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The Anti-One Person Horse
Some people have horses that go better for them than any other rider. Their horses nicker when they walk into the barn, or their horses run up to a pasture gate. If they leave on vacation, when they come home their horses bounce around in a tizzy-fit because they are so excited to have their owner back.
I went on vacation. When I returned, the Super Saint yawned at me.
I don’t mean to imply the Super Saint and I didn’t have any sort of bond or special connection. In fact, we had a deep and meaningful relationship built on intense conversations. They went something like this:
Me: Let’s do a shoulder-in.
Super Saint: You want me to counter-canter?
Me: No, let’s shoulder-in.
Super Saint: Oh, leg yield!
Me: Ah, no. Try again?
Super Saint: Are you sure you wouldn’t rather play rodeo queen?
Me: Actually, you know, I’d sort of like to do a shoulder-in, if that’s all right with you.
Super Saint: Oh. Right. Shoulder-in. That’s that thing where I spin around on my haunches as fast as I can, right?
And so on. Eventually we would do a shoulder-in, but not until he had exhausted all means of misunderstanding my aids. It was in part his natural tendency to play schoolmaster: he’d do anything you’d ask him to, if you asked him exactly right. But it was a game with him, too. My instructor swears he winked at her once or twice before offering up his “alternative” interpretations of the requested movement.
I didn’t believe her until the day I watched a novice rider take him around a course at a schooling show.
If he were a one-person horse, we could all assume that when I schooled him he would be perfect, and, while he might take the novice rider around the course, he wouldn’t sparkle for her the way he did for me.
The reality, however, is that I schooled the Super Saint to discuss lead changes. You have to understand: he didn’t particularly like to do lead changes. Well, that’s not true. Put him in a dressage ring and he liked to do a lead change before every canter-trot transition, just to prove he could. But he didn’t particularly like to do lead changes outside the dressage ring.
So we talked for a bit, and then the novice rider jumped on to warm up, and it was pretty clear that she wasn’t going to get any lead changes in the ring. But it was a novice show, and the idea was for her to have a fun day showing. Into the ring they went.
Down the first line, with Super Saint loping along at his own speed and finding the distances for the rider. Around the corner, with Super Saint slowing to a crawl because the rider completely dropped her leg–but because he was the Super Saint, he didn’t break from the canter. He just, you know, conserved his energy. I’ve seen Western Pleasure mounts trot faster than he was cantering, come to think of it.
And up the diagnol, while I watched on the rail and prayed he’d magically pick up the correct lead over the fence. Or at least keep a balanced counter-canter through the corner so the novice rider could have a confident ride.
Of course he landed on the wrong lead. Of course he did.
Then he looked at me on the rail. And he winked at me.
And did a flying lead change.
Awwww. Wasn’t he sweet? Taking care of his novice rider like that. Perfect show horse. Auto changes. Gotta love him.
Want to know how many lead changes he didn’t offer me during the Open Show that started the next day?
He was the Super Saint, and I loved him, but geeze. What in the world do you call a horse who behaves perfectly for everyone but you?
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