I was 19 or 20 years old, working summers for my childhood trainer outside Chicago. He’d been sent this shrimpy little three year old KWPN Harness-type stallion, cheeky as hell, lightly broke, and very, very spooky. I had to lead him with a whip, not because I was afraid of him, but because he wanted to balk and hide behind me as he walked. We restarted him, and then I had to have someone in the arena with a lunge whip for a while, because he’d suck back so badly about the corners of the indoor that I couldn’t make him go without assistance. He was a nuisance in the gelding field, constantly pestering the big draft cross – appropriately named Thunder – who had heretofore quietly run the herd with benevolence and grace, and instead had to contend, daily, with this annoying little Midge of a Dutch Horse… which led to his nickname. And when I went back to college in the fall, I didn’t give him a second thought.

Over the winter, the breeder – his owner – passed away, and my mother, apparently looking for a way to punish me, bought him (with no pre purchase exam, by the way), and declared him my college graduation project. I rolled my eyes and said fine, geld him, and I’ll deal with the madness when I come home in the Spring.

Gelding improved things. So did turning four. He grew to the towering height of 16h, and become actually very pleasant. I taught lessons on him. I jumped him over tiny things. I won things at horse shows. I left him in Illinois to grow up while I was a working student for Carol Lavell, and I figured I’d pick him back up in the Spring of his five year old year, do a few more shows, and sell him.

That was a nice thought I had. But at five, Midge – real name Victorious – became an absolute monster. No longer balky but still definitely spooky, I had to put him in the double bridle because, even though he was still maybe only 16.1 and I’m a big, strong lass, I could not stop him. He was strong as an ox, hot as hell, and couldn’t maintain an uphill balance at the canter unless he was going at warp speed. Famous people told me to get rid of him, so I put him on the market, and somehow, someone was just crazy enough to vet him. It was then that we discovered a chip in the right stifle, and so they passed. I went to my mom and said well, we’re stuck with him now, so I guess I’ll have to train him.

He was an extremely quick study, thank God. Midge learned his changes in a minute, and half steps about a minute after that. But he was so, so hot to the leg. I would tell people along the way that I put my leg on at the mounting block and took it off when he turned 10. And he was, much to my dismay, incredibly balanced on his hind legs. He could stand up and stay there, like something out of the Spanish Riding School, for as long as he chose, and I’d just sit up there and wait for him to land.

I was young and brave and I stuck it out. He showed Third Level. He showed Prix St. Georges. Along the way, his wagon horse roots kept his knees and hocks bending, but he learned how to canter, learned how to really piaffe (without a whip, by the way – if you tried to carry one, you’d die.) He got eliminated once at Prix St. Georges because he stood up for so long that the judge feared for my life. Another time a judge told me that it was time for me to stop riding rogues and try and ride nice horses for a change. But by then I was smitten, and you couldn’t have pried him out of my hands with a crowbar. I rode him bareback in the snow. I took him swimming in the pond. He was the pony I’d never had as a kid – stubborn like a pony, aggravating like a pony, but utterly my pony.

He made his Grand Prix debut at 10, including a ticket to the first ever Developing Grand Prix Championships. He learned to make extended trot. His piaffe and passage were phenomenal, and the entire canter tour was all 7.5 or better, every time. An Olympian approached me to ask if he was for sale. The president of the 2012 Olympics ground jury said he was in love. At 11, in the early days of the Adequan Global Dressage Festival, Midge won an open Grand Prix class in the international arena in front of the 5* judging panel, beating a class of team riders. And two days later, he just wasn’t quite right. We chased it around for 2 years – first lame behind, then in front, problem after problem. I couldn’t do it anymore – the heartache, the time, the money. I sent him to the retirement field, with the idea that I’d look at him again in six months, but I figured he was done.

But Midge was not done. He came out of the field remarkably sound. And at the same time, a student named Liza came to the end of a bad string of her own horse luck, with two horses suffering from career-ending health conditions. Horseless, and one 3rd Level score away from her USDF Bronze Medal, I made her a deal: take Midge. If he breaks, no worries, he can go back to the field. As long as he stays sound, he’s yours.

Liza’s care and ministrations were meticulous. He came back, and while he was still hot and feral, time had mellowed him to the point of being vaguely dependable. They showed Third Level. She earned her Bronze, and he still looked good, so we said hey, let’s try Fourth. Then Prix St. Georges. Her USDF Silver Medal. He was still holding steady, so I sold him to Liza – for $1. Then they showed Intermediate II. Then Grand Prix, and her Gold Medal. Maybe we should be done, we thought.

But Midge was not yet done. COVID caused us to hit pause on competing him in 2020, but he continued to teach his family, and tortured more than one working student into tears as they tried to just do simple, low level work. He did Grand Prix demos, and became internet famous for a few one handed stupid pet tricks. This summer, at the age of 19, he took one of my employees around at Grand Prix as well. And only then did he start to show his age. There was a spot of not-quite-right behind that we could have gone on medical safari to treat, but with nothing left for him to give (and also because the little stinker was such a menace to the lower level girls), his amazing owner decided instead to send him back to the retirement field, this time for good.

Naturally, he bucked and squealed his way around his last few weeks with us, and then bronc’d his way around the field, stirring up the other senior citizens. But to the end of his time as a riding horse, he bore the look of eagles. And I’m so grateful for all of the amazing people who have provided loving homes for the horses I’ve brought up the levels, but the decision to retire, such a hard one already, is so much better made 6 months or 9 months or 12 months too early than five minutes too late.

Cheers, Midge. You, eventually, kicking and screaming, made believers out of everyone you met. Enjoy your golden years being your naughty pony self.

We’re coming into horse sale season, and particularly at a time when sales have been wacky for more than a year, it’s going to be an interesting ride this autumn. If you’re on the hunt for a new horse, here are a few things trainers wish you knew.

1. Often – not always, but often – you get what you pay for. If quality is what you want, you’re going to pay for it one way or another, either in the form of the expense of a trained horse, or the expense of the training help required to guide you into getting a prospect there. And let’s be clear: I’m not saying that getting a young horse is the wrong answer for a rider who wants to learn and go up the levels. Far from it, as I much prefer working with good raw material and helping my students install the training themselves, rather than trying to learn someone else’s work (and, often, undo someone else’s messes!). But just know that, especially if you’ve never done it before, you’re going to need some help molding that prospect into a useful citizen.

2. Horses do not stay trained on their own. If you go the schoolmaster route, there is no amount of money you can spend on the animal itself that will keep the horse sharp, supple and capable in spite of inexpert riding. It’s ok that you’re learning, and that you bumble around a bit while you do. But that bumbling is going to inevitably dull the horse you’ve bought. Staying in a program with a competent trainer can help you both maximize the opportunity to learn from an educated horse, and also protect your investment.

3. Selling a horse is not giving up, failing, or abandoning it. Anyone who gives you grief for selling a horse that isn’t working out for you can go right to hell. There’s a million reasons why a horse isn’t right for you, even when you did your due diligence in purchasing him in the first place. Or maybe you’ve invested in a project that you put your time in and want to move along. No matter what, it’s your business, and everyone else can stick it.

4. No matter how wonderful a new horse is, there will be a point in the “getting to know you” process where it stinks. The honeymoon tends to end at the 3-6 month mark. Try not to panic. It gets better. Listen to your coach. And yes, sometimes things go bad because you and the horse aren’t going to work out. But I’m a professional rider, and I’m a good one, and I usually hit a wall somewhere in that 3-6 month window, too. It happens.

5. Lastly, “maintenance” is not a sign that a horse has a problem. Maintenance is a sign the animal has been well cared for. A lack of maintenance isn’t a sign that the animal is healthy, a lack of maintenance is a sign that the animal’s veterinary needs may not have been met. And being proactive with veterinary needs reduces the likelihood, over time, of injury due to overcompensation, hurting one body part trying to avoid using another body part that hurts.

Like Snippets? Sign up for the Sprieser Sporthorse Elite Club, where you’ll get even more monthly goodies, training tips, and a peek behind the scenes in the development of horses from foal to FEI. Click to learn more!

1. Riding corners. It’s so easy at home to get just a little lazy about corners, and that’s an expensive mistake. Because then when you start putting tests together, surprise! There are corners in those! And even just in regular schooling, corners are where all the prep lives for your lateral work, for your turns, for your transitions. Corners are where the magic happens, and when they become a habit, they require less conscious thought when the chips are down.

2. Practicing good mounting block etiquette. We’ve all been there, right? Our left foot is in, we start to swing over, and our horse starts to meander off. Do you stop and fix it, or do you just let it slide, just this once? “Just this once” quickly becomes a habit, and it’s not a great one. What if you ever have a sore back, or a bum ankle, and you need to take a minute to mount that your horse isn’t going to give you? What if you lose your balance and your horse is already on his way out from underneath you? Or what if you ever want to sell your horse to someone who requires that their horse stand perfectly still? This is an easy thing to practice and make a good habit, and it also sets your ride off from the right foot, one where your horse patiently awaits further instructions, instead of calling shots on his own.

Want the easiest way to fix this? Keep a treat in your pocket. Horsey doesn’t get said treat unless he’s immobile. It’ll fix it right quick (though sometimes EDDIE I’M LOOKING AT YOU you’ll create a monster who likes to swing his head around to your boot while mounting. But then I just give him the treat from the other side. They’re fortunately not all that hard to outfox.)

3. Letting your aids go to 0. I promise you that you are not taking your leg off enough. And I can similarly promise you that you’re not giving the reins enough. Überstreichen – the German word for the act of putting slack in the reins for a stride or two by straightening the rider’s elbow – is a a beautiful thing, and a test of your horse’s self carriage. Your horse should maintain his own balance and posture for the strides of the release. It also allows the rider to retake less contact than they had before, by resetting the contact to zero.

Ditto taking the leg off. Remove it altogether, from the hip, once in a while. Your horse should maintain the same posture, gait and energy level without your leg as with it, and will allow you to do more from less leg once you put it back on. Work smarter, not harder, my friends. It’ll save you money on bits and spurs, not to mention being, you know, good riding.

4. Cleaning your buckles and stitching. Bridles and girths are the big offenders here, and I know how easy it is to just pop a little tack soap on a sponge and wipe things down. But you need to get into buckles, including undoing them, cleaning, and redoing them. Same story with the stitching on your leatherwork, especially high-sweat things like riding boots and girths. Get in there with your tack soap, and get hair out with a hoof pick or stiff brush. Dirt, sweat and moldy hair can break down your stitching over time, and nothing says fun like breaking a girth while riding. Take the time.

5. Replacing your helmet. Many – though certainly not most! – of us are good about replacing helmets after a fall, even if you don’t see any damage to the hat. But did you know that helmets have a lifespan, even if they haven’t had any trauma? The foam and other materials inside helmets do break down, and so it’s recommended that you replace your helmet every 4-5 years, no matter what, and possibly more often if you, like me, are in your helmet for hours a day.

Here’s a great article from my friends at OneK about the whys and wherefores of helmet replacement. And if you’re reading this going “Uh oh, I’m guilty!” then your timing is impeccable, because Helmet Awareness Day is upon us! There’s usually lots of great sales on OneK helmets that weekend, including my favorite, the Avance CCS, which features their cool color change system, a wide brim for sun protection, and the absolutely-critical MIPS safety functionality, which helps protect your brain from shearing forces better than a traditional helmet.

Like Snippets? Sign up for the Sprieser Sporthorse Elite Club, where you’ll get even more monthly goodies, training tips, and a peek behind the scenes in the development of horses from foal to FEI. Click to learn more!

There’ve been a lot of horsey news stories in the last few weeks, between the Olympics, and various things happening in domestic horse sport management. I don’t have enough thoughts on any one individual phenomenon to write a proper blog about it, so here’s a bunch of little, well, snippets.

On dressage at the Olympics: First all, way to go, Team USA Dressage. I met Sabine when Sanceo was a young horse, and she rode him at the 5- or 6-year-old national championships, I forget which. I remember being staggeringly impressed – something I am usually not at that age of horse – because it was both such a quality test, and so clearly a horse that was going to go to the upper levels, not just be a young hotshot that never learned to close. I remember seeking Sabine out because the judges were not impressed, and I went over to be like dude, WTF, this horse is awesome. Sabine was gracious and classy about it. So Sabine, you rock, and you showed ‘em.

Second, a huge thank you to whoever unearthed the videos of Dalera and Gio as young horses. Gio at 4 would have been interesting to me, but I must confess that I would have said “isn’t that a nice future amateur horse!” watching the video of Dalera at 7. It is so, so inspiring to see that brilliant Grand Prix horses are made, not born, and not necessarily made from $400,000 3 year olds. There’s hope for us all.

On Olympic dressage in the world at large: horse crip walking, my friends. I LOVE this (if you’re aghast at the lack of seriousness about our sport, get a big ol’ grip, friend), and Mr. Dogg, if you’re reading this, I volunteer as tribute to participate in your next video. I have a pretty prancy palomino who would love to channel his inner gangsta.

Also, I loved Steffen’s music, as did the internet, but as usual, I found much of the rest of the freestyle music to be fairly painful. A little more rock concert and a little less Grey Poupon in international horse sport might make the sport a little sexier, y’all.

On other Olympic horse sports: I ran triathlons for a little while. I loved running, and I LOVED swimming. But I was a sucky cyclist, and so I’d usually smoke around the swim, lose a ton of ground on the bike, and then play catch up in the run to finish 2nd or 3rd in my division every time. Someone at some point told me this: you cannot win a triathlon on your swim, but you can certainly lose.

I recognize that I have no business telling any rider at any level how to jump their horse over anything, but maybe, just maybe, it’s time for American event riders to get a little bit more serious about dressage.

On other Olympic horse sports, part 2: wow, pentathlon riding is tremendously bad.

On USEF horse news: They’re trying to make the amateur rule better and fairer. This is fantastic, and much needed. But I think breaking classes down by one’s occupation is a dumb way of breaking classes down, and that breaking them down by rider experience would be way better.

One’s job title doesn’t mean one is a good or bad rider. I know lots of extremely competent amateurs. I know lots of mediocre pros. One of the beautiful things about dressage is that we get a score at the end, and while there’s judges who are tough and judges who are like Christmas and a whole lot of judges in between, at least we can recognize that someone who places fifth on a 72% was probably better than a winner on 57%.

There’s a championship here in the mid-Atlantic that’s been around forever – the CBLMs – that has two divisions for senior riders, the A division for riders without extensive experience above the level they’re showing, and the B division for riders that do. So at First Level, an adult amateur like my mom (who’s shown through I1) would compete her next young horse against professionals like me, and my beginner rider working student who’s in her first year of dressage showing but is (according to the USEF amateur rule) a professional would compete against amateurs in their first year of dressage showing. And at Intermediate I, my mom (see above) would compete against professionals like my assistant trainer, showing I1 for the first time as well, but amateurs like Alice Tarjan, with extensive Grand Prix experience, would compete against professionals like me.

It has to be possible for some sort of similar designation to be applied to riders in other disciplines, and it has to be possible for a relatively foolproof database to come into existence so show management can easily check their riders’ status.

On other USEF horse news, plus the news at large: the Delta Variant is real, and we’re definitely heading for another mask mandate, in some capacity, so gear up. More importantly, get freaking vaccinated already. If you’re eligible for a vaccine, and don’t have a health issue that prevents you from doing so, sign the hell up. Not doing so is cowardly and un-patriotic. Vaccinated octogenarian grandma immigrants are braver and better Americans than you.