The Eighty-Dollar Champion - Elizabeth Letts [46]
Approaching a jump, a rider must believe. The rider must go forward in unison with the horse. Riders learning to jump often lag a split second behind the horse, waiting in the saddle to make sure the horse will take off. These beginners often fall off as the horse lands. But a skilled rider always goes with the horse, giving the power to the horse—and thus if the horse skids to a stop at the last moment, the rider may be propelled out of the saddle and over the fence alone. As Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, is said to have quipped, “A horse which stops dead just before a jump and thus propels its rider into a graceful arc provides a splendid excuse for general merriment.”
Snowman did not stop at the raised bar. But he did not jump, either. Rather than make a small hop, Snowy broke to a trot over the low cross-rail, not even bothering to pick up his feet. A hind leg rapped the bar with a crisp thwock. A moment later, the horse settled down to a walk. Harry laughed, urged the horse into a canter, circled around, and tried again—but this time, the result was even worse. Snowman trotted over the low fence, knocking the pole clean off the standard. So the first attempt at jumping the horse was unspectacular, but Harry could still picture the solid paddock rail fences that the horse had cleared on his own.
Day after day, in the small paddock behind their farm, Harry took the horse out and schooled him through the cavaletti series. Sometimes Chef, now a strong little boy of six, helped out, setting the poles and putting them back when Snowman knocked them over. The horse was not a fast learner but Harry was patient, and he was careful not to push Snowman too much. After a while, he could trot through the cavaletti poles on the ground, and even mastered a low jump at the end. To give the horse a break, Harry put the kids up on his back, or they rode him to the beach. The horse was good and he was honest—he was just a little clumsy with his feet.
The summer drew to a close. It was time for Snowman to return to his box stall at the Knox School. But if Harry thought that any of the girls would be happy to see him back, he was wrong. The girls still thought this horse was beneath them. He was still placid and kind enough for the beginners, but when Harry suggested riding him through the cavaletti or over a small fence, he was met with the arched eyebrows of astonishment. Snowman? Still, the girls did not have the guts to cross their beloved Mr. D.
As the fall semester wore on, Snowman’s winter coat grew out. With his plodding gait and shabby coat, his ragged mane looked even less appealing. One of the beginning riders, Estella Quintana, was a tall girl, too big for many of the quieter mounts, and not brave enough to ride one of the big thoroughbreds. She rode Snowman in her lessons, and he would carry her over cavaletti and even small cross-bars, trotting over the fences without picking up his legs. The big gray was not an exciting ride, but he was steady, and even a beginner like Estella could handle him with ease.
Ever optimistic, Harry continued to school Snowman over low fences himself, hoping that the horse would progress enough to carry the girls over a course of jumps. They were an unlikely-looking pair in the schooling ring. Because of the rough winter weather, Harry bundled himself up in a thick wool jacket, but he always rode bareheaded. And Snowman’s winter coat made him look like a shaggy teddy bear. The performance was predictable. He stumbled over the cavaletti on the ground, and he tended to just step over the fences Harry set up at the end of the series, rather than make a proper jump, using the minimum effort required to clear an obstacle.