Evelyn entered her first class very confidently, and made a pretty exasperated face when they called her name LAST, as in, 8th place.
"That's okay. Just keep doing your best. You've got 3 more classes. Keep at it!" I encouraged from the shaded two-rows of pop-fold-up bleacher seats.
So she guided her pony Maddox along the rail and begin the next class. She did a great job of following all the announcer's instructions, and then they called out to change directions. She stopped her pony, signaled the move and changed the whip to the other hand. Just as she did so, she brushed his back with the crop and simultaneously someone popped out of their chair. Pop! Hop! The pony leaped just a foot off the ground. Evelyn flew off to the side and landed on her bum.
Her trainer rushed into the arena. The announcer called for everyone to halt. Evelyn cried. I made my way to her and listened to her cry. It was not a pain cry. It was a bruised ego cry. I held out my hands in front of her. Slowly she reached for them, stood up and melted into my arms. The stands clapped.
Over in the shade I waited for her to get her frustration out. There was dirt in her pretty blonde hair, sweat on her brow, and tear-streams on her pink cheeks. People came over to say how brave she was. A woman gave her a pink handmade pony as a bravery award. A dad offered water. The medic wanted my signature. I wanted to hear from Evelyn.
"So what would you like to do?"
"I want to get back on."
"Well you can do that and get right back into the next class. I need you to make a noise for me. Go like this 'GRRRRR!'"
She laughed and at her sister's insistence made the gutteral noise to clear out the nerves.
She dusted herself off and hopped back on Maddox. The next class was called Obedience. She had to follow many instructions on getting her pony to halt, back up, trot, walk, walk a circle. She won a very well-deserved 2nd place ribbon. That's my girl!
