the oxer—first small, then bigger, then big. I did my best to think, Slow. Level. Slow. Level.
Then they called my number and Miss Slater walked me to the gate into the arena. I stood there until the previous pony came out. The jumps looked like an absolute jumble. They were all plain, natural brown or white, no colors. That made it worse. I walked and then trotted the pony to the other end of the ring, and then, completely panicked, I asked him to start his canter circle. I wasn’t panicked about the jumping—the jumps were small. I was panicked about the feeling that I was in a sea of jumps and had no idea how to make my way around it. But I did know where the first jump was and the second. After that, I saw the third, which was a white chicken coop, and then it was one jump after the other, and all too soon, we were done and doing our final canter circle. The trot. And then we walked out of the ring. I was filled up with the thrill of the whole thing, the cantering, the turning, the jumping. I could have gone around all day.
Miss Slater met me at the gate. She said, “That was fine, Abby, for a first round. Next time, just a degree slower. Do you have a rhythm? Think the same rhythm, but slow it down.” She glanced over toward Mr. Anniston. He still wasn’t smiling, but he nodded. In the meantime, Daddy trotted over to us now that we were back in the warm-up area, and he kissed me on the cheek. When I took off my hard hat, he ruffled my hair. I was really glad he was my daddy rather than Mr. Anniston.
I walked the pony around, and Daddy walked with us. He was saying, “This is fun here. This isn’t bad at all. You know Black George? He could do this. Most of these horses look justlike him but don’t have as pretty a head. Yes, this gives me an idea. Yes, yes, it does.” Then he went off and got me a hot dog, and I ate it sitting on the fence, holding the pony. Daddy had a lump of sugar for him, which we sneaked to him when Miss Slater wasn’t looking. I didn’t know for sure that she was against treats, but I suspect she would be that type, as she was very neat.
We got a ribbon in the class—fifth place out of ten ponies. I took it over to Melinda and gave it to her, and she smiled and said thank you, but she held it limply in her hand, like she was going to drop it any second. I guess I had never really seen anyone like Melinda before. She was scared of her own shadow.
The sun came out in time for the second class, which was a hack class, no jumping. All we had to do was walk, trot, canter, turn around, trot again, halt, canter again, according to the commands that the judge called out. A fancy pony who wasn’t very nice pinned his ears and bucked once while the judge was looking right at him. Some of the other ponies had trouble with their leads. However, Gallant Man was easy and perfect, and he won the blue ribbon.
Afterward, Daddy said, “You know, I’ve been walking around, pretending I’d like to buy one of these horses, a show horse like these—not necessarily a pony, because a good pony is just luck—anyway, some of these horses cost ten thousand dollars. All of them five to ten.” He was grinning.
Now it was past noon and time for the third class. I thought it was silly that the first class and the second class were equal, with the second class being so easy, but it was true, and the pony was in contention for a champion award. The course forthe third class was almost like the first course but with one less turn and higher jumps. Miss Slater and I walked it. Melinda went with us, leaving Mr. Anniston standing by the fence.
We walked from jump to jump, right from the back middle of every fence to the front middle of the next fence, Miss Slater taking steady even steps. She said to me, “This is your path, Abby. Think of it as a red line going around the course. You just stay on the red line and slow your rhythm a little bit and look right between that pony’s ears all the time,
Then they called my number and Miss Slater walked me to the gate into the arena. I stood there until the previous pony came out. The jumps looked like an absolute jumble. They were all plain, natural brown or white, no colors. That made it worse. I walked and then trotted the pony to the other end of the ring, and then, completely panicked, I asked him to start his canter circle. I wasn’t panicked about the jumping—the jumps were small. I was panicked about the feeling that I was in a sea of jumps and had no idea how to make my way around it. But I did know where the first jump was and the second. After that, I saw the third, which was a white chicken coop, and then it was one jump after the other, and all too soon, we were done and doing our final canter circle. The trot. And then we walked out of the ring. I was filled up with the thrill of the whole thing, the cantering, the turning, the jumping. I could have gone around all day.
Miss Slater met me at the gate. She said, “That was fine, Abby, for a first round. Next time, just a degree slower. Do you have a rhythm? Think the same rhythm, but slow it down.” She glanced over toward Mr. Anniston. He still wasn’t smiling, but he nodded. In the meantime, Daddy trotted over to us now that we were back in the warm-up area, and he kissed me on the cheek. When I took off my hard hat, he ruffled my hair. I was really glad he was my daddy rather than Mr. Anniston.
I walked the pony around, and Daddy walked with us. He was saying, “This is fun here. This isn’t bad at all. You know Black George? He could do this. Most of these horses look justlike him but don’t have as pretty a head. Yes, this gives me an idea. Yes, yes, it does.” Then he went off and got me a hot dog, and I ate it sitting on the fence, holding the pony. Daddy had a lump of sugar for him, which we sneaked to him when Miss Slater wasn’t looking. I didn’t know for sure that she was against treats, but I suspect she would be that type, as she was very neat.
We got a ribbon in the class—fifth place out of ten ponies. I took it over to Melinda and gave it to her, and she smiled and said thank you, but she held it limply in her hand, like she was going to drop it any second. I guess I had never really seen anyone like Melinda before. She was scared of her own shadow.
The sun came out in time for the second class, which was a hack class, no jumping. All we had to do was walk, trot, canter, turn around, trot again, halt, canter again, according to the commands that the judge called out. A fancy pony who wasn’t very nice pinned his ears and bucked once while the judge was looking right at him. Some of the other ponies had trouble with their leads. However, Gallant Man was easy and perfect, and he won the blue ribbon.
Afterward, Daddy said, “You know, I’ve been walking around, pretending I’d like to buy one of these horses, a show horse like these—not necessarily a pony, because a good pony is just luck—anyway, some of these horses cost ten thousand dollars. All of them five to ten.” He was grinning.
Now it was past noon and time for the third class. I thought it was silly that the first class and the second class were equal, with the second class being so easy, but it was true, and the pony was in contention for a champion award. The course forthe third class was almost like the first course but with one less turn and higher jumps. Miss Slater and I walked it. Melinda went with us, leaving Mr. Anniston standing by the fence.
We walked from jump to jump, right from the back middle of every fence to the front middle of the next fence, Miss Slater taking steady even steps. She said to me, “This is your path, Abby. Think of it as a red line going around the course. You just stay on the red line and slow your rhythm a little bit and look right between that pony’s ears all the time,
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