Dingo's lesson with Ron

Dingo is a little 13.2hh chestnut pony.  He is reasonably stocky, and hence my 169cm frame looks surprisingly fitting on him - until you see how far my legs hang down.  Over the years I have had numerous judges come up to me and ask me about his exact height, while they marvelled how "good" I looked on him (meaning - I didn't look too big).

Nevertheless, his potential as either a serious dressage, or showjumping, or eventing horse appears rather limiting at first sight.  And it might well be limiting.  That's not the point.  Dingo, while he has no buck or pigroot or rear in him, is quite a tricky little pony to ride, and he is here to teach me lessons.  I don't say that lightly.  When I was at a spiritual retreat (following my cancer diagnosis) I had a vision of training a chestnut pony with a blaze and a white sock.  Six months later, Dingo came into my life.  It's not a coincidence.

However, when I bring Dingo into a lesson with a new instructor, I get this very strong feeling that the instructor thinks "Really?  Come on, bring your real horse." or "Why are you riding such a small pony?".  The instructor goes ahead with the lesson, but I really get the feeling that there is not much they can do with Dingo.  He is tricky.  The contrast is when I bring Lil for a lesson with the same instructor - the instructor appears to take the lesson much more seriously, and teaches me in a manner that is aimed to get me somewhere.  (I will add that some instructors have really put in a great effort trying to teach me on Dingo, but that feeling that he is not my real horse always remains.)

Having been jaded many times in this way, I was scared to bring Dingo to a Ron Patterson lesson.  I take Ron very seriously, and I didn't want him to think that I was an idiot by bringing Dingo to a lesson.  My intuition was screaming at me to take Dingo to Ron for years, but my fear of what Ron might think held me back.  Read that again ... my fear of what someone else might think prevented me from following my intuition.  Stupid!

Finally, I bit the bullet though and took Dingo to a lesson with Ron.  I figured that I have had enough lessons with Ron now, that even if I did bring Dingo to a lesson, Ron would see the value of learning on yet another horse.  Plus, to be honest, I was at wicks end with Dingo.  I *know* that he is a brilliant pony, but my recent dressage and showjumping results leave a lot to be desired.

I rode into the lesson immediately clarifying my position - "Hi Ron, this is Dingo, I know he is small, but he really is very capable.  But he is tricky, and I need your help to figure him out."  Ron looked at him and didn't bat an eyelid - "Ah, a little pocket rocket?  Ok, walk on."

Ron straight away treated Dingo like any other horse - no matter his size or potential.  And within 10 minutes I had Dingo going like a regular dressage pony, with rhythm and relaxation matching that of Echo.  I got the most marvellous canters - on a long rein!!!  But there was an even better edge to this.  Ron suddenly got to see how much I had retained from all my lessons - that everything Ron had taught me was now becoming a habit.  That I have a "Ron toolbox" in my riding skillset and that I am immediately able to transfer it from horse to horse.  Ron suddenly saw that I have actually learnt something from him - and for an instructor, that is one of the most inspiring things in a student.  Win-win!

In the Cross Country start box - "Good Luck"

Riding cross country in a horse trials event is serious business.  Even at the lower grades. The obstacles are solid with a capital S, the ground can be slippery, and the horse has a thousand things to spook at, starting with the jumps judges.  Every rider about to go out on cross country gets some level of nerves, and rightfully so.  A history of events prove that sheer luck might play an important part in a successful completion of this exciting phase.

So, when the starter counts down each competitor, his final words are "3, 2, 1, Go! Good luck!"

At this point, I always thought that there exists a certain understanding between horse and rider.  A partnership based on mutual trust, developed over months and years of training together.  You (the horse) take care of me, and I (the rider) will take care of you.  I have seen countless situations where this is so true, where the horse loses balance and a steadying rein from the rider helps the horse to recover before the next jump.  Situations where the rider loses balance on the first obstacle in a combination, and the horse completes the combination perfectly despite flapping reins and a lack of direction from the rider.

I long for that sort of partnership, that sort of understanding, that sort of trust with my horse.  But recently, I have decided that between myself and Dingo it's not necessarily so.

When that starter says "Good Luck", Dingo grows little devil ears, he rubs his little hooves together, his spirit does a little mini rear of defiance, and the pony whispers "Yeah Mummy ... Good luck, ha ha ha!" as he gallops wildly off towards the first jump with no regard for the feeling on the reins.

Well, for years I have lived in my little world of believing in trust and understanding, while Dingo was rubbing his little hooves together and zooming off on every occasion.  But, recently, I've finally wisened up.  I've realised that our partnership has to be based more on mutual boisterousness, than mutual love.  A kind of respect for each others physical strength and mental power.

So now, our starting line conversation goes something like this:
Starter: "3, 2, 1, Go!  Good luck!"
Dingo: "Yeah Mummy ... Good luck, ha ha ha!"
Me: "Yeah Dingo ... Good luck."  (Followed by a solid check on the reins.)

Westcoast ARC Horse Trials 2016

Dingo's last competition was two years ago when I got eliminated on him during the Dunolly Horse Trails cross country for jumping a grade 3 jump.  Then I got eliminated again in the showjumping when I fell off before the double.  At the time, I decided it wasn't really working and relegated Dingo to trail riding duties.

However, a sequence of events - Lil getting stringhalt, Echo getting an abscess - put Dingo back in work, and back on the critical path for another crack at horse trials.  So we ended up in Elcho Park, warming up for the dressage phase of the Westcoast ARC Horse Trials.

The judge was running late, and the dressage went to pieces.  Dingo was overbent, flicking his tongue over the bit, and freaking out at the weeds surrounding the arena.  Really Dingo?

Since the dressage judge was running late, we were running late for our showjumping round.  Already coming back from gear check Dingo felt tired.  He jumped well in the warm-up - very well in fact.  The warm-up was on grass with a sandy soil base.  The competition ring was sand.  The minute he put hoof in that sand arena, things didn't feel right - he felt out of control.  I put on the breaks.  We got two refusals at jump one, clear over two, then a refusal at jump three and that was the end of our round.

I left the showjumping ring gutted, and did a few more warm-up jumps to mull it over.  He jumped very well.  Damn that sand.

I gave Dingo a well earned rest and some lunch, and I mulled over the situation some more.  Technically I was eliminated, but could still ride the cross country if I wanted to.  Did I want to?  Should I?  My reflection process was long and boring, but in the end I decided to ride cross country.

After a quick warm-up (which was on sand, and Dingo jumped the warm-up jumps well), we were in the start box, and the starter was saying: "3, 2, 1, go!  Good luck!".  And Dingo responded "Yeah Mummy ... Good luck in trying to hold me back!  Ha ha ha!".  And I gritted my teeth with "Yeah Dingo ... Good luck in trying to get away from me!".  And we were off.  Dingo was off.  Holding him back was tricky ... almost impossible.

Jump three was out of control and we were barrelling through the middle of the course when I caught sight of jump four on my left.  We doubled back.  I had to almost stop him to do that switch back to four.  But I did it the right way - I kept his head up.  I didn't let his chin go to his chest.  Over four, and then we got this amazing bouncy canter - forward, yet on his hocks.  I felt I could jump over the moon from that canter.  And from then on, all the other jumps became mere obstacles.  It was no longer a question of whether he will jump them, it was only a question how fast I will allow him to jump, and how elegant I can make it look.  There was no longer a question of control, there was only a question of using my reins and my heels to communicate with him.  It was amazing.  I have never ridden this pony so fast over cross country and yet felt so much in control, felt so sure he would jump everything, felt so in awe of how much power was propelling him forward.  I could now see that this pony easily had more scope.  It was incredible.

In the end, the result - me being eliminated - was immaterial.  I was the real winner.  That cross country ride just changed the way I jump - for ever.  That cross country ride made me realise that the next rung of my horse riding journey was within reach.  That cross country ride was like a thousand clinics rolled into one.

I jumped off my tired pony - and I have never ever seen Dingo that tired - and jumped up and down with joy!

What I learnt at my last dressage competition

I took Dingo to a dressage competition - an unofficial EA event. It was one of those magical moments, when the score didn't matter at all. It was all about making amazing discoveries, and those alone making the effort more than worthwhile.

So what did I learn?

1. The competition arena can be a whole new ball game. The competition venue had a huge sand arena with the competition arenas setup with plastic borders. As a horse went trotting next to the plastic border, the sand would get picked up by the horse's shoes and flung at the plastic, making a sound a bit similar to someone shooting (although not as loud). The minute Dingo heard this shooting, all relaxation and swing left him. So, our work on the circle wasn't too bad, but our work on the track was a waste of everyone's time. The lesson? While you can't actually warm up inside the arena, you can warm up sufficiently close to it that you can get your horse used to the sound and relaxed with the concept. At least "relaxed enough" to get a good test. I did this in my second test, and it worked.

2. There are a lot of distractions outdoors. At this particualar competition, there was an indoor arena for the majority of the warm-up. Dingo went brilliantly in there! Then we went oustide for the final part of the warm-up and all of a sudden his attention went everywhere. Everything was worth looking at. Normally, I work Dingo outside. But I never realised that I am competing for his attention with so many distractions. It was a real eye opener for me because it made me realise that I need to work harder to keep his focus on me.

3. Smile. We all kind of know this, but we don't really understand it deep down. For my last dressage test I rode up to the judge with a huge smile, because she had been really nice and friendly towards my daughter earlier on. The judge loved my smile, and said "If you ride with a smile like that you can be sure to have a great test". I took it on board as the judge's advice for the day, and got on with my test. I will add here that I spent around 15 years on stage as an amateur singer and dancer, and at the beginning of a performance you plastered a smile on your face, and you kept that smile there until well after the curtain closed for the last time. So, I'm practiced at performing with a smile. As I rode my test Dingo and I had the odd tussle, but the minute I felt things were back in check I would ask myself "and how is that smile?" and I would take the smile that was still firmly on my lips, and take it right down into my innermost feelings. And when that smile hit my belly I could feel the pony relax. That smile really made a difference.

The bonus? Dingo came 6th in a quality field. Go the little red pony!

Dingo's Cross Country at Dunolly Horse Trials

(This is a description of Dingo's Cross Country round at Dunolly Horse Trials).

I ride Dingo into the cross country warm-up and realise that I've got the wrong reins attached to his bridle.  I've got the dressage reins, which are all smooth leather.  I was intending to swap them for the webbed reins with the little regular stoppers - too late now.

The warm-up goes well and he is travelling very nicely between leg and hand, and being quite responsive to the bit.  The warm-up jumps also go well, and I even do one of the bigger logs.

We face the course, the starter counts us down, and we're off.  Dingo travels nicely to the first jump, and has no issues with the slightly tricky ramp under an arch.  But as we land, the reins slip through my fingers and I suddenly regret my rein blunder.  The breeze hits my face, my eyes water, my glasses slip down my nose as Dingo travels a lot more on the forehand than anything he did in the warm-up.  I can barely see, when we have a run out at number two.  We get over it easily on the second attempt, and I grip the reins tightly into the next jump.

Jumps three and four go well, but after four I again grapple for control, as Dingo leans on the bit and the reins just slip through my fingers.  I see the jumps judge for jump 5, and wonder why they are sitting with their back to the jump.  I get through the compulsory flags and look for my line.

(What happens in reality is that we are travelling so fast, that I totally miss the line for the level 4 jump.  I in fact take the line for the level 2 jump, get put off by the height, and end up jumping the level 3 jump.  But I have no idea about this, until I ride the course again on Lil.)

I see a jump up ahead, it's got number 5 on it, but it looks way too big for me.  So I look to the left.  There is also a jump with a number 5 on it, so I aim for that one.  The colour of the number does not register at all.  What does register is that we are now on the path for the grade 3 jumps.  I have 7 fast strides, and very little rein control to correct our line, and do level 4 6A and 6B.  And I am left a bit bewildered that when we walked the course, jumps 5 and 6 seemed to line up so well, yet when riding it, they were all out of whack.  So weird.

But I have no time to give it another thought, as the reins slide through my fingers, Dingo hangs his head an inch above the ground (is he looking for gold?) and we gallop on towards number 7.  I manage to shorten my reins, steady him and we're over.  And I'm out of control again.

I try to slow him to a trot coming into the bank, but the minute he sees the obstacle he is all go and action.  This pony just has no respect that his rider may want to go a little bit slower - just for the fun of it!  After the bank, and drop, I actually pull him up.  Up until now I've kind of been able to clamp my fingers onto the rein and retain some semblance of something.  But now it's all starting to fall apart.

I take a breather, then kick him on again.  Over the tyres, then drive over the trakener.  He doesn't even blink an eyelid, doesn't flick an ear.  On the other side, however, he is so strong, that I actually do a circle to regain control.  As long as I am not about to present to a jump, this is totally within the rules.

He clears the tarp mound (jump 11).  I slow down to trot before the water and he boldly jumps in, wondering why in the world I would have wanted to slow him down.  Then over the dog bones (jump 13) and the gold mine (jump 14).  I grip the reins so hard my fingers are numb.  I still have very little control.  Perhaps I even don't have any control.  Who knows.  He takes a glance at the "Welcome Stranger" (jump 15), but one kick and he is over it, and across the finish line.

The second we cross that finish line I start looping back in a big arc.  It's my only hope to stop.  My fingers and my hands are totally numb.  My shoulders are aching.  I'll have the best triceps after this.

Finally, we come to the walk.  The funny line at number 5 is long forgotten, and the only thing I can think about is what can I do to make my hands work again so I can ride Lil.

When I ride the course on Lil, and take the correct line for jump number 5, I realise that that is not the jump I did on Dingo.  As I continue to ride the course on Lil I am so focused on riding her that I don't give it another thought.  It is only when I finish the course on Lil that I suddenly think "if I didn't do the level 4 jump on Dingo, then I must have done the level 3 jump", and then "if I did the level 3 jump on Dingo, then Dingo has been eliminated".

Cross Country Post Mortem

I believe that everything happens for a reason.  I forgot to change my reins - for a reason.  I jumped that grade 3 jump - for a reason.  That grade 3 jump felt easy - for a reason.  And later, in the showjumping, the grade 4 jumps were hard, and Dingo was stopping, and I fell off - for a reason.  It's in correctly understanding the reasons that we either make it, or break it for ourselves in the future.  The elimination is immaterial.

So what's my take?

Remember to change your reins before cross country.  And if you happen to have the wrong reins, then put a set of knots in them.

The wrong reins, forced me to ride Dingo on a much longer contact.  At the time it felt scary because with every stride the reins grew longer and longer.  But later I realised that this longer contact had no bearing whatsoever on his jumping.  He jumped a grade 3 jump on that longer contact.  What had a bearing on his jumping was how much leg I was using.  The longer contact, also allowed him to use his back better - it's exactly what I've been trying to get him to do!

We jumped a grade 3 jump.  We jumped it because I was using my leg, and allowing Dingo to have a longer contact.  We jumped it because I was allowing him to travel.  Perhaps it was faster than what I wanted, but it is what suited him.  Perhaps there is a balance between the two?

I fell off in the showjumping, over a course that should have been easy for Dingo.  If it was on grass it would have been easy.  But it was in deep sand.  And I should have not worried about the reins at all, just ridden it totally from the leg.  In that deep sand, he was travelling exactly as he should be.  I just need to add leg.

And so it all comes back to the same thing - less rein, more leg, more trust.  Put that into my training with Dingo, and see where we come out at the end.  Find a huge, flat paddock and go galloping on a loose rein - see what happens.  Ride in a headstall (have the bridle on just in case), and see what happens.  Play.

Dunolly Horse Trials 2014

Dunolly is a small town in the middle of the Victorian Gold Fields.  We first heard about it on Macca's (Ian Macnamara) set of CD's in a song "I'm the last man from Dunolly" about a soldier returning from the war - the only soldier from the Dunolly area to be returning.  When I noticed the Dunolly Horse Trials on the eventing calendar, we didn't need any further prodding to make the 4 hour trip.

My husband, my daughter and I arrive on late Friday afternoon, and setup camp.  By the time I get the stove out, its dark, and my husband makes some noises that sound like "pub" and "beer".  We eat our camp meal, and then drive into Dunolly.  On the way, we listen to "the song" that brought us here, then spend a somber moment at the war memorial.

We waltz merrily into the cheerful pub, and strip off our winter woolies as the warmth of the open fire hits us.  We sit at the bar drinking our beer and fairy drinks; we glance around at the locals.  There are three people next to me, and one of them pulls out a gold nugget about the size of a 50c coin.  He shares its story with his friends while we stare shamelessly.  He found it on his property with a metal detector.  Had to dig for it.  But he thinks there's more further down.  His eyes sparkle with a strange kind of excitement ... gold fever.

Our shameless staring is hard to ignore, and he eventually turns to us and lets us hold the nugget.  My daughter is spellbound as history unrolls itself right in front of her eyes.  We pulled her out of school early today to come here - I think it's just paid dividends.

The freezing night air hits us as we leave the pub.  The sleeping bags in our tent are nice and warm, and we get a good night's sleep.

The morning is overcast but mild, and I have a thousand chores to do around the horses, as well as plaiting up and getting them ready for dressage.  My husband and daughter can afford to take it a bit more easy, and they pedal off on their bicycles to Dunolly.

I manage to get the plaiting done just in time, using up the very last bit of the black thread on Lil's mane.  Dingo's warm up goes brilliantly.  He is very relaxed and very happy, and produces a test to match which places him 7th.  Lil on the other hand, is the total opposite.  She is stepping under really well, but she is tense.  She can see the cross country course, and she is far too excited to be paying attention.  Nevertheless, the dressage is not bad and she ends up 14th.

We walk the cross country course - this is a newly built cross country course, with this competition being the official cross country course opening weekend.  The course is beautiful - and I have added a full review of it to my cross country review series.  All I will say is that I expect jump 10 - a trakener with water in the ditch - to be the show stopper.  It certainly has me shaking in my boots every time I think about it.

We do another trip to the pub, and then attend the dinner hosted by the Dunolly Horse Activity Club.  The food is fabulous, the atmosphere is warm, and the people are lovely.

There is a bit of wind during the night.  It makes funny sounds, and wakes me up.  Every time I wake up I go over the cross country course in my mind, getting a serious adrenaline rush at number 10.  It's amazing that I go back to sleep.

In the morning, my husband is off to Ballarat for a bike ride with his mates.  And then the comedy of errors begins.  I get both horses ready, and ride off on Dingo into the Cross Country warm-up.  I realise that I still have my dressage reins on Dingo's bridle - oh well, too late to change now.  I am barely in trot, when I see a wild bay horse galloping loose up the home straight.  I gaze at my float - Lil is no longer tied up.  Ooops.  I ride up to the edge of the bunting, and call out to her.  The galloping horse comes to a standstill opposite Dingo.  My daughter walks up, but she is not old enough to handle Lil - let alone an excited Lil.  So we wait for an adult to walk up and ask for assistance.  The lady assures me she will find a secure yard for Lil.

Dingo's warm up goes extremely well.  He is light in the hand, and responsive to the bit.  I might just be able to get away with these reins after all.  We start off on Cross Country and everything changes.  The reins immediately run through my fingers, and I lose most of my control.  The ride is so eventful that it deserves a separate post.  We have a run out at jump 2, but otherwise go clear.  The pony doesn't even blink at jump number 10!

Then it's Lil's turn.  We have a very short time to warm-up, which suits me fine.  She knows what she needs to do, she's already had her warm-up gallop (ha ha ha!), and the sooner she gets going, the sooner she can get back to Dingo.  We go clear over the first, and then establish who is going to do what as we approach jump 2.  She gives it a quick second look, and from then on we're very clear.  I'll just sit and ride, and she will gallop and jump.  We get a good rhythm, she works well into the hand, and I just give a bit of encouragement before each jump.  She swallows up the Cross Country course.  I never doubt anything.  The trakener is a piece of cake.  At the water I slow her down to a walk.  She takes a look, then pops in.  Out of the water and we re-establish our rhythm.  I watch the finish gates glide past us and then I punch my fist into the air.  Yes!  Yes!  and YES!!!  What an absolutely fantastic, awesome, unbelievable run!

I jump off and my daughter runs in and shares in the joy.  I smile at her, and share a little home truth.  "Lil's gone clear, but I've just realised that Dingo has been eliminated."  She stares.  "I did the wrong jump on Dingo - I did a grade 3 jump and I didn't even notice at the time.  I've just realised now.  But never mind.  It's just another learning lesson."

Lil knows she's done the required job, and she now just wants to get back to Dingo.  The vet comes over and she throws her head to the side in protest, hitting the vet.  It hurts.  We are asked to walk away, settle the horse, and come back in about 5 to 10 minutes.  I sober up somewhat.  "You know what", I say to my daughter "Lil might also get eliminated."  "Why?", she stares in disbelief.  "Well, she did run out on Cross Country course, she could get eliminated for that, and now she hit the vet so she might get eliminated for bad behaviour."  "Can they do that?", she asks.  I grow serious.  "I presume they can.  Horses should be well behaved."  The next time the vet approaches we make sure that Lil is on her best behaviour.  This time we pass.

I change Dingo's reins and warm him up for showjumping.  From the first jump I know that something is wrong.  The pony is travelling in a totally different way than normal, and if I was a better, more experienced rider, I would be able to change my riding style to match.  But I don't have that experience, yet.  All I can do is sit and wonder - something is very different.  It's the footing.  The sand in the jumping arena is very deep.  Perhaps too deep.  Dingo doesn't cope.  I manage to ride it out until he sees jump 6 - the double.  It's too much, he stops and I fall off.  He is now double eliminated.  It's kind of funny, but I just hope they allow me to ride Lil.

I warm Lil up.  She is the last to go, and as our round approaches there are less and less horses in the warm-up ring.  Until there are none.  And the cold front - rainless perhaps, but with eerie dark clouds and cold wind - buffets against us.  I manage to hold it all together - just.  We ride into the ring.  Lil also struggles somewhat with the deep footing, but she copes.  However, we can't get a really good flowing rhythm.  As jump number 6 approaches, time seems to come to a standstill.  Six strides to go.  We will do this.  Five.  I apply leg.  Four.  I look at element B.  Three.  I apply leg.  Two.  I look up.  One.  We go through it.  I breathe.  After jump 9, Lil heads for the corner, and I hear a little voice from the sidelines "Forward Mama!  Forward!".  I ride forward, and we do jumps 10, and 11.  Clear!

We look after the horses, then my daughter sits me down in a chair and looks after me.  She gets me food from the food bag, and organises a drink.  No - it's not a beer.  Later we attend the presentations.  Dingo, as expected, is eliminated.  Lil comes 7th and I receive a beautiful pink ribbon.

Then it's time to pack up.  My husband returns from his bike ride an hour later than expected.  The competition also ran about an hour later than expected.  So the light is fading as we finally drive off between the slightly undulating sweeping plains where kangaroos hop without a care in the world.

Wandin delivers

Two horses on the float, daughter still in her PJ's smiling through her sleep in the back seat, pitch black outside and we're off to Wandin ODE.  We arrive without dramas, park, unload and register.

I get all dressed up in my jacket, then Dingo and I ride down to the dressage warm-up.  Dingo's dressage is in Big Wandin.  The warm-up goes well and probably my biggest issue is that he feels about ready after 10 minutes, yet we have another 30, especially since the tests are running late.  I am a bit stuck at what to do.  How do I ensure I don't "ruin" what we have.  This is not helped by one rider, who always seems to be riding straight into us.  Funny that we don't have that problem with the 10 other riders in the warm-up.

Our turn finally comes, and when the judge toots the horn she is in the shade and I can't see her wave.  So I am not sure.  Was that my judge?  Or was it not?  I look at the other arenas and by process of elimination decide that it was my judge.  I ride in, still not quite sure whether I am about to get eliminated because I didn't ride into the arena on time, or because I rode into the arena uninvited.

I do my first halt and realise that the whole judge and horn issue has taken up so much of my mind, that I have forgotten the test.  I quickly remember it, but any softness we may have had just vanishes as I tense in a sudden panic.  The first half of the test is wasted.  In the second half, I relax again and let it flow a bit more.  By then, Dingo is tired.  Uggh!

I grimace and put it behind me as we walk back towards the float.  Then it's off to walk the cross country course.  I look at it and decide that this just might sort a few horses out.  It's all at the right level, nothing too hard, nothing too easy, a few nice give aways, and some challenges.  Love it!

Then it's back into the dressage ring with Lil.  Her dressage is at the top of the hill, and the sweeping views alone get her eyeballs rolling.  Then there is the odd pram.  I get her in control quick smart - something I wouldn't have been able to do a year or two ago - and the warm-up goes well.

When it comes to our turn I have another stuff up with the judge and horn, but I'm not eliminated.  Then there is the issue of the view.  Ever ytime Lil has to go towards the judge she is as smooth as butter.  Every time she goes away from the judge she starts freaking out and loses all forward.  Double uggh!

So it's another test to move on from as we quickly unsaddle Lil and get Dingo ready for cross country.  As we approach the course I become acutely aware that I am quite hungry and very thirsty.  I've only had an apple since breakfast in the car.  Must remedy this after cross country.

The warm up goes well, and I get some really lovely jumps from Dingo.  But the minute we start, he takes off like a mad thing, not listening and paying attention.  And so when we get to jump two, the picket fence with all the colourful flowers in front of it, Dingo gets the shock of his life.  Refusal one.  We get over it, and have a few more arguments along the way.  Another refusal at the table top, and one more at the double.  Not our best performance.

I rush back, and get Lil.  In the process I manage to scoff down a banana and drink some water.  We only have 10 minutes to warm up, but it's enough.  She also takes off a bit like a mad thing, but when I slow her down before the picket fence she starts paying attention.  She doesn't really like the flowers, but is happy enough to put in a leap when asked.  We're smoothly through next few, and then the eye glasses give her the fright of her life - she seriously thinks she's about to jump over the head of a tiger or dragon!  We get a refusal at the double, but otherwise she jumps everything, although some of her leaps are so big, she may as well be doing 3*!

Back to the float.  Get Lil unsaddled and comfortable.  I give up on "the look", and stay in my cross country vest.  Taking it off would mean taking off my helmet, putting the vest away, getting the jacket.  I just can't be bothered.

We get Dingo ready for showjumping.  Here we get a bit confused - where is the showjumping?  I am grateful for my little strapper who holds my pony while I enquire about ring location.  We still get there early, and I even have time to walk the course.  Wow.

Now, the showjumping course.  At most other HT competitions the grade four showjumping course is little more than grade five, with a couple of enticing cross rails and only a few jumps set at the maximum 60cm.  And then the next level is Intro, and all of a sudden everything is at 80cm with an 80cm spread.  I mean how are you supposed to do such a massive leap?  Here, I must acknowledge the Wandin grade four showjumping course as being excellent.  Every single jump is at 60cm, with a couple of enticing oxers.  No inviting cross rails.  Just a real course providing a good grade four test for horse and rider.  Wandin - well done to you!

During the warm-up I keep our poor cross country performance in mind, and I keep thinking "light contact, and good drive".  I jump one warm-up jump.  Just one.  It's enough.  My pony is on the ball, and I don't need to stir him up any more.  We ride our round.  Dingo has a bit of a funny corner after jump six, which puts a rail on the ground of element 7A.  Otherwise it's a textbook round.

We go back to the float and this time we actually have enough time to scratch ourselves, as well as unsaddle Dingo, give him a proper brush and a cuddle, and get him all ready for going home.  We get Lil ready, and head back to the showjumping ring.

As we walk towards the ring, Lil is resisting.  I'm starting to think that even at grade four, the showjumping round truly is a test of fitness.  I coax Lil forward and we get to the warm up area.  I coax her through the warm-up.  A lot of walk, then a lot of trot.  When I feel her loosen up, I pop her over the jump.  Just one jump.  She's on the ball.  That's enough.  Then I just keep her warm and ticking over until it's our turn.

We ride into the showjumping arena and Lil's ears prick up.  I talk with the judge, the bell rings, I kick Lil into a trot.  An energy surges up in her that I did not expect.  "You point, and I'll shoot", she seems to say.  I don't need to kick her into canter.  I just point her at jump 1, jump 2, and so on till jump 9.  She is amazing.  She just flies.  She just clears everything in her path.  This is her forte.  She goes clear.  What can I say?  This little horse, with her odd fitness niggles, with her nasty attitude, with her royal airs, has just made my day!

Back at the float we make Lil comfortable and ready to go home.  I smile at my daughter.  She smiles back.  She's been a strapper all day long.  Now her Mummy is back.  She slips her little hand in mine and we go to get an ice cream.  We check out the results.  Dingo is about 18th, but Lil has managed to come 7th!  Wow!  After that awful dressage too.  "Mamma, I think you'll get a ribbon for Lil", says my daughter.  "Nah, I'm pretty sure it's just ribbons to 6th place.  We've missed out", I laugh.

We gaze some more at the results - overall so many cross country faults, so many eliminations, a few rails down in showjumping.  I knew that cross country was going to sort us out.  Wandin delivered a fantastic competition.

This is the first time I've ridden two horses at a horse trials, and it was busy, but I loved it.  I have found the real me.  Now that it's time to go home, the idea of staying for the presentations doesn't even enter my mind.  A pity - because it turns out that Lil just may have won a rosette after all.  Come to think of it, I should probably attend the presentations regardless of my placing.  And that's not the only lesson I walk away with.

My best Cross Country so far (Mornington Peninsula Pony Club Horse Trials)

Dingo safely over jump number 2 in the showjumping.

"An arrow can only be shot by pulling it backwards.  So when life is dragging you back with difficulties, it means that it's going to launch you into something great.  So just focus, and keep aiming."

(As with a lot of Horse Trials, this event was run over two days.  I was competing grade 4 on Dingo, and our Dressage and Showjumping were on Saturday, with Cross Country on Sunday.)

I rock up to the venue alone as my handy little strapper is off at a friend's birthday party.  She will be joining me later, and in addition to Dingo, I also unload Tornado, who immediately gets "oohs" and "ahs" and "isn't he cute" from the adjacent float.

I potter around doing the usual stuff, registration, cleaning the float, tying up the hay for the ponies, getting acquainted with where the rings are, when suddenly it dawns upon me.  I realise just exactly where I am.

My mind flashes back to a bleak day, about 16 years ago, when I had my first competition attempt on my first horse.  Princess.  My friend's Dad floated us and our two horses out here for a hickstead.  My Mum came out to watch - I was kind of hoping she would be my support crew - but when she saw Princess rear at a piece of hay on the ground, a mere 2m from the float, she couldn't bare to watch and she left.  She's never been back.

There are many stories to be told about that day, what with me and band aids and stuff, but the long and short of it was that I never competed.  My horse was out of control, and when I tried to follow my friend over the warm-up jump, Princess and I parted company.  My friend's Dad kindly captured the fall on video, and we have all laughed about it ever since.

Well, today is more sunny than bleak, but the memory opresses me somewhat.  It lingers in my mind, it haunts me.  It's like a mist in the air - you can't quite grab it, you can't disperse it, and yet it's there clouding your view.

I get on with the job at hand, and the Dressage goes reasonably well.  At least we seem to have conquered one thing - Dingo is no longer on three tracks, no longer eying off the white edge of the arena.  We even get some lengthening in the trot.  Woo hoo!

Then my husband arrives with my daughter, and the clouds begin to gather.  No, the weather is just fine.  In fact, the weather is getting more pleasant and summer like by the minute.  The emotional clouds.  Something about me "riding horses too much" comes out.  I bristle up like a terrified echidna, and the sharp discussion just adds to my anxiety.  My husband departs, and I start warming up Dingo for the showjumping.

The showjumping warm-up area is not ideal.  There is a nice warm-up area with jumps, but that's only for the three horses about to do their rounds.  Everyone else ... well, maybe the Dressage warm-up area?  It's not far, but you won't exactly hear your number being called.  I know I need that extra warm-up, so I head two paddocks down.

Then I spot her - my friend who's Dad brought us here so many moons ago.  What a sight she makes.  Striding confidently as ever, big smile on her face, her two gorgeous girls in tow.  We have a laugh about the old times, then I proceed with my warm-up.

When I enter the jumping warm-up area, I don't feel confident.  All is not well.  There is stuff playing in my mind, but I can't quite grasp what's going on, or what I need to do about it.  I tackle the cross rail.  Ok.  I tackle the straight bar and Dingo skids to an amazing stop - he'd get 10 out of 10 if this was a Western Show.  I get catapulted forwards along the neck, and stop just behind his ears.  Perhaps I grab the ears, perhaps I don't, but somehow I stay on and manage to slide back down the neck towards the saddle.  My friend runs out laughing, and holds Dingo while I slip back into the saddle.

The steward looks at me dubiously, and calls out "Are you ready?".  The showjumping ring is ready, the judges are ready - I wonder whether they actually saw the last showjumping round, or whether they were watching the "sliding stop show" next door.  Am I ready?  No way!  "Yep", I say and ride into the ring.  Some things are just meant to happen, and you've got to let God play it his way.

We're over the cross rail, then Dingo stops at number two.  I turn him in a tight circle, which puts him on his hindquarters, and we get over it.  We have another refusal, but other than that go clear, although somewhat out of control.  The crowd - primarily my friend and my daughter - go wild.  "I got a photo of Dingo stopping!", my daughter jumps up and down with excitement.  "I got the whole thing on video", laughs my friend.

Now the day has turned seriously warm, and with all this anxiety and excitement I am feeling very thirsty.  My friend pulls out some fresh fruit and we relax on the grass while our girls play with Tornado.

We make the one and a half hour trip home, and then the heavens open up - the evening is an emotional disaster.  There's a part of me that just wants to collapse and forget the XC tomorrow.  Even without the emotional turmoil, it was going to be hard enough.  Now I have "rides too much" and "competes too much" and a swag of other accusations to deal with.  I would love to just give up, but something in me stays more determined than even "me".  Plus, I need to go there tomorrow anyway to judge a cross country jump.

The next day I wake up looking about 10 years older.  The anxiety of "how exactly am I going to ride this cross country course?" is massive.  When I load Dingo on the float he starts shaking.  It's balmy warm.  He's shaking with fear.  It's not helping.

During the journey many visions flash through my mind - mainly of Dingo stopping at a fence, of me falling off somewhere, of someone approaching my daughter and saying "unfortunately, your mother has fallen off".  It's crushing.

When we arrive at the venue the cross country for the higher grades is in progress, and the entrance we used yesterday is blocked off.  There is another entrance but we're not sure where that is, and I'm anxious and edgy so I'm not brilliant at finding my way.  About 3 U-turns later - U-turns with a float and two ponies, on busy roads, feeling anxious! - about 3 U-turns later we arrive, park and unlaod.  We have just enough time to report for jumps judging.

We set ourselves up at the last jump, our backs to the sun.  It's the first day of summer.  I give my daughter the job of recognising the numbers.  I put on my safety vest, turn on my walkie talkie, and look down at my clip board.  I have never been a cross country judge before.  In my clipboard I have a score sheet, and a "fall report" sheet.  On the fall report it has three squares for reporting the severity of the fall.  They are labelled: Mild, Severe, Fatal.  Fatal.  Sobering.

The riders start coming through and we watch carefully for numbers, stops and refusals.  I watch how these riders ride their horses, how they approach the jump, and how they jump it.  Most of the horses go clear.  As my judging time draws to a close, I form a plan.

I relax, and speak directly to my subconscious mind "I want you to ride like a pro today.  All these riders you've just seen, they ride like amateurs.  I know, that you know how a pro rides.  I know that I have all the skills and ability to ride like a pro.  I want you to ride like a pro today."  Then I take a long hard look at the last jump, and visualise Dingo going over it and across the finish line, while I punch the air and shout "that was the best 5 minutes of my life".  And from then on, everytime I get a vision of me having a mishap, I replace it with the picture of Dingo going clear over the last.

In the cross country warm-up I focus on control.  This has been my bane ever since the start of time.  The warm-up goes well, and I don't get a single refusal.  I get out of control on the landing a couple of times.  A couple of times - that means two.

The starter counts me down, and we're off.  Not at some fast canter, or mad gallop, but at a controlled trot.  Three strides out from the jump I make sure that Dingo has seen it.  Two strides out, I let him go and he pops over it effortlessly.  It feels like just another canter stride.  Then he tries to flatten out.  I don't let him.  I bring him back to a bouncy canter, a collected trot, anything, as long as his hindquarters are underneath him.

And so we tackle the course.  One jump at a time.  Total control in between the jumps.  Sometimes I let him go two strides before the jump, sometimes just one stride.  At the steps I ride him right up to the jump, nice and slow - after the first drop he falters for a split second - as expected.  He's never done steps before.  At the ski ramp I hear Tornado neigh and I clamp my legs on tighter to make sure that Dingo stays focussed.  Then Dingo eyes off the water, and thinks about skirting around the edge.  I drive him forwards.  The cheer squad, led and rallied by my daughter, claps.  And then ... and then the last jump is right there in front of me.  I drive my pony towards it, and we clear it, we pass the finish line, and I punch my fist into the air and call out "that was the best 5 minutes of my life".  I glance at my stop watch - ok, maybe the best 7 minutes.

Sabina runs towards me, joy on her face, and we give each other a hug.  We give Dingo a hug - he is lathered with sweat.  The Vet gives us the thumbs up and we're off to get a long cold drink.  Half way to the canteen, I stop, look at my daughter and say "Sabina, I've just had my Christmas".

The last jump on the cross country course.

Pakenham Upper Riding Club Combined Training

Lil showing some style in the Dressage.

Two horses on the float, half asleep daughter in the back seat, and I have never been this relaxed on my way to a competition.  I must be getting seasoned, or something.  At 6:06 am we roll out the front gate.  (6 minutes late - negligible).

No yards to hold the horses this time, so we tie them up to the float and cross fingers.  (Later on I discover where the yards are, but by that stage Lil is so settled it matters no more).

Lil is up first.  At gear check the ladies comment that she's shivering with fear, which, she is.  To me her state of mind seems much more sensible than last competition.  She warms-up well. but remains anxious to get back to Dingo.  Her dressage ring runs about 20 minutes late.  If I had known this I would have warmed her up differently.

The Dressage test goes relatively well.  I do my final halt at G rather than X, and it costs me 2 points as an error of course.  I am actually amazed that I got the rest of it right.  Might have to add some priority to learning tests in the future.  There are many details that could be fixed, but overall it was far more relaxed than Bulla.  It was also a Level 4 test, which asks for 20m circles in canter, and I was very pleased with those.  Especially considering that just yesterday I was getting some serious pigroots.

The warm-up arena for showjumping is right at the very top of the hill.  From there you get the most amazing view into the La Trobe valley.  It's like you're on top of the world.  And horses, or at least Lil, don't really like being on top of the world.  It's scary stuff!  Regardless, I make good progress in the warm-up, and then eye off the showjumping course.  The dazzleboard has certainly proven to be a show stopper, and the brick wall looks ominous.  Lil jumps well, but the dazzle board stumps her.  I drive hard and she jumps it, but has a rail down.  She puts in a big jump over the brick wall, but it never causes a problem.

I think that's a really good effort for her first (jumping) start at Level 4.

Lil getting some air in the Showjumping warm-up.

 Dingo's turn.  The dressage appears to have caught up, so I don't have as much time to warm-up as I hoped.  However, I get him going well, and I don't think more time would have made that much difference.  Dingo's dressage test is amazing.  It's not good enough to put him in the lead, but there is a world of improvement since 6 months ago.  There is "on the bit", there are moments of relaxation and a flowing trot, and the canters are slow and steady.  Mind you, I was using quite a lot of force to get those canters.  The judge comments that he can be "unsteady in the head".  Six months ago he was madly head shaking all through the test.  Like I said.  Amazing.

At the showjumping warm-up arena, Dingo is not as phased by the location as Lil was, and the warm-up is fairly normal.  He jumps over the cross rail, but when it comes to the straight bar he slams the breaks on big time.  What?!  I try again.  Same.  I have a look at the surface - the sand there is pretty deep.  Hmm.  I do know that is his weak point.  I should be panicking, I should be getting the cold sweats, I should be digging my heels in and flailing with the crop.  But, I'm not.  I'm totally calm as I observe my mind trying to find a solution that's in line with my training.

"Drive more".  The "drive" gives me a pony that's on the forehand, and it feels like I'm trying to hold back a steam train with my hands.  "So lift him a bit".  The lift helps.  I keep adjusting Dingo, and testing the feel on the cross rail.  Finally I'm happy, and he sails over the straight bar.  That's good enough.  My daughter and I head back down to the showjumping ring.

"Mama, you've got to get more drive", my daughter shakes her head at me.  "You've really got drive him.  Don't let him turn away.  Drive, drive, drive.  You must add more drive."  We pass some floats, and a lady gives us a knowing look.

I start my showjumping round.  I drive and lift and we clear the first jump, and then I know we're good.  I keep adjusting, a bit more drive here, a touch more lift there.  Dingo sails around the course as though it's child's play.  He never even glances at the dazzleboard, and he does a huge jump over the wall, but only because I prepped him up for it.  Probably with the look of fear painted on my face.  Clear.  That's all that matters in the end.

Sabina is ecstatic.  Obviously I've followed her advice.

We don't get any placings, and I'm wondering how I'm going to face my husband without a ribbon.  But I am very happy with the performance of both horses, I can see a lot of improvements, I've had a couple of "A-ha" moments, and I've got lots of material to work and improve on.

In the end I think Dingo came equal 11th, and Lil came about 16th in a field of 22 horses.

Lil now goes out for a spell of about 3 to 4 weeks.  While Dingo ramps up his training in preparation for Horse Trials.

Dingo flying over the wall in Showjumping.

Experience is everything (Cranbourne South Showjumping Day)

Dingo the pocket rocket in AM7

The last time I took Dingo and Lil to a competition, it ended in Lil kicking the float, followed by an expensive vet bill and a week of insanity as I attempted to look after her and work.  Unpurturbed, I attempted to take them together to another competition - that ended in Lil injuring herself before we even got going, and having 2 months off.  Since then, the two horses have travelled to different competitions separately.

That is, until now.  I feel that I have learned enough about Lil, that I was willing to take her to a competition together with Dingo.  So the main aim of going to the Cranbourne South Showjumping Day, was to have the experience of riding two horses, and to give Dingo a go at Level 4 Showjumping, before trying to get him upgraded to Level 3.

The beauty of a Showjumping competition with two horses at different levels, as opposed to a Horse Trials, is that the levels are ridden in order - so once your horse is saddled, you ride your rounds and then that horse is done.  Whereas in a Horse Trials you have the whole complexity of this horse is doing dressage, while that horse needs to be saddle up for showjumping, this level is running late, etc.

I am proud to say, that we were the first competitor to arrive at pretty much exactly the correct time in accordance with my schedule.  A 4:30am wake-up, two horses, and my eight year old daughter - not a trivial feat.  Upon my arrival, and to my great relief, I sighted yards.  Yards with 3 sides - perfect.  The horses will have all the experience of being tied up, without being tied up to the float.  Lil might kick the yard, but at least she won't kick the float.

Having secured prime position, I got Lil ready, while my daughter diligently prepared Dingo.  My daughter came along as strapper, but she only strapps Dingo.

In my mind the ultimate test of horse and rider is Horse Trials, and the cross country jumps certainly require respect.  So a Showjumping competition is really just another training opportunity.  Nevertheless, I was nervous.

There were three rounds - Take Your Own Line (TYOL), AM7 and Table C.  I found TYOL a lot more of a challenge than I thought.  As you walk the course, you spend half your time thinking about what line to take, and the other half, trying to remember the line you chose.  And in the end, I lost my way.  I still did the entire course, and it was a great round, but it would have been faster if I had remembered my original line.

In AM7, Lil did a wonderful job going clear (of course), and then I stuffed up in the jump off.  Luckily, I never crossed my tracks, and was able to complete it, but, again, we lost time.

Lil over the last one in AM7

Finally, Table C.  By this time, the nerves had settled, and I had a good feel of how Lil was travelling.  In addition, I think the "ride for a short time, then put her away" routine really agreed with Lil.  We had a really nice round, although Lil did drop a rail - most likely out of laziness.

Then it was Dingo's turn.  The change over from Lil to Dingo wasn't rushed, but we certainly had no time to play with, and my strapper, little though she is, was priceless.  With Dingo, my biggest concern was that he has just come back from a holiday, and we haven't done much jumping at the required height.  I needn't have worried.

This time, in TYOL, I remembered my line, and the little pony flew around without a single second look, and he never rattled a rail.  In AM7, we got a clear round, and a clear jump off.  No mistakes there.  And he flew around the Table C course - a little too fast perhaps, which means I had to fight for control, and it probably cost us time.

In the end, the scores looked like this:
Lil:
TYOL - 7th
AM7 - 7th
Table C - 3rd

Dingo:
TYOL - 6th
AM7 - 11th
Table C - 5th

A lot can be said about the placings Lil could have got had I not made the errors.  Experience is everything.

We walked away with three ribbons, a daughter who had a great day (and took over 100 photos!!!), and two horses who arrived home safe and sound.  Success!!!

A happy strappy!

Dingo back in work

Dingo has been enjoying a well earned rest for the last 6 weeks - I think it was supposed to be 4 weeks, but, well, it appears that time flies.  He came back into work with a reasonably easy going dressage session.

I have learnt so much in the last six weeks.  I have been trying it all out on Lil, of course, but I was just dying to try it out on Dingo.  To feel what the difference was.  To feel how he would respond.

He responded really well, and some of the learnings certainly apply much more to Dingo than to Lil.  I have also realised - he is much much harder to ride than Lil.  Or rather, he is much harder to ride well; to ride in a way that will score you high marks in a competition.  Timing, balance and precision is everything with this little pony.  All while staying totally calm and relaxed of course!

The Cheeky Pony

Remember my entry about the "Good Horse"?  Well now, for contrast we have the "Cheeky Pony".

I put Bess and Dingo out onto the driveway.  The driveway has the front gate, which gives access from the road onto our property, and the garden gate, which allows access to the garden around the house.

Normally I don't shut either gate, and I generally don't have a problem with horses wandering off the property, although they do wander into the garden where the grass is even sweeter.  However, recently, Dingo has been sneaking into the garden at a gallop, so I closed the garden gate.

When I walked back out to check on them, I saw Bess grazing on the driveway, very close to the front gate, and lo and behold, Dingo was standing on alert out the front of the property.  Yes - on the shoulder of the road.  (It's a very quiet, no through road.)

So, keeping calm, and trying to amble, rather than walk purposefully, headstall in hand, I made my way towards the two horses.  Dingo saw me coming, perhaps Bess did too, although she kept munching the grass without interruption.

Dingo knew he shouldn't be out there.  He pricked his ears and trotted back to Bess.  "Oh, phew!", I thought.  "Good pony."  But, cheekiness was written all over his face "quick she's coming, we've got to go now" he said to Bess, took two bites of grass, and headed back out of the gate.

Bess took another two munches of grass, pricked her ears, and slowly, but surely followed Dingo.  Dingo, feeling confident now that he had "a following", trotted with alacrity towards the sunset.  My heart sunk.  The cheeky pony!  Not only does he have the cheek to run out the front gate, but he's got accomplices!  Well, an accomplice.

By now, my friendly amble had changed to a very purposeful march, and my hand had tightened around that headstall.  Luckily, Bess took a few steps, then put her head down to munch the grass.  I put the headstall around her, gave Dingo one disgusted look, and walked Bess back onto our land.

Dingo, judging that the game was over, trotted back, following Bess through the gate.  Needless to say, the gate was then shut.

Elastic Contact

In the recent months, as a result of a few dressage lessons, I have discovered what I would call "elastic contact".

It's a bit like a "push-me-pull-you" game that your horse's mouth plays with your hands.  Notice the wording here.  It's not "your hands play with your horse's mouth".  It's "your horse's mouth plays with your hands".  Because that's the truth of it, that while the contact on the reins is initiated by your hands, the game is activated by your horse.  More about that in a minute.

It feels like your reins have suddenly got a section of elastic band in them, and they stretch and compress as your horse ambles happily along.  You can't use this contact for balancing though - it would be like trying to balance using a rubber band - it will just stretch.  But, you can "play" a bit with this contact, driving more horse into it, or stretching it back towards you to slow down.

It feels like the ultimate connection with your horse.  Initially it can be fairly heavy handed, like an old rusted spring, but as you get better at it, and your horse trusts you more, it should become lighter and softer.

Have I sold you on the concept yet?

Now, back to initiating this "game" with your horse.  Like I said - you, the rider, initiates it by picking up the reins and creating a contact.  Your horse then chooses to either brace against you, back off the bit, or to play the game.  Naturally, you want the latter.

Dingo braces against you (and generally races off into the sunset).  Lilly tends to back off.

The trick with Dingo, is to obtain a contact without allowing him to brace, and then to ask for another 4 millimetres of contact, and then release about 2 millimetres of contact, all the while holding perfect balance with your body, and keeping a really quiet leg.  Phew!  Yes, not a small achievement.

The trick with Lilly is to send her for a solid fast canter up the hill, with lots of half halts, good or bad, doesn't matter.  Then walk back down the hill to the arena, and ask for trot.  Presto.  Elastic contact every time.  Just like magic - as long as you can handle the fast canter.

Cross Country lesson at Windsor Park

Recently I took Dingo to a cross country lesson with Ebony Tucker at Windsor Park.

It's a wonderful day, slightly overcast, with a cool-ish breeze.  Perfect for cross country schooling.  We head out to the back paddock where the cross country course is, and I start an extensive monologue on where we are at, how we got there, where we are heading.

The first thing I notice about Ebony is that she listens.  She is genuinely interested in what I think my problems are, and she takes my goals seriously.  Then she gets me to do some trot and canter to warm up.  Before I have the chance to complete one circle Ebony has linked what I said, with what is happening on the ground, and pulls me up.

"Ok, he tends to rush.  Every time he rushes off like that, I want you to make a downward transition of some sort", she instructs.  I go off in trot on my circle again, keeping what she said in mind.  "Ok, he rushed off there, make a transition!", calls out Ebony.  Ooops.  I suddenly realise that I am quite unaware when my pony rushes off.  I only notice it when he has rushed off for perhaps the fourth time in a row, and suddenly we're in canter.  Big "Aha" moment.

So we work on not allowing Dingo to rush off, and lo and behold, in about five minutes, we have him working beautifully on a nice relaxed contact and an even tempo.

We do this in both trot and canter, then ask the pony to go over a tiny log.  The rushing returns with a vengence.  We work with half halts in the approach to the log and succeed in the jump becoming nice and relaxed.  Then we move onto a bigger jump - like a picnic table made out of logs.  You guessed it, more rushing.

Here, Ebony takes a stance about two strides away from the jump, and says "I want you to approach in trot, then stop here."  The first try is a total failure.  We stop right at the jump!  This is so not what I wanted.  Ebony remains calm.  "Don't let him turn away.  Just stand there.  Back him up.  Now trot on and jump it."  Gulp.  I follow the instructions, and Dingo jumps.  Phew!  We do this a few times, a fair few times, and it becomes quite good, although not perfect.

Then we move onto water, banks, other logs, you name it.  At every jump Ebony stresses the importance of Dingo not rushing.  She gets me to do things at walk, then at trot, then at canter.  She stresses the importance of me not getting ahead, not getting anxious.  As we do the exercises, my confidence grows, I relax, Dingo slows down, it all starts to flow.  Dingo becomes a totally maneuverable pony, and I am having an absolute ball.  Oh this is what it should feel like!

I depart a very happy camper, and can't wait to come back again.  I guess spending money on rugs and other sundry items will just have to wait!

Dream Team wrap up

Last year I joined the Dream Team in a bid to take me to new heights (literrally) in my horse riding journey.  Participating in the Dream Team meant that I had far less time to update my blog, but, it was worth it.

For starters, I can honestly say that I have never felt so disorganised, and so organised at the same time.  You see, you "organise" your own success.  That's right.  Generally, I am a pretty organised sort of person.  To fully participate in the Dream Team journey, I had to learn how the people at the top of my game organise themselves.  Not only that, I had to model them - adopt their way of getting organised towards success.

Planning success was only part of it though.  I had to re-define success - or perhaps, "define" success.  Yes, that's right.  What does success really mean?  I had to define my goals.  I had to strip myself of all my excuses - yes, all of them, even the ones that seem genuine - and really understand where I was going, and what it would take to get there.  How much time it would take to get there?  How much money?

The Dream Team course also forced us to face our fears.  Isn't that a dark area where no one really wants to go?  Then the course gave us tools to deal with our fears.  To help us do what we feared to do the most.  It showed us how to break down our fear, and deal with it one step at a time.

To say that the Dream Team is a one year course is a total misconception.  It introduces you to a whole new paradigm of how to live your life.  It doesn't just apply to your horse riding.  It applies to your entire life.  Horse riding is just one aspect of it, as is your work, your relationships, your chores, and your fun time.  And should you choose to live the paradigm, you're in the Dream Team forever.

So, ok, I have obviously enjoyed the course, and got a lot out of it.  But what are the tangible improvements?  Has it taken me to new heights?  Well, to put it bluntly, YES!!!  At the beginning of last year, Dingo was graded level 5 in jumping, and I was warming-up over tiny cross rails, and sporting the look of fear as I jumped 45cm at the end of my session.  Since then, Dingo has done three horse trials - and that is a success in itself - and he has been re-graded to level 4.  I now warm up over 45cm straights, and by the end of the session we are clearing 80cm (which means we are ready to be re-graded to level 3).  Dingo is about to do his first Introductory event, and I am already looking forward to seeing him compete at Preliminary level (hopefully next year) - even though some of those jumps currently look huge to me.

I guess the sceptics would ask the question - but wouldn't you have got there anyway?  Well here is my answer ... remember that look of fear when jumping 45cm?  I had been graded level 4 in jumping for over 10 years!!!  For a while I had regular showjumping lessons with a proper showjumping coach.  Physically, my horse could easily do level 3 and level 2 jumps.  Physically, I had the skill to do level 3 and level 2 jumps.  It was my mindset that was letting me down, and the Dream Team gave me the tools to fix that.

Dingo clearing the last fence at Yarrambat PC Horse Trials, while I am sporting a smile on my face.

Friends of Melton Horse Trials

It's 6:39am in the morning, Dingo is on the float, and we're off to Melton.  We're thirty nine minutes late.  It's worked into the schedule, but still.

The drive is easy and uneventful, and we arrive in Melton, just as the sunshine breaks through the clouds, and I get a glimpse of the cross country jumps, as we enter the grounds.  They look well built, well maintained.  Gulp.  I mean really, what was I expecting?  A couple of rotten logs?

We park, settle in, saddle up and head for the dressage arena.  Recently, I have been very unhappy with my dressage, so I am not expecting much.  In addition, the clay grounds are squelchy and boggy.  I just focus on what the coach said in my last dressage lesson as I ride the test.  And I focus on harmony.  If nothing else, make it look like my pony and I are in harmony.  The second canter in the test actually rides really well, and I give the judge a smile as I do my final salute.  It feels mediocre, but it's over and done with.  Now onto the fun stuff.

I leave Dingo at the float, and walk the cross country course.  When I look at the size of the jumps, my eyes keep noticing the grade 3 jumps.  Then I catch myself, look at the tag on the jump, and realise I need to be doing the slightly smaller, grade 4 jump.  Three years ago, grade 3 jumps used to look so huge!  Massive.  A real ask.  Now I gaze at them with a certain ... well ... envy.  What happened?

The grade 4 cross country course looks great, with lots of scope for a gallop or two.  Jump three is a little seat, with a bright yellow plank at the front.  I think this will be the show stopper.  The other jumps of note are the drop - it just comes at you out of nowhere, the bounce could be an issue because it comes at the end of a long gallop, the concrete pipes might get a second look because of their white colour, and the brick wall.  It's solid brick.  None of this wooden box business painted to like like brick wall.  Solid, solid brick.  You really don't want a stop there.  There is also a water jump, but it looks quite nice and inviting.

I return to the float, saddle up for showjumping (as the organisers have scheduled this before cross country), and ride towards the warm up area.  Dingo is very relaxed and feels more at home than at home.  Then I notice a lone figure, on foot, heading straight towards me.  She looks familiar.  In fact, I know exactly who that is.  But, really?  Can it be?  I checked the starters list and her name wasn't there.  But it is.  It's K.  There's been a scratching, and her entry was only confirmed last night.  We greet with a hug and have a few laughs.  Then she watches my showjumping round on Dingo.  We go clear.  But I am not actually fully happy with the round.  Dingo doesn't feel like he's on the ball.  It's like he is too relaxed, and I feel like I have to carry him over a couple of the jumps.

Now I have a nice long break before cross country.  I get Dingo comfortable at the float with a nice biscuit of lucerne hay and an assortment of appropriate rugs, grab my lunch and go off to socialise with K and J at their float.

We check the scores so far, and lo and behold, after dressage and showjumping I am coming equal third!!!  My dressage score is amazing!  I cannot believe it.

Later we watch the grade 2 and grade 3 cross country.  The clay grounds are very wet, due to the recent rains, but the cross country seems to ride very well.  The ground is sticky rather than slippery.

I get Dingo ready for cross country, and we walk over to the warm up area.  The pony is super relaxed.  When you consider that a few years ago I was on a horse that had trouble keeping all four legs on the ground prior to cross country, then this is a really really nice change.  But I'm not happy because Dingo just wants to stand still and snooze, while I need all his joints to warm up.

We enter the start box, and I eye off the first jump, a mere 20 metres ahead of me.  Ten, nine.  I start my stop watch.  Three, two, one, go!  Yes, go!  I dig both heels in with zest, and follow it with a quick whip snap.  Dingo takes off with energy.  Four strides out from the third jump, the one I think might be a show stopper, I flick him with the whip again.  The pony takes off like the hounds of hell are after him.  He leaps over the fence and gallops.   Boy, does he gallop.  I lean back in the saddle and struggle to regain control over the next two jumps.  I slow him down to a trot as we approach the drop.  Child's play.  Then the water.  The water!?!  We never trained the water.  We trained puddles, yes, not drops into water.  Dingo stops, unsure of the surface in front of him.  He darts left, then right, then drops into it and goes through.

Then we're heading back towards the float, and he takes off at another uncontrollable gallop.  I slow him up, just before the bounce, and from there on we find our groove.  The course flows.  I feel the wind in my face, the sun on my back and my heart leaps for joy with every stride.  Before I know it we're over the brick wall and I check my watch.  Whoa!  I said whoa!  We're way, way too fast.  I slow Dingo to a steady canter, and we jump the last fence.

At the vet check, Dingo is huffing and puffing like a little steam engine.  But the vet gives me the thumbs up and says "one of the fittest I've seen".  Go figure.  Well, I better get myself a stethoscope, and stop relying on this "blowing" business.

As we walk back to the float, I stop and turn towards Dingo.  "Hey, you're on holidays now!  Why don't you take a joyous leap or something?".  He gazes at me, and continues his relaxed amble.  (He does take a leap, later on, at home.)

Well, that stop at the water has cost me two refusals.  Twenty points.  At least I didn't get any time penalties for going too fast.  I slip down to 12th.

I've had a fantastic day.  I drive home under time pressure.  My husband has invited me out to the pub for dinner, but I must be back before the pub kitchen closes.  I make it, and we enjoy a lovely dinner, with my daughter dressed up for the occasion in a sparkling fairy dress and ribbons in her hair.  Priceless.

The trouble with going to Melton?  It felt like a mere hop, skip and a jump away, and now I am eyeing off Colac (a further 2 hours away).

Dressage lesson

I have planned a dressage lesson for Dingo for the last three months.  And this month is coming to an end, and I still haven't had this planned lesson.  So I have finally put my foot down and rang my instructor and finally had the lesson.

Organising a dressage lesson at the moment is no simple task.  My arenas are out of action.  My instructor has an arena, but her parking area is out of action.  The pony club has an arena, but I don't have a key ... yet.  The other pony club is currently closed to the public.  Fortunately, there is a third pony club, and we were able to use their arena.  Phew.

Since the last dressage lesson, which was in April, I have diligently been practicing the rider balancing exercises, and I've been making outstanding progress.  Even if I do say so myself.  I thought I had mastered this position thing.

My instructor took one look at my progress, and without another word, proceeded to fix the next part of my position.  Yes, there is more.  When I quizzed her about it, she smiled and said that once I master the current exercises, then there is more still!

As she corrected my position, verbally prodding here, there and everywhere, Dingo relaxed, lowered his head, and added some spring to his stride.  The improvement was just amazing.  I can fully appreciate that a horse is able to work better for a more balanced rider, but the amount of difference these minute adjustments made was just remarkable.

My instructor did point out though that, as I have already noticed, Dingo is a sensitive horse, and such minute changes will feel really important to him.

Prior to having the lesson, I was agonising whether to invest in the dressage lesson, or in a cross country training session.  I only had the time and money to do one.  In this particular case, the dressage lesson was definitely the right choice, and it will in fact improve my cross country more than a cross country session would have.

Dressage in the State Forest

I have opted to stop using the top arena altogether, and I have been trying to do my dressage and show jumping in the bottom arena.  Well the ground there was sucky at best, and in general, Dingo just tried to run through it.  So at a recent Dream Team workshop, I asked the coach what she would do in my situation.

After gaining full understanding of what the ground was like, she said "take him out trail riding, but ... do dressage."  Basically, just ignore that you're on the trail, and do all your normal dressage as though you were going down the long side of the arena.  Honestly, the only thing you can't practice are circles.

So that is what I did.  And I must admit that it worked much better than expected.  I certainly thought the quality of work I got from my pony was far better than in a soggy and slippery paddock.

The trouble with going to Melton

I've entered Dingo into the Friends of Melton Horse Trials, which, as you would expect, is held in Melton.  The problem with going to Melton is this. 

A few years ago, I drew an approximate circle around our farm, and looked at what venues and events were within that circle.  Initially, that circle was quite small, and only incorporated venues about one hour away.  Over time, that circle has grown somewhat bigger, but it still doesn't incorporate Melton.

By daring to go as far as Melton, that circle will expand considerably.  And either, I will come back thinking "that was exhausting, I'm never doing that again", or I will come back thinking "wow, what a hoot!" and forget about the distance travelled.

And the problem with that is, that I will be more likely to do more events, which are further away, and will keep me away from home.

Phoenix Short Course Horse Trials

We celebrated Mothers' Day yesterday, and today I took both horses to the Phoenix Short Course Horse Trials.

The start was ominous.  First of all, the cable that attaches the car electrics to the float electrics went missing.  I blamed its absence on my poor unsuspecting husband.  He blamed it on the men that serviced the car.  I saw it as a great excuse not to go.  My husband said "drive without it".  The cable was found.

Then the weather.  Just as I was pur pur purring up the last bit of the divide between Noojee and Powelltown, it started to pour.  And I mean, pour.  Sheets of rain.  Zero visibility.  Cats and dogs.  Kangaroos and wombats.  It poured.  My feelings sank to their lowest yet, and I really wondered what in the world I was doing out here.

Finally, full of retrospection, I arrived at the competition, and the elderly man at the gate asked with a smile "Have you come to win?".  "Young man," I replied, "I have every intention of winning".

I got the horses off the float, registered, showed my cards, helmet, crop, medical arm band and whatever else was required, and proceeded to walk the course.  A woman joined me, and I was glad to have company.  I always talk when I walk the course, so at least I would be talking to her, and not looking like I was going mad.

Now I will be very honest.  I was expecting a couple of piddly logs, maybe a half-baked water jump, and nothing more.  The reality was quite a challenging little course with a train crossing, a flower bed, a gate, a house (yes, blue walls, windows, doors, red roof and all ... just scaled down), and, what I believed to be the "showpiece of the course", a crate full of fresh, green, apples.

Of course, the weather was still being cheeky and it actually hailed while we were walking the course.

Dingo was scheduled to go first and I was very pleased to see that he settled down in the warm up.  In the dressage test, he almost seemed bored.  But that all changed when I showed him a warm up jump.  Then, off we went.  Well he was a good sport, wondering why we couldn't go faster, getting more worried about the jump judges than the jumps, and questioning me when jumping the rail crossing, and of course, the apple crate.  The showjumping course was a breeze, and as far as I could tell, we made good time.

Next up was Lil.  She sweated up early in her warm-up and I wasn't sure how much to walk her, and how much to trot her.  So I walked her for a while.  When we went back into trot she was visibly stiff on the right rein.  I kept her trotting, and the stiffness loosened up.  She did a calm dressage test, and I was happy.  Then we did our jumping warm-up and off we went, across country.  Lil's attitude was fantastic, and she really got quite a nice rhythm going.  Of course she gave the apple crate a massive look, and then a huge leap.  She also got a good look at the house with the red roof, but it wasn't the house that was the issue.  It was the churned up clay leading into the house jump.  We went clear, and she also made good time.

When the results were posted up, I couldn't believe my eyes.  Dingo had come first and Lilly came second.  I wondered whether the man at the entrance was interested in knowing?

Dingo got a really good dressage mark and then only had 7 time faults (in the XC and SJ, combined).  Lilly's dressage test was poorer, and she had 8 time faults.  All the other competitors had far more time faults.  I really wanted to jump up and down and scream, but I tried really hard to be the "good winner" and just sit there looking "wise".

I received a sash for each placing, as well as a little hamper (which included chocolates, yes!) for first place, and a bottle of wine for second place.  I felt very special.

In the end the weather was more of a nuisance to the organisers (and the jumps judges) than the competitors and the horses.  The format - short course - ran really well, and I think it should be adopted more often for the lower levels.  The format also made it very easy to compete with two horses, and I was able to manage really well just by myself.

Just before I got Lilly on the float she managed to kick out, and hurt her frog rather badly.  But that's a story for another post.  I'll just add that those chocolates might be really useful.