Horse Show Parent

Just one short generation ago, the expression was that children should be seen and not heard. At the last horse show of the year, this sign was in the barn area, near where all the parents hang out.

Firstly, although it was the last horse show of the year, it was actually the first horse show of next year. At least for USEF, whose year seems to run Dec through Nov. Of course, various “Finals” happen through out the summer and fall it seems, so there’s a constantly moving target of when any given year ends. I think that some of them follow a lunar calendar, but i could just be confused From January through, say, June, I’m reasonably certain what year I’m in…but all bets are off after that.

Apparently, not only does time move differently at hunter shows than anywhere else in the universe, but the horse show calendars are as complex and cryptic as the Mayans.

But I digress.

Apparently, regardless of what year we’re in, its now the parents who should be seen and not heard. Just because this is our child in the ring, riding a horse that cost more than my car, does not give us any right to say anything. But, you know what? I get it.

Firstly, it’s a hunter show, and I for one have no clue of the finer points of what’s going on out there. My level of advice is things like “keep the hoof-side facing down” and things like that. And as much as I’d like to shout like a crazed soccer fan when she gets over the big scary one that seems about as wide as a small Honda, I can see how that could be distracting.

But there’s also a tactic here. In a world of subjective judging, where only what is seen I scored, do I really want to shout out something boneheaded that makes the judge think something bad is going on? Or distract them from seeing something good? Given I can’t tell the difference between bad and good (except in the quality of sausage-egg-and-cheese), it would be random interference anyway.

So I heed the sign’s warning. I stay quiet, except for soft munching noises, and look to the trainer to see how it’s going, and for a cue of when to clap at the end.

Merry Christmas from the barn.

Yes, it’s Christmas Eve and I’m at the barn with she-who-rides-horses. Just some exercise for the horse…no shows this week. In fact all is quiet for a few weeks (*knocks wood*).

As we look ahead to next year, she-who-rides-horses is going to move up from the 3 foot world of Children’s Hunters to the Juniors and the ‘Big Eq’. I’m going to ease off on the sausage-egg-and-cheese a bit and try to get in more reasonable shape. There’s even talk that I may try to show the Horse in some weeny adult beginner division…but we’ll have to see how that goes.

In the mean time, have a safe and enjoyable holiday, and remember: the horse show season starts up again in a few weeks

I know by now that although the horseshow budget surpasses anything I’d ever imagined, we have to rough it. The Porto-potties are a standard fixture in and around the show rings. But this I unfair.

If you look closely, these ones are gender labeled: and they’re both ladies. Ok, the Horse Show Dad is a rare breed, but not yet an endangered species.

As I run around the horse park, in search of a ‘men’s’ potty, I do d myself wondering what could possibly be different about the modern chemical equivalent of the outhouse, that could make it special for the ladies?

In the highest levels of the sport, men are still prevalent…particularly in Grand Prix jumping, where speed is everything. I now know why. They have to get done quickly so they have time to drive down to the gas station to use the restroom.

Here’s a photo of She-who-rides-horses with The Trainer, waiting on a downtown street corner. Are they waiting for a bus? No, they’re at the show grounds waiting for our horse.

One of the ‘Big’ indoors is the Washington International Horse Show. Downtown DC, in the Verizon Center. Where the Washington Capitals play hockey. Just up the street from the Capital.

Now, even I am not nutty enough to drive the horse trailer through downtown DC traffic..but just in case anyone is, they don’t let you. We have to ship to a horse park outside town, and wait for the big horse bus to load the horse for the trip downtown. Then we jump in the car and try to beat them there.

So here we are, hanging out at a downtown intersection, waiting for a big silver truck, to drop of our horse.

The the fun begins…they wait until your horse arrives, then tell you where the stabling is…and run dash with horse, trunk and more buckets than most of the downtown set own, to get settled in. All the while, people in suits are staring at the road apples with disdain, and tourists are snapping photos.

It’s a zoo (with only one type of animal).

The warm up area is where they normally park the zamboni. There’s a schooling in the ring…at 4:30am. Every vendor known to man is set up in the mezzanine, hawking their wares. Then there’s the fudge.

Oh, I’m not usually a big fudge person. I have memories of childhood attempts to make fudge at home. And who hasn’t bought the obligatory bake sale fudge at the school or church. But this is as related to those lessor fudges as a Ferrari is to a Fiat. Oh sure, it costs a days wages for a single slice…but what price perfection. I’m no theologian, but when I die, if I’m not slapping on the SPF 1,000,000 sun screen, St Peter will greet me with a slice of this fudge.

And I’ll need the fudge to get me through this night. Once She-who-rides-horses is done showing, we’ll pack everything up (in the dark) and catch the horse bus back to the other horse park, hitch up my trailer an ship home to the barn. We should get to sleep again by next week.

Well, in case you couldn’t tell from the last post, we’re at one of the”indoors” shows. We’ve been to plenty of winter shows in indoor rings, but apparently they weren’t “indoors” enough. What do I know.

That said, it’s impressive. Big indoor facility that you can drive your trailer into to unload your horse at its indoor stabling, with indoor tunnels to the indoor arena. Very indoors indeed.

Now, to my Canadian eyes, it looks like a hockey rink that they’ve [hopefully] thawed the ice and dumped a bunch of dirt in. Sure, there’s no Tim Hortons but there is a big ole scoreboard, including penalty timer.

But there are important benefits. The afore mentioned drive-thru shipping is nice. Wrist bands seem to be de rigeur. The seating is reasonably comfortable, and low risk of sunburn. But, perhaps nicest of all: indoor plumbing. No sub freezing trip to the blue plastic Don’s Johns here. We’re talking porcelain flush units. Heated. Down right civilized.

I think we’re moving up in the world.

It’s morning at a big horseshow…and sitting in the arena stands with The Trainer, talking about, well, horseshows. In situations like this, it pays to keep an eye scanning your surrounds. Like a jungle explorer, or a gunfighter, missing seeing something could mean the difference between life or death.

Like right now, where only through my well honed powers of observation I know to look through the open gates, to look past the bazillion dollar show horses warming up, to see what’s really important.

Coffee. The fancy coffee stand just opened, so time to ditch the burnt free coffee from the exhibitors lounge, and go fork out half a week’s pay for a snooty French espresso beverage.

Throughout the years of blogging about being a Pony Club and then Horse Show Parent, I’ve always tried to find the humorous and positive side to this lifestyle our kids have inflicted on us.  Sportsmanship, athleticism, horsemanship, responsibility and sausage-egg-and-cheese are all some of the positives our kids get through this unique experience that I’ve discussed with other parents and Trainers.  Ok, I admit, I added the sausage-egg-and-cheese part.

But, in the words of the troubadour of the modern age, Billy Bragg: “you have to take the crunchy with the smooth.”

Among all the positives, there are some serious negative influences that our kids get exposed to, that despite our best efforts as parents, can impact their lives and lead to bad choices.  Oh, we can ignore it, and choose not to talk about it…but I believe we have to start a healthy dialogue on the negative influences as well as the positive, if we want our kids to grow up to be well adjusted adults.  Balance isn’t just for the saddle.

I’m talking, in particular, about Country Music.

This is readily available through the riding experience. At the barn, on the show grounds, or when she’s off with her friends, you never known when they’ll be come across a radio or boom box emitting southern fried ballads composed on some dirt road leading to Nashville.  Some of the other parents even tune in Country stations on the radio for their kids.  Yeesh.  You just never know: when your child gets a ride to a horse show with other riders families, they may be tuning into Trace Adkins or Jake Owen the whole way there.  Turns out, She-who-rides-horses has been listening for years, when we’re not around, to the likes of Taylor Swift and Rascal Flatts.

I know.  Let’s be honest with ourselves: we’ve all experimented with Country Music at some point in our lives.  I may have actually owned a Dwight Yokam album in College…but I was older and that was in the context of a steady diet of Classic and Alternative Rock.  And our transgressions shouldn’t give our kids license to repeat our sins.

So as you take your kids to the horse show this weekend, just be aware of the temptations they’ll face, and be sure to surround them with positive alternatives.  I always make sure to have 80′s on 8, Classic Rewind or First Wave on the radio presets, and CD’s by Triumph, Rush and Kansas at hand.

This past weekend, She-who-rides-horses rode in the State horse show association Finals for Equitation on the Flat, and was reserve champion!

Now, equitation is all about the rider, versus the hunter rounds where it’s the horse being judged (sort of like PBR where they score the bulls separately than the riders, only without the horns, and usually with less bucking). And in a crowded ring it can be hard to be noticed…

But that’s not how this story began…

This was a big show, and there was a clinic early in the week, so She-who-rides-horses shipped down early in the week with the Trainer and some other horses/riders.  Earlier, as in Tuesday.  Earlier as in almost still Monday.  Who knew that the local drive-through window for sausage-egg-and-cheese didn’t open until 4:30am?  I wish I didn’t know.

Imagine my surprise when, at 10pm on Wed night, I get a text message (kids today…they don’t phone, they text message their parents…what is the world coming to???): “can I buy a pair of breeches?”  After texting back and forth on this, I finally agree and go back to sleep.

Turns out there was a grand scheme unfolding around a chain restaurant dinner table that night.  Since the ring was going to be crowded, and full of girls with dark jackets and black helmets on bay horses, the three riders from our barn decided that to stand out, they’d go “old school” and wear rust breeches.  What I didn’t find out until later was that the other two girls both had access to borrowing breeches, and I was the only lucky parent who had to custom order and pay courier costs to get the magic breeches in time.

Well, they did stand out.  Even before the competition began, they were getting looks (read: stares) from other riders and coaches.  Getting noticed by the judge…not a problem.  Now all she had to do was ride to make the notice a good thing.

I couldn’t believe how tense I was as they announced the numbers of the eight girls to stay behind to test.  But this turned to joy when She-who-rides-horses’ number was called.  Then the announcer said that the entire test would be without stirrups, so trainers could come into the ring and assist in removing the stirrups from the girls’ saddles.  Harsh.

Luckily, our barn’s unofficial motto is: “opus non manducaverimus stirrup prandium” (“we eat no stirrup work for breakfast”).  Ok, it isn’t really, but it could be, given the amount of practice they get without stirrups.  It’s supposed to be good for them.  And that day it proved it’s worth.  As the test went on and on and on, and the other riders began to cave-in with exhaustion, She-who-rides-horses, and her rust breeches, stayed solid.  Reserve Champion solid.  I’m so proud.

Sometimes it pays to get noticed.

Success!

Turns out, the hammock mounted in the back of the horse trailer is a good idea. I mucked it out first and swept the sawdust all over to the ‘horse’ side…then was able to take off the paddock boots, relax with a beer an have a little rest.

With a little planning, there are rewards to being a horse show parent.

Horse Show Dad gone bad…

You really don’t want to ever be this guy.

Really.  Ever.

We all love our kids who ride.  We’re all very enthusiastic supporters (or at least cheque writers).  We all want them to do well.  And we all want to embarrass them in front of their friends from time to time.  But, really…we need a certain decorum.

We are, after all, Horse Show Parents.  We’re not part of the common crowd (that would imply we were able to spend our weekends in normal places).  We stand apart (it could be something we stepped in). We have a common bond (debt induced by ferrier bills and fear of unplanned visits from the Vet).  And a certain camaraderie that can only be expressed over a bad coffee and sausage-egg-and-cheese.

And when one of us acts like this…

Notice the people backing away.  They’re afraid he might be dangerous.

Don’t get me wrong: it’s not as if I can dance.  Just ask She-who-rides-horses about how horrible it was at the Cotillion final ball when I got to dance with her.  But this sets a new standard, and not in a good way.

But clearly he’s a brother in need.  So instead of making fun of him (at least in public) we should be there for him.  Ideally with an epi-pen and a something soft for him to bite on so he doesn’t swallow his tongue…