Mort - Finding Niches

Karen and I bounced on the truck seat next to her mother. We chattered and picked like a couple of magpies, too keyed up to listen when her mom begged, "Please sit still, we have a long drive ahead of us and you girls are driving me crazy!"
The truck groaned and clanked it's way down the highway. We were headed to the United States Air Force Academy on our way to compete in our first NATRC ride.

I had heard of the competitive trail riding group through my friend Karen. She and her mother had started to ride with a local trail riding club and were moving up to competition.

They invited me to come and Karen and I were going to ride together. I couldn't get over the concept. Being judged on trail riding with your horse. What a great idea! I felt like Mort and I would be a shoo-in on this deal. Because we were born to trail ride.

The ride was to take place over two days. There would be steep hills to climb, water to cross and hidden judges waiting to catch us riding our horses wrong.

There would be maps to follow and a time frame to finish our ride in. These were (and are) the sort of things that could make my head explode. There was no way my ADD riddled brain could follow a time table or make heads or tails out of a map.

But I could ride. My horse was strong and confident. I would just follow the lead of my more experienced friend and be fine.

We pulled onto the Academy grounds and wound our way into camp. There were woods everywhere. It wasn't that much different than Palmer Park. A little colder maybe, a little wilder, but that just made my excitement grow.

Finally we were doing something Mort would simply shine at. Nobody else I knew had a horse who could travel like Mort. This was going to be great.

We made camp and got our horses settled in. Karen and I hauled water and gave them hay. We made our bed inside the horse trailer on top of our hay bales.

"Excuse us girls...."

I stuck my head over the door of the trailer and was greeted by a couple of serious looking adults, both carrying clipboards and pens.

"Are you ready for your camp inspection?"

"What the hell is a camp inspection?" I hissed at Karen.

"Don't worry about it, they're just checking to see if we are taking care of the horses the right way," she answered.

Karen stepped out of the trailer with a welcoming smile to the judges and said, "I guess we're ready.

And ready she was.

The judges walked around her horse, Sparkle, looked in a few buckets and checked her lead rope and halter. They smiled and visited and Karen began to beam. I began to relax. This shouldn't be too hard.

As they came over to my side their smiles began to fade. My rope was tied wrong. The judges made me untie my horse, showed me how to tie a quick release knot and how long my lead rope should be and made me practice a few times.

My face burning, I did as I was told, even as my glance over at Karen's horse showed a neatly tied quick release.

My hay bag was too low, the area around my horse wasn't clean and my water bucket was hung where Mort could slice his face off when he tried to drink.

I kept glaring at my friend as the judges showed me what they wanted and made me comply before they moved on to my next transgression.

Why hadn't she told me any of this stuff?


Many humiliations and countless points later the judges finally moved on to their next victim.


"Jeez Karen, how did you know about all this stuff?" I asked.


"Me and Mom have been going to the club training sessions."


"Why didn't you tell me?"


"I thought you knew."


"How would I know, I wasn't at those sessions."


"I guess you should have gone then."


It was slowly dawning on me there was more to this NATRC stuff than I thought. There was more to my good friend Karen than I thought too.


The soundness check went almost as well. Mort wouldn't trot for me and his shoes were too worn. He wasn't as clean as was required and he was rude when the judges looked in his mouth.


I saw them busily jotting down every detail of our ignorance and saw my chances of placing in this event slipping away before I ever through a leg over Mort's back.


As we walked down to the campfire for dinner and our trail meeting I burned holes in Karen's traitorous brain with my evil glare. She marched ahead of me and sat down with her mother. A demure smile graced her face and she attentively listened to the speaker as he discussed trails and times and agendas.


I didn't hear a word. My mind was spinning with thoughts of murder and betrayal. Karen was throwing my lack of money and a trailer at me just like everybody else did. She knew I couldn't go to those stupid training sessions. They cost money and I had bankrupted myself saving for the entry fees for this ride.

Why wasn't she telling me this stuff?


We headed back to our trailer and to bed in stony silence. It was perfectly clear to me I was on my own. I was going to have to tough it out.


I wrapped my arms around Mort's neck and snuffled into his mane. I pressed my face against his silky neck and could feel the rhythm as he chewed his hay. The sound of his chewing vibrated through me. The sweet smell of alfalfa and the sharp tang of the pines filled my nose and I felt my anger slip away.


We could do this. I didn't need her. What a butt.


Mort snorted and grunted as he swung his hay bag. A cool breeze whispered through our camp and I watched the shadows of the trees shift in the moonlight.


I stood leaning against my horse, breathing in his smell and listening to his stomach gurgle as long as he let me.


The next morning brought so much excitement I forgot to be angry at Karen. The trail was open and inviting and the day was just waiting to be tackled.


We mounted our horses and headed off into the woods. Mort trotted along easily, his ears flicking back and forth and his tail swinging in time to the beat of his trot.


Karen and I fell into our easy banter, the habits of hundreds of hours in the saddle erasing my fury from the day before. We cruised down the trail and headed into our first vet check.


Mort passed with ease, his slow steady heart beat such a surprise to the woman doing his P/R she called over the vet to double check.


"Why, this horse is in great shape, good for you," he told me.


I warmed under the praise.


Mort nickered and leaned into his lead rope. I saw Karen trotting off ahead of me. She had been cleared first and wasn't going to wait. I wrestled Mort into his bridle and swung into the saddle. He was anxiously trotting off before I even got my foot in the stirrup. I looked behind me and saw the judges busily writing away. Oh well.

I caught up to Karen and said, "Thanks for waiting."

She looked straight ahead and ignored me.

Mort was trotting in front of Sparkle when we came to the next judged obstacle. They sat in the open, wearing bright yellow slickers, midway up a steep incline.

I hesitated for a moment and made my way up the muddy trail. Karen stayed behind, waiting below us for her turn. I felt more than a little satisfaction as I watched Sparkle begin to paw and fuss. Mort wasn't the only horse who didn't like being left behind.

When I reached the judges they asked me to stop.

I turned Mort parallel to the hill and looked at them. Mort paid no attention to their crackling slickers.

"Dismount please."

I looked down. The steep incline fell away on my left side. I was stuck. There wasn't enough room to turn Mort the other way. I had been trained from day-one to dismount on the left.

I looked at the judges uncertainly. They looked back, impassive.

With a sigh I slid off on the left and almost continued on down the hill. Brief images of me rolling out of control only to be stopped by Karen's horse flashed before me.

I caught my stirrup and slipping and sliding, dragged myself up the hill. Mort stood like a rock, bless his heart.

I stood up and looked at the judges, wondering how I was ever going to get back on.

"Can't you mount your horse from the right side?"

"I don't know, I've never tried," I felt my ears beginning to burn.

"Do you want to try now? It will save you some points."

I walked to Mort's right side, feeling the total idiot and awkwardly stuck my foot in the right stirrup. Mort started to trot off as I unceremoniously dragged myself up.

"You're excused," the judge called after me, with more than a little sarcasm in her voice.

When we crested the top of the hill I turned and watched Karen climb the hill neat as a pin and dismount quickly and efficiently off the right side.

We rode to the next rest stop in silence.

As we headed into lunch a group of horses came up behind us at an extend trot. They were behind and racing the clock. Mort started to jig as they passed us. I held him in, knowing we were doing fine and needed to ride the rest of the way at a walk.

Mort's anxiety grew when I didn't let him go and he growled deep in his chest. He shook his head and began to lope, almost in place. Slime slung from his bit and we began to jig sideways, off the trail.

Suddenly Mort stumbled and sunk to his knees. I looked down and saw one foreleg buckled under him and the other pulled into a pile of logs and broken branches. He heaved himself back and up and got back on the trail.

"Oh no, look at his leg," Karen said.

One look at her pale face and I knew it wasn't good. I slid down and looked at his leg. Mort had a deep gash ending in a wicked puncture. Thick, dark blood oozed up out of the hole.

I led him the rest of the way into the vet check. The vet was summoned, Mort's leg was treated and dressed and we were pulled from the competition.

I was stunned. I sat by myself, glumly munching my sandwich and watching the rest of the riders. They talked and laughed among themselves.

Karen came over and sat down next to me.

"I'm really sorry you can't finish..."

I stared at her. The sadness in her eyes was real, but I couldn't make myself care. I stood up and began to lead Mort down the trail the vet had told me to follow. A trailer would meet me at the road, a quarter mile through the trees. The rain that had threatened all day began to fall.

As we walked through the trees Mort began to fuss. He jigged a circle around me, shaking his head and whinnying back to the other horses.

"Keep him quiet!" the vet called after me.

"You'll open that leg back up!"

The tears finally started. I jerked on my reins hard.

"Stop!" I yelled, "just stop!"

I jerked him again, once twice and again.

Mort flew backwards, pain and surprise in his eyes.

"You need to quit that," a quiet voice said behind me.

I turned and faced the stern faced judge from the hill. I stopped and looked shame-faced at my boots.

"You've had a bad go," she said, "it's no fault of the horse. This isn't about winning. It's about learning how to care for your horse."

I turned and led Mort down the trail. I ignored his fussing. I wiped my face and clenched down hard.

I stayed at camp the next day and doctored Mort. I led him out to the good grassy spots and let him graze. The vet came by and checked his leg. It was dry and there was no heat. The vet had me crouch down and learn the signs of infection and how to feel for signs of "mush" that would signal a tendon injury.

I nodded my thanks, but didn't say a word. I was done talking for this trip. I sat at the awards dinner and watched Karen get up to receive her second place award. I very carefully kept my emotions in check.

I thought a lot about what the judge had said to me. I sure didn't agree. It was all about winning. This sport may be about learning to take care of your horse, but it ended with winners and losers.The people who won had money and knowledge.

I intended to be a winner. If I couldn't get the money, I didn't see anybody stopping me from getting the knowledge. Except maybe myself.