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!

How I discovered "Throughness"

"Throughness" is something that is discussed in various Dressage articles, alongside the German training scale.  I'd heard the word many times, but never truly grasped it's meaning.

The other day I went to a clinic.  We were trotting along, just warming up our horses.  The coach looked at my lower leg and said "Your lower leg is moving, you're not balanced."  The coach pointed to another rider in the class "Look at her lower leg, it's not moving because she is balanced."  I looked at the other rider and sure enough, her lower leg was sitting as still as a wooden board in a door.

Then I looked down at my inside leg - yes it was moving.  Not a lot, but it was moving a bit.  Damn.  Then I looked at my outside leg - it was moving, but only a little bit.  "Winner, I thought, when we change rein the coach will see that I'm balanced".  But then we changed rein, and once again, my inside leg is moving, and my outside one is pretty much still.  Damn.  The coach never gets to see the outside leg.

I didn't argue with the coach at the time, but my intuition was screaming at me that after 30+ years of riding how can I possibly not be balanced in the trot.  I'm not the most talented rider, but I'm not the least talented either.

Over the next few rides I payed close attention to the movements of my lower leg.  One time, I was riding Dingo, and we were galloping up a track in the state forest.  I looked at my lower leg - dead still.  Still in the gallop, I inspected my lower leg more closely - definitely dead still.

The pony was powering along like a little red steam train, but eventually he slowed down to a trot.  A powerful trot.  A ground covering trot.  A trot with forward and purpose.  I looked at my leg - it was still.  I was jubilant.  I *knew* that I was balanced!!!

I rode on.

In that case, if I am balanced in the trot, then why was my leg moving while trotting Echo in the clinic.  I looked up and ahead of me and felt Dingo's trot.  I held my hands just above the wither, thumbs on top.  And I rode that trot, rising to every second beat.  I barely had to make an effort.  Dingo felt like a powerful engine, that was about to go "through" me, but he never actually did.  That "through" feeling was there with every stride.  And then the penny dropped ... that is why it's called "throughness".  Wow!

Did Echo feel like that in the clinic?  No.  Echo had felt like a flat tyre in the clinic.  Echo felt like I had to give him a little nudge every stride just to keep him going.  There was none of the energy, none of the forwardness, none of the engine.  No so called "throughness".

Horse Training: Long and Low

Recently I went to a clinic with David Middleton.  Now, I have known David since he was a wee tacker playing cushion polo on Rampage.  Despite this, and maybe because of it, I don't think I've ever had a lesson with David.

In the clinic David made two things very clear - Dressage starts with the long rein walk.  I've always wondered where Dressage starts.  The simplest of Dressage tests already contain a large number of movements.  But which one should you train first.  The long rein walk, apparently.

The other thing that David made very clear, is how to train the long rein walk.  You ask the horse to walk.  To maintain contact.  You ask the horse to come onto the bit by flexing the inside rein, and then, when you feel the horse's mouth, you release the reins and see how low the horse will go before you lose contact.

Practice this a few times - say five or six - and your horse will start getting the idea that he can actually stretch forwards and down.  You want to be careful that you don't lose the roundness - they should remain "on the bit".  They also need to remain in an active walk.  But, beyond that, the ground is the limit.  Presto, that simple.

Once you have mastered this in walk, then try it in trot.  Then canter.  It is so hideously simple, yet it forms the foundation of all of your horse training.  When your horse can stretch down and forwards, yet remain round and forwards, then he will also be able to, one day, collect.

Lil and the Novice Test

I entered Lil in a Preliminary and a Novice dressage test at an unofficial competition at the local riding school.  This would be Lil's and mine first crack at Novice.  Universal Guidance made me do it.

Well the day was an absolute disaster, with Lil coming an absolute last in everything.  So why in the world did the Universe make me do Novice?  I mean, the day was so bad, that I should really see myself and my horse as a total failure, and give up.  But, you see, the Universe knows me better than I know myself.  So the effect of this experience has been total focus and determination to succeed.  The experience made me in tune with every minute detail of my horse, my gear, my competition arena, and my fellow competitors.  I have learnt so much!

So, what exactly happened, and what have I learnt.

1.  Magnesium.  For a long time Lil has been exhibiting some symptoms of a magnesium deficiency.  When the Chiropractor came out, he suggested magnesium oxide.  We got it, and I started supplementing her with it.  Immediately I noticed an improvement.  The day before the competition I doubled her dose thinking that it might help her cope better with the stress the next day.  The problem with magnesium is that a deficiency presents the same signs as an overdose.  On competition day Lil was showing signs of a magnesium overdose - I think I gave her too much.  Her symptoms on the day were slightly sloppy poo (which can also be stress), and a sensitivity to sounds.  The latter is the worry.  When we were warming up, every time someone coughed, or banged a door, she would leap like a cat.

2.  New saddle blanket.  I had just bought a new saddle blanket.  I had never ever tried it on Lil before.  It was one of those beautiful white dressage saddle blankets, with a sheepskin lining.  Well, it's hard to determine if the saddle blanket was an issue or not, but, because it was a new, untried piece of equipment, it worried me.  And there is no time for worry on a horse that's leaping around.  Period.

3.  Overfeeding.  It had recently turned from total winter, to total summer.  In a matter of about 4 weeks.  The horses cannot shed their fur fast enough, and the grass is galloping with growth.  I fed Lil her normal feed.  But during brushing I noticed a slight soreness in her back.  So, after I worked her, I thought "if I feed her a bit of extra protein, that stiffness should recover faster".  Well, my thinking is correct, but on this particular occasion I think I overfed her.  When I hopped on her at the competition, it really felt like a horse ready to gallop cross country.  Not one that is ready to relax in a dressage ring.  It would have been better to leave the soreness as it is - after all, she was working just fine with it when I rode her on the day before competition.

4.  Back soreness.  It begs the question "why was Lil sore in the back a mere ten days after the chiro had been?".  The soreness was right where the saddle ends.  In fact, perhaps a little bit further - where the saddle blanket ends.  Now Lil has a short back, and large hind quarters.  And the hind quarters are probably a bit higher than perfect conformation would allow.  For a long time now I have been thinking that Lil would be better off in a 16.5 inch saddle, rather than the 17 inch I currently ride in.  Plus, I ride her in an all purpose and it really puts me too far back in the saddle.  I should get a dressage saddle for her.  I recently rode in my instructor's Equipe saddle - I loved that saddle and where it put my seat.  But ... oh the expense of a new saddle.  But, what if that saddle made a difference between me getting a placing in the dressage comp, and me coming last?  What's that worth?

5.  Mindset.  On the day before the competition I was brushing my horse and looking at this sore spot and thinking "oh poor horse".  So I fed her extra.  Then I put her in a paddock with her best mate, because I was thinking "oh poor horse".  So, of course, when I hopped on her in the warm-up arena and she started leaping around like a cat, I was still thinking "oh poor horse" and looking for something to blame, like the other horses, the saddle blanket, the sore spot.  When you have decided that your horse is fit enough to ride, there is no room for thinking "oh poor horse".  After sufficient leaping around, and thinking the situation through, I finally realised that most of this is just bad behaviour that I am allowing the horse to get away with.  So then I actually started riding properly, and asking her to work for me, and it all improved.

6.  The sand arena.  You've heard this all before with Dingo.  The indoor is great for a warm-up, and then you're out in the sand arena for the test.  The sand flicks up against the arena edges, and the horses feel like there's someone with a machine gun on their heels.  Due to the magnesium thing Lil was more sensitive to this on the day.  But nevertheless I must invest the time to get out there between competitions and practice in the dressage arena until she is desensitised.  I've got to put in the work!

7.  Dressage is slow.  My bad results really made me take a second look at what the other riders are doing differently to me.  I was lucky enough to be watching the lady who ended up winning my Novice test.  She also happens to be an instructor I learn from occasionally.  Her horse was slow.  There was no rush.  She wasn't in a hurry to go anywhere.  That test could have lasted all day for all she cared.  I am not good at being slow.  This is probably why I'm an eventer.  This is probably why I choose to zoom around on a trail ride, wind in my hair, joy in my heart.  Going slow is really difficult for me.  Not just in horse riding.  In everything.  I want to do everything in a hurry, then sit back for half an hour and have a coffee.  Then zoom again.  That is not what dressage is about and if I am to become any good at it then I must take up this challenge.  I must learn to go slow.  Slow doesn't mean lazy.  There can be a lot of power in "slow".  There must be impulsion.  But it must be slow.  It might not feel slow to everyone.  But it will feel slow to me - if it feels slow, then I'm probably doing a pretty good job.

8.  Forward.  While dressage is slow, there must be forward.  In the warm-up before the second test I felt Lil hanging on the bit.  I flicked the whip and she didn't go faster, she went more forward - I felt her hold her head higher, and step under more.  So while Lil can be a hot horse, she can also be rather lazy - because she does this hanging on the bit a lot.  She is not super heavy on the bit so it's easy to just ignore it.  But ultimately, I must ask her to be more forward.

In summary, the overfeeding brought out the flighty horse in Lil, which in turn highlighted training issues: not coping in the sand arena, problems with transitions, going too fast and not enough forward.  What I am still wondering is whether I actually overfed her?  Perhaps I don't feed her enough normally, and she actually doesn't have enough energy?

On a parting note - this is probably my favourite dressage competition to date because I have walked away with so many strong and clear lessons.  I feel so inspired now that I want to put it all into practice ... right now!!!  Oh wait ... I have to learn to be slow ...

Universal Guidance

The Universe delivers, as long as we are willing to listen.

A bit of background.  A few years ago I decided that I should get the chiropractor out to all of my riding horses at least once a year for a general checkup.  That visit has now been delayed by at least 2 years, as I always weigh up how much it will cost.

Also.  My work has been really busy this year, with me working 4 days per week (but quite often, handling a full time load).  Keeping two horses in work, Lil & Echo, has been hard work, as well as helping my daughter train her pony.  So, I have been looking at ways to make everything easier.

Now, the Universe story.

Sabina and I decided to attend an unofficial dressage day at a local riding school.  The competition offers preparatory walk/trot tests, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to introduce Echo to competition.  Naturally Sabina was taking her pony, Black Velvet, we have a two horse float, which meant that Lil was not coming.  Had there been more room on the float, I would have taken Lil and got her to do a Novice test.

I tried to download the entry form for the said competition, but to no avail.  No matter what I tried, I could not get the entry form.  Then I went to see my horses, and Echo came in lame.  It soon became obvious that the lameness was not going to go away in a day or two, and that the chiropractor might be required.  Disaster right?  All my plans have gone up in a puff of smoke right?

Wrong.  Change of plan.  Leave Echo at home, and do a Prelim and a Novice test with Lil instead.  Call out the Chiropractor to all the riding horses as they are all well overdue.

The minute I made this change of plan, the entry form for the competition downloaded without a hitch.  Fill out the form, pay, send it, and we were in.

Called the chiropractor and he was able to come out pretty much immediately, on a day and at a time that suited me.  When he came out, he found something wrong with each and every riding horse.  We have five.  The one most dear to my heart was my daughter's pony.  My daughter had been struggling with canter transitions, and a bit of pigrooting.  After the chiropractor's visit it all went away.

As far as Echo was concerned, he had strained a ligament over the stifle.  That means 4 weeks of rest, then lots of slow work (walk and trot mainly) in a straight line to strengthen it.  That means mainly trail riding.  Did I say something about easing my load?

As for Lil doing a Prelim and Novice test.  Well, this was obviously the Universe's way of telling me to get out there and do a Novice test - ready or not.

Perfect.

Leg Aids

I waltzed into my dressage lesson on Echo and my instructor immediately said "Stop!  We've got to fix those legs of yours."  Really?  What is wrong with my legs?  I've got my heel down, my heels are in line with my hip, and I feel super secure.  What's there to fix?


Well...


"Your toes are turned out, and the back of your calf is on.  I want you to turn your toe in so that it is pointing to the front, your foot is parallel with your horse, and if you need to use your calf, you use the inside part of your calf."  Ok.


No, not ok, my horse is not responding to my inner calf.


"Aha ... remember your horse can feel a fly sit on him.  So your horse is not responsive enough.  Use your whip until your horse learns to respond to the feel of your inner calf."  And here, ladies and gentlemen, is the solution to about 80% of all your riding problems.


When the horse doesn't respond to the "feel of the inner calf" us riders resort to using the back of our calf.  Then we draw up our heel and use our heel.  When that doesn't work well enough we resort to using our hands to compensate.  Yes!  Using our hands.  Except that this actually tucks the horse's head in, and puts him on the forehand.  Then, some horses pigroot and we complain.  Or get scared.  Or both.


What really came home to me during this lesson is that we don't ride with our hands.  Our hands just mostly sit there.  Allow me to rephrase that.  The rider's hands are held upright, as though they are holding one glass of champagne each, slightly in front of the pommel of the saddle.  That is pretty much all.


It is the legs - and the lightest touch of the inner calf - that drive the horse forwards and sideways.

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!

The 'lose' I had to have

Lil and I having an argument during a Dressage test.  (This photo is actually from Dunolly HT.)

Recently my own riding club held a mid-week Dressage competition.  I jumped at the opportunity and took Lil to it.  Being mid-week it wasn't going to impact my family in any way, and so I wasn't about to get called "competes too much".  Winner!

A day or two before the competition it poured.  So on the day the arenas were wet - to put it mildly.

I got there, saddled up Lil and rode into the warm-up arena.  She was warming up well on the wet surface, but I knew I was going to have a bad day.  It wasn't that I was scared, it wasn't that I was ill prepared, it wasn't that I didn't know my tests.  I have very strong intuition, and it was simply that I was destined to have a bad run. Nevertheless, I warmed my horse up as best as I could, and I went over the dressage tests in my mind to make sure that I knew them inside out.  Surely I can beat destiny?

I rode into the first test and it was going well.  Lil was travelling brilliantly.  And then it happened.  On the second trot circle she got a bit unbalanced, we got into a bit of an argument, I tried to remedy the situation rather than focusing on the test, and all of a sudden we were in the corner where the canter started.  Except that we were still trotting, and still arguing.  Arghh!  So I kicked her into canter, but it was a rushed transition, and we ended up on the wrong leg!!!  And this on her better rein!  I corrected the canter lead, and the canter wasn't too bad, but the marks were lost.  We got 3 for that transition.

I rode back into the warm-up ring feeling rather sullen.  What ever can I do in the second test to remedy the situation?  The second test was in an arena that was water logged.  Some horses seemed to cope with the going better than others.  Lil was in the second group.  She hated it!  Somewhere during the second test I could feel God laughing.  I tried my best, and admittedly I succeeded in completing the test - Lil had serious intentions on exiting at A every time we passed it.

So why did I "have to have" such a terrible run.  Because, when you lose, you learn.  When you lose you get disappointed, you get sad, and if you've got half a spine you get angry!  It's ok to be "angry".  Just don't take it out on your horse and on others.  But "angry" is good.  Because if you can control the angry energy it will take you to great heights in the future.  Ha!  "Take you".  It won't just "take you".  You'll get rocket propelled forwards! Sometimes, by falling flat on your face and losing, you learn much faster than by taking slow positive steps forward.

So what did I learn?  Heaps.  But I'll try to narrow it down.  My dressage on Lil is, to summarise it bluntly, "crap".  Look at Lil's last three horse trials results - 8th, 7th and 7th.  Good results right?  So what would it have taken to come 6th?  Well, it would have taken a much better dressage score!  Because she was already (mostly) clear in the cross country and in the showjumping.  The points difference between her and the 6th placed horse at Dunolly was 2 dressage penalty points.  Ok, so maybe that's not that much.  What if we wanted to be 5th? 9 dressage penalty points.  That's already a lot.  But what if we wanted to be first?  18 dressage penalty points.  Whoa!  See what I mean?

But when you're just doing horse trials it doesn't show up so much, and so you cruise around getting ribbons for 7th and everyone thinks you are doing wonderfully.  When you get out there and do just a dressage competition, and a couple of things go slightly wrong, then the weaknesses come out and bite you.

Ok, good.  So our dressage is weak.  Weaker than I thought.  I need to improve it.  How?

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.

Keeping Score

So you complete a competition, you get your dressage sheet back, you get a placing of some sort, what do you do?  Throw it all in the bin?  File it all in a special folder titled "My journey to the Olympics: Part 1"?  Add a new dot point on a graph that forever marks the rise and rise of your horse?

Which one do you think I do?

Ok ok, stop laughing.  Yes I do put it in a folder, but not with the title above.  Each horse has it's own folder, and all Dressage tests, cross country course maps, and associated paperwork go in there.  I review the Dressage tests briefly, see what's worst (which means I need to work on it), see what's best (which means I need to keep working on it), and then it just gets filed away ... forever.

Well recently, the West Gippsland Equestrian Expo offered two places to be won in a Masterclass with Heath Ryan.  Of course, I jumped at the chance and applied.

I'll wait for you to stop laughing again.

One of the things the application form asked for was your Dressage results, placings, percentages, size of the competition, accomplishments, with a very strong implication that they expected to see some improvement in your results over time.

Well I was stumped, because I suddenly realised that I don't keep such detailed records of my horses' progress.  I get a general feel of how they are going, and whether they are ready to progress, if they have any particular weak points, or what they are good at.  I can feel when my training is slipping backwards.  I compare placings, more or less, but I don't track percentages from one Dressage test to the next!

I decided to enter Lil in the Masterclass competition, and so I dug out her results.  I am afraid that it became a rather sobering experience, as her scores map out a very clear roller coaster.  Somewhere between 56% and 60%.  Pretty much irrespective of the level.

As an Eventer, Dressage is only one of three disciplines that we practice.  So to see little improvement in a year is probably acceptable if you happen to be focusing on the other disciplines.  However, Dressage is the foundation, it is the key to better jumping, so it is very important.

I must say, that this has all inspired me to keep a better track of my competition results and I have designed a little spreadsheet to help me track it.  It includes a little graph to keep track of my Dressage scores.

The other thing the application asked for was a photo of you on your horse - fair enough - and a 30 second video, no more than 2M in size, of you and your horse doing walk, trot and canter.

I'm still laughing about that one myself.

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.

Balance

One of the most important things I have taken away from my lessons with Ron Patterson is "balance".

In my very first lesson with Ron, he walked up to my horse, pointed two fingers just in front of the girth, and just below the saddle flap, and said "Your horse's centre of gravity is here".

My mind panicked, because of course I was sitting a solid 10cm behind that point.  But as it was my first lesson, shyness overtook me, and I said nothing.  I wish I had screamed "why am I sitting so far back then?  Isn't that wrong?".  I should have screamed.  Or at least asked the question.

Later in the lesson, when Lil was travelling particularly sluggishly, Ron told me to lean forward.  But he meant bring the hips forward, not lean forward with your shoulders.  The minute I brought my hips forward, Lil shot forward with renewed energy.

Since that experience I have been madly experimenting with balance.  The more I experimented, the more I got it right.  The more I got it right, the more my position aligned with the text book description of what a correct position looks like.  But, I've stressed this before, and I will stress it again - the correct position feels nothing like what it looks like.  Don't copy the visual perception, understand how it needs to feel.

Also, the more I got it right, the more I realised how unbalanced I had been.  I realised how often I lost my balance; how often I still lose my balance.  I learnt how much I had been sitting back in the saddle as though it's a recliner.  Or leaning on the reins for balance.  It's not that I didn't have the strength or the skill, it's just that no one had explained it correctly.

When you are unbalanced, the more fussy horses will fuss because, quite frankly, they are not comfortable.  They might run, put their ears back, or pigroot.  I have experienced all of these, at various levels, on different horses.  My first reaction was always to question the horse's soundness - is it's back ok?  is it stiff?  do I need to call out the chiropractor?  And I hate calling out the chiropractor - it's expensive!

I noticed that Lil's fur was wearing thin just where the back of the saddle sits (Lil is my more fussy horse, who puts her ears back a lot, and has thrown the odd pigroot or two).  Maybe the saddle doesn't fit correctly?  I also hate calling out the saddle fitter - it's also expensive.  Well, I have found that since realising where true balance lies, and working towards perfecting my balance, those saddle marks have disappeared.

And regarding those pigroots - imagine if you were wearing a backpack, and that pack kept sliding further, and further down your back.  What "action" would you do to send it back up?  Wouldn't it be the equivalent of a pigroot?  I am not saying that all pigroots are caused by poor balance.  I am just saying that if your horse pigroots, try and fix your balance first.

So, how do you know if you're balanced?  How do you achieve balance?  Halt.  Stand up in your stirrups.  Drop the reins.  Balance.  Found that sweet spot?  Now drop all the weight into your heels.  Balance.  Find that sweet spot again.  Now lower your bottom until it just touches the saddle.  Don't sit down.  Just touch.  Now ride.  Walk, trot and canter.  Try to ride on a loose rein so that you don't use your reins to balance.  For one or two or three or however many sessions it takes, forget your reins, and forget about your horse.  Once you get your balance your horse will progress much faster, and you will make up the time.

Don't look for perfection.  Just look to get the "feel" of it.  You'll probably spend the rest of your riding life perfecting it.  You just need to become aware of what true balance really is.

You are allowed to have a break.  Sit back in the saddle.  But see that as a break, then get back to balancing again.  Once you "get" the "feel" it will become easier.  You'll be able to relax.  You'll be able to play with it.  Enjoy it.

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.

Bulla Horse Trials - Ricky Bannister Fundraiser

The alarms goes off at 4:50am, and I groan.  Daylight savings started a mere 3 hours ago.  But my brain surges ahead with the plans: get dressed, feed the horses, attach the float, come back to get Sabina, then load Lil.  Phew!  I like a girl with a plan.  Plan executed, and at 6:13am we are driving out the front gate.

The journey is boring at best.  We roll up at Bulla Pony Club, park, unload, visit the bathroom, and register.  The usual stuff.  Lil has clipped herself during the travel - it's totally minor, but I make a mental note to float her in bell boots on the front legs in the future.

The dressage warmup is in a huge grassy area that, in a couple of hours, will become the cross country course.  Our ring is right next to the road, with a strand of small trees, bush and scrub acting as a screen.  So you can hear the cars coming, but you can't see them until they are pretty close.  Lil's "relaxing" is not going well.  I try my best.  I think it's my best.  But I know it's not.  In addition our two weeks of holidays and daily feeding for Lil means I am on a fairly hot horse who just wants to canter.  That's great for cross country.

We ride up to the judge, and on the gravelly surface, next to the road Lil tenses up, and I can't really find the right button to push to change it.  So the dressage is terrible.  It's something that would be "just ok" with Dingo, but I really expect a lot more than that from Lil.

The showjumping, in contrast goes brilliantly.  Lil is a bit hot during the warm-up.  But she is keen rather than disobedient.  She does a showjumping round that the onlookers call "stylish".  Shucks.

After the jumping we get a breather - lunch, coffee, walk the cross country course and check out the results.  The cross country course is beautiful.  For the first time in my life I am not nervous about cross country.  I re-walk the course in my mind, and start worrying that perhaps I should be nervous.  I manage to grow respectful, rather than foolhardy, and leave it at that.

The results are another matter.  After the dressage I am coming =14th (last!) in a field of about 18 riders.  Hardly surprising.  However, after showjumping I move up to =12th.

The event is running early, and by the time I make it to cross country warm-up it's actually time to ride.  A few riders skip the queue ahead of me, and we get enough time for trot, canter, and a few jumps.  It's all Lil needs.  She's keen.

We head out of the starting gates at an easy trot as Lil assesses the course.  Lil's not quite sure what to lock onto just yet, and she takes the odd look at the jumps judges.  So it's a bit all over the place for the first four jumps.  Then we get our groove.

Number 5 is a double, the second part being a little brush and we almost have a run-out.  After that I take a bit of a stronger hold.  We bowl along at a fast canter, and I get the feeling that Lil is really happy with the pace, but also happy to come back when I ask.  It's magic.

Just before the water I slow her down to a walk.  I know my daughter is just there, watching, and I ensure that we do the perfect pass through the water - that is, the speed at which we approach the jump, is the same speed through the water, and the same speed after the water.  Then we bounce back into the canter and head over the last and towards the finish line.  Clear.

I am all ready to just pack up and go home, but Sabina forces me to see the results.  What?!  We are 6th!!!  And the girl that was equal with us has pipped us at the post.  We're on the same score, but she is 5th because Lil and I were a bit too fast cross country.  So of course we stay for the presentations.

It's 7pm by the time we get home, and it's been a long day.  I feed the horses, and then return later to collect their buckets.  Lil comes up to me, and pushes her head gently towards me.  I rub her lovingly on the forehead, between the eyes, between the ears.  I think I'm not the only one who enjoyed the day.

As soon as I have a moment spare I'm on the blower to my instructor "I think you need to re-grade Lil to Level 4.  How soon can you come over?"

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!

Lil's lesson with Ron

Windsor Farm organised Ron Patterson to come out for a couple of days, and I grabbed the opportunity to have a Dressage lesson on Lil.

I walked into the arena, and from the time that he shook my hand I knew we were going to get on like a house on fire.

There were a few things that stood out about Ron.  Firstly, he was prepared.  All sorts of poles and blocks were lying on the ground, setting out a multitude of different exercises.  Secondly, he explained the training scale he works with - not in so much detail that you start yawning - and pointed out where on that scale we were.  Finally, he made it clear what the rider's body needs to do.

What I really liked is the exercises.  We were never on the track.  We were never on a 20m circle at A, we were never doing a serpentine, or a change across the long diagonal.  It made me realise just how boring and limited my daily training is!

He had us doing straight lines, and gentle curves, he had as circling around a pole, and between poles, he had us changing rein from one pole to the next, or from one block to the next.  It kept our minds very active.

Ron had a great focus on the rider's position.  He was mindful that you were able to move bits of your body independently.  He wanted you to be as skillful on the left as you were on the right.  And, best of all, when your horse wasn't travelling well, he would ask you to shift your body in some way, and all of a sudden, presto, there was a lot more fluidity in your horse's movement.

He was the first Dressage instructor to tell me to lean forward - and this was probably my favourite "take away" from the lesson.  At the time, Lil was trotting very slowly.  I was pushing with the leg, but it felt like getting blood from a stone.  Then Ron said "lean forward".  Catiously, I leant forward a hair.  "Lean forward", called Ron.  I leant forward another little bit.  "Really lean forward", called Ron.  Ok, I leant forward, pretty much going into forward seat.  Lil surged forward with alactrity.  "See, you'd got behind the horse, and you felt very heavy to her.  Now you're over her centre of gravity, and she can go forward again.  Good", commented Ron.  Wow.  "Ah-ha" moment.  It's not so much about getting your shoulders forward, but getting your seat forward in the saddle.  Ron calls it "sitting on the edge of your seat".  Nice.

I just loved the lesson, and felt very happy with my horse's progress, I felt I had learnt a lot, and best of all, I felt I could go home and I knew what to practice.  I can't wait for Ron to come back again.

Friends of Melton Horse Trials

Lil ambling cautiously through the water jump

Having enjoyed this event on Dingo last year, I decided to enter Lil in it this year.  Level 5.  The schedule arrived in the mail - I was first - on at 8am!!!  What am I doing on at 8am?  Why couldn't they put some other, more local rider, on at 8am.  Don't they realise it's a 2 hour drive?  Then I remembered - my entry would have been the very very last to arrive, in one of those express post envelopes.  So that's the system - last entry, first to go.  Great!

Then I remembered the quality of the grounds - clay surface.  Going first will mean that the ground is less slippery.  For Lil, that's a serious advantage.  Thank you God!

Well, I wasn't saying exactly that as I was getting up at 3am in the morning!  I left home in the dark, had a wonderfully uneventful journey, the road to myself, and arrived still in the dark (although you could just see a smigin of dawn on the horizon).  And parked right opposite my friends.

By 7:30am I was on Lil, gently circling at gear check.  Then another lady arrived on her horse.  We looked at the sign that said "gear check".  We exchanged a few kind words, something about "wonder when the gear checkers get here", and continued to circle daintily.  Then another lady arrived, looked at the sign, looked at us, and unscrupulously called out "GEAR CHECK PLEASE!".

I was majorly disappointed with my dressage.  All this beautiful trot that we've been practicing at home just wasn't there.  Lil wasn't settled at all, she was eyeing off the edge of the arena, as well as the water jump behind the judge's car, and bulging towards the float.  And at the end of it all she had the cheek to tell me how unhappy she was about the whole affair.  Luckily, she had a couple of hours to sit in a yard and think about it.

Going first in dressage also meant I was the first to go in cross country.  What I didn't realise was that I was the very fist - out of all the levels - to be going cross country.  This means that all eyes were going to be on me to see how it's riding.  That's kind of cool.

The start of the cross country was late, which means we were there, circling aimlessly for ... well ... a long time.  Lil had kittens about 3 times - one of these being over some arena fencing falling off the back of a truck, where she was ready to gallop back to her yard.  When I didn't allow that option, she seriously considered dumping me.  Horses.

I braved all of her behaviour as best as I could, and in the end I actually had a horse that was travelling actively between leg and hand - just the way my instructors told me to aim for.  So, while the cross country start was late, it actually worked in my favour.

Finally, off we went.  Lil jumped the first jump as though she was doing a three star course, then bulked at the second.  It took some persuasion, but she went over it eventually, then travelled beautifully until we got to the water.  I slowed her down to a walk, but she really would have preferred a considerably longer look.  Then we got our groove, and she bounded along happily.  With three jumps to go I checked my watch.  We were over time, and I allowed her to press on at the fast canter.  We finished with 20 jumping penalties - which must have been the refusal at jump 2.

Due to the late start of the cross country, it was straight back to gear check and straight into the showjumping ring.  Lil thought that really it was time for the yard, and brief thoughts of parting company with me entered her mind.  Emphasis on "brief".  It was in the showjumping ring that Lil suddenly showed her forte.  Instructors often tell you of lengthening and shortening, of basculing, and doing the perfect turn.  Lil did it all like magic.  It flowed, and she flew, and she did the perfect clear round.

Lil went back into her yard and nuzzled her new found friends.  I grabbed a coffee and a muffin and went to talk to my friends.  We hung around long enough to see the results posted on the board.  I looked at the bottom of the list, which is where I expected to see myself, but I wasn't there.  Damn it!  They've somehow lost me off the list.  Perhaps I got eliminated at jump 2?  Then it dawned on me to look a bit further up the list - we came 8th!  I was stoked!

We packed up and headed home - getting there at dusk.  I was greeted by my husband and my daughter who brought me warmed up food to the shed, where I was unloading my horse.

Update on Princess Lil

On Saturday I hopped on Lil to do some Dressage training, and she had so much forward that I considered whether I should feed her less.  It was a good kind of forward, but you don't want it to go too far especially when you train in a seven acre paddock.

She felt lovely and strong through the back, and we were actually able to canter within a 20m x 60m arena.

With some apprehension, I fed her her normal fare that afternoon.

On Sunday, she felt like a flat balloon.  That forward?  It was all gone.  Her back still felt strong-ish, although she did trip a couple of times.

So I think I might try feeding her more.  On the up side, I think her back is getting stronger, so the type of training I am doing is working.

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.