Humour: Riding Disciplines Explained
The backyard rider is usually found wearing shorts and sports bra
in
summer, and flannel nightgown, muck boots and down jacket in
winter.
Drives a Ford Tempo filled with saddle blankets and dog hair. Most
have
deformed toes on one or the other
foot from being stepped on in thin Keds sneakers. Pulls a
two-horse
bumper-pull trailer stored behind the barn, used for hay storage.
Her
horse, Snookums, sports a hand-cut (with scissors) bridle path;
duct
tape holds a shoe on until the farrier gets by next month.
Overheard
frequently: "It's too hot/cold/wet/dry to ride."
The endurance rider wears Lycra tights in wild neon colors. The
shinier
the better, so the EMT's can find her body when her horse dumps
her down
a ravine. Wears hiking
shoes of some sort, and T-shirts she got for paying $75 to
complete
another torturous ride. Her horse, Al Kamar Shazaam, used to be
called
"you bastard" until he found an
owner as hyper as he. Can spook at a blowing leaf, spin a 360 and
not
lose his big trot rhythm or give an inch to the horse behind him.
Has
learned to eat, drink, pee and drop to his resting pulse rate on
command; he has compiled 3,450 AERC miles-- with his rider
compiling
3,445-- the missing five miles are the ones when he raced down the
trail
without his rider after performing his trademark 360. Over-heard
frequently: "Anyone have Advil?" "Anyone got some food? I think
last
year's Twinkies finally went bad." "For this pain I spend money?"
"Shazaam, you **** -- it's just a leaf [thud]!"
The natural horsemanship devotee looks like a throwback from a
Texas
ranch, despite the fact that he lives in the suburbs of New
Jersey.
Rope coiled loosely in hand in case he needs to herd any of those
kids
on roller-blades away from his F-350 dually in the WalMart parking
lot.
Cowboy hat strategically placed, and just dirty enough to look
cool.
Levi's are well worn. "Lightning" is, of course, this natural
horsemanship guy's horse. Rescued from a bad home where he was
never
imprinted or broke in the natural horsemanship way, he specialized
in
running down his owners at feeding time, knocking children off his
back
on low-hanging branches, and baring his teeth to look
mean. The hospitalization tally for his previous handlers was 12,
until he was sent to Round Pen Randy; after ten minutes in said
pen, he
is now a totally well-broke horse,
bowing to the crowd, and can put on his own splint boots (with
R.P.
Randy's trademark logo embossed on them). R.P.R. says, of all
this,
"Well, shucks ma'am, tweren't nuthin'!" "It's simple
horsemanship."
"With this special twirly flickitatin' rope ($17.95 plus tax),
you'll be
round-pennin' like me in no time!"
The dressage queen is freshly coiffed and dressed. Diamond stud
earrings are elegant and stately, and not so large that they blind
the
judge during her passage-piaffe movements. $30 dollar denim
jumper is
worn over $300 full-seat white breeches and custom Koenigs. Her
horse,
Fleistergeidelsprundheim ("Fleistergeidel" for short) is a
17.3-hand warmblood who was bred to make Grand Prix in a European
nation
where
his sellers are still laughing hysterically when they talk about
'zat
crazy American.' Despite being runty, his new owner fell in love
with
his lofty gaits, proud carriage and
tremendous athleticism. Never mind that this talent was not
revealed
until he was chased by a rabid fox, and has not been repeated
since.
The hunter/jumper competitor is in a wide-striped polo shirt and
beige
breeches. The polo is so folks will know they're a jumper rider
until
they put on their shirt and stock
tie. Baseball cap is mandatory after a ride, in order to exhibit
free
advertising for that trainer's stable for which they've forked
over a
mere grand or so per month. Her horse, Neverbeenraced, is a
prime
example of American Thoroughbred. The coat
is deep bay, no markings, a textbook TB head (no jowl), and no
unusual
conformational characteristics other than crooked legs. Perfect,
just
perfect. The gelding has learned to count strides all by himself,
and
asks in midair which lead his
mistress would like to land on today.
The eventer is always hunched over. Bent forward under the load,
it's
from carrying three saddles, three bridles, three bits, and all
related
color-coordinated gear to every
three-day event on the East Coast, or it could possibly be a
defensive
stance for protecting his/her wallet, which is, of course, nearly
empty
after buying three saddles, three bridles, three bits and all that
color-coordinated gear. Looked down on by the H/J set as "people
who
just run their horses at fences" and by the dressage queens as
"not pure
dressage riders," eventers are smugly convinced that they are in
fact
the only people in the world who CAN ride, since the H/J's don't
jump
real fences and the dressage queens don't ride real horses. One
popular
horse, Fastnhighasican, is a Thoroughbred track reject who had
never won
(or placed) in a single race. Perfect eventer! He has two speeds:
gallop and stop'n'dump, which are used at his discretion for all
three
phases of eventing. His favorite stunt is performed at
cross-country
water obstacles where his rider invariably stands up slimed in
waist-deep in murky pond water and threatens to sell him to
Fleistergeidel's owner. Called "Hi-ass" for
short, Fastnhighasican delights in another hilarious speed
variation,
the imfreeandyoucantcatchmegallop, a real
crowd-pleaser. It
brings down the house when he stops and licks the Crisco off his
legs
before continuing on to the merciless
telephone-pole jump just ahead.