Well Eventing Nation, there are now three Chinchilla’s feeling very sorry for themselves after the fights, cussing and an extended late night session trying to sort out the pearls from the well, you know.
Anyhow we still ended up with some of that because when it comes down to it the Chinchilla’s are all children at heart.
You need to vote in the poll below to decide which of the eight finalists get one of the three copies of Stories from the Saddle. Just pick the one that made you wet yourself, LOL or ROFL. The poll will remain open for three days.
Enjoy the embarrassment. ESJ
Biz
I’m not sure whether this story is more embarrassing for me or my mother. I was 12 years old and decided to use my Pony Club’s schooling three phase to move my pony, Dixee, up from beginner novice to novice. I was thrilled to find myself in 2nd place after dressage, and confidently made my way to the x-country start box. We popped over the coop, roll-top, and brush jumps no problem. And then came the dreaded ditch jump. Dixee was less than thrilled about the prospect of jumping ditches, but we had been schooling them like crazy for the past month, so I was confident that things would go smoothly. I was wrong. Dixee came to a sliding stop at the base of the ditch, and just to ensure that I went flying over her head, threw in a buck for good measure.
While flying through the air, I gripped the reins tightly, and upon landing (in the ditch) I realized I was holding Dixee’s bridle in my hands. In the mean time Dixee was galloping riderless, and bridle-less across the x-country course, pinning her ears at all who tried to catch her. She didn’t slow down until she had made her way back to the dressage arena where my mother was dutifully volunteering as a scribe. The dressage judge looked up and sighed. “Some one’s idiot horse is loose.” My mother looked up, recognized my darling pony and replied “that’s my idiot horse.” She then quickly excused herself and lured Dixee to the trailer with the strategic use of a carrot.
Eventer79
Oh do I have a story for you… From our ill-fated trip to VA Horse Trials this May: Solo is a quiet, well-mannered horse. He inherited a solid brain from his QH half and I have always relied upon his calm good sense at home or away. Unfortunately, he is also a redhead and waits until you least expect it to remind you of such. We had just finished and cooled out for the day and I walked Solo back into his stall. I took off his halter and walked behind him to remove his ankle boots, as I’ve done a thousand times. That bugger calmly turned around and walked right out the open door. I was shocked — in five years, he’s never wandered off — and grabbed his tail (of course, THAT will stop him). “Solo, whoa!” He flicked me an ear then flicked me the finger and kept right on walking down the center of the barn, picking up speed as he went. I am now trotting behind him, dragging on his tail, yelling, “Hey, stop, you bastard!” So he started trotting.
At this point, I have no choice but to let go or be dragged, but hey, I figure he will just go visit one of the other 25 horses in the barn, he’s a gregarious sort. Oh no, Mr. Adventure prances in a smart trot right out the barn door and across the big parking lot towards the interstate in the gathering dusk. I’m now in a full run cursing every hair on his red hide, grabbing some random person’s lead-rope off of their stall and praying to all things holy that his penchant for excitement wanes quickly. In a stroke of good fortune, a couple driving their truck out for the night spotted him in their rear-view mirror, slammed on the brakes, jumped out and headed him off. As I came up gasping, I withered under her disapproving look, but thanked her profusely and slunk back to the barn with my naughty horse in tow.
Two friends appeared, laughing their heads off and said, “Oh, wow, I didn’t know that was YOU running after that horse! What a nice trot he has, laugh laugh laugh.” I went and hid in my stall, wondering just how many people enjoyed the show of me, the slowest person in the world, trying to run down my red beast in the half-dark of Virginia. I still haven’t lived that one down. But hey, it makes a great story.
Estella
I once got lost for roughly 20 minutes on cross country. The event was located in a sandy, scrubby and bushy area and the course consisted of a myriad of trails dotted with fences. Out on course I proceeded to take the wrong trail somewhere down the line. I got a little way before I realized that I was probably going the wrong way due to the absence of proper jumps and people. Oops. It just got worse from there because the heavens opened and tried to drown us. Well I then got completely lost, my wonderful, patient mare and I just trotted around trying to find our way to where I was supposed to be. We wandered around hopelessly lost for around 20 minutes and it looked like we were going to be geriatrics before (and to my great relief) I managed to get out of there.
The poor people who were out on course in the rain trying to find me had to be brought back in, compounding my embarrassment. Everyone thought it was a great laugh of course. I didn’t think it was funny until my girl and I were both rugged up and warm again. Of course word spread quickly about my little adventure and then if there were people still here at the end of the day that didn’t know they did when the event organizer worked it into the speech at the prize giving. Naturally in the true spirit of Aussie mate ship I was kindly reminded of this little episode whenever they could for a while after that. So nice of them.
Michelle
It was an overcast Sunday morning at the Richland Horse Park, August 2006. I was riding Comet, my 5 year old off the track Thoroughbred, through his third novice cross country course. We were heading to fence #11 which was only one stride away from fence #12. We were going WAY too fast? something I did not realize until we were WAY too close to fence #11. I tried to half halt, but it was too late. Comet jumped fence #11, but (with some sense of self-preservation) dodged fence #12 dumping me on the fence in the process. I stood up and saw Comet running. To quote the old guy in the barbershop from Forrest Gump, ?That boy sure [was] a runnin? fool.? He kept running around and around looking for what we all look for in life? A little direction. One of the members of the ground jury picked me up in her golf cart and headed toward Comet who was still running. I could hear some old-time silent movie comical music playing in the background as we proceeded to chase Comet around and around the center field of the cross country course.
Then, Comet caught sight of the horse and rider who followed us in the line-up. Comet started to follow this poor rider and horse and proceeded to jump fence #10A and B?by himself. A few brave jump judges and volunteers ran in front of Comet. Much like Forrest Gump when the football fans raised their signs to tell him to? STOP!?, he too got the message and finally stopped. Because this was before the one-fall rule, I remounted and proceeded to jump fence #11 and #12. I then quickly found out the difference on the re-approach rule regarding a combination fence versus two fences numbered separately: you cannot jump the same fence twice. I thus eliminated myself for jumping fence #11 twice.
No redemption would be found that day. To add salt to the wound, when I loaded Comet up in the trailer after all of this, he whipped around at the entrance and ran away not once, not twice, but three times. Giving up, I handed him to my mom. He then proceeded to twist her arm in just the right way that she required rotator cuff surgery the following year. Somehow, Comet and I managed to become a very successful pair after that year with me (thankfully) remaining in the tack . However, Richland 2006 will always remain my most embarrassing event.
Anonymous
Not a public embarrassment–but how about going into the very dark porta-john late at night in the stabling area and sitting down in someone else’s poop! I think I prefer to remain anonymous…
Or opening the door to the porta-john (in broad daylight) and suddenly realizing that it was occupied and that the door had not been closed properly, and coming face to face with your dressage judge! Both are true and both are west coast stories…
Catherine
Back in college, I had an amazing horse with incredible athletic ability who was determined to show everyone just how athletic he was…. In the midst of running as many Intermediate events on the East Coast I could possibly get to in order to qualify and prepare for Radnor, I showed up at one event, about 6 hours away, only to open my trailer tack room to realize (in horror) that I had forgotten my jumping saddle. I had my dressage saddle but certainly couldn’t get around an intermediate cross country course with that so…. I went begging.
A kind sole took pity on me and leant me an old jumping saddle that she had as a spare (Smart people bring extras…). I am happy to say that we made it around cross country clean (although a bit discombobulated as the saddle was very different from my own.) Stadium, however, was a different story. We got over the first couple of fences as I felt my saddle start to slip. My horse, not understanding what was going on, started bucking, only causing the saddle to slip more and the bucks to get bigger. Next thing I knew, I was on the ground between fences 3 and 4 watching my horse alternating bucks and leaps with the borrowed saddle under his stomach.
Of course he wasn’t content to leave his gimmicks in the arena and jumped the white tape fence enclosing the arena much to the horror of nearby spectators who plunged out of the way. Meanwhile, I went running after him, head down and beet red trying to catch him. After about 15 minutes (but what felt like hours) of galloping and bucking around the entire grounds, he was finally caught thanks to the many brave souls willing to help catch him. The rest of the day, I had people coming up to me asking if I was the owner of the “bucking bronco” and commenting on his impressive athleticism and bucking ability.
To make matters worse, the saddle, still under his stomach when we finally caught him, had been kicked to shreds. I shamefully went back to the kind person who lent it to me to tell her that her saddle had a broken tree and a couple of hoof marks in it. Luckily she was just about the nicest person and took it all in stride, let me pay her for the saddle (much less than it would cost her to replace) and never brought it up again. Needless to say, I always check my girth repeatedly to this day.
Andrea
Many many moons ago when I was young and much more limber I had a lovely horse of unknown breed named Rambler. Rambler came from cow country in northern BC and had a few quirks that I was still learning to interpret. This horse could be used for shooting off of, would cross a river cover in thin ice and turned into a the safest equine around when there was a young kid on his back but had total heart failure at a mole hill. I was going Pre-Training at Island 22 Horse Trials way back in the early 90’s is my guess. (long time ago cant remember – LOL – I am now the secretary at this event) Cross country day was a rare non rainy day and there was a long gallop down the back fence area.
There are a few small dips in the footing back there. There is one section that gallops right along the main spectator viewing area we call the Plateau. My mother was standing on the plateau with a group of her friends. Rambler and I come galloping up feeling very cocky and confident (dad built this course the ribbon was mine!!) We gallop down the tiny hill and started to gallop up the tiny hill. I do not recall seeing a mole hill near the top of that hill when doing the course walk. Somehow Eagle-Eye-Rambler saw that tiny mole hill while galloping at Pre-Training speed and did the amazingly athletic deer leap right out of a Thelwel pony book. I of course did not do the leap with him and instead dropped like a rock right in front of my mother, her friends and all the organizers. My mother claimed that I was not her daughter and that it did not look like our horse. I proceeded to search every cross country course for mole hills after this.
Jessica
So, after about 6 years out of competing, I’d gotten the bug to get back into it last year. My horse was being leased by a spectacular junior rider and he was fit and ready – heck, why not? I practiced for a few weeks and we entered into the local “A” circuit show here in Scottsdale, Arizona, and the Adult Amateur jumper classes. No big deal – I’ve done much more than that, and it was small potatoes for my old schoolmaster. APPARENTLY it was a big deal. One of us was ring-ready – one of us was scared silly.
I cantered my courtesy circle, heard the bell, and I don’t remember much after that – I was so scared I just blanked. My old friend loped around the course, though – in amazing forum and time. The video shows a perfect round by him – me? Not so much. Not only was I left behind at virtually every single fence, but by the time we got to the triple combination, I completely lost it, and wet my pants. Not like a squeaker, but full-on, let’er rip, piss the saddle.
We crossed the end line, and the small crowd – mostly of my sweet barn mates – was roaring – I’d won the class (it was a speed round – mercifully no jump-off). I trotted up to the ingate, where my trainer said “Bravo!!! Norman (the horse) was super, and you are alive!!! Hop off so we can take the saddle off and give Norman a rub.” I told her I just. Couldn’t. Get. Down. Not just then – I explained why and she literally fell down she was laughing so hard. I regained my nerves after that, and actually went on to be reserve champion that weekend – not bad for an old coot many years out of the ring who needs a box of Depends to make it through the class!!!
Make sure you vote, by selecting your choice in the poll here.
Yours in Eventing,
ESJ
