My Thoroughbred has a lot of feelings and doesn’t always know how to manage them. The last thing I ever want to do with my horses is dull their shine. Sure that’s hippy dippy woo woo stuff, but I mean it. It’s unfair to put a horse in exciting situations and demand they behave as if they’re attending a music recital. And so it was that in December (yes, I’m writing about it months later) that Hondo Lane made the singular choice that he was not a second field horse, he was a first field jumping king who’s sparkle would ignite into a fire for all to see.
In other words:
It was Hondo’s second hunt at Cloudline. I was still trying to be conservative since I’m late thirties now and maybe should act like it, so I opted to take him second field. That lasted for about thirty minutes.
Everything had been going great, to the point that as second field waited so as not to cross the scent line, Mr. Lane stood like a perfectly perfect gentleman, not a autistic head bob in sight. Until, of course, first field popped over a small coop and Mr. Hondo Lane decided that he was absolutely completely mother effing done with this second field poppycock and took off for the first field horses in the distance.
Courtney, you might say, you should have more control of your equine. Agreed, but I didn’t and I don’t want to live in a theoretical perfect world as I live in this one and it’s working out just fine with a few bumps along the way.
I apologized profusely to the riders Hondo and I passed as if they were loitering outside a Walmart. I had no brakes. Zero. It’s as if the Call to Post had sounded in Hondo’s heart.
There was nothing I could do but hold on, pray, and hope for the best.
Hondo not only caught first field, he passed a few riders, and we only came to a screeching halt (I make screeching brake sounds all the time, I’m not kidding) when forced as everyone else was stopped with trees on either side of the trail conga line.
Everyone’s horses were steaming in the cold weather. I huffed and puffed from the exertion of trying and failing to slow my train of a horse. When second field finally caught up with us, I turned back to the second field leader and apologized then announced we were going to try first field after all. Which is what I should’ve done at the start.
First field jumps. Second field does not. That really should be the only difference between the two, but the difference was enough for Hondo Lane to file a complaint.
“This means, Hondo, that you have to jump” I informed the horse who’d made the choice for himself. Of course I talk to my horses.
We came to the first jump pretty quickly, and it was tiny. When I say tiny, I mean maybe it was 18 inches tall. That’s barely a jump. You could cough and fall over it on accident, that’s how small it was. But it had colors and now there was pressure for Hondo to follow through with his enthusiasm. All the horses in front of him popped over it without question. Hondo cantered up to it, applied the brakes I didn’t know he had, came to a partial stop, then decided oh fine yeah I’ll jump this, and popped over it like a gazelle. It didn’t feel good for me, the rider. But that was the first and last jump Hondo took issue with.
All jumps after that, and I mean all of them, no matter the height, Hondo Lane sailed over with grace. I’m not being facetious. Hondo is a beautiful jumper and he loves doing it. In fact I had to dial back my judgement on what I believed were poorly mannered horses in show jumping, those equines who’d toss and jerk their heads before rushing a jump. Because uh oh… mine did too. It’s called passion, look it up.
He was so proud of himself for his singular accomplishment. I really didn’t manage him too much other than explaining to him that I needed to make sure that he dud in fact see what was in front of him. What I didn’t want was Hondo charging ahead with his fiery passion only to fail to notice the small wall before him and for me to go over the jump solo. Not an ideal situation.
But he did jump everything. If he wasn’t sure about that which he was jumping, he over jumped it. Better to clear the jump by ten feet than not clear it at all. Do I have photos or videos of any of this? No, but I wish.
I have since hunted both of my mares, Nisha and Cat. Nisha jumps differently than Mr. Hondo Lane. Nisha goes over a jump like a dead fish thrown in a shop. Loose and floppy. Her attitude is more like “I mean… I guess? I’d rather not but okay, sure, let’s get over it, blah blah blah.” She has a tendency to stick it, hesitate, and pull herself over the jump a lot like a teenager rolls their eyes when asked to wear a coat and ruin her outfit. It’s just not what she was bred to do, and that’s okay.
When Hondo Lane sees a jump, his reaction is “I’m going to make that jump my bitch.” The jump is at his mercy. Hondo will win and he will win epically. It’s not even a close contest.
It’s not hard to imagine which approach I prefer. Sure, Hondo’s passion gets the better of him, but that’s what makes it so much fun.
At the end of that very hunt, I took Hondo over a cross country obstacle not once but twice, without a lead, because he loved it. Had I done the same with Nisha she would’ve filed a formal complaint with HR.
Nisha was a good sport to take over for Hondo midway through, but I am eager to get my T-bred back into action. Nisha’s race brain got the better of her but without the benefit of graceful jumping or taking the edge off since she’s just warming up after a ten mile hunt.
So here’s to you, Mr. Hondo Lane, my passionate former race horse. Let’s get your tootsies thickened up and get back out to the crazy.
