A time for goodbyes...

Forrest back at Farmstead
and checking out his new
neighbor, a Hanoverian
stallion named "Raf."

A month from today will be exactly one year since the first time I climbed onto Forrest's back in the tiny indoor at Farmstead and had one of the most magical rides of my life. I thought that by now, Forrest and I would (at least) be going in the direction of  establishing our career together as a formidable 3-day eventing team--if not already be well on our way. I thought that I'd have done a handful of clinics on him, maybe even a combined test or two, and be ready to spend our winter in Ocala doing the winter Area III events and gearing up for the season.


None of that happened.

I was reminded a few days ago by one of my friends that if you want to make God laugh, you should tell Him your plans. In this past year, I've learned that nothing else is more true. Of course, I should have learned this lesson long ago. I've made plenty of "big plans," only to have something completely unexpected happen: I was going to do a one-star on my Irish horse, Stormy, by the age of 16. When he suffered an injury and was out for that season, my new goal was to take a friend's horse, known as Ollie (another "redhead" that I've mentioned in a previous entry) to his first prelim, but instead he was sold before we got the chance. I thought that my former best friend, Sarah, and I would stay close our entire lives, but I haven't spoken a single word to her in almost four years.

"Fat Forrest"

Forrest was another one of those "big plans" that just didn't work out. Instead of continuing his career as an eventer with me, Forrest went back home to Farmstead to be sold to make room for more broodmares. It was heartbreaking to leave Forrest. I gave him one last hug and a kiss on his neck, and then said my final goodbyes. On the way home from dropping Forrest off back at Ken's, my mom and I stopped to buy some decorations for our barn Christmas party, and at the store she bought me a Pillow Pet horse who was--ironically--chestnut with a white star on his forehead. He was just like Forrest, except perhaps a little more round. I immediately named him "Fat Forrest" and he sits beside me now, acting as my muse as I write this difficult post.

My New Years resolution for 2012 is to have a little more faith, and not make any "big plans." My mother getting stepped on by Forrest and spending my entire summer caring for her was not part of the "big plan." My old event horse, Stormy, coming out of retirement at the age of fourteen and going better than ever was not part of the "big plan." And neither was a dark bay weanling named Padraig who is now vacating Forrest's old stall, and he is the best thing that has happened to me all year--planned or otherwise. I still miss Forrest every day, but I'm sure that everything is going to work out just fine.

Padraig is not the only silver lining to Forrest's departure. I also must say that I feel extremely proud of myself for what I did manage to accomplish in my time with Forrest... He went from being spooky and herd sour to hacking out alone and (mostly) behaving himself. He learned to stand tied instead of rearing up, flipping over and running away. Instead of spooking at even the sight of water in the distance, he will now not only walk through water but stand in it quietly. He also is a perfect gentleman loading and travelling in the trailer. Not to mention the leaps and bounds in his training under saddle, especially in the dressage phase.

"Padraig"

I plan to start a new blog about Padraig very soon, and I will add the link to that to this blog. Thank you to everyone who has followed this blog, and I wish you all a Happy New Year!

--Kate

Meet Forrest

Forrest, at home at River Bend

Let me begin with a confession: I have a weakness for hot, opinionated, temperamental chestnut geldings.

Maybe it started with my love affair with the film National Velvet; I wanted a big red horse who could run fast and jump high, even if he was destructive, practically wild and maybe had a screw (or two) loose--it wouldn't matter, because he would be so charming and handsome that I could instantly forgive all of his wrongdoings. Or perhaps it started when I recieved my first pony as a Christmas present at the age of four. "Danny Boy" was a nasty little half-Arabian flaxen chestnut (who, in color and markings, bore a striking resemblence to the movie version of National Velvet's Pie), but I was totally smitten with him. He bucked off anyone else who tried to ride him, was a horrible dirty stopper and ran away with me on more than one memorable occasion. But with his charming personality, good looks and natural ability as a jumper I could've sold him a hundred times over, but I refused, even after I began eventing and had a fancy new "big" horse to ride. Instead of selling, my parents paid board at a local stable for three horses (my pony, my eventer and my sister's horse) and eventually bought 100 acres of land in the country to build a farm on. I kept that bratty pony for 14 years, until his death in February of 2007.

Or maybe--like many of my fellow eventers--my personality just lends itself to craving a challenge. I live for adrenaline rushes; there's nothing I crave more than the combination of speed and danger. I like conquering things. I'm always looking for a mountain to climb or an obstacle to overcome.... Maybe to me a hot-headed chestnut Thoroughbred embodies everything that I desire--they're the mountains of the horse world.

When I was sixteen, I rehabbed and re-schooled a chestnut Dutch Warmblood named Overture (or "Ollie," as he was called in the barn) who I'd gotten the ride on because his owner had a bad fall in a cross country schooling accident and had broken her neck. After he was sold, I had several years of bad luck with horses. My Irish horse, Stormy, was chronically lame. I purchased a Thoroughbred called "Hercules" from Grand Prix show jumper Brody Robertson's farm in Missouri to be my next eventing partner. However, after three months of owning him his right hip caved in, thus ending his short-lived career as a three-day event horse.

So in 2010, without a true eventing partner, I went to spend eight months as a working student for Leslie Law with a Thoroughbred mare named "Edna" that I had as a re-sale project. After I came back to my home in southern Indiana after a spring and fall in Ocala, FL and a summer in Bluemont, VA, it was back to square one as far as event horses were concerned. I had my mare to compete at the lower levels, but I didn't have anything in my barn that had the potential to be something really special... And then one day, upon coming out to the farm to draw up coggins and inject my horses, my veterinarian asked me to come try a "big, dumb Thoroughbred" that he wanted me to ride. "I have a few of those laying around here already," I said, gesturing out towards a paddock full of disappointments and retirees. "You should come out and try him," Dr. Ken repeated. He warned me that this was "not the horse for everyone"--which sounded like my kind of horse. I enjoy the "problem" horses--the rejects and lost causes of the equine world--and this sounded like a "problem" horse. So, naturally, I gave in and agreed to try him.

When Dr. Ken had said "big, dumb Thoroughbred" I was expecting a gangly, awkward, slightly lame plain bay typical inverted, ewe-necked, unfit ex-racehorse that I would hop on, ride around for awhile and politely decline because "I just didn't have the room in my barn or the time to do him justice" (or some other equally crappy excuse). But much to my surprise, what greeted me at the paddock gate on that foggy morning in late January was a very handsome bright red chestnut with a crooked white star on his forehead. He was big (roughly 16.3 hands with the longest legs I have EVER seen), shaggy, out of shape, was in major need of a pulling comb and had by far one of the worst tails I have seen to date... But I was in love with him from the moment Ken handed me the lead rope and he literally drug me (straight up water-skiing style) around the barn. I rode him for a half hour and immediately fell in love.

Jockey Club registered Unforgotten Promise (affectionately known as "Forrest"... yes, as in "Run, Forrest, Run!") is a misunderstood horse with a bit of a history. He won quite a bit of money on the track, but ended up losing his gate pass when he reared up and flipped over backwards. There's an infamous story about Forrest going out to breeze one morning and running off with the jockey, turning around and going full-tilt backwards around the track to the barn. Most people write him off as "stupid," but in my six months with him I have found that to be quite the opposite. He's stubborn, opinionated, goofy, grumpy, quirky, and incredibly smart. Too smart, actually... My farrier thinks he's autistic and bipolar, and I'm not sure that I don't agree with him to some extent. Ken says he's got ADD. I like to call him "active-minded." At already nine years old, I had my work cut out for me--I had to take an older, but incredibly green, strong-willed horse who had "issues with water" and turn him into an eventer. Even though that may sound like a tall order, that first ride on Forrest--early in the freezing cold that is January in Indiana, in the 50x50ft indoor ring at Farmstead (Ken's home and veterinary practice), jumping over tiny cavalettis--was magical. For the first time, I felt like I'd finally found my mountain to climb.

Forrest has since arrived at River Bend Farm (my home, set in the rolling hills of southern Indiana about 15 miles west of Bloomington). His shaggy, dull coat has shed out to revel a sleek, fire-red powerhouse of a sport horse. He's had his mane and tail pulled and he at least looks the part of a top event horse. He's fit an musclar and absolutely breathtaking to look at. It's amazing what six months of consistent riding can do!

This blog will document Forrest's career as an event horse... Schooling sessions, lessons, competitions and the daily chaos that is mine and Forrest's life. Maybe he will rise to the occasion and be brilliant, or maybe he'll fizzle out, get fried, go lame... But no matter what the future holds, it will be a fun ride.

--Kate