Soo last week I went to the big charity show in our area,
because I keep returning to my pony ring hunter roots (aka miss jumping stuff).
Standing beside the Grand Prix ring with my friends and fellow equestrian team
alumni we marveled about the amount of money that people dump into this sport.
Regardless of your discipline, Western, English or Backyardigan, we put a lot
of our heart and money into this sport, that being said please take the
following with a satirical grain of salt.
Because I am the loser that usually stays at the barn until
the grooms kick me out each night I was pretty stoaked when the charity show
started up. Not only could I cheer on some of my students as they showed (lets
me real over bigger fences then I ever dreamed jumping) but I got a fashionable
excuse to hang around horses all day and not seem like a loser.
So Saturday I raced over to the show after I got off work,
on my way into the grounds I swung by the wine tasting, because what’s classier
than watching a horse show while drinking. Anyway we proceeded to spend the
next hour and a half watch $300k horses jump 5 foot fences and Bentley’s and
stuff. NBD right? It was about the third run in the first round when this girl
(who probably was barely 18) chipped in and took down a rail that my friend
turned to me and said. “Do you think it’s worse if the Bentley or the horse
gets ruined.” The fact that I paused before answering this is only mildly
disturbing. My response was “well the horse is worth more money.”
Clearly I am not advocating that we try to wreck Grand Prix
horses or Bentley’s, I just find it entertaining to say the least that the
value of these items becomes the primary concern. As much as I loved being
surrounded once again by Tiffany trophies, Ralph clad riders, and polished
ponies; I sure was glad to come home to my slightly broken but oh so adorable disheveled
pony and ride him bareback, sans polo (gasp!).
Somewhere we all find a balance where this sport is about
not only the glory but the heart of the horse as well. For me it happens to be
in the form of a frizzy haired old show horse, but for others it means more, it
means proving that their mustang can compete in the meter five, or that an 18
year old can hold her own with Olympians. Does that make my hitchy old unicorn
any less special, nope just means I don’t have to fork out as much dough!
Love ya,
PPD
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