Just Tonight

The British air smelt almost familiar as the trio (Bullet, Sky and Blackie) stepped shakily from their crates a few miles out from the airport. Bullet, as per usual, was positively bouncing with excitement at the prospect of another competition since the success at Ravesdale. Spirits were high among the competitors – both human and equine. Nevertheless, the daunting prospect of competing at OVEC was showing on each of them at least a little – although Blackie kept his composure so well only Kalib could have sensed something was wrong… of course, Theyn could too, technically, but Blackie rarely, if ever, spoke to her, claiming her talents were a taboo kind of voodoo…
“Hey boy,” Kalib said wearily, giving Blackie an affectionate pet. “Sleep well?” He asked, seeing the stallion’s big, deep brown eyes droop a little. Blackie let out a soft whicker. “Adda boy,” Kalib said in reply, leading him out of the travel box and onto a lush field of green grass, on which they’d gained permission to graze their horses. That permission at least aided by the letters that Kalib sent to the owner; after an initial denial to use the field, he made a point of mailing another, much longer letter. This became such a routine that there began a period of time in which Kalib would begin planning his next letter whilst writing about twenty copies of one to sent at the same time…
Three weeks and well over 200 letters later, Kalib received an exasperated reply letter, allowing him temporary usage of the field… but not soon enough – Kalib had mailed 30 copies of another pushy letter his way four hours previously.
The team, which consisted only of Theyn, Kalib and Grant, set up a tent in the center of the field, and let the three stallion have free-run of it – less an act of caring and trusting than the fact that watching them meant less time to catch up on sleep…

Bullet, as soon as he felt his lead rein unclipped, bolted directly to the other side of the field. His father was on his heels as he bucked and swerved in the early morning light. He threw up his hind hooves with a whinny, one that was answered by a far-off horse in a far-off field.
Sky neighed in excitement and took a lap of the field, bolding one side and slowing to catch his breath on the next.
Blackie had gallivanted off straight away as well, but instead of wasting his non-existent energy on running, he lay down in the dewy grass and rolled, cleaning all the sweat and tension out of his body.

They arrived at OVEC the next day, bleary-eyed and dopey from mild sedatives [to take the edge off the stress]. None of the horses had been conscious enough throughout any part of the journey to really know how they got there, but it didn’t exactly matter; as soon as Bullet sensed new horses he let out a shrill whinny, which as answered in chorus by a number of horses within ear-shot.
A small man in what seemed to be jodhpurs and a dinner jacked pointed them the way to the stables, and, as they walked, talked them through exactly what was going to happen over the next week. He had the kind of boyish face that looked as though it had never seen, nor would ever need to see a razor. He had scraped back brown hair and eyes so wide that Kalib almost instantly wondered if he was high… when in fact, unbeknown to him, that boy was one cup of coffee away from ODing on caffeine.
The atmosphere was absolutely packed, a team of OVEC grooms was trailing around after horses or competitors, pointing people in the right directions and a few were walking around those horses that the owners were ever too scared to handle sometimes.

However, on the contrary to how he would normally act, sobered by the commotion around him it seemed, Bullet was being perfectly well behaved.
As was expected, Blackie, and Theyn especially, got several funny looks as they walked through the yard. A young rider attempted to chat to Kalib about how he’d managed to get a hold of a Rabicano Friesian, and pair of young girls swooned over Bullet, commenting instantly on how he looked very much like Bite the Bullet – a fact that made Bullet’s pride swell even more. Things did take a turn for the awkward, however, when the pair of girls stopped swooning over Bullet… and moved their attention to his rider. Grant blushed; Bullet gave him a bite on the shoulder for stealing his spotlight.

It took a full three hours to find the stables, and then finally get the attention of someone not so unbelievably busy so they could tell them which stalls the horses were to stay in. As it turned out, they had three stalls in a row at the back of the rows. They were large, very open and scrupulously clean – drips from where they were hosed down still visible.
“Looks good,” Kalib announced, pulling one of Blackie's stable rugs.
“Indeed,” Theyn replied, “smells funny, though. They’ve doused this place with disinfectant.” She chuckled, “I won’t complain though, it’ll smell like a stable again in an hour.”
Grant gave a chuckle, combing Bullet’s tail. “They really do all they can to look official, don’t they?” He took a long look around. The clean stalls; the new paint; new buckets; OVEC logos on every available surface; complementary minds for each stable.
“A little too much for my taste, that is.” Theyn said matter-of-factly. “I don’t care for elaborate stables or ‘complementary mints’. I just want warm, dry stalls, a bed and somewhere to ride.”
Kalib stayed quiet, quite happy with the facilities at the prestigious stables… and thought the mints were a nice touch.

Before anyone had even really slotted into the time zone, the day of competition was looming ominously before them.
Kalib had had them fly in with a week to spare before the events started, but he quickly found himself wishing he’d allowed another week. The facilities were almost always in use by a mob of horses and riders, a mob that changed every couple of hours but never seemed to show a point when new people could join in. Kalib resorted to practicing his Dressage routine in a spare field rather than in the school – a school that was so jam-packed there was barely room to trot ten strides, let alone effectively work on his routine and perfect Blackie’s movements.
“There’s barely a point sometimes, Blackie.” He muttered one early, misty morning when the sun had barely risen. There had been a smattering of rain the night before and the fresh, moist air was a welcome change from the beating sun and hot, thin air at BS. There were three days until the start of the competition, and so far, Kalib had not spent five minutes inside one of the arenas, even after attempting to storm in with his stallion at his side to demand a place to work…. Only to be told to ‘get the hell out; when he realized he had walked in on a rehearsal for the opening ceremony.

The days passed quickly and slowly at the same time; waiting for a place to train became agonizing, as did waiting for bouts of horrible weather to pass… as well as having to bathe Blackie’s feathers every night since they were riding in mud most of the time. However, every evening as Kalib lay in bed, he thought of the competition and that it was yet another day closer…
Along with the time issue, another problem quickly roused itself: Blackie was scared of the vet, Of course, he had been part of many inspections before events, but those were times with hours of preparation, mostly getting some time with the vet to explain about Blackie's phobia and how to avoid triggering it. However, considering he couldn’t get any time in the arena, Kalib doubted he’d manage to get the vet alone…
Kalib resorted to taking Blackie around in his halter for a couple of hours each day, and, when he could, get people to act as the vet would: feeling his muscles and tendons; looking into his eyes and nose and watching him move. He knew if Blackie could get used to it enough beforehand, he would suppress his phobia enough to survive an inspection. This went well until some kid said ‘vet’ whilst doing that. Within three seconds, Blackie had backed away, fear in his eyes, and let out a distressed whinny.
“Well done, idiot!” Kalib yelled menacingly, before attempting to console his horse.

For the hour following the V-E-T incident, Blackie got himself into such a state that even Kalib couldn’t get near him. No one had any idea exactly what caused his fear of vets, or the very word, but it could have been nothing less than acutely traumatic – Blackie’s reaction to that word was worse than if someone had thrown a rather large wad of barbed wire at him.

The ensuing day was Kalib consoling a distraught Blackie, who wouldn’t let anyone by people from BS within two meters of him. An exasperated Kalib, at the end of his tether, calling in the only person he knew could help, but the very last person he wanted to help him.

Theyn strode into the stable with a determined fire in her eyes, ears back a little and tail thrashing from side to side.
“I hear you’re scared of the vet,” she began with. Blackie, as expected, jerked awake and almost threw himself into the back of his stall. “Seriously—?” Theyn grumbles. “The vet? That’s it?”
He snorted in fear and let out a squeal of unhappiness. ‘I can’t…I can’t!’ Blackie’s mind squawked, his hooves drumming on the ground.
“Well how about you suck up your pansy-ass fear for a couple of days and grow a pair?” Her voice was calm but had an acidic-like tang to it, and, along with her accent, that made her sound even more intimidating.
Blackie stared at her with a measured gaze. ‘It's not that easy!’
“Why not?”
‘It’s… it’s not my fault! I can’t go near them…!’
She frowned, and then strode forward, took Blackie by the ear and tugged him forwards towards the door.
‘What are you doing?!’ Blackie neighed; Kalib’s face twisted into an expression showing he exact thoughts: maybe this was a bad idea…

Theyn took Blackie out in front of the outdoor jumping arena and stood there, calling over people she saw, telling them that this was a ‘de-sensitizing’ lesson for Blackie. Within 10 minutes, she had twenty-plus people with their hands all over him.
At first, there was the inevitable jerk to run and whinny of fear, but as more people put their hands on his body, Blackie quickly realized that he couldn’t jump around to get away without potentially hurting someone.
“Stopped freaking out yet?” She said tartly, pulling her tail up and out of the way of clumsy feet.
Blackie didn’t make a sound, but stood still dejectedly as tens of hands ran over his flanks, back, legs, neck and face. ‘I wish you wouldn’t do this…’
“Tough.”

The inspection came and went without many problems. Blackie managed to behave himself for the vet till he got outside after, at which point he jumped forward, neighing and shaking as if he was covered in flies for a solid ten minutes.

The Grand Prix Dressage day came along swiftly, and Kalib was up and working for 7am with Blackie. However, despite his early start, the practice arena was still too full.
“… Well, fuck you then.” He muttered, trotting Blackie off to his section of field.
They worked solidly for an hour before turning to leave for the stables again. Blackie walked briskly towards the stables, his mane and tail wildly fling in the wind. However, as they passed the practice right, they saw something… the Dressage practice arena was nearly empty.
The two took one long look at each other before deciding they were both thinking the same thing.
Kalib swung himself up atop Blackie; called a reckless holler of ‘CHARGE!’ and the mighty black Friesian took off towards the school.
He let a squeal escape his nostrils before he felt ht excitement heighten enough to make him want to buck, but composed himself as they entered the arena, the sand felt extremely good to Blackie – muddy grass wasn’t the nicest to work on.
Kalib felt a rush of bliss as Blackie elegantly switched to his usual Dressage demeanor, hooked his neck under, pulled his weight together, and pushed the power to his hind legs.
Kalib fumbled with the stirrups but quickly had them sorted and struck Blackie up into a brisk working canter around the arena.
The loudspeakers crackled suddenly into life.
Blackie started and pulled up.
“Can all competitors for the Grant Prix Dressage please report to the main, outdoor Dressage arena. Thank you.
…
“OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE?!”

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<sub>Art & Beaumont Stables ©: =Baringa-of-the-Wind

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