Horsewoman Book 1: Best Of Equitation

Chapter 13

"And now....The fabulous Firefly, a six-year-old Quarter Horse Arab cross mare!"

It was the moment my whole family was waiting for. Mom was revealing Firefly's training! I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and watched as Mom led Firefly out of her stall into the indoor arena. It's amazing how a couple baths and a lot of grooming can transform a horse! Firefly's lush mane was braided into neat dressage knots. An English saddle sat on her back, along with a full cheek bridle. Overall, Firefly looked great.

"OK, let's get started," said Mom. "Alright, Firefly! How many days have I been training you?" She tapped Fire's flank, and the mare pawed the ground five times obediently. We all cheered and clapped loudly, and Firefly didn't even spook at all. Next, Mom mounted and tapped Fire's side with the toe of her boot, and she did a piaffe. It was awesome! Mom even jumped her over the five foot jumps. When we kissed Firefly's black-brown nose and fed her pony-nuts, she actually nickered.

There's hope for this horse after all.

Today I only had pole bending on Pal. I set the light Stingray saddle on Pal's red roan back. He took the bit willingly, and I popped his ears into the headstall. He didn't even twitch when flies buzzed around his shoulder while I stretched the breast strap over his muscular chest. That shows how awesome that horse is to tack. I pulled the stirrups down and noticed the leather-coated stirrups had tiny rubber teeth, like a currycomb, so my boots wouldn't slide.

My boots.

I realized I was still wearing my dirty-brown muck boots. I raced to my tack stall, which I share with ten other strangers at the stall, and grabbed my brown-with-teal-swirls Ariat boots. I stuck my feet into them, sprinted to Pal's stall, and mounted. I looked at my watch.

"Darn," I muttered, realizing I only had about forty-five seconds to get to the arena. I tapped Pal with my spurs and he took off in a gallop, causing people to pull out their phones and record me. When I reined him in by the arena, I bowed awkwardly because a few people were clapping. I stopped bowing, though, when the saddle horn dug into my chest. I listened to the loudspeaker closely.

"Up to run is Totally Not Cliché, ridden by Casey Watts! David Johnston, be ready."

"Cliché! Cliché!" A small group of people cheered for the pinto cow pony weaving between the poles.

"Now we have David Johnston on Heaven On Earth! Cristal Rogers, be ready."

Heaven On Earth, a deep chestnut with a dappling on her flanks, got a really good time; 23.5.

"And now we have Cristal Rogers on Pal-omino! Blanca Turet, be ready."

"Let's go, bud," I urged Pal forward to the checkered starting lines. We weaved in a lope through the striped poles. Pal cut too close on the eighth, but I half-halted him and caught it. Pal turned swiftly and, making sharp, precise turns through the poles, clocked a 21.9. No doubt my best score ever. I glanced up at the scoreboard. I was in first.

Yes!

"Next, up to run is Cassandra Willis on Blank Page! Pearl Pawlowski, be ready..."

I ended up getting a second. Blank Page got a 21.7. How?! I thought about consulting with the judge about the time, but it was time to watch Jas's cutting comp.

Jas ended up getting first, of course.