LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

thumbs up and mum beamed happily.

      I rode over to them and Solo let out a few nostril-clearing snorts. If you told me I would be riding at this level just a few months ago I’d have said you were nuts.

      “It helps that Solo has been well educated at some point in his life,” Mrs Livingstone said. “Who and where we’ll probably never know, but they’ve done a first-rate job.”

      I patted Solo’s neck. It still hurt to think he’d not only been loved by someone, but that he fell onto the clutches of that rogue dealer. For the umpteenth time I wished I knew Solo’s history…or that he could talk!

      “Ideally a rider should learn the ‘feel’ of collection on an educated horse who can respond to the correct aids,” Mrs Livingstone continued.

      “Otherwise you end up with riders who haul on the reins to force the horse to flex his neck, but he will be heavy on the forehand.”

      I totally understood what she was saying and felt sad that I used to ride with so much rein contact, not realising the discomfort I was inflicting.

      Winter Woollies

      Thank goodness the Winter Woollies show was in the middle of school holidays, otherwise there’s no way I’d have been able to concentrate. I was really nervous about going to my first show with Solo, but it somehow seemed right. I’ve wanted to be a show rider ever since I could remember and now my journey was finally about to begin. I didn’t care if we won or lost…just taking part was enough.

      Tori and I had fun preparing Solo the day before the event. We shampooed him and she used some amazing concoction that made his white stockings gleam! We gently de-tangled and fluffed out his tail and Mrs Livingstone tidied the top by pulling and trimming. I couldn’t stop admiring it, nestled against his now rounded, shiny hindquarters. We left him munching his dinner in the stable and cleaned all the tack while watching horsey DVD’s (including International Velvet…my favourite!) in the Livinstones’ lounge room The work saddle I was borrowing had been beautifully cared for and aside from a few scuff marks, was in great condition. Tori and I scrubbed it with saddle soap and gave it a light coating of leather conditioner, then washed the stirrups and treads. Solo’s bridle was given the same treatment and everything was wrapped ready to be loaded into the car. I kept worrying I’d forget something. Girth? Check. Reins? Check. Numnah? Check. I must have driven Tori crazy but she seemed to be enjoying my enthusiasm and kept bursting into song. Gosh she has a great voice! I keep telling her she should go on one of those television talent shows but she doesn’t think she’s good enough. I HAD to figure out a way my dad could hear her!

      I didn’t sleep much that night and when I did, had crazy dreams about the show, like having to ride Solo bareback because I forgot to pack the saddle and all the other competitors laughing at me.

      I woke long before the alarm and lay wondering what kind of day lay ahead. Being mid-winter, it was still dark…not even the birds were chirping yet. I quietly got dressed, shrugged on a warm jacket and cut across the paddocks to the Livingstones. It was a hive of activity and I mucked out Solo’s stable while Mrs Livingstone plaited him up. I loved watching her plait, she was a true master. Since it was a novice show, she was using rubber bands to fasten the plaits rather than the more fiddly business of sewing them in place, which she said was more for big shows and turnout events. Solo began to fidget so I stood by his head stroking his face and he half-closed his eyes and began licking his lips, a sure sign he was relaxed. I wondered how many times his mane been plaited before, and by who.

      “Are you nervous Sarah?” Mrs Livingstone asked.

      “Heaps,” I replied glumly. I’ve tried deep breathing, positive imagery, iPhone relaxation apps…you name it, but nothing seems to work. I was so wound up!

      Finally everything was ready, the car packed and it was time to leave.

      My worries about Solo refusing to load onto the float were unfounded as after a few preliminary sniffs, he walked straight in…then did an enormous splattery poo! Luckily his tail was in a bag and his legs covered so most of him stayed reasonably clean.

      Whoever owned Solo before me had obviously done a lot of travelling with him. I was so proud to see him standing quietly in the float, wearing a gorgeous navy and red show rug my dad surprised me with last night. The Livingstones told him what size to get although I kind of wish mum hadn’t had it embroidered with ‘SARAH RYDER’ in humongous-sized lettering.

      Solo tugged at his hay net as we raised the ramp, then we were on our way. My parents were planning to meet us there later.

      I was on edge the entire trip.

      “Do you ever get used to pre-show nerves?” I asked Tori.

      “All the time,” she admitted. “I think most competitors get antsy.”

      I looked out the window and prayed it wouldn’t rain. I guess that was always a possibility for a winter show and it was certainly a grey and dreary day. A few drops of drizzle spattered against the car windscreen.

      Once at the showgrounds, Mrs Livingstone parked in a quiet spot and she and Tori got ready to unload Solo. Amazingly, he’d managed to squeeze out even more manure during the trip!

      “Let Tori and I handle this Sarah, in case Solo rushes backwards,” she said, pulling on a pair of gloves.

      “He hasn’t been anywhere since you bought him so we don’t know how he’s going to react.”

      Solo did rush down the ramp and slipped off the side in his eagerness to see where he was. He stood bug-eyed and let rip a few ear-piercing neighs, receiving several in reply, as Tori removed his tail bag and travel boots.

      “I’ll take him for a walk to let him have a look around and stretch his legs, then give him a short lunge and if he’s okay, you can hop on for a warm-up session,” Mrs Livingstone told me.

      She disappeared with Solo, who was jogging with excitement beside her. I gulped, feeling more rattled than ever.

      “Don’t worry Sarah,” Tori said. “Most horses are excited when they first arrive at a show, he’ll soon settle. C’mon, let’s unload the car.”

      I got busy setting up my very first show ‘camp’…filling Solo’s water bucket, hanging the haynet and organising grooming tools. Mrs Livingstone returned with a much calmer Solo, clipped on the lunge rein and led him away again.

      I started getting my clothes ready. Hat, jacket, breeches, top boots. Uh oh, where were my boots?! I groaned when I remembered they were right where I left them…on the kitchen bench at home after I’d given them a final polish last night. I must have walked straight past them in the dark this morning!

      I made a frantic phone call to mum but her phone was switched off so I left a voice mail message, then sent her a text. Why do these things always happen to me?

      “Tori, my boots!”

      “What about them?” she asked.

      “I don’t have any…I forgot to pack them. I KNEW I’d forget something! What am I going to do?”

      “You dork,” she replied, laughing. “Mum forgot Colby’s saddle once. Here, you can wear my boots.”

      I glanced down and surveyed her grottiest rubber top boots, caked in dirt. They looked more like gumboots and not exactly part of the sophisticated image I was hoping to create.

      By now Mrs Livingstone was back with a puffing and more relaxed Solo.

      “He’s fine now Sarah,” she told me. “I don’t think you’ll have any problems with him.”

      I didn’t really know what to do next, so stood there like a ninny.

      “Right, let’s get cracking,” Mrs Livingstone ordered, and she and Tori groomed Solo to within an inch of his life. Tori created the most amazing chequerboard pattern on his rump, brushed the hair on his flanks into the traditional shark’s teeth

Скачать книгу