Black Day for Braveheart
I can do no better than turn today's account of events over to non-pony-sister, with her permission to quote this, her email to a friend: with thanks to Helen
'Today was the day of the Sudeley Horse Show, at which Jay and Clyde, going under his more charismatic new show name "Braveheart", would make their showjumping debut, as no one really counts the little one she went to last month as a "proper" show. The omens were not auspicious, as we had spent 20 mins at the stables yesterday being pelted with hailstones the size of golf balls in an apocalyptic storm, horses held by tiny children bucking and neighing and going crazy etc, as I tried to keep a safe distance to ponder whether it was the coming of a new Ice Age. (very Children of the Dust).
So up with the larks we were again this morning to finish preparations abandoned due to hail, and off to Sudeley, Jay having trekked off along a busy road about 2 hrs before with the other sundry people from her stables also too poor to afford expensive horseboxes/too unpopular to have cadged lifts from rich tots with spare berths in large trailers, etc. So there we were, Jay amazingly blase and confident, worrying more about the protocol for the jump-off than getting over the jumps themselves. but she had just jumped a clear round in the warm up event (which of course we'd missed, being bumbling amateurs at this kind of event and still stumbling around trying to find the correct tent in which to register her!) And, Chris, I'm afraid to say that for people like us, the naturally unconfident and timid, pride, or even a touch of unusual self-assurance, does indeed go before a fall...
Yes, on the very second jump, just as my dad was getting his camera out, there was suddenly a hurtling and a crashing and Clyde tumbling to the ground with my sister shooting over his head in an arc and skidding 6 feet along the wet grass on her nose with her neck at an alarming angle. There was a horrid moment before either of them moved. But it was ok, just about - Jay was white as a sheet and dazed but fine - and Clyde just had a bit of a limp. She was so brave, though, felt a rush of pride for the poor kid. Then the situation turned pretty farcical. What with his dodgy gait, it didn't seem fair to make Clyde walk the miles home again, so somehow someone fixed us up with a lift for Clyde (primarily to avoid taking us themselves, I reckon) with someone who had bought a brand new horse box just the very day before and so did not have anyone else already arranged to share with his precious pony. So we hung about sheepishly in our anoraks, mingling with the Barbours and Toggi jackets, our lame shambling pony limping behind us, not daring to approach Owner of Brand New Horsebox for a while. Eventually my mum stutteringly asked if it might be all right to put Clyde in the box to wait until they had finished their 71 classes and were ready to leave, which it was.
but o boy it was a plush affair, this horsebox. Maroon and black and shiny,suitable for your finest thoroughbreds, this guy was clearly in love with the damn thing, giving its handles a surreptitious and unnecessary polish as he lowered the ramp for Clyde to hobble in. And what did our nag do once he'd hobbled inside, but lift his tail and deposit a large pile of poo right inside that sparkling new box. Soon as he got in. The nice man's smile faltered a little, but he fetched a shovel, assuring us it didn't matter in the slightest. but strangely he did not repeat that phrase when Clyde replaced the first steaming pile with a nice fresh lot as soon as it had been swept clean.
I shall not bore you with any more of this horsey saga, but suffice it to say i think our show days may be numbered once word gets around the local horse box owners about Clyde's improper behaviour. Apparently when it was time to get the rightful horse into the trailer alongside our one, Clyde started up such a banging and a kicking inside the gleaming metal sides that he had to be taken out while the other one got in. Ah well, at least I won't ever again see my sister flying through the air and landing crumpled under a quartet of clumsy hooves if that is indeed the case...'
And that, dear friends, was our day out at Sudeley Show.
'Today was the day of the Sudeley Horse Show, at which Jay and Clyde, going under his more charismatic new show name "Braveheart", would make their showjumping debut, as no one really counts the little one she went to last month as a "proper" show. The omens were not auspicious, as we had spent 20 mins at the stables yesterday being pelted with hailstones the size of golf balls in an apocalyptic storm, horses held by tiny children bucking and neighing and going crazy etc, as I tried to keep a safe distance to ponder whether it was the coming of a new Ice Age. (very Children of the Dust).
So up with the larks we were again this morning to finish preparations abandoned due to hail, and off to Sudeley, Jay having trekked off along a busy road about 2 hrs before with the other sundry people from her stables also too poor to afford expensive horseboxes/too unpopular to have cadged lifts from rich tots with spare berths in large trailers, etc. So there we were, Jay amazingly blase and confident, worrying more about the protocol for the jump-off than getting over the jumps themselves. but she had just jumped a clear round in the warm up event (which of course we'd missed, being bumbling amateurs at this kind of event and still stumbling around trying to find the correct tent in which to register her!) And, Chris, I'm afraid to say that for people like us, the naturally unconfident and timid, pride, or even a touch of unusual self-assurance, does indeed go before a fall...
Yes, on the very second jump, just as my dad was getting his camera out, there was suddenly a hurtling and a crashing and Clyde tumbling to the ground with my sister shooting over his head in an arc and skidding 6 feet along the wet grass on her nose with her neck at an alarming angle. There was a horrid moment before either of them moved. But it was ok, just about - Jay was white as a sheet and dazed but fine - and Clyde just had a bit of a limp. She was so brave, though, felt a rush of pride for the poor kid. Then the situation turned pretty farcical. What with his dodgy gait, it didn't seem fair to make Clyde walk the miles home again, so somehow someone fixed us up with a lift for Clyde (primarily to avoid taking us themselves, I reckon) with someone who had bought a brand new horse box just the very day before and so did not have anyone else already arranged to share with his precious pony. So we hung about sheepishly in our anoraks, mingling with the Barbours and Toggi jackets, our lame shambling pony limping behind us, not daring to approach Owner of Brand New Horsebox for a while. Eventually my mum stutteringly asked if it might be all right to put Clyde in the box to wait until they had finished their 71 classes and were ready to leave, which it was.
but o boy it was a plush affair, this horsebox. Maroon and black and shiny,suitable for your finest thoroughbreds, this guy was clearly in love with the damn thing, giving its handles a surreptitious and unnecessary polish as he lowered the ramp for Clyde to hobble in. And what did our nag do once he'd hobbled inside, but lift his tail and deposit a large pile of poo right inside that sparkling new box. Soon as he got in. The nice man's smile faltered a little, but he fetched a shovel, assuring us it didn't matter in the slightest. but strangely he did not repeat that phrase when Clyde replaced the first steaming pile with a nice fresh lot as soon as it had been swept clean.
I shall not bore you with any more of this horsey saga, but suffice it to say i think our show days may be numbered once word gets around the local horse box owners about Clyde's improper behaviour. Apparently when it was time to get the rightful horse into the trailer alongside our one, Clyde started up such a banging and a kicking inside the gleaming metal sides that he had to be taken out while the other one got in. Ah well, at least I won't ever again see my sister flying through the air and landing crumpled under a quartet of clumsy hooves if that is indeed the case...'
And that, dear friends, was our day out at Sudeley Show.
2 Comments:
At 11:05 PM, Spirit and Heather said…
Clyde,
This is Spirit. I was disturbed when I read about your day. I wholeheartedly agree with dumping your rider instead of going over a jump (once knocked mine unconscious - a proud day I tell you!) but you aren't supposed to fall down yourself. Hurting yourself is taking things too far. Unless of course you are faking the limp to get out of showing and get a ride home. Then I say, "Good show ol' chap!" Turning it back over to the human.
Poor Clyde. I hope he feels better! I hope J. doesn't feel like a train ran over her tomorrow either.
At 11:34 PM, merry said…
Spirit's message made ME smile, in a day of few smiles, and it will hearten Clyde tomorrow to know she thinks he faked the fall to get an early ride home - his pride is dented!
I will never sleep tonight for worrying about him and replaying the whole disaster in my head, but I guess he is tougher than he looks... will post a bulletin tomorrow :)
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