“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I sincerely hope you didn’t hear me screeching just now,” she said. “I only sing in the shower and even then when I think no-one is listening.”
I just sat there blinking stupidly.
“That was you? I didn’t know you could sing,” I said. “It was brilliant!”
“Nah,” she replied, flicking through one of the magazines.
“You were seriously good, and I should know–I practically grew up in the music business.”
Tori shrugged, not even looking up from an article on transitions she was reading.
I kept pushing. “Why don’t you audition for my dad? I bet he could help you.”
Tori shrugged again, then changed the subject.
“What do you feel like doing today?” she asked.
I felt a bit miffed; I knew talent when I heard it but she didn’t seem to think her singing was anything special. I resolved to talk to dad about it later tonight.
“Oh, almost forgot,” she continued. “Mum says we can take Solo to a Winter Woollies show next weekend if you want.”
Oh my GOODNESS (sorry, I know I blurt that a lot). Me and Solo to a show?
“A what show?” I asked, wondering if sheep were involved.
Tori walked over to the counter, deposited a dozing cat on the floor and dropped two slices of bread into the toaster.
“It’s just an informal show and will be a good intro to showing for you and Solo. Most horses will have their winter coats…unless they’ve been clipped…hence the name.”
Being a thoroughbred and well rugged, Solo’s coat wasn’t too bad.
“We won’t be taking the ponies,” Tori added, spreading Vegemite on her toast. “Mum and I thought we could focus on Solo to see how he copes with it all.”
Her toast smelled heavenly and ignoring the fact I’d already had a bowl of Cornflakes and cup of Milo at home, I dropped two more slices in.
“Where’s it being held?” I was so distracted that although the cat had left muddy footprints all over the bench top, I didn’t wipe it.
“At the Pine Ridge Riding Club grounds; about half an hour’s drive,” she told me, licking butter and Vegemite off her fingers, ignoring hopeful dogs crowding around her legs pleading for a morsel.
“I downloaded a PDF of the schedule last night. We thought you could enter the novice and open hack events, and maybe your riding classes as well. I’ll email the program to you later today.”
I nibbled my toast and began thinking about taking my horse to a show, which had been an ambition of mine for as long as I could remember. I was so lost in daydream, one of the dogs snatched a crust from my dangling hand.
“What do I wear? What about saddlery? Will Solo float okay d’you think? Should we……” I had a million questions.
“Don’t stress!” Tori exclaimed. I guess going to a show was no big deal for her.
“We have it all worked out. You can borrow one of my old jackets; use our old working saddle on Solo, and ride in a snaffle since you’re not ready for a double bridle yet.
“Besides,” she continued. “The show is for novice riders and horses, to help them gain experience and the judges will take this into account.”
Ahh yes, experience…something in which I was definitely lacking! I might have ridden Zed to third place at a big agricultural show but that was my ONLY show riding so far. What if I fell off and Solo galloped madly around the showgrounds, upsetting other horses. I’d seen this happen and it was my WORST nightmare! What if……
Tori practically read my mind.
“Don’t worry, mum and I will be there to help you. If Solo plays up, well…we’ll deal with it. Okay?”
I had another lesson on Solo that day, mindful that I would be riding him at show in just under a week. My nerves were already jangling which caused Solo to be a little restless.
“Relax Sarah!” Tori instructed. Hmm, easy to say…hard to do, but I gathered my wits and settled down to work. Riding properly is VERY demanding! As Mrs Livingstone once told me, anyone can sit on a horse and flop around, but it takes effort and skill to ride correctly. My lunge lessons had developed my muscles and balance and I felt I could now ride with a truly independent seat. I learned how to increase or decrease a horse’s pace by using my seat and weight instead of hauling on the reins to stop, or digging my heels in their ribs to go forwards. I’d picked up some bad habits at the riding school and understood why their poor, long-suffering horses were sometimes so hard to control. I thought I knew it all after a few lessons, but now realise I knew nothing.
“Okay Sarah, today I am going to teach you how to collect Solo,” Mrs Livingstone said.
“I’ll tell you what aids to use and when Solo responds, it will teach you how it feels.”
Tori and mum were watching from the sidelines. I overhead Tori tell her this meant I was going to learn how to ask Solo to arch his neck and almost groaned when she replied (loudly of course!) “Oh, like in the Olympics!” No mum, just…no.
“Now keep a light contact on the reins Sarah, imagine the reins are made of cotton which will break if you pull too hard. Remember to keep your wrists soft and flexible and let your hands follow Solo’s head movement. Good!”
It was hard work and there was so much to remember and co-ordinate, kind of like when you try to pat the top of your head with one hand while rubbing circles on your stomach with the other.
“Now gently take up a little more contact on the reins and push with your seat so he shortens his stride, always keeping your contact SOFT! Yes, you’re getting there!”
I could feel Solo changing beneath me. It’s really hard to explain unless you’ve felt it but he was soft, supple and springy.
“Push, push, push with your seat, rhythmically…hands soft. Fantastic!”
Oh WOW…it WAS fantastic! All of a sudden I was aboard this light, beautifully-in-control horse. There was no pulling, no stiffness.
It must have looked good because mum actually clapped!
“Bravo Sarah, you look like a real show rider!”
“Muumm!” I groaned, but I was secretly thrilled.
“Now TEERROT,” instructed Mrs Livingstone.
Alas, old habits die hard. I temporarily forgot everything and nudged Solo with my heels. He objected by swishing his tail and throwing his head in the air.
“STOP! Bring him back to a walk…yes, soft hands, soft hands,” (this was finally beginning to imprint on my brain).
“Good, now let’s try that again, only this time push with your seat and squeeze lightly with your legs. Much better!”
And it was. I wish I’d thought to ask someone to video me because everything felt…right. Glancing down I could see Solo’s gently arched neck, his elegant ears flicking backwards and forwards in concentration, his chestnut mane (now tidy after Mrs Livingstone pulled and trimmed it) swishing rhythmically.
So this is what it’s like to really ride. I loved it!
We didn’t try a canter but I didn’t mind. Mrs. Livingstone told me to ask Solo to come back to a walk not by pulling on the reins, but to sit deep in the saddle and restrict movement with my seat and upper body, a subtle aid which worked. Much