Here is Elementa the day after she arrived at Windflower from Florida four plus years ago. Quite a winter shock for this seven-month-old filly. Elementa was her dam's first foal, and as many horse people know, the first foal is often smaller than either parent. Her sire was 16.3 and her dam 16.2. (As a reminder, a hand is four inches, and a horse's height is measured from the withers, or shoulder, to the ground.) About fifteen years ago I had a remarkable little show jumper whose parents were 16.2 and 15.3. By the time that mare was four she had filled out, but not up, topping off only at 15.2. Elementa's body by the same age, however, seemed more akin to that of an angel fish, almost two-dimensional. Time in the Sunshine state of Disney had to have been responsible for her Peter Pan Syndrome. She just wouldn't grow up.
It took five years for her to develop enough strength and stature to train in earnest. Elementa is half-Andalusian, half American Saddlebred. While some horses compete in dressage at the age of three (too young, I think) or four, I decided to wait an extra year. Even now she is of delicate build and at 15.2+ in the dressage world is considered a pipsqueak. (Yet, afficionados of western riding seem untroubled by a two hundred pound man doing sliding stops, rollbacks, and spins on a fifteen-hand Quarter horse.) But in dressage someone like me who is 5'7" and weighs 148 is an aesthetic problem. I've been on the "Elementa Diet" for almost a year now and have lost nearly twenty pounds. Ten or so more to go. There's not much to be done about my height courtesy of Father Time's invidious aging process. I used to be 5'8" but have lost an inch due to all those little spinal micro-fractures. In the case of both Elementa and our rescue Dolly, who is even smaller at 14.3, it would be nice to be shorter but I'm not about to give up my calcium pills and Stonyfield yogurt.
Baby Elementa
Another baby shot:
Elementa at 6 months Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2013
At three and a half:
Four and a half:
And just yesterday taking a nap with her companeros Dolly and Logan:
And in case you didn't notice that Dolly is using Elementa
as a support for her head, here is close up:
Between the annoying clicks of my camera and serving as
a pillow for Dolly, Elementa begins to think about getting out
of bed:
Decision made:
Because Elementa whacked her with her tail upon her ascension, Dolly considered putting thoughts of an unmolested
nap behind her:
But not before a nice back scratch from Mother Earth:
As the years passed, I began to wonder if Elementa had been a twin. Horse twins are rare, and horse twins that survive gestation even rarer. The odds of both surviving are one in ten thousand. And if they do survive, one or both will tend to be on the runty side.
Finally last spring Elementa began to muscle up. I had a trainer jump her to help develop her back muscles so she could bear weight more easily. Here she is at age four being ridden by Triston at Cornerstone Farm in New Hampshire:
The etymological origin of "dressage" is found in the French word "dresseur," which, simply translated, means "training." But it is ever so much more than that. Dressage is the highest expression of training in which horse and rider perform a series of predetermined and often balletic movements.
However, that day Elementa nearly failed to get a single hoof in the arena. Located in Durham, New Hampshire, UNH is normally an hour and twenty minutes drive for me, but I ran into a hideous traffic jam due to highway construction. It took nearly forty-five minutes to go ten miles. When going to shows I always allow an extra hour of travel time for exactly this reason. I did have just under an hour to get ready so I was still okay time-wise.
As soon as I parked the trailer I let down the windows so Elementa could see where she was, as well as get some fresh air. It was in the high 80s and humid. I then walked over to check-in to get our number, which you see in the photo. However, after much thumbing through by one of the volunteers, she declared there was no envelope for me. I was sent to the other side of the tent to another volunteer with another box, which contained the "naughty riders" incomplete entries.
I was certain I'd sent in all that was required--Elementa's and my Dressage Federation and United States Equestrian Federation numbers and signed the entry form in all the right places, as well as enclosed a copy of her Coggins Report, which states she was tested for and found free of Equine Infectious Anemia. This blood test must be taken annually and is required of every horse in the United States who leaves its respective properties. The volunteer, however, informed me that I had not sent in my Coggins.
Uh-oh! You cannot compete in any show, recognized or unrecognized, without a Coggins Report. I usually keep copies of all my horses' Coggins in my truck. If you get stopped on the road (very rare) and don't have one, you're in a lot of trouble. This was my first show of the year, and I was sure I hadn't remembered to put copies in my truck. I anxiously asked if there was anything I could do. The volunteer said I'd have to talk to the Show Secretary. She pointed to a woman earnestly engaged in conversation with one of the judges.
I glanced down at my watch. Tick-tock, tick tock! I now had only forty minutes to get myself dressed, Elementa tacked up, used to the show grounds, and schooled in the warm-up ring. Not enough time. I hadn't yet competed enough in the season to have a handle on my own show nerves, now significantly escalating. Coupled with Elementa's own lack of show experience this did not bode well.
While I stood waiting, the volunteer glanced down at my inadequate folder.
"Are you the Ainslie Sheridan who wrote Trophies ?"
"Why, yes I am." The thinnest of silver linings appeared on the fringes of my darkening show cloud.
"My mom gave it to me for Christmas when I was fifteen years old."
"Really?" This lady was well into her thirties so I was pleased she remembered it. Silver lining slightly bigger.
"Yep. She read it first though and marked out tons of paragraphs with a black magic marker, you know, that sex stuff. I tried to make the words out by holding a few of the pages under a lamp but that didn't work. Anyway, that's why I remember your book."
Adios silver lining.
Five more minutes elapsed with no sign of the Secretary ending her conversation, so I decided to run back to my trailer. Maybe, just maybe, in a fit of uncharacteristic planning and foresight, I had put a copy of Elementa's Coggins in my truck. And wouldn't you know it, I had! I flew back to that "naughty rider" section and claimed my packet.
After unpacking the trailer, I unloaded Elementa, offered her a drink of water, then tacked her up. Only eighteen minutes before my test. I chucked off my sneakers and pulled on my boots. However as soon as I got the zipper of one halfway the lower half opened up. I started again but the same thing happened. The teeth of the zipper would not stay together. I could button the snap at the top but there was a three-inch gap that would give the judge, and anyone else who happened to be watching, a good look at a purple sock sporting a pattern of little pink, yellow and blue horses. Miraculously, I had a roll of duct tape in the dressing room. I wrapped enough to close my boot but the judge would still get a glimpse of my taste in socks.
Other boot on as well, I grabbed my helmet, threw on my coat, and rushed to the warm-up arena where they had a nice little mounting block. I put my foot in the stirrup and was on. Elementa's ears were pricked forward, alert eyes taking in an event and venue she'd never seen before. I asked her to walk on loose reins so she could begin to relax.
She was quite calm on one side of the arena but voted with now fixed hooves that we should not venture over to the side which bordered a forest. Her DNA had informed her that her kind was safe on wide open plains. There horses could see predators well in the distance. But dense tree growth was another matter. There horses expect such dark places to harbor all manner of sharped-toothed carnivores--wolves, coyotes, feral dog packs, dragons, velociraptors-- you name it, they think it's in there. However, Elementa allowed the good behavior of the more veteran horses to influence her. Together with some familiar trot work, she gradually began to loosen up and calm down.
Not poor me, however! My problems weren't potential predators but actual and ongoing wardrobe malfunctions. My hair--nicely tied up in a bun, and secured in a classy little black net--prevented my helmet from fitting properly. Pushed forward and down, the visor pressed on my sunglasses and hurt my nose as well as hampering my eyesight. I tugged down on the bun. The helmet sat better, my nose was no longer in pain, and I could now see. But the net I was wearing got caught in the velcro closure of my stock tie. At that point my only alternative was to pull the bun out and shove all my now untethered hair into the helmet. Since Elementa was too excited to stand still, I asked one of the onlookers to hold the reins for me. All my horses are trained to stand quietly once there is a hand on their reins. The reins are kept loose so the horse feels no pressure. But this well-meaning woman thought the best way to control my edgy mount was to keep a death-grip, not only on the reins, but on the cheek piece of her bridle as well. Since horses learn from the release of pressure, Elementa expected a loose hold on her reins in exchange for her good behavior. When she failed to get this she pulled back from the offending hands, reared up, and spun. I was unseated but managed to stay on.
With a thank-you I gave up on my assistant. With Elementa now free to take an unguided tour of the warm-up ring, I finally managed to get my hair out of the bun. But the dominoes continued to fall, or rather my stock tie did. When I tugged on the hair net to separate it from my tie its velcro closure opened and, together with its beautiful art deco 1930s horse pin and the offending hairnet, fell to the ground. Seeing my plight, a ring steward ran, picked up my tie, and held Elementa--gently and correctly--allowing me to flip my hair under my helmet then stick the offending hair net and bobby pins (why did I need to use so many?) into my pocket. I then got the stock tie back in its original but now unthreatened position.
"Number 72 you're next!" another ring steward called.
A glance at my watch told me I still had eight minutes before the official time of my test.
"We're running early."
Sometimes, often due to one or more competitors scratching or simply not showing up, the judge is ready earlier, but if the rider has not yet finished warming up there's no obligation to go in.
"I'm not ready."
"Okay, you've got seven minutes."
Only seven minutes?! I hadn't even cantered yet, much less practiced halts. And as soon as I asked Elementa to canter, my sunglasses began to slip down my sweaty nose! I had to get rid of them. My coat pocket already bulged with hair net and bobby pins so I decided to pitch the glasses into the edge of the woods. I didn't have time to trot to the bleachers and beg someone to hold them.
Not wanting to startle Elementa (she had accepted the woods but I didn't want to push my luck), I leaned over her shoulder as far as I could so I could lightly toss my glasses down into the branches of a bush. Not a good idea. The glasses hit the top of the bush then slowly, erratically, and noisily made their way down to the ground. Elementa did not react favorably. She reared up, and because I had been leaning forward, her neck slammed into my face. Ouch!
When you are in pain and feeling dizzy it is not a great idea to canter, but canter we did. In the two remaining minutes wee did as many trot-walk transitions as we could.
"Seventy-two, you're on deck."
As soon as the preceding rider indicates by a final halt and salute that her test is finished and begins to exit the arena the on-deck horse and rider may warm-up along the perimeter just outside the actual arena. A bell, a whistle, or a horn from the judge signals that you have forty-five seconds to begin your test .
Yet another wardrobe malfunction. Wiping the sweat off my forehead as I began to exit the warm-up ring, I felt spikes of hair sticking out from the front of my helmet. Scores of split ends from my flipped up hair had escaped making me look like an aged punk rock star who'd decided to dress up for Halloween as a dressage rider. Fortunately, with a couple of clumsy pokes of my now-gloved fingers, split ends returned to their place of hiding.
Two of the three dressage rings were sand, one grass. Our first test of the day was on grass. I had never schooled Elementa on grass so I was a bit concerned. However, my problems with grass started earlier just as we exited the sand warm-up ring and headed toward our designated arena. Elementa determined that New Hampshire grass, in all likelihood, was evil and needed to be approached with great caution. Translated: at numerous points she refused to go forward, backed up, spun around, and snorted.
We did, however, make it to the arena but that's where Elementa laid down the law, or at least her version of it. The grass at the entrance to the arena had been worn away by earlier rides and it had just been watered, leaving a few puddles. The earth was now a color my trusty steed had never seen--gray. It was stone dust often used underneath arena footings to help with drainage. It's underneath my sand and shaving arena but quite invisible.
As far as Elementa was concerned this slippery gray stuff might suck her into oblivion. Despite a variety of entreaties from me--soft voice, loving strokes, an insistent leg and gentle taps from my dressage whip--she absolutely and literally put her hooves down. She was not going in.
Fortunately, a nice bystander offered to lead me past this natural obstacle. Other than excusing myself from the test, I had no other option. Remarkably, Elementa responded to her calming leadership and, though she leapt over the tiny puddles, we were in. We trotted around the outskirts of the arena but walked when we came near the judge, Dee Loveless, seated in a small wooden booth. Elementa needed to take a long slow look at this contraption. Otherwise she might think she was about to be attacked by a humongous jack-in-the-box. The judge and scribe (a scribe records the judge's comments and scores) greeted us, conveying sufficient lack of predatory intent to Elementa, who remained as she had been, wary but obedient.
The bell rang and Elementa and I trotted in. Remarkably, the test went better than I expected. Translated: we finished with both of us intact, physically and psychologically. And there were no more moments of high drama. Our final score was 62.69, so I was more than pleased. The scores and comments were truthful, helpful, and supportive. "Further remarks" at the bottom of the test read:
"Horse has potential for higher scores. Tension causing problems today. Some good moments. Nice canter."
We came in second, which I'd hardly expected. A red ribbon is lovely but the judge's scores and comments are what really interest dressage riders. In jumping neither your riding nor your horse is assessed in such detail. If you knock down a pole it's four faults, a refusal four faults, on the second refusal an additional eight, and at the third you're out. In equitation and hunter classes you need to rely on yourself and your coach to figure out why you did or did not do well. But in dressage it's all spelled out loud and clear in multiple numerical components and written comments. I could read this test, see what I could have done that day to get a few more points, and what needs work in the long run. Even if you know what needs to be improved upon, a judge's confirmation that you are on the right track is great to have.
In the photo below, Elementa and I are about to execute a transition from canter to trot in a Training Level Test. This is the lowest level of dressage, and dressage is the highest expression of equine training:
Back at the trailer I chucked off my wet dressage coat, tossed my helmet, and un-duct-taped myself from my boot. I stripped off Elementa's tack, sponged her off, and let her sip water. I then grabbed a big bottle of Gatorade and took Elementa into a nearby field so she could graze. What a day it had been so far! We still had one more test--slightly more complex--but not for three hours. I could set Elementa up in the trailer with her hay and a battery-powered fan. (Horses have big bodies and so let off a lot of heat, and on warm days trailers can get uncomfortable.) Then I could have lunch and regroup.
Next week I'll continue our day at Elementa's first recognized show as well as introduce you to a charming lady named Lulu who just happens to be a porcupine.
See you then. Thank you for reading The Windflower Weekly--
Ainslie
Links you may find interesting or helpful
http://www.amazon.com/Trophies-An-Equestrian-Romance-ebook/dp/B00998J2B2
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-kaleidoscope-pony-ainslie-sheridan/1114272809?ean=2940015948592
http://www.allhorsestuff.com/
http://www.facebook.com/YonkersShelter
http://www.saveyourassrescue.org/foradoption.html
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