Demon Tamer

So There

“What happens in the stable stays in the stable”

~Bumper Sticker

Surprisingly enough, Sally didn’t want a lesson from me. I know, big ‘wow’ there, right?

We came to an easy agreement. When her horse arrived, fully tacked and ready to go, she would just jump on and do her own thing in the ring with me ‘supervising.’ I liked the arrangement, it meant I didn’t have to talk to her.

The horse was new. Last time I’d seen her ride, it was on a flashy grey. The kind that are even whiter than snow and impossible to keep clean without industrial bleach. Obviously, Sally’s never got dirty. But her new horse was a Chestnut, so gold it shone. And it had two white socks on its forelegs that, surprise, surprise, were spotless. How did she do it? I had to find out how she kept all these horses clean. Maybe I’d talk to her barn manager.

“What happened to the grey?” I asked after a while. What can I say, I was bored and curious.

She scowled, “We had to sell him. He was unridable.”

“What?” My jaw hit the ground so hard it bruised. The last time I had seen that grey, he was doing everything she said. She was competing him at third level for crying out loud!

She ignored me and swung into the saddle. “Can you put some jumps up?”

I sighed and climbed over the gate into the ring, “How high?”

“Three foot and above.”

Cursing her in my head while doing my best to smile, I arranged a little course for her while the trotted and cantered around me. I felt bad for the horse already.

The second I was done, she pointed the Chestnut at a jump and went for it full speed. I flattened myself against the fence. This would get annoying quickly.

It was about fifteen minutes into the ride when I couldn’t take it anymore. The horse had run out at the same fence a good six times and she wasn’t doing anything. I was about to scream.

“Why can’t you do this!” Sally cried at the horse, smacking it with her crop and charging at the fence for try number seven.

“One, two,” I counted under my breath, “Three. What a surprise, ladies and gentlemen, but we have another run out.”

Sally brought the horse to a screeching stop in front of me and glared. “What did you do to that jump.”

“Nothing,” I sighed.

“You did something. It’s freaking Bucephalus out!”

“Sally, I didn’t do anything to it. It’s your approach that’s ‘freaking him out.’”

And who names their horse ‘Bucephalus?’ That’s Greek. I added to myself.

“My approach is fine!”

“He’s on the forehand and can’t come up. How is he supposed to jump when all his weight is in his front legs? And you only gave him two straight strides before the jump. Just after a corner where he dropped his shoulder the whole way through.”

Her nose literally turned up in the air. Wow, I thought people only did that in books. “He did none of those things.”

“He did all of those things! Every time! Look, if you want to get over that jump, slow down, play with the reins a bit to get him in a frame, he looks like he’s got the training, and make the turn wider while putting your weight in your outside stirrup.”

“You’re not better than me, you know.” She glared at me and pushed him into a trot.

“Here it comes,” I muttered as she came cantering over jump #3, the one just before the jump that was giving her trouble.