern remained the same: trot cleanly over the poles, hesitate at the fence, awkwardly jump, and ‘celebrate’ afterwards. Her bucks were getting noticeably stronger which, in a twisted way, was a good sign; she was now athletic enough to nimbly balance on her forelegs and kick out several feet in the air, meaning I had less to worry about in terms of her getting hurt from overwork.

After about seven repetitions in each direction, I momentarily considered raising the crossrail to a vertical, but decided that she’d been plenty good. I saw no reason to push her any further - after all, I’d already been on for about half an hour.

With that, I cooled Riot out at the walk. Her gaits looked more and more nice with each ride; while she was no fancy dressage-bred warmblood, her walk was starting to develop a nice tempo, and her stretch was pronounced and lovely. She still took issue with the reins, jutting her muzzle out every now and again, dropping her head, flicking it up to avoid contact, but slowly, the good moments started to outnumber the bad ones.

After the ride, I hosed her clean. She was predictably finicky about water, dancing around and pinning her ears with irritation and confusion. Even though she was becoming a fancy little dressage mare, she still wasn’t quite domesticated, not yet. I made a mental note to wash her more often.

[caf.]

While combing the internet for schooling shows I could take some of the geldings to, I stumbled across an ad for a very small all-around show, clearly targeted at beginning riders. They had a few halter classes, some mounted games, pleasure and pattern for english and western, a couple of barrel races, and a small hunter class. It looked like the perfect place to start building Riot’s tolerance to crowds and buildings and such; the show would be held in a livestock arena, and there would be only a few dozen people and about thirty horses. Of course, I had no idea if they would let someone my age compete - it seemed that the classes were mostly for kids belonging to the barn that rented the facility in the first place.

I contacted the owner and told her my situation, asked if she’d be willing to let me show my mare in a few classes. I even mentioned that I wasn’t looking for ribbons, that the kids deserved them well more than I would. To my surprise, she responded in minutes, delighted that I’d taken an interest in her event.

“Of course, anyone of any age is welcome at Pine Place shows!” she wrote. I could already tell we would not get along were we to meet in real life; that bubbliness would undoubtedly irk me.

“You’re welcome to the ribbons, too - every rider deserves to feel like a winner!” Yikes. Either way, it looked like I’d be going. On the website, I registered Riot, and then, as an afterthought, Romeo. Turd that he was, I figured he could use the experience.

The day of the show, I decided at the last minute to take the three-horse trailer; with Riot’s moodiness, I doubted she’d travel well with a gelding. As such, after loading tack and feed for the day, I loaded Romeo behind the stud wall and then Riot into the second stall. Despite her general messiness on the ground, she was a saint in the trailer; she let the stall swing closed behind her and stood calmly as I unclipped her. It seemed I’d done a plenty good job in teaching her that the trailer meant good things.

Naturally, the show was incredibly disorganized, almost painfully so. It took quite some discussion to figure out where I could park, and I wasn’t particularly pleased to learn that the stalls I’d reserved weren’t available. I unloaded the horses, tied them on opposite sides of the trailer, and left to find the registration tent. Luckily, it was within viewing distance of my truck, so I could at least keep an eye on Riot while I signed up for classes.

Open Halter // Kasey Cavallo // Fatal Attraction

Open Showmanship // Kasey Cavallo // Sticks and Stones

Senior Western Pleasure // Kasey Cavallo // Fatal Attraction

Walk-Trot English Pleasure // Kasey Cavallo // Sticks and Stones

Hunter Hack // Kasey Cavallo // Sticks and Stones

Then, as an afterthought:

Senior Trail // Kasey Cavallo // Sticks and Stones

I grudgingly shelled out the $78 for the classes along with the trailer fee before returning to my steeds, checking them both over to make sure they’d behaved during the ride over. I realized I didn’t even have nice show halters; Riot had a green nylon halter with a breakaway, and I’d just purchased Romeo the same product in magenta. Shrugging, I set about brushing the gelding and taking care of his feet. Both horses were a bit scruffy but I didn’t care; the only reason I’d entered the halter classes was to get them some much-needed experience.

Just as I was about to go find someone to keep an eye on Riot while I showed Romeo, a shy woman from the registration tent approached me.

“Hi - were you the, uh, the one that had reserved stalls?” From the way she said it, it seemed I was the only one who had. I nodded, so she told me they’d found a few in the back of the barn. Of course - as soon as I had everything figured out to show out of the trailer, I had to move everything into stalls. Shrugging, I asked her to keep an eye on Riot while I moved everything to the stalls.

To my delight, Riot was a perfect lady while I put Romeo away. It seemed, since the hustle was a ways removed from her, she didn’t at all mind the other horses. She simply stood and looked around, ears up and eyes wide, but well-behaved. The official complimented me on her appearance before leaving me to my own devices. I picked up the remaining tack I hadn’t gotten on the first trip and led her back.

The stalls were dingy and dark; it was easy to tell they were aged and in dire need of some maintenance with their rickety boards and sticky doors. Riot was not nearly so pleased with this arrangement, and it took a few small rears and a lot of persuasion before she relented and allowed me to shut her in. Since nobody wanted these stalls - for obvious reasons - I had plenty of license to keep an empty stall between my horses. The irritable mustang probably wouldn’t tolerate being next to a gelding.

In my head I’d already condemned myself to last place in every class, though when I entered the ring with Riot I saw that I really wasn’t any better or worse off than anyone else in the class. All of the horses were pretty average in appearance and conformation, most with spots of dirt or uncombed manes. Still, they were utterly gentle and docile creatures - textbook schoolmasters - who followed their little riders around placidly without a care in the world. Riot bounced on the end of her lead; being in a ring with all these other horses was quite exciting. Still, much to my delight, she minded all of my commands; even though her tail flagged and her head periscoped up in the air, she halted, walked, and trotted with me.

The judge lined the class up; I opted to let Riot stand in the middle of the pack to test if she could handle it. Naturally, she wanted to say hi; the bay mare to our left paid us no mind, and the swaybacked black gelding on the other side merely tipped an ear in my mustang’s direction before going back to nibbling on his handler’s sleeve.

The judge was, surprisingly, well prepared to handle a green horse. He asked me if she was safe to handle (to which I replied that he just needed to keep an eye out and moved slowly), then gingerly stepped around her. She followed him with her head, excited and eager, totally bewildered as to what was happening. It seemed, though, that she was enjoying the attention.

The judge gently prodded at her mouth, gaining a quick glimpse at her teeth, before she scooted backward. I gained her back after a few steps and brought her forward, and, to my surprise and contained delight, the judge produced a treat from his pocket for the mustang before moving on to the next exhibitor. We placed second to last in the class, right after a pony led by a tiny rider that balked at the ground poles. I gave the green ribbon to the kid before returning Riot to her stall to begin saddling Romeo.

Romeo did about how I expected him to do - green as grass, he spooked often. His good moments were gorgeous - he had a lot of potential - but he placed at the bottom of the pack in every class due to his excessive spookiness.

Riot, on the other hand, proved me wrong - she found the whole thing incredibly exciting and even though she was obviously distracted and a little hard to control, she certainly wasn’t terrified. She was playing my game; she knew if she did what she was told she’d get big rewards. I made sure to give them to her.

In the English pleasure class she was, predictably, too excited and distracted to do well; she had moments where she trotted nicely, on the bridle, but often threw her head up and tried to speed off. Once she broke to the canter during what was supposed to be a trot-to-walk transition. All of the other pleasure horses plodded along while Riot weaved between them, outspeeding them by far. Predictably, we placed last, but frankly, I was still very proud; she didn’t rear or buck, nor did she really ever get frustrated; she was trying to do what I wanted, she was just a little overwhelmed. I almost scratched her from the jump class, but when I saw how much time she had to take a break, I figured I could calm her down by grazing her and letting her walk around the barn.

After our break we entered the hack; the only other competitors were an older woman on a very gentle-looking grade gelding, a teenager on a hot anglo-arab, and an elementary-aged boy on a roan pony. The course was simple; pick up the canter, jump two fences down the diagonal, break to trot, and halt at the cone. Afterwards there would be a quick round of exhibiting gaits on the rail, the places would be released, and I would take Riot straight to the trail course (provided she was still up for it). I opted to go third, after the anglo and the pony, to let Riot see others perform it.

The teenager wasn’t the best rider out there, perhaps, but she handled her mount reasonably; as he shot down the line with the energy of a racehorse, she calmly steered him to his destination. The halt was sloppy, but she didn’t much mind; a quick pat, and the round was over.

The pony, on the other hand, had probably done this a thousand times; he popped over the tiny verticals as softly as was possible, cantered calmly around the corner, and halted as un-squarely as possible after excessive pulling on the reins from his rider.

Riot was still plenty fresh, though her canter was still reasonably paced. Too fast for a hunter, perhaps, but nonetheless she was transferring a good amount of energy into stretching over her back. When she locked onto the first jump, she hesitated mildly; I sat up, preparing for her to stop. To my great surprise, however, she hopped over it delicately, tucking her legs deep up into her chest with mild fear, then cantered to the second fence. She overjumped the next vertical less, though she still probably left a foot to spare, before jutting her nose out in an effort to take the corner at a gallop.

I sat down on her back (probably to the disgust of the hunters) and lifted her shoulders a little; even though her nose remained out, she reluctantly slowed down and took the corner somewhat like a real horse. Her, halt, too, was beyond impressive to me; nose out, maybe, back hollow, maybe, but square. On the mark. She whinnied, almost as if to say, “Yeah, I just did that,” then jigged out of the arena while I patted her.

At the end of the class, after a notably more tense walk-trot-canter, I parked Riot in the center of the class and stroked her neck while she shuddered at the sound of the loudspeaker announcing the class.

“In fourth place, Tara Williams and Regal.”

The hot horse, jigging and spooking at the sight of the white ribbon.

“In third, Henrietta Park-Hensen and Magic.”

Surprising - I’d figured Riot’s hotness would have put off the judge for sure. The older woman patted her gelding gleefully and made her exit.

“In second, Gary Allen and Tiffany.”

A quarter of a smile flashed briefly on my face at the pony’s name; to be truthful, I wasn’t paying attention much to the placings. It took me a minute.

“And the winner of the hunter hack,” the announcer said dryly, “Kasey….Cavaloh and Sticks and Stones.”

To be honest, I didn’t get it; I was sure the pony had whipped us. I took the blue ribbon with minor confusion (to which Riot responded by scooting left) and exited in a hurry, knowing how little time I had left to get to my last class. It hit me on the way to the stalls; Riot may feel tense and awkward to me, but to an onlooker, the fact that she was under saddle and jumping in the first place was a miracle. Not only that; she looked better than some domestic horses. I don’t give her enough credit.

To be completely fair, Riot did try to do the trail course. Really earnestly. She stepped over the ground poles calmly even though she was starting to sweat hard and listened to me as best she could, even though I was in an uncomfortable, too-small western saddle that hindered my aids. The problem started on the bridge; I’d reinforced her so much for standing still on it that when I asked her to move off, she got irritated. Stamping her feet, she tried her very hardest to convey to me that she was being good, why wasn’t I feeding her? After that argument she caught sight of the streamer wall and balked, then spooked at a ground pole that she’d just passed, and I conceded that she was done. She’d done a lot; mentally, she was thoroughly exhausted. I asked the judge if I could do the bridge one more time before scratching, which he begrudgingly allowed, and I rewarded my mare thoroughly. She’d been good; I was proud of her.

I wasted no time in loading up the tack and horses and heading home; Romeo was antsy and overexcited in his stall and Riot was exhausted. Even at home I didn’t bother with any formalities; I pulled the horses out, checked that they weren’t too sweaty, then put them back out to pasture. Romeo took off bucking with his buddies; Riot simply walked to her run-in to munch hay. I unhitched the gooseneck, drove by the tackroom, and stopped to pick up the saddle I’d been meaning to give Ty in exchange for the black Wintec all-purpose I’d been riding Riot in for months now. Opening the passenger side door, I almost tossed the saddle into the seat before I saw the ribbons lying there. Two fifth places, pink and wrinkled, and one 99-cent blue ribbon on top.

Half-smiling, I laid all three out neatly on the seat and put the saddle in the bed.

[caf.]

It’s honestly quite hard for me to go against my instincts to constantly ride Riot and work her on the most difficult aspects of our performance now that the competition is so close. There’s definitely a part of me that wants to jump her daily, perform constant walking pirouettes (which she’s stupidly good at but, in that part of my mind, not good enough), work hard, hard, hard. But to do so would not only sour and tire her, but put her at risk of losing the most basic skills I’d worked so hard for in the beginning. With green horses, you have to be patient, and above all, you have to always be checking the fundamentals.

I ride the mare five or six times a week with the competition being so close, but on the days I don’t, I lunge her; it’s not too taxing, but I can still work on the little things that could make or break her training. Naturally, that was my plan today; lunge her for a half hour or so, and let her go play and be a horse. She needs that as much as she needs training; I honestly think she’d become unmanageable if she weren’t given her free time.

The little mare gave me a full-on TSA pat-down for food when I retrieved her, then briefly trotted off when I tried to halter her before returning and walking with me to the end of the paddock. I saddled and bridled her quickly, then struggled to detach the old, sticky reins while she pawed in frustration. All of my tack certainly could use an oiling.

Before I attached her side reins, I let her loose in the round pen to get out all of her giggles. She immediately set off galloping, bucking and crow-hopping. All kinds of nonsense. Considering she’d been out all day, I still hadn’t the slightest clue where all of that energy had come from. At one point she stopped dead, threw up her head, and let out a piercing whinny, earning a cacophony from one of the nearby paddocks. To my surprise, it wasn’t the five-year-olds or the foals that responded to Riot’s call; rather, Soda and Atlas cantered along the fenceline, ears pricked.

I hadn’t even stopped to notice, but the weather was noticeably cooler. Fall was nearly upon us, and even the old stallions had autumn in their blood. I had work to do.

Calling Riot to me, I attached her side reins before sending her back out onto the circle. She immediately set back to bucking, which I responded to by stepping out towards her hind end and growling. With a few more kick-outs she settled into a decent trot, still somewhat nibbling on the bit but otherwise fairly relaxed and stretchy.

I encouraged her to bend a little more by stepping towards her as she circled. She dipped her nose inward too far. I clucked and encouraged her to push it back out. She threw up her head, hit the bit, and bucked. I spurred her onward with my voice. She cantered. I drew her back to trot. Frustrated, she stopped, throwing her head vigorously and chomping on her bit.

I let her have a minute to just walk, loosening the side reins so she didn’t have to set her head. This occurrence came often; a simple behavior got blown out of proportion, and she got confused before shutting down and refusing to obey any command. Anytime she got too much negative reinforcement and not enough reward, she chomped loudly on her bit and stopped.

I urged her to trot as tactfully as possible; even though she threw her head, I didn’t bother correcting it, seeing as that was a relatively easy fix. Luckily, she was still somewhat game; even though her frame wasn’t as good because the side reins were too loose, she still kept her poll flexed and her nose just a hair in front of the vertical, dancing along at an even pace. Once again, I encouraged her to bend, but this time, when she put her nose too close to her chest, I didn’t correct it. Instead I waited, quietly continuing to “push” on her barrel. Once she started to lose her balance, she started to throw her head back up, then, realizing that wasn’t helping, dropped back into a normal frame. Stop. Treat. And that was that.

Quitting early never feels productive, but there simply wasn’t a point in continuing to push her when she was already a little mentally overwhelmed and tired. I could have continued to refine her headset in a bend, but she’d have quickly grown sullen; instead, I rewarded her for a job well done and threw her back out.

One more thing to work on before the show, I suppose.

[caf.]

I offered to take one of my lesson kids on a trail ride today; she was a quiet kid who mostly rode for the love of the horse, and I figured she might well enjoy trekking around the woods behind my property.

Technically, they weren’t my woods, but my neighbor didn’t use his large property for much. I was welcome to bring my horses out onto the property, he said, provided I stayed off the roads, stayed away from the house, and didn’t do any damage. There was a makeshift gate between the properties, a board on hinges that latched with a frayed rope. It’d be a good test for Riot.

I had Riley take Novea instead of Cider; even though she leased the latter, I wasn’t sure how well Riot would tolerate a stallion, nor was I sure I trusted Cider to behave himself around the young mare. I hated to see Novea getting old, but there it was when Riley retrieved her; she was losing muscle tone noticeably. I’d likely have to retire her from competition soon.

Thankfully, Riley was a patient kid; she enjoyed sightseeing and was generally introspective and quiet. As such, she didn’t mind waiting for Riot to figure out the gate. I’d brought a fanny pack full of carrot chunks with, knowing we might encounter something like this, and I intended to train her through the gate while I had the opportunity.

Slowly but confidently, I leaned over to detach the rope latch. Riot eyed the gate but didn’t move, which I rewarded her for. I took up the rope in my hand and slowly began to push the gate, squeezing her through with my legs.

She balked; the gate still being close in front of her confused her. I made a mistake then; I should have leaned over and pushed the gate so she could see that it moved. Instead, I squeezed her harder.

Riot isn’t very tall, but that doesn’t matter much in such a situation; any rear is rightfully intimidating when it’s high enough, and the mustang felt like she might fall over on top of me. I twisted my fingers into her mane and closed my eyes, honestly caught too off-guard to do a whole lot about the situation. And as soon as it started, it was over; the mare was back on the ground, standing deceptively calmly. Riley stared at me with mild horror, not saying a word.

I walked Riot back and forth through the open gate a few times to assure her that it was, in fact, just a gate, before bringing her back out. I unlatched it and re-latched it a few times too, more for myself than for her, treating her as she stood. She’d figured out the game and was no longer too worried; as such, despite her extreme reaction before, she walked right through the gate without an issue as I opened it. Closing it was a bit awkward, but that was something to work on another time.

The trails themselves were uneventful; Riot spooked once or twice at birds or deer, but she forgot them easily. Her pace, too, was varied; in certain places she walked along like a seasoned schoolhorse, head low and ears relaxed, but a few meters later she’d be jigging and half-passing without command, amped up by the sight of a few leaves fluttering in the wind. It pleased me, though, that Riley seemed a little charmed by these lesser antics; the mare became more and more ‘normal’ every day.

The gate was, once again, uneventful on the way out; Riot remembered it and performed it eagerly before stopping to await her treat. I thanked Riley for joining me and told her to go on and head home, I’d take care for Novea for her. As she left, I patted Riot, thanking her for being Happy Riot today as opposed to Pissy Riot or Hot Riot. Perhaps I got a different mare every day for now, but slowly, I was starting to see bits and pieces of the real horse underneath.

[caf.]

I had yet to receive any information on which dressage test I’d actually be performing at the Million; I assumed they’d written their own tests and that I’d be asked to memorize it on the day of. Either way, I expected it to be a relatively simple one; after all, these were horses that had only been under saddle for a few months. Even with the best of trainers, they simply hadn’t had time to develop the physical strength necessary to perform very advanced tests.

As such, it seemed suitable to practice on USEF Intro C - it had all the basic gaits and circles, I saw no reason that a harder test would be necessary. So, today I took Riot to the dressage ring.

She warmed up nicely; even though she bucked a little into the canter, I didn’t much mind considering I could probably be a little more tactful with my lower leg anyhow. I sincerely hoped I remembered the test as I circled the ring.

Enter at A, working trot.

Riot had trouble with straight lines; her shoulders wobbled back and forth ahead of me as she fishtailed on the centerline. She could do with some balance work.

Halt at X. Salute. Continue working trot rising.

For once in her life, the mare halted moderately squarely, though she threw her head as I took my reins into my left hand and mock-saluted.

At C, track right.

Riot stumbled in the corner, to which I responded by shifting my weight to my left seatbone and gentle turning my right thigh into her side. The 20x40 dressage arena always seems smaller once you’re in it.

At B, circle right 20 meters, working trot rising.

To my surprise, Riot maintained a solid headset, working energetically with her ears pricked, though the circle was still wobbly and her left shoulder often bulged to the outside. I did my best to straighten her neck without letting her leave the figure as she grazed E and began her return to B.

At A, circle right 20 meters, developing a working canter in the first quarter of the circle.

Riot attempted to buck as I sat down and shifted my left leg behind her girth, to which I responded by closing my legs. She only somewhat tossed her head as she leapt into the canter - a definite improvement - and once she was on the circle, she maintained her balance beautifully.

At A, working trot rising.

I overestimated her ability to slow to a trot quickly, so the transition came late and sloppy. I slowed my posting down as best I could to try and reorganize her trot.

Change rein K-X-M.

Riot’s trot became sane somewhere around X, at which point I lightly sat for two beats to change my posting diagonal. Riot responded by tossing her head and scooting right. I steeled my right leg and urged her back onto the line.

At E, circle right 20 meters, working trot rising.

This circle was better; Riot had always been more balanced to the right, and she felt soft in my hands as she lightly traced the figure. It was still somewhat lopsided, but surely with some work on circles and straight lines she’d develop a feel for the balance.

At A, circle right 20 meters, developing a working canter in the first quarter of the circle.

Riot became energized in the canter transition; she shot forward eagerly instead of bucking, tensing her neck before submitting to a half-halt. I thought hard about the shape of this circle, trying to slow her enough to keep her under control. Touch the rail just before F. Graze X. Touch the rail one more time just before K.

At A, working trot rising.

Once again, the transition was late and messy. It’s always a hard choice whether to do a bad transition on time or a good one late. I did neither.

Between F and B, medium walk.

I was determined to make this transition better. Sitting firmly and deeply in my saddle, I tightened my fingers but softened my hands and encouraged her to break to the walk. Even though she nosed out a tad, I was happy with it; the transition was very relaxed and coordinated.

Change rein B-H, free walk.

When I first released my reins and encouraged her to stretch out, Riot pulled her head up, confused. Once I opened my fingers and gently closed my right thigh, however, she stretched beautifully in a near-textbook free walk, open and swingy. The line was still a little wiggly, but that wasn’t such a difficult fix either. I patted her with one hand.

At H, medium walk.

Bringing her nose back in was difficult; she wanted to continue stretching. However, she came back into my hands with only a half head-flip, and though her medium walk was slow, it wasn’t overly lethargic.

At C, working trot - or - Between C and M, working trot? I could never remember.

Either way, I urged her to trot right at C, hoping that even if I forgot again the judge would count it either way. She trotted stiffly at first but settled in as soon as I softened my hands somewhat, bending with more balance and suppleness in the corner.

At A, working trot down centerline.

Riot trotted evenly up the length of the arena, though the turn to the centerline was wonky and unbalanced. I had a terrible habit of overshooting it; the ten meter half-loop always seemed bigger than it actually was. She landed left of center; I tried to leg-yield her back to the centerline, much to her annoyance. She continued to wiggle, though using my thighs to balance her shoulders lessened the effect somewhat.

Halt at G. Salute. Exit the arena in free walk.

Riot halted calmly, one hind leg popped forward but no longer tossing her head. She flicked her ears back and forth thoughtfully. For a first dressage test, it had gone awfully well. I patted her and walked her out of the arena. She sighed as we passed the white plastic cone with a sloppily-written capital A.

[caf.]

I took Riot to a local horse trial facility this weekend, but this time, I took her alone.

Io probably couldn’t be trusted around a mare; neither could Cider. Moon was getting a week off after his exciting performance at the cross-country futurity. Even Winter was off at a training barn for a couple of weeks to get some professional training. Besides, Riot would need to learn to go places alone, since it was still up to debate whether or not I’d be taking Mila to the Million with her to sell or leaving her at home to train her myself.

Naturally, Riot was a little antsy when we arrived on-site; she snorted and pawed hard in the trailer, clearly highly stimulated. She pranced on the end of the lead as I unloaded her and continued to jig and dance as I led her to a stall. Pacing and pawing, she explored her new quarters before approaching me for comfort/food, nosing my pockets and clinging to me with her shoulder. I enjoyed this newfound trust she had in me; exposing her to a wide variety of events had done well by her.

The place was busy; apparently a schooling show was coming up in a week, so around fifty riders were making their last-minute preparations while they still had the opportunity to school. Several large groups congregated near sets of jumps, sending riders over one by one while the others observed.

I saddled Riot calmly, hoping my quiet presence might soothe her. She walked around the stall excitedly, occasionally whinnying. Often, a horse out in the field called back. I bridled her quickly, not wanting to waste any time keeping her confined, then led her out of the stall and vaulted onto her back before she had a chance to freak out. She snorted and pawed as I adjusted my reins and stirrups.

On the way to the field Riot jigged and spooked at many things; a horse flying over a large preliminary fence nearby, a white coop that might have a monster inside of it, a brushbox blowing in the wind. Each time she shot out from under me, and though I was rarely unseated, it certainly wasn’t comfortable.

I warmed her up in what was likely the facility’s cross-country warmup; in the center was a line of five fences, three stadium rails set to a crossrail, a vertical, and an oxer and two cross-country fences, a small log and a large box. She started to settle as we trotted and cantered on the beaten path around the fences, understanding what I wanted from her.

Quietly I cantered her to the crossrail, steering her effectively. She stopped hard at the bottom, wide-eyed and snorting. I urged her forward, to which she responded by suddenly shooting straight up in the air and landing terrified on all fours before galloping off, bucking and twisting. It was quite the display; the other riders glanced over in abject horror.

It took several tries before she took that fence calmly, and several more each time we moved onto a new fence, avoiding the box simply because of its massive size. Thankfully, she didn’t think the log was much worse than the rails; the jump itself wasn’t the issue, just the fact that it was new and scary.

Gradually, as we started to jump the small logs on the beginner course, she started to relax and jump without stopping. Once she had a job to do, she generally did it gladly; jumping was exciting, she just needed to be reassured that she wasn’t in danger. Of course, she continued to “celebrate” after particularly exciting jumps, bucking happily with her tail flagging and her ears pricked.

To my surprise, she didn’t care about the water at all; after taking a look at it, she stepped in calmly and walked across without a fuss. I suppose in the holding facility or perhaps on the range she’d grown used to walking through puddles. I trotted and cantered her through, which she handled easily. Turning her down the field, I cantered her freely away from the water complex and allowed her to have some fun just being a horse out in the open. She crow-hopped gleefully, forcing me to really manage my seat. She was small, but I didn’t take her for granted for a second; that little body could shoot right out from under me if I wasn’t careful.

After our joyride ended I steered her towards a white coop, the one she’d spooked at earlier. To my surprise, she moved towards it gamely, not breaking to trot or slowing. Suddenly, though, a few strides out, she galloped. In one of the most ungraceful movements I’ve ever seen, she shot up vertically, tucking her legs up to her body before landing on her hind legs and falling onto her forehand. I couldn’t help but laugh; she might’ve been scared, but she was game.

Once I’d gotten her over the coop calmly and cleanly (which took some time), I popped her over one more log before calling it a day. I’d meant to take her up a baby bank or walk her through the woods, but she was still relatively worked up, and she wouldn’t need to do any of that at the Million anyhow. I could work on this later.

In the stall, she chugged an entire 5-gallon of water before turning to kick at someone’s gelding in the stall behind her, then approached me for a treat when she saw me watching her over the stall door. I noticed then that even though she was sweaty, she wasn’t drenched in the slightest. My little mustang was becoming a real athlete.

[caf.]

I’d thought about using a lance with Riot for our freestyle performance, if we got one; to turn a horse under a long pole while mounted is an impressive feat. Perhaps I’d have done it had I more time, but I realize that not only has she never done lance work, but neither have I. As such, we’ll likely do a mix of jumping and dressage, as well as some in-hand work.

I’d ridden the Intro test a few more times; Riot’s circles were much improved and her medium walk was up to speed. The canter transitions and straight lines, though, left something to be desired. As such, today was a line day; it was boring work, perhaps, but it had to happen. After all, your trot down centerline is a judge’s very first impression of you.

Riot warmed up better each time I rode her; she understood the drill by now. Walk, trot, canter, stretching and then in a frame, calm and relaxed. She still often bucked or tossed her head in the warmup, but that didn’t matter to me; she could buck all she liked at a show if she did it in the warmup ring.

Naturally, as soon as I trotted her down the centerline, she started allowing her left shoulder to bow out, drifting. I corrected this with my thigh, urging her to keep her head and shoulders in line. She shifted her weight back and forth, unsure what I was asking. I tried my best to soften anytime she got straight, but generally the good moments only lasted for a split-second before she began leaning again.

Unfortunately, it seemed I’d neglected this aspect of her training; she lunged, circled, and bent constantly, but never got straight. Now I was paying the price. Already I was breaking a sweat and we weren’t even five minutes into the workout.

At some point Ty arrived; they’d slowly began returning to their work. They’d agreed that they just didn’t have the time to finish off Mila and agreed to let me have her since they hadn’t grown attached anyhow. However, they’d greatly enjoyed the job they had schooling some of my English horses, and found it helped them move past their grief over their mare. I paid them well for any rides they did. However, instead of going to retrieve Comal as I’d instructed them to if they chose to work today, they approached the arena edge.

“Have you let anyone else ride her?”

I shook my head, only half paying attention as we trekked back and forth down the center of the arena. It was getting better, but not by much. Tiny increments.

“Would you mind if I did?”

I halted Riot then to look at them fully. They seemed serious enough; even though they averted their eyes from mine, I could see they were interested in my mare.

I patted Riot; she was growing tired and sullen from the repetitive work. Any other day, I’d have told them no. Honestly, though, I knew that a) it wouldn’t take me long to undo any mistakes they made and b) they were plenty used to falling from horses. Shrugging, I dismounted and led her over.

It took them a few minutes to figure her out; she hollowed her back and scooted as they tried out various methods of stretching her over her back. I didn’t instruct, just watched; I wanted to see what they could figure out. Finally, she dropped into a frame; clearly, they’d found the right mix of leg and hand. They asked me what I’d been working on; I told them simply that she had trouble trotting in a straight line.

They took her down the centerline a few times; I watched her serpentine down the line. Suddenly, though at the end of her second attempt, she straightened. I raised my eyebrows as she tracked down the centerline again, head, shoulders, and hindquarters aligned. At one point her left shoulder bowed but Ty corrected it quickly, realigning her and bending her accurately in the corner.

I stopped them then and asked them what they’d done. They responded simply: “I opened my hands.” That was the good thing about Ty; they were hyper-aware of what they were doing with their body. And that was the good thing about novice riders; they don’t over-think about how to achieve x goal, they just do what their instructors tell them. Of course they opened their hands. According to their trainer, that’s how you get a horse straight.

I remounted Riot and did as they told me; opened my hands, corrected any shoulder mishaps with my thighs. It took me a minute to suppress my instinct to neck-rein her into alignment, but once I did, she straightened for me much better, no longer fishtailing down centerline. I rarely express open gratitude, but I thanked Ty earnestly; they really were a good kid and a good rider, and I knew they loved the sport fully. I told them I’d throw a little bonus onto their paycheck this week.

At the end of the ride, I put Riot through some walk pirouettes. She often did these when she was nervous, so it was no challenge to her. Even though she often spun too fast, it was easy work for her to slow down to an appropriate number of strides. I patted her calmly; we had a week before the show but finally, I felt like I might be caught up.

[caf.]

I realized something last night while I lay in bed; I haven’t actually decided how much I’m willing to jump Riot if it comes to that at the show.

I’ve been routinely jumping her at two feet and occasionally bumping one or two verticals up to 2’6”, but I had no idea if she could manage an entire course at that height. Could she go even higher? Today, with only a few dozen hours left before our trip up to Fort Worth, I set out to find out.

To start, I set up a line of two fences at 2’6” to ride her over. Riot was plenty excited; she bucked excitedly and sprang over the second fence far too high. I made her repeat the line several times until she took it calmly, the way she knew how. Thankfully, she started keeping the ‘celebrations’ to after the final fence, meaning she was about ready to do a course.

Sighing as I dismounted, I raised the rest of my seven fences to around 2’6” (which, due to my only having eight jump standards and six pole raisers, took some ingenuity). I plotted a course; purple to green, left, yellow, right, red to orange, right, blue, left, white. No overly tight turns. I remounted and steadied Riot into a calm halt before proceeding with an energetic canter.

The course, put simply, didn’t go well. She was simply too overwhelmed by the turns and the height to manage anything correctly. She took terrible takeoff spots, knocked rails, constantly shifted pace, wiggled and serpentined between fences. After the fifth fence I acknowledged that this wasn’t working and backed down to a halt.

What now?

Had it been Moon or Jordan I were working with, I’d have probably opted for a gymnastic line. So that was what I did; I set up a large crossrail a bounce away from a 2’ vertical, put a 2’6” vertical a stride away from that, and set a 2’6” oxer another two strides out. Perhaps it’d be easier for her; she didn’t have to think about turns, just hopping down a line. Once again, I remounted, steadied her, and set off.

It took a few tries for Riot to figure it out, but when she did, it felt instantly right. The line looked harder than it was; gymnastics were generally deceptively easy for young horses, and my mare was no exception. She sailed easily over once she understood the striding, ears pricked happily. She attempted to buck after successful attempts though I growled at her when she did. Hopefully by the time we made the Million she’d be a little calmer.

I thought about quitting, but Riot felt very excited by the entire ordeal. She was doing quite well. Curiously, I raised the last oxer to 2’9”.

Clear. Easy. Riot had springs in her feet; she was a quite natural jumper.

I almost avoided 3’ just because of the milestone, but Riot didn’t seem to mind height much.

The first attempt, she knocked the pole, but when I rode it a second time I found that she had just underestimated it. It was quite a different feeling jumping her over such a fence than jumping, say, Moon; I’d in a sense raised both horses, but to take a once-wild horse to such heights was special. I almost quit then, but, for once in my life, I let a childish sort of excitement get the best of me.

3’3”. Let’s go.

Riot knew the game by now; she pricked her ears excitedly as she sailed over the third vertical. It was a wonderful feeling, the sensation of her body coiling up like a spring underneath me. Surprisingly, she didn’t get overstimulated and over-jump; she handled the fence accurately. I rode it again, to see if it was a fluke. Then once more. Riot did not care.

I let myself bump up to 3’6” out of curiosity and, when she knocked it down, let her quit. She was still plenty game but she’d broken quite a sweat; I hated to overwhelm her so close to the show. Eventually, she’d be able to jump that and higher, but I wanted to top her out at 3’3” for now.

It was the best ride I could have asked for before the show; she was excited, happy, engaged. Even if she was perhaps a little too quick, I couldn’t say I minded; she had even refrained from bucking when I told her to after getting all of her giggles out in the warmup. Turning her out, I made a mental checklist of things to pack into the trailer. It was time.