I walked into my last lesson and saw four poles perfectly lined up beside the wall. It was dun dun dah...pole night. The last time B and I wandered over these white sticks was probably a good two to three months ago. Game on! Before B and I could take our first trek over, they had to be lengthened out a good foot or so. The horse before us was vertically challenged, by that I mean he was under 17 hands.
The first time we walked over, B hit every single pole. Yup, every single one. Nice. I thought, well, he's just warming up, I mean, come on, it's below freezing out here. The second time he hit only three. Yahhh progress!
With that success, we proceeded to the trot. After hitting at least one pole each time he attempted them at the walk, I'd be lying if I didn't admit to having thoughts of him landing one the first pole, rolling into the next three and doing the splits. Not that I don't faith in him or anything. It's probably similar to having a child competing in a sport that isn't really his or her forte. On the outside you have to be all, "you're going to be awesome little suzy, I know you can do it!" But, on the inside you're thinking, oh sweet baby jesus don't let little suzy trip and smash her face as she's running down the court.
In any event, we got through the poles with only one tap. Break out the party pants! After all the smashing you may think, were they adjusted correctly? Being ever the inner cheerleader for my pony that thought may have crossed my mind, except for the fact that my coach set them out. All riders know the greatest commandment of them all: Though shalt not question thy coach. Regardless, she was getting her workout adjusting them each time and the truth was when B was paying attention he floated over them quite smoothly.
After many rounds of poles I knew his hooves were no longer black. Oops.
During a break my coach turned to a gal watching and said, you can always tell horses that are going to be good jumpers because they never touch the poles. Hey! What are you saying? My dreams of jumper stardom were dashed in that moment. He can't be perfect at everything, right? Wrong—secretly I blamed his less than steller pole performance on the fact that his feet were due to be trimmed that week. Yes, my horse is a super, perfect genius. There is absolutely no bias here at all. Can't you wait until I have kids?
