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dancinghorseCapria's, of course. Capria is the First.
The story starts in 1992. I'd decided to move to Tucson from New Haven--I was downright rootbound in the city, and needed to be somewhere with open space and affordable horse facilities. My trainer at the time had been urging me toward Andalusians, but the one we made an offer on was bought out from under me. Then, a month before I moved west, we found an ad for a pair of Lipizzan fillies. One was 3, one was 4. Both were just started under saddle. And, rather considerably to the point, both were in Arizona.
I did not immediately leap on board with the idea. "But--but--ordinary human beings can't own those!" Nonsense, said Ron, and told me to call and see if we could get a video. So we called. And ordered a video to be sent to Ron, as I was moving and Things Were In Flux.
The next I heard was an e-mail from a friend who was also Ron's student: "Never mind the younger one. BUY THE OLDER ONE." I had no idea he'd even received the tape, so was a bit baffled--but then sorted it out, and made arrangements to drive up to Flagstaff and try out both fillies.
A month after the move,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
writerkatie and I made the five-hour drive to Flagstaff. It was a great adventure. I'd never been up to the high country before. I'd never been closer to a Lipizzan than ringside at Madison Square Garden. And here we were at a farm full of them, under the tall pines with the San Francisco Mountains in the background.
The trainer (who is now a Very Big Name in eventing--I believe she's shortlisted for Athens) was saddling up the older sister when we got there. I took one look at this pretty white face and these big dark eyes and that was it. It was all over. When I got on to ride her, I was doomed.
Now mind you it was not the sort of ride you read about in fantasy novels by writers whose entire experience of horses comes from movies and books (most of them also written by people with zero experience). She was green, rough, and not all that well started. Her saddle was too narrow, and was sitting on her neck. And I had been riding a very big, very old Dutch Warmblood whose definition of a light aid was right off the volume charts for a Lipizzan.
Basically, we hit orbital velocity. For about five minutes. Then we started to get it together. At this point, the conversation at ringside went like this: "There's a click." "Yep. It's a match."
I bought her on the spot. Never even tried the other filly, though I saw her ridden and agreed that she was very nice. (After a lengthy saga of her own, she is now in Connecticut, being the light of a dear friend's life.) We were able to get her vetted that afternoon--and at the clinic, she was pulling away from her trainer to press against me when things got scary. The vet rated her healthy. "Her back's too long and her feet are a bit flat, but she's sound." All working parts were installed and running as they should.
It was two weeks before she could be delivered to Tucson. Two very, very long weeks. Then a fairly long few months while I discovered just how different Lipizzans are. All my decades of horse skills were worth exactly nothing. I was starting all over again with a new species. We had a rough ride for a while until I finally got a fraction of a clue--and Capria, being young (she was only four) and scared and a bit angry at the world, had her own attacks of frustration, some rather dangerous. 1100 pounds of sentient missile, you know. There are shoers in town who still make the sign of the cross when her name is mentioned, and the manager/trainer I had at the time remembers her with a lot of bad words.
Luckily we lived through it. Also the colic attacks, the time her hindquarters stopped working (and we discovered the joys of equine acupuncture), the great breeding adventure (resulting in ze keed, the one and only and that is it, says Capria), the Hock Problems, the discovery that she does not travel well (including the Pigeon-Fever Incident), and many other alarums and excursions.
She is now, at sixteen, sound, sane, and beautiful. The little dappled-grey filly with the big feet and the cinderblock head grew into a swan. Her back is still long; it's a training issue at times, and it's the reason why one of my breeding goals is to breed Lipizzans with short backs (since mostly the breed tends toward sausages). She is not the worldbeater of a mover that my young stock are, and she has no desire whatever to make babies for the breed--rather too bad really, as she has beautiful bloodlines, pure Spanish Riding School; her great-grandfather was the last horse Podhajsky trained to the High School, and her grandfather was the first Grand Prix horse in Arizona.
And yet she is one of the prettiest horses you will ever see, a lovely and fluid mover, and the best lesson pony in the world. She's a challenge to ride, not because she's difficult or dangerous, but because she's a perfectionist. She's my "home horse"--the one I come to when I can't focus on anything else. Her back is home. She's here for life, of course. If I drop off the face of the earth tomorrow, there will be duels at dawn over her--she has many, many friends--but as long as I'm on the planet, this is where she stays.
Her name btw is pronounced "ka-PREE-a." Part of the in-joke of ze keed's registered name, Khepera, is that it's a takeoff on the usual mispronunciation of his mother's name.
Today she had a longe--it was too hot to work very hard--and she was her usual impeccable self; and she was spoiled rotten all day, with treats, extra alfalfa, and lots of baby carrots with her dinner. I honored her by not working Camilla, who is her rival as Dressage Mare and she resents it (she shouldn't, but hey; after all), though I did ride da Pook (whom she also loathes, but he's a mere and piddling stallion, so that wasn't quite so bad).
Capria is the heart of DHF. Carrma rules the breeding program (and pretty much the whole rest of the universe as well), and the kids have their own parts to play, but the place is really about Capria. After all, she was the First.
The story starts in 1992. I'd decided to move to Tucson from New Haven--I was downright rootbound in the city, and needed to be somewhere with open space and affordable horse facilities. My trainer at the time had been urging me toward Andalusians, but the one we made an offer on was bought out from under me. Then, a month before I moved west, we found an ad for a pair of Lipizzan fillies. One was 3, one was 4. Both were just started under saddle. And, rather considerably to the point, both were in Arizona.
I did not immediately leap on board with the idea. "But--but--ordinary human beings can't own those!" Nonsense, said Ron, and told me to call and see if we could get a video. So we called. And ordered a video to be sent to Ron, as I was moving and Things Were In Flux.
The next I heard was an e-mail from a friend who was also Ron's student: "Never mind the younger one. BUY THE OLDER ONE." I had no idea he'd even received the tape, so was a bit baffled--but then sorted it out, and made arrangements to drive up to Flagstaff and try out both fillies.
A month after the move,
writerkatie and I made the five-hour drive to Flagstaff. It was a great adventure. I'd never been up to the high country before. I'd never been closer to a Lipizzan than ringside at Madison Square Garden. And here we were at a farm full of them, under the tall pines with the San Francisco Mountains in the background. The trainer (who is now a Very Big Name in eventing--I believe she's shortlisted for Athens) was saddling up the older sister when we got there. I took one look at this pretty white face and these big dark eyes and that was it. It was all over. When I got on to ride her, I was doomed.
Now mind you it was not the sort of ride you read about in fantasy novels by writers whose entire experience of horses comes from movies and books (most of them also written by people with zero experience). She was green, rough, and not all that well started. Her saddle was too narrow, and was sitting on her neck. And I had been riding a very big, very old Dutch Warmblood whose definition of a light aid was right off the volume charts for a Lipizzan.
Basically, we hit orbital velocity. For about five minutes. Then we started to get it together. At this point, the conversation at ringside went like this: "There's a click." "Yep. It's a match."
I bought her on the spot. Never even tried the other filly, though I saw her ridden and agreed that she was very nice. (After a lengthy saga of her own, she is now in Connecticut, being the light of a dear friend's life.) We were able to get her vetted that afternoon--and at the clinic, she was pulling away from her trainer to press against me when things got scary. The vet rated her healthy. "Her back's too long and her feet are a bit flat, but she's sound." All working parts were installed and running as they should.
It was two weeks before she could be delivered to Tucson. Two very, very long weeks. Then a fairly long few months while I discovered just how different Lipizzans are. All my decades of horse skills were worth exactly nothing. I was starting all over again with a new species. We had a rough ride for a while until I finally got a fraction of a clue--and Capria, being young (she was only four) and scared and a bit angry at the world, had her own attacks of frustration, some rather dangerous. 1100 pounds of sentient missile, you know. There are shoers in town who still make the sign of the cross when her name is mentioned, and the manager/trainer I had at the time remembers her with a lot of bad words.
Luckily we lived through it. Also the colic attacks, the time her hindquarters stopped working (and we discovered the joys of equine acupuncture), the great breeding adventure (resulting in ze keed, the one and only and that is it, says Capria), the Hock Problems, the discovery that she does not travel well (including the Pigeon-Fever Incident), and many other alarums and excursions.
She is now, at sixteen, sound, sane, and beautiful. The little dappled-grey filly with the big feet and the cinderblock head grew into a swan. Her back is still long; it's a training issue at times, and it's the reason why one of my breeding goals is to breed Lipizzans with short backs (since mostly the breed tends toward sausages). She is not the worldbeater of a mover that my young stock are, and she has no desire whatever to make babies for the breed--rather too bad really, as she has beautiful bloodlines, pure Spanish Riding School; her great-grandfather was the last horse Podhajsky trained to the High School, and her grandfather was the first Grand Prix horse in Arizona.
And yet she is one of the prettiest horses you will ever see, a lovely and fluid mover, and the best lesson pony in the world. She's a challenge to ride, not because she's difficult or dangerous, but because she's a perfectionist. She's my "home horse"--the one I come to when I can't focus on anything else. Her back is home. She's here for life, of course. If I drop off the face of the earth tomorrow, there will be duels at dawn over her--she has many, many friends--but as long as I'm on the planet, this is where she stays.
Her name btw is pronounced "ka-PREE-a." Part of the in-joke of ze keed's registered name, Khepera, is that it's a takeoff on the usual mispronunciation of his mother's name.
Today she had a longe--it was too hot to work very hard--and she was her usual impeccable self; and she was spoiled rotten all day, with treats, extra alfalfa, and lots of baby carrots with her dinner. I honored her by not working Camilla, who is her rival as Dressage Mare and she resents it (she shouldn't, but hey; after all), though I did ride da Pook (whom she also loathes, but he's a mere and piddling stallion, so that wasn't quite so bad).
Capria is the heart of DHF. Carrma rules the breeding program (and pretty much the whole rest of the universe as well), and the kids have their own parts to play, but the place is really about Capria. After all, she was the First.
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%^)
Date: 2004-05-04 10:00 pm (UTC)Such a wonderful moon for horse watching.....
no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 10:06 pm (UTC)I still think of Capria first and foremost when I think of DHF, whoever else might happen to live there now. :-)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 10:12 pm (UTC)She does sound lovely.
Wish I could See Ya, Capria
Date: 2004-05-04 11:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 11:13 pm (UTC)The photo for this icon btw was taken by
no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 05:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 10:13 am (UTC)And I just remembered I still have some older pictures online.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 10:41 am (UTC)(We have a kitty birthday in our house today: Tam Lin is 8, which is really hard to believe. He is currently sacked out in an orange puddle on the couch, oblivious to this fact. He'll get some birthday catnip later.)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 11:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 12:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 02:15 pm (UTC)Camilla and the new Pooklet look amazingly alike.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 02:48 pm (UTC)That's the riding part. I had had enough Vienna-style training to have a faint glimmer of a clue, though when Joni came along she took me all the way back to the beginning and started me over. Still, I had bits and pieces to work with.
The problem was the mind of the horse--the way she looked at the world. So much of what we learn to do with horses was a full one-eighty off what she needed. Like for example this supposedly universal truism: "If you ask the horse do something and he doesn't do it, ask again more strongly." The idea is that you didn't ask clearly or loudly enough the first time, so you keep upping the volume until he gets it. Which is all well and good, but what if the first request was too strong and too imprecise to start with? Bearing in mind that the usual horse definition of "light" in Lippinzinger is so far off the loudness scale that her eardrums have burst. So, with a Lipp, if you don't get a response the first time, your best bet is to back off and ask even more lightly. Less Is More.
Also her evasions don't mean the same thing we're usually taught. If she won't go forward, it doesn't mean she's lazy. It means the saddle is too tight or my seat is too heavy or I'm holding too tight to the reins or any number of other things having everything to do with her telling me I'm doing something wrong and will I please stop. When she's refusing to canter, the usual expedient of running her into it is the Exact Wrong Thing, because Lipps (and other baroque horses) have a different natural balance and have to be approached differently than the speed breeds we're familiar with, notably the Thoroughbred and the Quarter Horse. These breeds tend to be balanced downhill, and running into a canter makes sense to them. Lipps are rear-wheel-drive vehicles, meaning they naturally sit down and lift from the back, and when they're tipped onto the front end they get hysterical. Being off balance makes them crazy. Their natural gaits are the high-school gaits, the collected gaits (as in sitting down and lifting the front end, not slowing or shortening the stride).
That's why they can be so scary to ride--you feel the back end go down and the back lift, and in another horse that would mean he's going to buck. In a Lipp, that just means he's put his engine in gear.
These guys will not cut humans any slack. And that's the big problem. Most of what I knew at the time was exactly the opposite of what I needed to do. I'd follow instructions and get either zip or an explosion. It felt as if everything I said was coming through in mirror images.
Combine that with more sheer physical strength, in terms of ability to lift herself and her rider up into the air, than any other horse I had ever met, and 'way more intelligence than I'd come across even in the Arabians and Andalusians I'd met before, and I was just flummoxed.
Of cuss now I can't ride or work with anything else unless it's very odd of its kind. I feel, riding non-baroque horses, as if I'm sliding downhill into a hole, and the horse is...dull. Not stupid or mean or anything else, it's just that it's a rare horse who understands plain English sentences, or responds immediately to tiny shifts of body language.
You know Tolkien's Mearas? That's it. That's what a Lipizzan is.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 03:41 pm (UTC)I hope you don't mind a total stranger (and LiveJournal newbie, in case I am messing something up) popping her head in and expressing her fascination with reading what and how you write about horses, whether it is about fictional or real ones. "Classical Horses" is probably my favourite short story of all times (horses and Homer ... an unbeatable combination in my book), although it does admittedly face stiff competition from "Dame a la Licorne".
And I must say that your Pooka looks truly magical. Not to mention utterly gorgeous. The closest I have been to a lippizan was riding the most peculiar little crossbreed (lippizan, arab, swedish draft and something else), but from how you describe them I can tell that his 1/4 lippizan affected his behaviour quite a bit. I can only imagine what riding or spending time with the real thing would be like, but it definitely seems like a wonderful experience. :)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 05:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-05 07:35 pm (UTC)Thanks for all the nice words. You must be the one person in the world apart from the editor who ever read "Dame a la Licorne."
Pooka says Thank You, Of Course I Am. Pook has a very good sense of his own gorgeousness.
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Date: 2004-05-05 07:38 pm (UTC)The point of connection that I found, back when, between Capria and anything else I knew, was the Arabian. It's not quite the same--Arabs cut humans an amazing lot of slack--but the sensitivity and intelligence are similar. Once I caught on to that, it was easier to make the next step out of horse-default and into Space Aliens.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-12 01:47 am (UTC)I've always cherished the memory of that trip. You may remember that was my first up-close and personal experience of any kind of horse, and I started with a herd of Lipizzans! I'll never forget them all crowding up to the fence, pushing their noses through and snuffling, and Capria leisurely claiming her rightful place front and center.
And the click as you and Capria meshed was damn near audible; even a total novice like me had no doubt that this was interlocking puzzle pieces, a perfect match.
I can't believe it's been twelve years.
Katie