Never Shows
Missing out on show season can be sad, but there are positive points to consider.
When i started working after law school, i thought i’d be back in the show ring in no time. i was fueled by childhood memories of showground shaved ices, long walks cooling out in the trees with friends, and afternoons goofing around back at the barn between classes. this was my chance to relive those days! i had a great trainer. i had a decent income.
What I didn’t have, it turned out, was time. Prep time, travel time, hurry-up-andwait time—I had none of it. My job is timeconsuming, and my husband and I still like to see each other sometimes.
I tried to squeeze in shows at first. This is fine, I insisted, as I sat in my parked car in a thunderstorm straining to hear a work call over the booming sky and loudspeaker announcements.
HOW TO MAKE IT WORK
After a few shows spent frantically speeding to and from work and home and responding to emails while waiting in line for the crowded show bathroom, I was distraught. I sat myself down to plan for the next show. I needed to school my mare on Wednesday. I could do that after work! But I’d need to leave early (assuming no fires to put out at the office). And I’d get home late. But if something came up, my trainer could school her. That would be fine!
I couldn’t show Thursday, because I had a work deadline, so forget it, my trainer would show her.
Friday! Friday would be my day to show. Unless I had to be in Colorado for a hearing—or worse, if a snowstorm required me to stay in Colorado. If that happened, my trainer could show her. Again.
But Saturday I could definitely show her. Probably. I just wouldn’t see my husband that weekend. That would be OK. Right? And I’d only spend one vacation’s worth of money on this.
This was not the horse show experience I had been dreaming about.
I was struggling to identify a show week without a risk of travel or interruption. Weekday classes were unworkable. Out-of-town shows were out of the question—beyond the everpresent possibility of a work nightmare shutting down my show dreams, I couldn’t justify trading a weekend away with my husband (who also deserved fun) for five days of solo enjoyment.
MISSING OUT … OR NOT
I know people make it work. I know dedicated riders work hard to squeeze in careers, families and shows. They carefully budget time and money to prioritize showing over dinners with spouses, trips to visit friends, vacations, and fancy cheese.
But I can’t do it. I want to have time to have dinner with my husband. I want to go visit friends. I want the fancy cheese.
I still take regular lessons, and I take them seriously. I still pore over cavalletti exercises online and splurge on new equipment. I still tuck my shirt in. I still wear a belt.
Showing just isn’t in the cards for me at the moment, and I don’t feel guilty about it. Lessons are my shows now, where I get to (hopefully) display what we’ve been working on and translate it to the courses and gymnastic exercises that keep my horse (and me!) happy, fit and sharp.
Teenagers at my barn still ask whether I’m coming with them to Kentucky or Gulfport. I’m not, you guys. I yearn for the days when school obligations were pliable and taking off for a show was within my parents’ discretion—not to mention when they were footing the bill.
I am filled with FOMO (fear of missing out) when I see the trailer being unloaded. I can almost smell the hairspray. But I’ve eased into my no-show lifestyle.
I miss the adrenaline, but I’ve leaned into the stress-free way I now lesson without a looming deadline to fix our mistakes. I miss hanging out ringside, but I look forward to the tranquility of the barn aisle or the grass field on a Saturday when everyone is at the show. I miss the excitement, the ribbons, and the long cool-outs in the showground trees.
But I still get to ride. And I look forward to getting home in time for dinner ... with the fancy cheese.
For those also missing shows, check out the virtual horse show option on pg. 8.
she’s pregnant,” i called triumphantly over my shoulder to my technician. she was writing down notes for me in my daybook so that i could transcribe them into my computer records that evening. “right horn. sixteen days. single vesicle.”
The owners, Carl and Celia, were standing nearby. Celia’s face lit up, but Carl snorted.
“I know Maggie’s pregnant! That mare always lets me know when she’d bred. This ultrasound thing is just a waste of time, if you ask me.”
I raised my eyebrows at Carl, then looked over at Celia, who was still clasping her hands tightly.
“She’s really pregnant, Celia!”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she exhaled. “I’ve been an absolute mess since we scheduled you to come check her. Thank you so much, Dr. Diehl. You’re really an amazing veterinarian!” I laughed.
“I think the stud and Maggie did all the work this time. I’m just the bearer of good news.” Celia patted my shoulder.
“Well, you got her all fixed up so she could get pregnant one last time. I don’t know how to thank you!”
“Well, you’ve spent enough on vet bills,” grumbled Carl. “That should be thanks enough.” Celia swatted him.
“Now that’s enough, Carl. Say ‘thank you’ to Dr. Diehl, and go on back to the house.”
Carl turned to me soberly.
“Thank you to Dr. Diehl and go on back to the house.”
I hid a smile as he shuffled off, hands in the pockets of his overalls whistling tunelessly as he headed toward an old Victorian farmhouse. A black-and-white dog slunk from the shadows and fell into step behind him.
My assistant was cleaning up my machine and gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up, then mimed wiping sweat off her forehead. I’d been nothing but the bringer of bad news for the last four months while we tried to get Maggie bred with cooled shipped semen.
BROODMARE DIFFICULTIES
It had been a rough time, and between Carl’s dry comments, Celia’s disappointment and my own frustration, I’d wanted to quit many times. It was even worse having to send bills. The checks always arrived promptly, written in Celia’s cheerful script, and I just wanted to hide them away in my daybook.
Maggie was normally an easy breeder, but
I’d inseminated her twice this season without any luck. She’d developed an infection in her uterus, and I had to spend another few weeks treating her and cleaning the infection out.
She was an older mare, and realistically this would be the last season we’d try to breed her. Celia had been distraught over the long chain of misadventures, as she desperately wanted one last foal out of Maggie. Another stud was available at a nearby farm, and I’d suggested live-covering Maggie this last time rather than doing another attempt with artificial insemination.
Maggie was trailered to the farm and stayed for three days. We waited until the 16-day mark to check Maggie, and neither Celia nor I had slept much during those last few weeks. Of course, Carl claimed he was sleeping like a baby and wasn’t one bit worried. He scoffed at us when we complained about our lack of sleep and muttered that it was good that at least someone had some sense in this equation.
WHEN WORDS AREN’T ENOUGH