The wide path took us through a wooded area. A white-tailed doe leapt out of the undergrowth in front of us, but Besca barely changed her stride. She was used to these sights and sounds—the scampering of squirrels up and down the tall trees and their noisy scurrying among dry leaves, the rustling of groundhogs in the bushes, the squawking of startled turkey buzzards.
Alarmed at first, she’d soon understood these creatures were not a threat, but were simply eager to escape us and continue about their business.
Back at the barn, horse owners were arriving for their afternoon ride.
We walked past the outdoor arena, where tomorrow’s competition was being held. Several boarders were setting up the show ring inside it, measuring the twenty by sixty meter rectangle of a standard dressage arena, and marking the sides with white cones and low chains, before putting out the dressage letters.
“Want any help?” I shouted from the saddle.
I heard someone cry, “Competition riders only!”