The delegates had two big issues to deal with—neither of which is a new topic—and, as usual, they just made a bigger mess out of both of them. To be fair, developing any workable rules or policies among a group with such diverse values, needs and capabilities is, well, rather like herding cats to a pond to take a swim. Still…

The first big issue involved a Swedish dressage rider named Patrik Kittel, who not so cleverly schooled his horse Watermill Scandic for more than two hours in deep hyperflexion on the day of the Grand Prix at the World Cup qualifier in Odense, Denmark, last month.

Journalists from Epona.tv were so appalled by what they were watching that they filmed it and put 4 ½ minutes of footage on YouTube at http://www.youtube.com/user/eponatv#p/u/2/8hIXGiV4N4k. It’s certainly disconcerting to watch Kittel drill the horse with his head tucked to his chest, blue tongue hanging out to the side of his mouth. I watched it and thought, “Surely there is something more to this,” especially because the warm-up ring was crowded with horses and the rail around the ring crowded with onlookers. But then I discovered that it went on for two hours! I can’t believe any rider could consider it productive to so strenuously drill a horse for so long at a competition—and he would still have planned to warm-up more before the competition that night. Kittel said the session was taken out of context, but I’m at a loss to imagine the context.

Not surprisingly, the Internet reaction all around the world has been savage. But the FEI did nothing except release statements saying that ring stewards have the power “to use the disciplinary measures available to them, such as verbal warnings and yellow warning cards to prevent any infringement of FEI rules.” The steward at Odense reportedly said nothing to Kittel.

The second statement said, “The FEI does not permit excessive or prolonged hyperflexion in any equestrian sport and has a strict stewarding program to protect the performance horse in all disciplines.” If two hours doesn’t constitute “prolonged,” I wonder what does?

Speaking of protecting “the performance horse in all disciplines”—that’s what the second issue is all about. Some nation or group of nations (I’ve not seen in any reports explaining exactly who was behind it) introduced a significant change to the FEI’s daft, archaic rules requiring that horses’ blood and urine samples have no trace at all of any kind of medication. FEI President Princess Haya (a former international show jumper who’s married to Sheikh Mohammed of racing and endurance riding fame) wisely supported the proposal to allow therapeutic levels of a small group of anti-inflammatory and other drugs (including Butazolidin), a watered-down version of the U.S. Equestrian Federation’s medication rules.

The delegates narrowly passed the measure (by five votes), but the next day delegates from Germany, England and Ireland contended that the proposal had been changed just before the vote and wanted to change their minds in a second vote. Princess Haya told them that, basically, they were full of horse manure and that the vote had followed the rules and wouldn’t be retaken. Who knows what these federations might or might not do next?

I’ve written for decades that the FEI’s no-trace-at-all drug policy is asinine, that it prevents riders and trainers from treating their horses as athletes and encourages the devious to use drugs that “won’t test” to try to keep their horses sound or calm. This drug rule has become even more ridiculous as laboratories have magnified their ability to detect a few parts per million of a medication legitimately used months before. I feel for anyone trying to compete internationally today—anything your horse ate (whether you gave it to him or not), the Vetrolin you washed him with, or the antibiotic you used for a wound weeks ago could show up as an illegal drug.

Today’s drug tests can find a trace of a medication equivalent to a grain of sand on a beach, to a blade of grass in a 50-acre hay field. It’s an amount so small that it could not possibly have an effect on that day’s competition. The fact of life is that horses (especially high-powered competitors) get hurt, get sick or get scared, and sometimes medications make a gigantic difference in their welfare. It’s absolutely inane to prevent their trainers or riders from taking care of their horses, in the misguided name of “clean sport.”

Here’s the really crazy thing: Germany, Ireland and England have all lost championship medals because their horses tested positively for medications. Germany and Ireland lost Olympic show jumping medals in 2004 because of drug violations. (In Ireland’s case, it was a long-lasting tranquilizer that shouldn’t have been used when it was, but in Germany’s case it was a topical anti-inflammatory drug, with the team veterinarian’s approval.) You’d think their leaders would welcome this change, hoping it would discourage riders from making bad decisions or from being penalized for taking care of their horses.

Perhaps allowing therapeutic levels of approved drugs simply makes too much sense? Maybe the FEI’s unstated but apparent goal is to have scores of reasons to eliminate riders from competition. What do I mean? Well, I’ll tell you.

In the name of safety, in 2008 the FEI increased the ability of its eventing officials to stop riders on the cross-country course and/or to issue them 45 penalties for dangerous riding and give them a yellow card. But the definition of “dangerous riding” is largely up to the officials at a given event, and, naturally, that definition varies. Several times this year, officials’ definition has been, shall we say, controversial.

What it’s done is put judges and technical delegates in an even more potentially adversarial position relative to the riders. There are already dozens of ways for event riders to eliminate themselves in competition, and at FEI-sanctioned events the judges can eliminate horses they consider lame in the horse inspections and in dressage (with no appeal). Now they can pull riders up (even if they haven’t incurred any jumping penalties) or penalize them after they’ve finished the course. Riders have no appeal if they’re stopped on course, and contesting dangerous riding penalties is pointless. Plus, they have no idea what constitutes “dangerous riding” in a specific official’s view.

That’s a shame because riders and officials should be working together for the horse and for the competition. Eventing’s current dilemma reminds me of the striking difference between endurance rides here and in Europe. Here, the larger rides (100 and 50 miles) will have a dozen or more veterinarians, who at every hold and after the ride’s completion eagerly work with riders to cool and care for their horses. The U.S. veterinarians’ goal is to do their best to help each horse safely complete the ride, and the riders are honest and trusting with those veterinarians. How trusting? Most of the U.S. team officials are veterinarians who officiate at rides.

But the attitude is the opposite in Europe, where riders are secretive and wary toward the veterinarians and officials, whose attitude can often be described as “what reason does your horse give me to eliminate you.”

Maybe the FEI is in its current muddle because there is just too little trust all around?

Well, I’d suggest those people should actually try riding the breeds they disparage and try understanding what those horses were bred to do. And they should try understanding their strengths and weaknesses and—especially—how most breeds can be adapted for other uses.

I’m a Thoroughbred man. I’ve had mostly Thoroughbreds all my life (I’ve owned more than a dozen of them), some directly off the track, some through an intermediate step, and two that we’ve bred. I don’t think you can beat the Thoroughbred for heart, courage, speed, stamina and just pure athleticism. I’ve raced them, foxhunted them, done dressage and jumper shows, and especially competed them in eventing. But, yes, they can certainly be challenging to ride. Thoroughbreds are usually (but not always) high-octane horses, mentally and physically, and they’re usually smarter and quicker in the brain than your average horse (sometimes a lot smarter and quicker).

I’m competing two Thoroughbred geldings right now, named Sisko and Shawn, and I have to be on my toes every day that I ride them, because they’re two of the smartest horses I’ve ever ridden, and they have to be challenged and entertained every day. I have to respect them, and they sometimes need to be reminded to respect me. But they teach me something every single day I ride them, at home or in competition.

Over the last few years I’ve gotten a chance to ride and train a pretty wide range of other breeds, and it’s broadened my appreciation of them. I’ve always tried to be open-minded toward different types and breeds of horses, but I’d say my appreciation has definitely increased. We’ve worked with Quarter Horses, warmbloods, Irish-breds, draft crosses and Arabians, and we’ve bred the two Thoroughbred broodmares we had to an Irish-bred and a warmblood to produce two fabulous fillies.

Two warmbloods have demonstrated to me the generous and kind temperament that makes people value them so. We have a German-bred Hanoverian named Schultz, who’s one of our schoolmasters, who’s the most willing and generous horse I’ve ever seen. Schultz is so absolutely hard-wired to be good that he gets genuinely upset if a student falls off him. He gets so worried that it was his fault that sometimes I have to get on him to reassure him. He stands 17.2 hands, and we can put absolute beginners on him (adults to 8-year-old kids) as well as more experienced riders. No matter who’s on him, Schultz just marches around the ring or goes hacking, taking care of whoever is on him.

The other warmblood is Panzyr, a 3-year-old Oldenburg stallion, whom I wrote about in my July 24 blog. He’s so balanced and supple that he rides like a much older horse, and he’s not yet said no to anything I’ve asked him to do. We like him so much that we have a weanling colt (who looks very much like him) and a weanling filly by him.

Over the last five years we’ve bred four draft-crosses out of the same draft mare (two by the Anglo-Arab sire Quartermaster and two by the Thoroughbred sire Reputed Testamony, both now deceased). I’ve started, competed and sold two of them, and next spring I’ll start riding the now 2-year-old filly, a process I’ll repeat in another year with her yearling full brother, unless we sell both of them before then.  They’re a blast to ride, a type that a lot of people would love because they’re forward but not fast; they’re nicely energetic, but when they get tired, well, they’re out of gas. The three oldest are excellent jumpers, and I think the yearling will be too. Twenty or 30 years ago I might have scoffed at the idea of riding a draft-cross, but no longer. I really enjoyed Cruiser and Seeker, and I’m eagerly awaiting the time to ride Sparrow and Ionto. 

Arabians are often derided for their skittish personalities and their upside-down way of going, and sometimes deservedly so. The direction some Arabian breeding has taken is horrifying, rather like what dog breeders have done to several dog breeds—breeding the athleticism and brains completely out in search of some inane standard of beauty.

But I’ve ridden three Arabians through 750 miles of endurance competition, and I can tell you that they’re gameness and stamina is truly amazing. It’s awe-inspiring to sit on a horse who seems to just get stronger and stronger the longer and farther you go. We’ve started two Polish-bred Arabian mares in the last 18 months, and both were a pleasure to deal with. One, who’s now lovely 4-year-old, is supposed to return to us next spring to train and sell as a lower-level event and dressage horse.

I’d only occasionally ridden Quarter Horses until the last year, when two arrived at our barn, both of whom I adore. They’re two very different horses, and neither is the “cow-bred” type of Quarter Horse, in build or temperament. (Actually, they’re both rather desperately afraid of cows.)

Apollo is a saint. In fact, we call him “St. Apollo.” He’s far from the brightest bulb in the box (for the first few months he was definitely a “special-education” project), but, like Schultz, he’s absolutely hard-wired to be good, to do what you’re telling him to do. I’ve competed successfully on him, and I found—and I tell our students—that if you’re having trouble doing an exercise, you can be sure it’s because Apollo doesn’t understand your aids. You can be sure you’re not being clear, that you haven’t explained it to him, because Apollo is trying his very best to figure out what you want him to do.

Alba, a mare I’m currently competing at training level in eventing and about to move up to preliminary exactly one year after her first-ever competition, is very different. She has her opinions, and she likes to do things her own way, which is usually very quickly. She’s sweet and relaxed on the ground, and your grandmother could take her for a walk around the countryside. But when you put her to work (especially if it involves jumping), she goes from 87 octane to 110 octane. Does she love to jump! I don’t know what I could build that would cause her to refuse. And she can jump much, much bigger than her diminutive 15.1 hands would suggest.

I’ll be competing Alba, Shawn and Sisko at preliminary level in the spring, and it’s a fascinating challenge because they’re all so different in size (Shawn is a stocky 15.3 hands and Sisko is a long and lean 17.2 hands), temperament and style. I remember interviewing Olympian Torrance Watkins at the 1984 Rolex Kentucky Three-Day Event, where I think she rode six horses, and asking her if it was hard to go so quickly from one horse to the next. She told me, so beautifully, “You know, it’s like having different dance partners, and moving from one to he other. You have to adapt your style to them to make the dance work. You have to figure out who likes to lead and who doesn’t, who has the rhythm and who doesn’t. I think it’s a wonderful challenge.”

Apollo is a Quarter Horse.

Seeker (below) and Sparrow (above) are draft-crosses and half-siblings.

Unfortunately, the scope of their achievements and their brilliant performances—climaxed by Zenyatta’s tear-jerking victory in last Saturday’s Breeders’ Cup Classic—are now being overshadowed by debates about which one is better and which one is more deserving of the coveted title of Horse of the Year. Comparing them is like debating the taste of whiskey vs. bourbon or ice cream vs. sherbet. Both are great, but it depends on what you like. I think both fillies deserve the title, but I’ll also happily drink both whiskey and bourbon.

Still, I can’t get four of Rachel Alexandra’s races out of my mind. The first was the Kentucky Oaks in May, which she won with almost Secretariat-like ease. She just toyed with some top-flight fillies for the first 7 furlongs, and then she fired an after-burner and left them behind as if they were a pack of mules.

Then there was the Preakness, where Rachel Alexandra clearly didn’t care much for the track’s surface and where every other horse in the race took a shot at her, including Kentucky Derby winner Mine That Bird, who unleashed his powerful closing kick to grab second. It was an incredible display of tactical speed and of courage. Usually, for a horse to win a race, most things have to go his or her way to provide some kind of advantage over his or her rivals: The surface has to be one he likes and that suits his action, the pace must suit his running style, and he can’t get blocked or impeded. Nothing in the Preakness went Rachel Alexandra’s way, and yet she still won, convincingly. 

In the Haskell Handicap at Monmouth Park, against older males, Rachel Alexandra calmly sat in second place for the first half of the muddy race, pushing Munnings through a first quarter in 22.8 seconds, a pace that’s usually suicidal in a longer race like this. And then, reminiscent of the Oaks, she fired the afterburner on the far turn to win by 6 lengths in just a tick off the track record.

And then she did it again in the Woodward at Saratoga. Once again, the other jockeys threw everything but the kitchen sink at her, and once again she held them all off. Da’Tara, winner of the 2008 Belmont Stakes, pushed her through another 22.8-second first quarter before he staggered home last, and then she held off two determined challengers in the stretch to win by a head.

In these four races, on four different tracks, Rachel Alexandra vividly displayed the full range of her physical attributes and her mental strength. They were extraordinary performances, efforts comparable to Secretariat, who won the 1973 Triple Crown running three completely different types of races and setting two track records that still stand (in the Kentucky Derby and Belmont).

Zenyatta is more of a one-trick pony, but, my god, it’s an awesome trick. She takes her time leaving the gate, spends the first three-quarters of the race bringing up the rear (perhaps sizing up her opponents), and then shifts into a higher gear to mow them all down in the stretch, always finishing with her big ears pricked up.

Zenyatta is now a classically beautiful Thoroughbred mare (although she was reportedly gawky and had a skin problem as a yearling), and she has quite the personality: That Spanish walk she does in the paddock and in the post parade that shows she’s ready to run, and that “look of eagles” that’s always in her eyes. And did you hear jockey Mike Smith say after the race that he hadn’t found all her gears yet, adding that he could feel her pause to admire the fans cheering her on as she was about to take the lead?

What if Rachel Alexandra and Zenyatta could meet? The chances, unfortunately, are tiny, as Zenyatta’s owners, the Mosses, have said that the Breeders’ Cup was Zenyatta’s final race. Plus, Zenyatta clearly adores the synthetic surfaces of California and hasn’t raced anywhere else, while Rachel’s owner, Jess Jackson, has declined to race her anywhere that has a synthetic surface. That’s why Rachel wasn’t at Santa Anita for the Breeders’ Cup.

But what if a race could be arranged? What if one or both owners changed their minds? What if it could be at Keeneland, in Lexington, Ky., a synthetic track but one that doesn’t seem quite as unusual to horses who prefer the natural dirt?

What if we could get Summer Bird (the likely 3-year-old colt champion), Mine That Bird (the Kentucky Derby winner) and a couple of others? At 1 ¼ miles.

How would the race go? I see Rachel breaking on top and taking the lead as they crossed under the finish line the first time, with Storm Bird two or three lengths off her, and with Zenyatta and Mine That Bird trailing eight or nine lengths behind, in that order. Rachel would cruise down the backstretch at an honest pace because Summer Bird would be right behind, Summer Bird’s jockey trying to keep Rachel from gliding along with a too-easy lead but worrying about not having enough horse to repel Zenyatta at the end.

Calvin Borel would urge Rachel to shift up to the next gear just before the quarter pole, leaving Summer Bird in her dust. Zenyatta would have looked hopelessly behind until this point, but as they straighten out, her tempo will suddenly increase, and the distance between her and Rachel will start to narrow. At the eighth pole Rachel will still have a daylight lead, about four lengths. At the sixteenth pole Rachel’s blaze and white bridle will still have maybe two lengths over Zenyatta, in that sheepskin shadow roll. But the gap closes fast as the announcer’s voice rises:

“Seventy yards to go, and Rachel Alexandra is hanging on desperately, Zenyatta digging in for one final thrust. It’s Rachel Alexandra and Zenyatta, head and head, nose and nose. Here’s the wire—it’s…!”

I don’t know who’d win, but I know we’d all have our fists clenched, with tears in our eyes, gasping at the performances we’d just witnessed.

I’d been aiming Sisko for this competition since this time last year, believing that it would be just what my “goldfish” (the length of his attention span) needed as I try to develop him into the upper-level event horse I always thought he’d be since I first sat on him in January 2008. It did turn out that the training-level three-day event was perfect for him, and the result of this year-long quest is that Sisko has graduated with honors from training level and is ready to move up to preliminary level in the spring.

(The lawyers tell me that I have to say here that I’m the press officer for the Galway Downs events, but I can absolutely assure you that I’d be writing this even if I didn’t have that job. So, to continue…)

I hadn’t seen a training-level three-day until last year this time, when Galway Downs offered it for the first time.  Although I’m an absolutely fervent believer in the classic-format three-day event (a subject I’ve written about several times in this blog and elsewhere), I wasn’t sold on doing it at the training level. Why do we have to dumb the level down to have this, I wondered? You can’t really do steeplechase over three fences and only 800 meters, at just 540 meters per minute, I believed.

But then I saw training-level horse after horse respond to steeplechase and roads and tracks, and then cross-country, the same way horses do at preliminary, and I heard rider after rider exclaim how unbelievably fantastically their horses jumped on cross-country, like they never had before. And I thought this would be great for Sisko, who has had serious concentration problems and, despite being an athletic and powerful horse (and a very scopey jumper), has had trouble feeling confident galloping down to cross-country fences.

Sisko has matured and improved all through the year, jumping clear on cross-country in all five of his events since the first weekend in March. We even finished second in our last start, in late August. But in the two months since then, he’d really matured physically and mentally (he’s 8 now), even though he missed about two weeks of work in September with a staph infection in his left front leg. So I was hoping that he’d give me his best at Galway Downs. And he did, finishing ninth of 27 starters, adding only 4 faults in show jumping (my fault for making a horrible error at one fence) to his original dressage score.

Sisko started off with his best dressage test ever, although it wasn’t his best score since the two judges were understandably marking 2 to 4 percentage points tougher than usual. He was the most rideable and focused he’s ever been, just having one blow-up that carried us through three of the last four movements. The score put us tied for 17th, and I reminded myself (once again) that he’s still very much a work in progress on the flat.

Speed-and-endurance day on Saturday was what Sisko and I were waiting for, and it was a wait too, because we didn’t start on phase A until 3:30 p.m. He made me laugh on A, the 14-minute first roads and tracks phase, because he was a bit spooky and seemed to think he was out on a trail ride, with horses trotting past him every few minutes.

When we reached the start of the steeplechase phase, which at Galway Downs is on a lovely training track, he seemed to remember the school we’d had there two days earlier, and he was off and galloping from the start. He jumped all three fences well, particularly the second, which he leaped perfectly out of stride. When I was an amateur steeplechase jockey, we called that kind of brave, smooth effort “pinging” the fence. It brought back memories.

When we got back on phase C, which followed almost the exact same route as phase A, he knew that this was no trail ride and refused to walk. I could feel him telling me, “Hey, I know something else really fun is coming!” He finally walked the last 75 meters to the finish of phase C and the 10-minute box.

When I got on him with about three minutes to go before my start time on cross-country, he gave me the same feeling race horses used to give me: Bouncing on his toes, energy coursing through every part of his body, craning his head to look toward the first fence and the rest of the course. Power and eagerness, just barely contained—rather like sitting in the cockpit of a rocket that’s ready to launch and in the final seconds before ignition. It’s just about the neatest feeling I know, a feeling I live for.

And when the starter said “go” and I closed my legs, Sisko did launch, perfectly, now completely focused on the first fence that lay 75 meters dead ahead of us. He absolutely “pinged” it and the second fence too, on our way to the course’s first tests at fences 3 and 4.

This was the sixth time I’ve ridden a horse in a classic-format three-day event, going clean on cross-country in each of them. And each time I’ve had that same feeling—of the horse having discovered a new sense of purpose and power, of having a heightened sense of joy about his job. As we landed from the attention-requiring three-jump combination at fence 4, I could feel we were going to jump clean. Sisko knew exactly what he was doing out there and was only waiting for me to tell him which fence to go to next.

Since that ride on Saturday, I’ve pondered why this phenomenon happens at classic-format three-day events and come up with three reasons.
 
First, trotting and cantering around roads and tracks and steeplechase gets the horse truly going forward in an eager but relaxed attitude.

Second, neither horse nor rider is subjected to the usual pressure of the warm-up ring. The usual scene in a cross-country warm-up area is a cross-section of a few horses galloping around barely under control, a few horses mincing around at the trot or canter and not looking like they’re going anywhere at all, and a few horses in good balance and a more forward attitude who are being drilled to jump the warm-up jumps perfectly.

Third, and related to both of those points, is that we riders reach the starting box physically and mentally warmed up and in a calm, forward attitude. Any physical or mental stiffness has been warmed up and away by having ridden for 30 or 40 minutes across the countryside and at speed. We’ve re-established our partnership with our horses during that time, and the steeplechase has warmed up our eye for galloping at speed and the balance needed to jump the cross-country jumps that way, in a way that the usual warm-up fences simply cannot.

Plus, during those 30 or 40 minutes, we’re thinking mostly about our horses’ physical state and cooling him and preparing him for the cross-country test, instead of about how nervous we are about the cross-country course. We reach the start box in a sort of Zen state. My friend Jimmy Wofford famously says, “It’s OK to have butterflies before cross-country, as long as the butterflies are flying in formation.” Well, phases A, B and C get them flying in formation when you reach the start box.

I’ve long said that I believe the Army guys from Europe and the United States who created the three-day event 90 years ago really were horsemen who knew what they were doing. Maybe they were human sports psychologists too.