One of the sad realities of eventing is that if you stay in this sport long enough heartbreak is inevitable. Yet I never cease to be amazed at the resilience eventers consistently show in tragic moments. EN reader and contributor JER experienced the hardest of heartbreaks in March, when her beautiful and promising young advanced mare Dekorum, trained and ridden by Michael Pollard, broke her leg inexplicably between fences at the Poplar Place horse trials. Recovering from the loss of a horse is a long and winding road, and JER was kind enough to write about her journey for EN. Her positive spirit is an example that I will never forget. As always, thank you for writing this JER and thank you for reading.
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From JER:
One sunny Saturday morning earlier this year, I got the phone call that every single one of us dreads. An area code I didn’t recognize, lots of commotion in the background, the single word ‘awful’ filtering through with alarming clarity, then a choked voice telling me what just happened.
I’d never see my mare again.
There’s not much more to say. It’s too irrational, too unfair, too wrong. These things shouldn’t happen. Not to us. Definitely not to our horses.
I suppose you could say I did what any sane horse person would do. I spent more time in the barn. I took long walks around the neighborhood with Casper the mule and my three year-old OTTB. When a lovely mare who I’d had my eye on for years – she was still racing at age eleven – came up in the CANTER listings, I acquired her (with the invaluable help of the online community) as a potential broodmare. I went to the east coast and rode Dekorum’s two younger sisters. Back at home, I started riding a fantastic large pony, and just last month, his owners most generously gave him to me. It wasn’t long before I heard myself making inquiries about the fall eventing season.
The net effect? I lost one – an adored, irreplaceable one – and gained – hopefully – three. I say ‘three’ because last week, we learned the OTTB mare is in foal to the Holsteiner stallion Chairman. The resulting offspring will be 13/16ths TB, perfect for eventing, just like Dekorum. Definitely a bright spot on the horizon.
Also, I have something else to celebrate. A couple of days ago, I sat on my young TB Danny for the first time. Danny raced as a two year-old, so we knew he was sort-of-probably-not-very broke, but as he’s a big youngster who’s done a lot of growing since he arrived at my farm, I thought it would be best if he spent the summer out in the field.
By July, it was very apparent that for Danny, freedom’s just another word for not enough to do. Danny likes busy. He loves to sort through piles of junk, he loves commotion and activity, power tools and big trucks. He’s the unspookiest horse I’ve ever known. He chases after geese. He is entertained, rather than terrified, by the screeching, wing-flapping swans up the road. The first time he saw a llama, he wanted to touch it. You can – and please don’t ask how I know this – fire a starter pistol next to him and he doesn’t move a hair.
When morning turn-out became a daily PR campaign to convince Danny to leave his stall, we decided it was time for him to go to work. I sent him across the river to the barn where I go for lessons. Unlike me, Jen has an indoor, and there’s nothing like the security of four walls, a roof and some helpers when starting groundwork with a young horse. For the first two weeks, while I was out of town, Jen and her students taught Danny the basics of lunging and voice commands. The verdict was, unsurprisingly, that he has a good brain and a tendency toward laziness. Jen thought he was ready for a rider, so I volunteered my services as a test dummy.
I hadn’t seen Danny all tacked up before. He actually looks like a real horse: a big-bodied, 16.2hh, dark brown, classic TB. Or at least he does until you get to his tail, which looks like it was poached from a backyard Appy. It’s what might euphemistically be called ‘low-volume’ and barely reaches his hocks, but that’s why they make tail extensions, isn’t it?
Getting on a young horse for the first time is taking a leap of faith into the great unknown. You never know what to expect or where you’ll end up. The first time we sat on Dekorum, she sat down like a dog. An obedient dog, because that’s what she thought she was supposed to do. With Danny, it was very much a non-event. I leaned over him, jumped up and down beside him, put my weight in one iron, flapped my arms. All of this failed to get a reaction. So I grabbed mane and climbed on, and Jen walked with us around the indoor. Danny didn’t seem to have much knowledge of riding aids but didn’t object to my legs or seat or to the bridle and he was responsive to Jen’s voice commands. He rolled along comfortably in the walk; I got off and got on again, he stayed balanced and quiet.
This is how well it went: when I remounted, I had my camera in hand and we set about getting an EN-worthy ears photo. Danny likes to admire himself in the (recently-broken) mirror, so we took advantage of his narcissism. He didn’t care that I was lying down on his neck, trying to fit us all in the picture.
But as I was driving home, I had a sudden burst of anxiety about mirrors and superstitions and seven years’ bad luck. I couldn’t remember what it was that brought that upon you. Looking in a broken mirror? Breaking a mirror? Walking under a ladder? Black cats? Normally, I wouldn’t be concerned as I’m not at all superstitious, but maybe I’ll always be a little oversensitive to the fact that life with horses can change in an instant, on even the most perfect of spring days.
Besides, I already have a black cat. And I know I have a lot to look forward to.
