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May. 25th, 2008 11:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
which_chickSo yesterday I went out to the Devon horse show near Philadelphia.
Well, we went to see the pony hunters. Due to time constraints, we watched three classes of pony hunters (medium pony, little kids and medium pony, bigger kids and part of another class) during which we discovered the following things.
1. Almost every single pony in hunter classes at Devon wears a standing martingale. The standing martingale is the same thing that, in the timed-event world, would be called a "tie-down". I am not particularly sure why little welsh ponies (for the little-kid riders, every single pony in that ring was a welsh pony of solid quality, worth five figures or more) needtie-downs standing martingales except possibly to keep their noses not *quite* so strung out. Quite a few of the ponies hit the ends of the martingales upon landing, which did not seem to bother them very much.
2. The ponies, who were almost entirely pushbutton or autopilot packers, were ridden with floppy reins and nothing resembling contact. Some of the children had floppy legs, particularly for the stride or two after a fence (but nothing worse than I've seen at home in the eighteen-and-over set) but most had excellent cookie-cutter positions of the sort you get from taking competent riding lessons on an ongoing basis.
3. Virtually every pair in the ring was of a quality and performance level that made judging the classes fairly difficult. In order to place the class, we had to consider things like "popped lead change after first fence on diagonal line" (instead of waiting for after the second fence) and "didn't auto-change in the air but did a flying change on the ground after landing" (should have been in mid-air so that pony lands automatically on correct lead). The level of competition was significantly higher than I see at home, which is to be expected... and with higher competition, the ponies are nicer, the tack is more expensive, and the kids are kitted out to the nines.
4. While quality was *largely* very high, there were some surprising moments. There was one little girl in the ring in stirrups that were WAY THE FUCK TOO SHORT, to where her thighs were horizontal. This was incorrect. This was incorrect to my (redneck, unquality, clueless) eyes. I do not understand why any kid was sent into the ring like that with tons of horsey set people on either side of the in gate there to offer some damn advice. (She was a fairly long-legged little kid and I guess they didn't want the feet below the pony's belly line as that "looks bad".) Back home, someone would have said something. At Devon, nobody said a word. However, the pony was a little fucking rip who threw two nasty refusals. Since the little girl's knees were up by her shoulders, when the bad little pony pulled the second nasty refusal, the little girl went right the fuck over his head and landed on the fence. Ouch. Pride goeth, is all I'm saying.
Also, Trainer? If you send a little girl out into the ring on a shit of a pony that you *know* refuses, put her stirrups down where they belong so that the poor kid has have a hope in hell of staying on when the little rip plants both feet and tries to send the kid (but not himself) over the fence. Also? There are a lot of bum-fuck-egypt schooling shows where nobody you know will be and the classes are a LOT less than three hundred dollars to enter -- schooling shows EXIST so that you can have whoever you want ride the fucking rip and beat the snot out of it in the ring. That's where you TRAIN the pony so that your high dollar kid and high dollar pony are not fucking mortified in front of the entire Main Line horsey set. Or you could do this schooling back at the barn, where you no doubt have a covered riding arena and practice jumps. Why did you overlook both of those excellent options and instead decide to send a little girl out into the ring at Devon to be dumped on her ass? I call asshat on the trainer, here.
5. The mommy sitting in the stands next to us was pony shopping, with a Pony Buying Advisor, for her little daughter of privilege. Mommy and daughter and Pony-Buying-Advisor clearly live in a world that in no way resembles mine. They watched the medium pony classes with us and they had a list of the ponies involved and the Pony Buying Advisor (older lady, has bad hips) took notes on each pony and whatever. (It didn't seem to matter to them if the pony was for sale or not. In the mind of the PBA and Mommy, all the ponies were for sale. Just, y'know, offer more money.) Apparently, this is how pony-shopping is done, on the Main Line. PBA's notes said things like "canters high" and "sloppy changes" and "willful" and "choppy trot". Mommy looked at the ponies without much of an eye for them, daughter looked for "cute" and was (IMHO) a poor judge of that. I noticed, while eavesdropping, that I did not like the right ponies.
Apparently ploddy and bored-looking ponies are what place in the ring. Now, ploddy, bored, forehand ponies do not do a damn thing for me compared to the slightly hot, light on the feet, balanced, quiet-cantering ponies. You can *hear* the difference between a ploddy mover and a light mover, for pete's sake. It's bloody obvious and I'm not sure why ploddy and bored isn't placed lower than light, but it isn't. In a class of thirty ponies, there were none that were built poorly but some still moved better than others. As I listened in, though, the price range under discussion seemed on the high side. The pretty palomino pony (v. cute, v. nice jumper, well-mannered) "sold a couple of years ago for two hundred fifty. I still say they paid too much, though." (This was the PBA speaking) And I'm sitting there going "two hundred and fifty *what*?" It's not like two hundred and fifty dollars because I know what that looks like and it ain't the pretty palomino pony, but nobody in his or her right mind would pay a quarter of a million dollars for a fucking pony gelding from whom no actual money can be recovered. Would they?
Daughter went off and fetched her saddle, which was one of the fancy ones like they sell at the only tack place that has a stall at Devon. The shop had matching saddle covers at the stall, which is how I knew. I touched one of the display saddles (which will undoubtedly have to be marked down now that a regular person has pawed the leather) and it was of a quality that I will never own. Ever. (I have this thing about the saddle not costing more than the horse.) Nice, though. Although there were not prices visible at the shop, I'm willing to bet that daughter (who is maybe seven or eight) has a saddle costing between three and five thousand dollars that will not fit her in two years. Daughter was shopping for ponies that are worth more than I make in a year and was told "Honey, just sit on the ponies and if there's one that your butt doesn't like, you just tell me and we won't waste any more time on that one."
This is not my world. I'm not sure that I want it to be my world, either. What kind of person does a kid grow up to be if she's had that damn much money at her disposal when her age is in the single digits? Do I even want to know?
6. We saw a surprising number of mexican men standing around. Further observation suggested that these men were the grooms. I guess they don't use black people for that job in these, our modern times. Grooms wash ponies and clip them and tack them up and lead them around outside the class and hold them waiting for the child rider to get aboard. Grooms also muck out stalls and hot walk and tote dust sheets to put over the pony immediately after it comes out of the ring and like that. In my world, that crap is done by the child riding the pony but at Devon, the children do not do the everyday pony care for their ponies. I think they're somewhat the poorer for not doing the everyday pony care. Maybe (I can hope) these children also have real ponies that they are allowed to groom and tack up and wash and braid and ride outside of a ring. Maybe.
7. There were a lot of spring hats on women.
8. If you are a little girl showing at Devon in pony hunters and you have hair that is long enough to put into pigtails, the trendy thing to do is to put big-ass bows on the ends of your two braided pigtails. I found the bows distracting as all hell.
I also watched some of the pony jumper classes. This is NOT the same thing as pony hunters. Horses that jump over things come in two sorts. Sort #1: Hunter. Horse must look quiet, manageable, nice, and pleasant. Must be well-built, should look like it cost a lot of money. Emphasis is on manners and rideability, smoothness, niceness. Hunters is jumping over things for pretty. Horses are beautifully braided, tack costs real money. Sort #2: Jumper. The idea, here, is to get around the course in correct order, as fast as possible, without hitting anything. There is a timer. There is NO interest in what the horse actually looks like or how well it moves or whether or not it is mannerly. Nobody gives a shit what kind of horse you have or how well it's braided. Placings for jumpers are only related to (a) your time around the course and (b) whether or not you hit anything. Lead changes are not something you are graded on. Jumpers are jumping over things for speed and accuracy.
Well, we went to see the pony hunters. Due to time constraints, we watched three classes of pony hunters (medium pony, little kids and medium pony, bigger kids and part of another class) during which we discovered the following things.
1. Almost every single pony in hunter classes at Devon wears a standing martingale. The standing martingale is the same thing that, in the timed-event world, would be called a "tie-down". I am not particularly sure why little welsh ponies (for the little-kid riders, every single pony in that ring was a welsh pony of solid quality, worth five figures or more) need
2. The ponies, who were almost entirely pushbutton or autopilot packers, were ridden with floppy reins and nothing resembling contact. Some of the children had floppy legs, particularly for the stride or two after a fence (but nothing worse than I've seen at home in the eighteen-and-over set) but most had excellent cookie-cutter positions of the sort you get from taking competent riding lessons on an ongoing basis.
3. Virtually every pair in the ring was of a quality and performance level that made judging the classes fairly difficult. In order to place the class, we had to consider things like "popped lead change after first fence on diagonal line" (instead of waiting for after the second fence) and "didn't auto-change in the air but did a flying change on the ground after landing" (should have been in mid-air so that pony lands automatically on correct lead). The level of competition was significantly higher than I see at home, which is to be expected... and with higher competition, the ponies are nicer, the tack is more expensive, and the kids are kitted out to the nines.
4. While quality was *largely* very high, there were some surprising moments. There was one little girl in the ring in stirrups that were WAY THE FUCK TOO SHORT, to where her thighs were horizontal. This was incorrect. This was incorrect to my (redneck, unquality, clueless) eyes. I do not understand why any kid was sent into the ring like that with tons of horsey set people on either side of the in gate there to offer some damn advice. (She was a fairly long-legged little kid and I guess they didn't want the feet below the pony's belly line as that "looks bad".) Back home, someone would have said something. At Devon, nobody said a word. However, the pony was a little fucking rip who threw two nasty refusals. Since the little girl's knees were up by her shoulders, when the bad little pony pulled the second nasty refusal, the little girl went right the fuck over his head and landed on the fence. Ouch. Pride goeth, is all I'm saying.
Also, Trainer? If you send a little girl out into the ring on a shit of a pony that you *know* refuses, put her stirrups down where they belong so that the poor kid has have a hope in hell of staying on when the little rip plants both feet and tries to send the kid (but not himself) over the fence. Also? There are a lot of bum-fuck-egypt schooling shows where nobody you know will be and the classes are a LOT less than three hundred dollars to enter -- schooling shows EXIST so that you can have whoever you want ride the fucking rip and beat the snot out of it in the ring. That's where you TRAIN the pony so that your high dollar kid and high dollar pony are not fucking mortified in front of the entire Main Line horsey set. Or you could do this schooling back at the barn, where you no doubt have a covered riding arena and practice jumps. Why did you overlook both of those excellent options and instead decide to send a little girl out into the ring at Devon to be dumped on her ass? I call asshat on the trainer, here.
5. The mommy sitting in the stands next to us was pony shopping, with a Pony Buying Advisor, for her little daughter of privilege. Mommy and daughter and Pony-Buying-Advisor clearly live in a world that in no way resembles mine. They watched the medium pony classes with us and they had a list of the ponies involved and the Pony Buying Advisor (older lady, has bad hips) took notes on each pony and whatever. (It didn't seem to matter to them if the pony was for sale or not. In the mind of the PBA and Mommy, all the ponies were for sale. Just, y'know, offer more money.) Apparently, this is how pony-shopping is done, on the Main Line. PBA's notes said things like "canters high" and "sloppy changes" and "willful" and "choppy trot". Mommy looked at the ponies without much of an eye for them, daughter looked for "cute" and was (IMHO) a poor judge of that. I noticed, while eavesdropping, that I did not like the right ponies.
Apparently ploddy and bored-looking ponies are what place in the ring. Now, ploddy, bored, forehand ponies do not do a damn thing for me compared to the slightly hot, light on the feet, balanced, quiet-cantering ponies. You can *hear* the difference between a ploddy mover and a light mover, for pete's sake. It's bloody obvious and I'm not sure why ploddy and bored isn't placed lower than light, but it isn't. In a class of thirty ponies, there were none that were built poorly but some still moved better than others. As I listened in, though, the price range under discussion seemed on the high side. The pretty palomino pony (v. cute, v. nice jumper, well-mannered) "sold a couple of years ago for two hundred fifty. I still say they paid too much, though." (This was the PBA speaking) And I'm sitting there going "two hundred and fifty *what*?" It's not like two hundred and fifty dollars because I know what that looks like and it ain't the pretty palomino pony, but nobody in his or her right mind would pay a quarter of a million dollars for a fucking pony gelding from whom no actual money can be recovered. Would they?
Daughter went off and fetched her saddle, which was one of the fancy ones like they sell at the only tack place that has a stall at Devon. The shop had matching saddle covers at the stall, which is how I knew. I touched one of the display saddles (which will undoubtedly have to be marked down now that a regular person has pawed the leather) and it was of a quality that I will never own. Ever. (I have this thing about the saddle not costing more than the horse.) Nice, though. Although there were not prices visible at the shop, I'm willing to bet that daughter (who is maybe seven or eight) has a saddle costing between three and five thousand dollars that will not fit her in two years. Daughter was shopping for ponies that are worth more than I make in a year and was told "Honey, just sit on the ponies and if there's one that your butt doesn't like, you just tell me and we won't waste any more time on that one."
This is not my world. I'm not sure that I want it to be my world, either. What kind of person does a kid grow up to be if she's had that damn much money at her disposal when her age is in the single digits? Do I even want to know?
6. We saw a surprising number of mexican men standing around. Further observation suggested that these men were the grooms. I guess they don't use black people for that job in these, our modern times. Grooms wash ponies and clip them and tack them up and lead them around outside the class and hold them waiting for the child rider to get aboard. Grooms also muck out stalls and hot walk and tote dust sheets to put over the pony immediately after it comes out of the ring and like that. In my world, that crap is done by the child riding the pony but at Devon, the children do not do the everyday pony care for their ponies. I think they're somewhat the poorer for not doing the everyday pony care. Maybe (I can hope) these children also have real ponies that they are allowed to groom and tack up and wash and braid and ride outside of a ring. Maybe.
7. There were a lot of spring hats on women.
8. If you are a little girl showing at Devon in pony hunters and you have hair that is long enough to put into pigtails, the trendy thing to do is to put big-ass bows on the ends of your two braided pigtails. I found the bows distracting as all hell.
I also watched some of the pony jumper classes. This is NOT the same thing as pony hunters. Horses that jump over things come in two sorts. Sort #1: Hunter. Horse must look quiet, manageable, nice, and pleasant. Must be well-built, should look like it cost a lot of money. Emphasis is on manners and rideability, smoothness, niceness. Hunters is jumping over things for pretty. Horses are beautifully braided, tack costs real money. Sort #2: Jumper. The idea, here, is to get around the course in correct order, as fast as possible, without hitting anything. There is a timer. There is NO interest in what the horse actually looks like or how well it moves or whether or not it is mannerly. Nobody gives a shit what kind of horse you have or how well it's braided. Placings for jumpers are only related to (a) your time around the course and (b) whether or not you hit anything. Lead changes are not something you are graded on. Jumpers are jumping over things for speed and accuracy.
