Sonita - Getting Ready

OK you guys, I have gotten completely discombobulated in the last few weeks. I completely spaced Wordy Wednesday. I think we're suppoosed to be going with Mouthy Monday anyway, aren't we? Oh well, I'll try again Monday OK? In the mean time....

It's true that I am a worrier. When it's time to show I bring it up a notch. As the World Show approached I managed to crank myself up to never imagined heights of panic.

I was convinced I was going to make an absolute ass out of myself, with or without Sonita's help. In my gut I knew we had absolutely no business competing at this level.

I had a terrible habit of over-spinning when I was competing at a tough show. Normally I would have a chance to redeem myself in another class, but at the Worlds I would vie for a spot in the top ten, first go. If I blew my pattern I would be done.

Sonita always picked up on my anxiety. Her mediocre-at-best stops would become impossible. She would lean on my leg and sling her head in the air. If she dragged a lead it often became impossible to change her, she would hang on me, letting the world know with every wring of her tail just how hard my spur was demanding she change. If I was gassed up she would defy my shaky authority, Sonita wasn't the type of girl to be led by a rider with no confidence.

I lay awake at night running patterns through my mind. They ran clean until I slept, then one pattern after the other turned into a festival of penalties.

The NRCHA motto was "All Roads Lead to Stephenville." I was sure I would have a heart attack long before I finished travelling that long road.

I couldn't completely fall apart. I had three youth riders who had also qualified for the World Show. Two were on ex-barrel horses and one, my daughter, was on our snaffle-bitter. I already knew from reading the magazines that every other kid at the World Show was going to be on a finished bridle horse.

It was important to stay calm and focused for my kids. They were wildly excited about the trip. I often suspected it was as much about missing two weeks of school as it was about the show.It would have been fantastic if I could share their excitement.

All three of the girls had me busting with pride. They had worked hard on horses who were considered sub-standard on many levels. They hung in there and had faith in their mounts. I knew I owed it to them to be calm, have fun and have confidence in my own horse.

I also had to shrug off the added pressure of my students being qualified. I had taught two of the girls from their first ride on. My third was a nervous little girl who had lost her trainer just a few months before the competition. I had helped her earn her final points and got her qualified.

My little posse was being watched. I'm not being paranoid when I say there were those who wanted us to fail. I was a bit of an upstart, from my group of kids on their every day horses, to me and Sonita. Our reputation wasn't stellar. We didn't have any money, we weren't on fancy horses and my kids weren't the children of established winners.

But we had qualified in spite of ourselves. It couldn't be all luck, there were too many of us. So we were being watched.

In order to keep my wits about me I did what I always do under pressure. I became a screaming, raging, psychopathic bitch.

I showed up at the barn hours before daylight and worked through my rides in the dark. As I rode in the gray half light of dawn, Sonita's eyes would burn holes in me as she paced up and down her run.

She worked herself into the same mood I was in. She struck and cow-kicked at the rails in her run so often I had to wrap her legs. The owners of the horse next to her asked to be moved to another stall when Sonita tore a chunk of hide and meat out of their little gelding.

My students would wander in for their lessons and we would begin to drill. World qualifiers or not, I practiced them on the bits and pieces of reined cow work their riding levels allowed them to understand. I was sharp and demanding. Still honoring my promise to the Big K, I didn't practice Sonita on her reined work. Mostly I sat on her and gave my lessons. I loped the perimeter of the arena, shouting instructions as I burned off the nervous energy which coursed straight through me into Sonita.

Sonita was getting as lean as a greyhound. I was getting fat as a pig, working my mindless way through too much junk food and coffee.

I became obsessed with Sonita's winter coat. She grew hair like a freaking Hereford. It didn't matter that she was double blanketed. Our barn didn't have lights so she willfully grew hair. Acres of red, curly hair. I was mortified.

"Don't fret so," The Big K told me, "she's a cowhorse. They're supposed to have hair in the winter."

"None of yours do," I snarked as I looked over at his sleek young horse, glowing with health, vitality and a short summer coat.

"Even Loki (my kidlets filly) stayed slick with just blankets, I on the other hand look like I'm riding a yak."

"I can put mine under lights, so I do," K told me, "but if I didn't have any I'd sure be worrying about my fence run over my horse being haired up."

I didn't feel like listening to him, not even a little.

"The Morgan guy offered to body clip her,"I said.

"You think you're going to get laughed at for a little hair? Wait til you show up with your horse looking like a hunter jumper. We don't body clip. We just don't."

"He said it would grow in before Stephenville."

"I think you should forget the body clip and work off your nerves by riding some colts for me."

"I've got my own colts to ride," I snapped.

"I also know you're about driving that mare crazy riding her all the time. Come over here and ride some, I'll work with you on my horses. You've gotta get your head on straight."

I could tell he was laughing at me. It just pissed me off.

"If you're gonna clip her, don't let him cut that stupid little diamond shape over her tail. At least let her look western," K added.

I went home and took the Morgan guy up on his offer.

He body clipped my bright cherry colored mare and she turned into a skunk-tailed dun. A dull, roaned out dun. A shivering, furious, now equally psychotic, bitch of a dun, complete with the top of her tail clipped into a neat diamond.

I called K and took him up on his offer to ride his colts. The World Show was two weeks away.It was time to get a grip.