Trooper

“Okay… Just breathe deep… I’ll do fine…” my internal voice tries to sound convincing yet fails miserably. I nervously fidget with the reins in my clammy hands, readjusting my grip yet again. Trooper, my horse, prances and shifts weight under me, feeding off my anxiety. I reach a shaky hand down to stroke his strong neck reassuringly, hoping one of us can stay calm. Regrettably, horses can tell when you are faking, and he stomps again in protest for having to stand still in a new place; both of us wishing we could be anywhere else than here right now.
We both jump when the next number is called. I entertain the idea of allowing him to bolt and run away with me. Then I would have an excuse to not go into the arena. With a decisive breath, I resign to staying put. My decision doesn’t seem to sink into Trooper and he jumps to the side in fear. I’m jerked to the side, and quickly turn his head to gain control over my apprehensive horse. I rub his neck again as soon as he stops dancing. He snorts in objection and looks around wide eyed and fearful unsure of his surroundings.
“It’s okay boy, we’ll be okay,” I gently utter, for his ears alone. The Bureau of Land Management people wave me over and declare that I’m ‘in the hole’.
My nervous mind grasps on to this term and can’t help but wonder why they use baseball terms for everything. Anything that will get my thoughts off the present will do and I focus all of my energy on the trivial wonderings of sports terms uses in everyday life. My musings are shallow and fade away like snow in the crisp spring sun and the reality of his words slowly sink in, only one more than me. As this thought seeps through my brick wall of distractions, the reality feeds my fear with a shot of terror and I, yet again, have to wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
My jeans. I bought them new for the sole purpose of this show. It was a necessity. I couldn’t very well show up wearing what I wear when I ride at home to a horse show in front of hundreds of people. My ‘at home’ attire is shorts and a tank top, the more skin in the sun the tanner you get, I have never been one for the fake bakes. I spend all day out in the sun; why not get tan while I ride? I have successfully avoided the ‘farmers tan’ this year. I smile subconsciously in satisfaction.
Trooper flips his head and paws at the ground with impatience, drawing me back from my mental wanderings to reality. My heart sinks and the smile falls away from my face when I realize my fear induced A.D.D. has only taken up about ten seconds of my seemingly never ending wait. I resign myself to focus on the present and attempt to calm Trooper.
I look over to my dad as he rides his mustang, Ringo, towards me. Trooper, seeing Ringo, perks up and calls to him, seeking the same comfort I feel in the presence of my dad.
‘Why do I have to go before him?’ I silently curse the random selection. ‘Thinking of random selection, I’m so glad they randomly chose Trooper for me. What where the chances of them selecting the mustang with the perfect demeanor for me. Only with him could I come as far as I have, in the 95 days allotted to the trainers, taken a wild never before touched mustang, trained it, come to the show, and now will auction it off at the end.’
The thought of the auction churns my empty stomach. I spent the whole night vacating its contents into the cheep hotel room’s plastic lined ice bucket, a fact I was grateful for now as it did another flip-flop. I want to buy Trooper. With my limited purse, the chances of that are slim. Yet, I am mentally prepared for disappointment; having resigned myself to expecting the worse and hoping for the best. I send up another prayer that I will be able to afford him. While I am at it I ask for divine intervention so that I won’t have to do the show, or at least not faint or puke.
My dad moving up beside me arrests my attention from yet another tangent of thought. He reaches over and grasps my trembling hand, squeezing it reassuringly. I attempt a weak smile, feeling it fall short.
“We’ll do great. I’m so proud of you and all you’ve done with your horse,” he grins at me.
“Thanks,” I manage to force out. My trembling ceasing and I am able to take a deep breath.
The moment he releases my hand doubt comes flooding back. I start to compare myself with the other contestants, listing off in my head all my faults and how inadequate I am. Glancing over I see the two rodeo queens, decked out in all their sparkles and shimmering outfits. Although I despise sparkles and sequins, I can’t help but see how they look the part and I in my simple jeans, button-up shirt and chaps have somehow failed. They move their horses around and I see how showy and confident they look. I gulp down my insecurities and turn my gaze back to the arena and obstacle course I will soon be forced to go through. They really went all out this year. I pondered how many truck loads of dirt it took for the landscape architect to design the ‘Mountains’ theme. They have everything from a big hill complete with trails, and trees to a ‘river’ with real flowing water. We will have to cross via a wooden bridge that passes over it twice. The cattle were near the end of the course and we are required to go in the pen and ‘cut’ out a cow and herd it across a designated line. We all received a map of the course and had to memorize the order in which we are to ride the obstacles.
I am not worried my memory the course; I’m worried about Trooper. As jumpy as he is now I wonder how bad it will be when it is just him and me alone in front of hundreds of people not to mention a few judges who will be watching and analyzing our every move. No pressure. My dad is shooting for being in the top ten and be called back to do your own ‘routine’ to the music of your choice and show off what you have taught your mustang. I am aiming for just not making a fool of myself and if I happen to make it into the top ten that wouldn’t be disappointed. I am already at a disadvantage because I am the youngest contestant and therefore owning the least experience. to add on top of all that, this is my first real horse show. I have never had anything to do with 4-H or rodeo. I, being eighteen by only a handful of weeks, almost didn’t qualify to take part in this fall’s Extreme Mustang Makeover.
The contestant before me is now leaving the arena by means of the gates on the opposing end. My turn; all thoughts vacate my mind as I freeze in terror. No coherent thought enters my awareness. I am paralyzed with shock. It’s my turn already? The moment I was avoiding has finally come, and I sit here, my face frozen in blank horror, as the ushers’ wave me over to enter the arena. My body is petrified with fear. I can feel the adrenalin rushing through my body, causing my head to pound in time with my overactive heart beat.
Trooper, impatiently pounding the ground with one forefoot, jars me out of my fear-induced, immobile state-of-being. I am grateful my temporary paralysis only lasted a few seconds, where as to me it was an eternity. With one last fleeting glance for support at my dad, I gingerly nudge Trooper forward with my heels.
As we progress through the gate leading into the arena, I am instantly aware of the stadium seating stands filled with people. All of them with their eyes trained on Trooper and me. I push down my suffocating fear and tentatively coax Trooper towards the first obstacle. The crowd is so distracting; I jolt as Trooper shies away from the first bridge crossing. I quickly reach down and stroke his tense neck in a vain attempt to calm him.
I make an unconscious decision right there to ignore the crowd and focus all my energy on Trooper and our objective. We struggle through the course, me calmly trying to ease him over and around the different obstacles, and him refusing to be coaxed. His mind is clouded with fear of the unknown and unfamiliar. All I can feel is Trooper under me and my pounding heart beat.
I find out, the humiliating way, that the course is timed when the announcer booms over the intercom that I have only two minutes remaining, and I’m not even half way through the course. I am forced to dismount and walk Trooper through some of the obstacles; he simply refuses to cross the first bridge. We struggle and finally are able to cross the second without me having to grace the ground with my feet upon it. As we finish, with the cow being surprisingly cooperative, I am grateful for the bond we have built on these last 95 days that allowed us to work together as one on these trials. We finish with seconds to spare and as I escort him out of the arena he spooks, jumping to the right causing the saddle to slip to the ground, me having loosed it for the health inspector to examine Trooper.
The course behind me now, my focus is broken and the previous fear that hounded me creeps back, thankfully paired with the relief of it being over. I pick up my heavy saddle, talking quietly to Trooper to calm him and with head bowed in humiliation slink out of the arena.
“It’s over,” I whisper to Trooper and myself as I inhale deeply of the cool fresh fall air. The air inside the arena was stifling with fear, making it strenuous to draw breath. I’m flooded with instant relief, as calming as balm is to an angry burn.
I quickly re-cinch my saddle, securing it back into place. I place my foot into the stirrup and pull my weight up with my trembling arms, as the adrenalin drained for my weakened body. I sit there for a few minutes mentally replaying the show in my head, dwelling on the imperfections and points I know will be deducted.
From my perch on Troopers back, the conversation of two bystanders reaches my ears. They are discussing the upcoming auction. This unwelcome reminder causes my gut to twist into the now familiar knots that have carried me through the show. I am again assaulted with the thought of having to part with Trooper indefinitely. My now clear mind remembers a man who was interested in Trooper prior to me going into the arena. His inquisitive attention towards us now rekindles the apprehensive feeling of separation. Will my mere $600 be enough to buy the horse I have grown to love?
I have been able to keep a professionally detached relationship with all the horses I have ridden for other people, but with Trooper, no matter how many walls I built around my heart, somehow, this feeling was different.
As the day progresses, the auction nears. I spend all the time I can riding Trooper, knowing this may be my last day with him. I refuse to allow myself to be hurt and acknowledge how I feel. So in silent, false contentment I ride into the auction ring. When the lady with the mic hands it up to me, I plea with the bidders to permit me to buy him and take him home; giving the mic back I ride him around for all to see, and the bidding starts. From my point on the arena floor, I am unable to hear the bids and simply ride.