HOY 2025 Part 2: In-hand

We returned to Kyalami Park the day after the Arab classes with Wynnie and Charlie in tow. After the wild flurry that always precedes HOY, with so many horses to bath and plait and load and pack for, it was a huge relief to finally be on the road and ready to do the thing.

Charlie is a client's super cute partbred gelding and has actually never been to a show, but he's one of those people who just aren't bothered by anything, so I was confident about overnighting him. Wynnie was our earliest horse of the day on Saturday and I knew she'd overnight well because she has done so several times before. She loaded and traveled like an absolute superstar, although I'd put her ninja outfit on to keep her plaits clean and this proved to be a mistake. The poor girl sweats like her mother. She was sodden but unbothered when we got there, and neither of the two youngsters put a foot wrong when we arrived.

We found the show stables had suffered somewhat after weeks of rain and the paths in between were pretty muddy. The stables themselves were fine, but the amount of bugs gave me the heebie jeebies, so I absolutely drenched both horses in Tabard to keep the disease-carrying little blighters off. Both horses settled perfectly and were happy to nibble their hay while I got the stables set up and ready for what promised to be a chaotic following day.

We got an early start on Saturday morning. Erin kindly found time in a truly hectic schedule to come over and help with turning out Wynnie. Although Wynnie is solid bay and thus makes my life much easier, I was determined that she should look utterly spotless. If we weren't going to win the in-hand class, it sure as sugar wasn't going to be because of her turnout. I knew she had it in her to win the class and really wanted to do her justice, so I'd made an effort to improve my turnout game, which definitely included dragging Erin into it.

Before she got there, though, I made a bold effort at washing the sweat and Tabard off her from the night before. This proved easier said than done. First, when I went into the stable to feed her, Wynnie (very rudely) barged out the door and hooned around the stables, naked and feral.

"Loose horse," people yelled as she merrily trampled over the nice, professional grooming area that the Proper Showing People had set up.

"Loose horse!!" they shrieked as she almost mowed down a kid and pony.

"Don't worry," someone said, "there's the owner."

There the owner was indeed, following dejectedly behind with a rope halter, making despairing little cooing noises and brandishing a carrot. Wynnie didn't give a crap about me or my cooing noises or my carrot. She was having too much fun sowing chaos wherever she went.

"Oh, hey, Firn!" someone yelled.

There was a chorus of greetings from the other Nooitie people with their normal, sweet, well-behaved Nooities while I followed in the wake of the dragon spawn I bred.

She eventually dived underneath a half-unfolded gazebo for some grass and I managed to wrangle her halter on, whereupon she followed me back to her stable as meekly as a lamb.

The meekness didn't last. After her breakfast, I took her up to the horsebox to use our handy-dandy portable wash bay to get some of the stickiness out of her coat. This was a big ask - there were very few other horses visible and the box is a long way from the stables - and Wynnie did make a bit of a scene about this. She called, pawed, tried to push me over, and reared once in protest when I corrected her sharply with the halter. She did settle somewhat after a few minutes, but it wasn't productive, so I called it quits with only her shoulders and flanks clean and then attempted to graze her in the sunshine and get her dry.

We had variable success with this part. She spent much of that time grazing like a good girl, and the rest of it leaping around on her hindlegs in a very annoying manner. To her credit, it wasn't separation anxiety - she was fine about that once she could see other horses close by. It was more a case of being wet, fresh, and bored out of her skull. If I'd given her a five-minute lunge or even just some groundwork in the warmup, I'm willing to bet she would have chilled the heck out.

Anyway, she was at least well-behaved in the stable once we got back and she could entertain herself by eating hay instead of homicide. I polished her coat with Brylcreem - well, that's what I thought I was doing, anyway; turns out I was making artsy little streaks of oiliness all over her - and she was actually very good for me to plait her forelock. I also managed to clip her ears with a bit of clicker training and patience, which was great. Erin fixed her tail, which I hadn't clipped properly, and put on her beautiful checkerboard quarter marks.

Then, while we were still working on the finishing touches, they called our class ten minutes early. This happens to me every single year. I forget that dressage is dressage and you absolutely cannot be forced to go in before your ride time, but showing is showing and does what it wants. Ten minutes isn't a super long time, but it was the time I had set aside to walk Wynnie around and get her brain in gear, and that was the time we ended up not having.

Erin ran a last brush through Wynnie's tail and shoved us in. Rather, Wynnie dragged me in, plunging and snorting in all her draconic finery. She is her mother's daughter in many good ways, but also a few regrettable ones. It felt like wrangling a young (well... even a not-so-young) and angry Arwen as we absolutely charged around the arena with Wynnie doing her best to remove my arms from my sockets and me doing my best to keep a lid on the beast.

There were two key troubles here. The first was just that I hadn't taken enough time to get Wynnie moving around and focused on her job before we went in. The second was that Wynnie did not, in fact, understand the bit as clearly as I thought she did. She'd been so good for her in-hand work at home that I'd barely used the reins at all, only my voice and posture, keeping a smile in the reins like a good little horsewoman. We'd done a lot of lungeing in the stretchy thing, which gives only a really soft and gentle connection and really encourages the horse to go into the bridle and stretch down without any fear of their mouth. This is awesome and everything, but it left me almost entirely without brakes. The more I pulled, the more she merrily pulled, too.

It took me a hot minute to figure this out. By the time I did, we had wrestled each other around the show ring and then had a fairly catastrophic trot during which she exhibited none of her loose and beautiful movement but a few very credible airs above the ground.

To her enormous credit, though, Wynnie never once fidgeted in the halt. Once homegirl was standing, she was standing. It was the moving that was the problem. I stood her up for the judge, who looked her up and down and said, "Walk away and trot back, please, and pray that she behaves."

I did, and she did. We walked away and trotted back without turning a hair, but it was already too late. Wynnie had proven herself a misbehaving renegade and came second to another very gorgeous filly. By the time they handed out the ribbons, I had made the tremendous leap of intellect that perhaps I should stop pulling on the reins and use the same training principles with which I had, in fact, raised the horse. I started to use click and reward every time she behaved instead of merely hauling on her mouth. Miraculously, the horse started to behave the instant I was consistent and clear. Amazing. What a shocker.

I was tired, annoyed, and a little bummed out as we left the arena. Wynnie has been so well-behaved at previous shows that I didn't put much thought into how she would be at this one, so I wasn't expecting to have any difficulty with her. I had the feeling she might have done better if only she'd been more chill when we went in (read: if only I had done the stuff that I should've done, I realize, with my 20/20 hindsight). Also, I was just over it, because we all know how incredibly fun it is to get squished, trampled, and pulled around by an increasingly big and strong young horse.

She stood mostly still as we waited to go back in for the championship, and once we did, she behaved perfectly. When my expectations were clear, she met them. (Amazing how horses behave better when we, like, do the thing correctly). We didn't get any ribbons in the championship, with the first-placed senior mare winning it and the junior winner getting reserve, but at least Wynnie was good and I could look forward to the group class later.

I showed dear old Charlie, who was perfect in every imaginable way and a wonderful experience after wrangling Wynnie (we won't mention that I have fussed over Wynnie's training for three years and this is her fourth HOY, while Charlie had never shown before and we'd only had him four months). Then it was time for little Raya's first ever show.

Raya had been a superstar leading up to this show. My expectations for a baby's first show are super low: load politely, travel without incident, and then have a positive experience the rest of the time. I had her in the stud group class with Wynnie because then she wouldn't even have to trot up by herself - she could merely follow Wynnie. Life was so hectic with prepping eight horses for HOY that we only actually got around to teaching Raya to trot in hand the week before, but she just did it like the perfect angel child she is. She even stood, snoozing, for me to plait and sew in her hair on the Thursday afternoon.

The stud group was right after the geldings, so I didn't even have time to get her ready myself. K and BarnRat did so with variable enthusiasm. I had just enough time to notice that no one had thought to, well, run a brush through Raya's tail before the ring steward was calling us in. I grabbed Wynnie, K grabbed Raya, and in we went.

This time, Wynnie had had the chance to settle, and she was pretty much perfect from the first step. Darling little Raya was an absolute angel from start to finish. She's a quiet little soul, friendly and calm, happy to cooperate as long as she gets a little attention and maybe a treat or two. She followed Wynnie around without a single misstep.

They both stood up beautifully for the judge, who asked if Raya was Wynnie's baby (no, ma'am, she is not, but the resemblance is strong). We then had to walk away and trot back together. We executed a lovely walk and symmetrical turn, and then things went a bit pear-shaped when we started to trot. Wynnie accidentally stood on the edge of one of the tekkies (sneakers?) I'd elected to wear for the in-hand, and it came right off. She barely even stepped on it, to be honest---her foot grazed mine when we trotted off. The show must go on, I decided, so I ran across the show arena with one tekkie and one bright blue socks with cute little dogs wearing sunglasses on it.

I giggled. K was appalled. The judge informed me that I could go back and get my shoe, so I ran back across the arena as everyone watched, grabbed it, shoved it on, and returned to Raya's side. Wynnie, to her credit, was angelic for this part.

A lot of weird and silly things have happened to me in the show ring, but that was definitely a first.

We didn't get any placings in the stud group class (not a huge surprise, as all the different breeders show their very best horses in the group class, and that doesn't usually include growthy little yearlings and misbehaving three-year-olds), but I was just so happy with how little Raya had behaved---and with the fact that Wynnie had finally screwed her head back on straight---that I honestly didn't care.

That wrapped up the stressful in-hand part. It was time to relax, focus, and enjoy the grownup horses in the riding classes.

God is good.