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Continued from page 1
Saturday was even warmer and more humid;
Intermediaire-1 was the challenge. The test was a better test than the one Friday, yet the
score was lower, only 53%. There were some very good movements, the extended canter in
particular: a catapult launch into a very big canter; murmurs of doubt among spectators if
he’d stop; and a soft transition as he came back. The canter pirouettes are not yet
mastered, and the rider’s seat needs work. But she has not fared badly, as her
competition is mostly full time professionals.
Her efforts were to the best of her abilities, at this moment in time; if not up to
Zenit’s full potential, at least the ride was not an embarrassment. It has been an
achievement just being able to have done it. When time has passed, and other shows will
have blurred into a kaleidoscopic pattern of memories, this show will remain with its own
identity, standing out, singular..
But this day, no awards ceremony for Zenit. He definitely wanted to join the others;
he felt he deserved it. Sorry, Z. He seemed puzzled, almost confused, as to why he
wasn’t there in front of the crowd, being fussed over. But it was now time to go back
to the trailer, and leave the ring behind.
Zenit with Bernie wearing Team Zenit Cap
Just after the Intermediaire 1 Test Saturday
Back there, getting attention and praise, with suitable scratching of withers, and rubbing
of itchy face, he relaxes. Walking around, cooling down, grazing, he found some tall
grass, he ran the stem bottom to top through his mouth, until he could scrape off the top
blossom and seeds. We watched a soundness jog of endurance horses; Zenit seemed
fascinated, perhaps by the large numbers on each horse’s butt. I had the feeling he
wanted one too, like a teenager whose whole group of friends has gotten
tattooed.
A short while later, some of those horses joined us to graze. Picture several lean Arabs,
14 to 15 hands, with that endurance slimness, near a 17.1 hand Dutch Warmblood, muscled
and rounded by years of dressage; all are up to their bellies in tall grass: workmen of
different crafts gathered after their labors for a bit of refreshment.
Back home, the braids removed, the sweat rinsed off, Zenit stands quietly munching hay.
Finally he goes for a delicious roll, rights himself and shakes. He simply stands there,
shavings as Christmas ornaments on him. In his eyes, there’s a soft shining look of
contentment. Must be the hay; but that doesn’t explain that light in there, coming
from within. For horses, too, remember.
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