The Tack Stall

"Are you okay with splitting a tack stall? Unfortunately our stalls have been overbooked for the weekend and according to your entry forms you will be showing alone this weekend." These were the words of the show secretary, who was registering me. Trying not to get on her bad side, I cheerily agreed. I could live with sharing, it would defiantly keep me from getting lonely. "Thanks so much Lauren," the secretary, Grace, carried on "we won't charge you for the stall!" I thanked her and took my information package, before heading out the door of the entry booth.

Stepping outside, I inhaled the sweet smell of horse show. The scents of show sheen, fly spray and fresh hay floated through the air. Looking up, I peeked at the sun through the clouds, hoping for a sunny, rain free week. The urge to sneeze brought me back to reality, and returned my mind back to what needed to be done. I excitedly pulled out my iPhone and texted the hauler to meet me at the unloading zone for Stable Block 3. While ambling over to the stalls, I allowed my mind to wonder who I would be sharing a tack stall with this week. Would it be a crazy pony mom and her adorable daughter? A stuck up equitation snob? A gorgeous, straight guy my age? I couldn't help but to laugh at that last one, the odds of that happening were less than one in a million. Literally.

I managed to get to the unloading zone before the hauler, and quickly checked out the location of my stalls. Jack, my giant Dutch Warmblood's stall was right on the end of the aisle, and the tack stall I would share was beside him. I quickly ripped open the bags of shavings I had ordered and spread them in his stall, as I did this I looked around and noticed that my stall buddy hadn't arrived yet, but that was to be expected with my arriving early to beat the crazies. My phone buzzed, shocking me out of my thoughts. It was a text from the hauler announcing his arrival. I turned on the heel of my Sperry's and went to meet him.

As I arrived, he was pulling my gleaming liver chestnut gelding off the trailer. I rushed over to grab him and lead him into the barn. "Thanks Tom! Do you mind bringing my tack trunks in?" I charmed the older gentleman I always used to haul Jack. He pretended to be put off by this, but obliged anyways.

After unloading everything, I handed Tom his cheque and confirmed when he would come to do pick up on Monday morning. We said our goodbyes, and I headed back to set up the stalls. My horse likes to think of himself as a hunter princess, and is only happy when his stall guard is installed so he can see what's going on. I sorted through the tack trunk that contained buckets, feed, and other things that weren't tack until I found Jack's custom baker plaid stall guard and ambled over to his stall to install it.

After Jack had hay, water, and the ability to watch people in the aisle, I went to work setting up the tack stall. I had grabbed all my tack hooks out of my Jeep, and was set on organizing. The back wall would hold saddles, the front bridles. The left side would house rolling clothes racks and blanket hangers, the tack trunks would be on the opposite wall. I stepped back to admire my work, when I felt myself hit a wall of muscle.