One day Andrew’s thought process had a profound effect on my thought process. We were competing at a show in a jumping class. While on course, I was giving Andrew mixed signals whether to go forward on his 12-foot stride or to limp around on an 11-foot stride. I didn’t realize I wasn’t going forward. Understand also, that Andrew was a veteran competitor. He’d seen every test question ever asked of a horse and knew all the answers. I, on the other hand, wasn’t so confident and for some reason, this particular line of jumps was intimidating to me and I rode it "backwards." When I came out of the ring, my trainer told me “Andrew is offended that you don’t trust him to do his job.” It was a cold slap in the face for me. My behavior was offensive to the most trustworthy individual I had ever partnered with. I couldn’t tell him, "Sorry, it’s me, not you." I couldn’t apologize or explain my way out of it. I had to change my behavior and stop offending him. |
Another time, we were at a show faced with a difficult line of jumps called a connected bending line. It gave the horse and rider team an option of riding part of the line in 6, 7 or even 8 strides. I hadn’t fully decided as we jumped in and gave Andrew unclear directions as to what to do instead of giving him the authority and support to figure it out on his own. Instead he did what I told him to do, it looked awkward and we were penalized for it. Later, my trainer told me that unlike other horses who will do what they think best if their rider gives them incorrect directions, Andrew would do whatever I told him to do. Even if it was wrong, he knew it was wrong and he knew he would have to bail us out of it, as was the case. Again I was faced with the responsibility of adjusting my behavior to be in harmony with his. I learned to let him answer the questions I didn't know. |
Me and my guy, Andrew, at the end of our day at the
Fairfield County Hunt Club June show
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