I’m often grateful that I work late hours, because it means that I have most weekday evenings with the barn (and arena) to myself. The peace and quiet of the farm at nighttime is great for a meditative stall cleaning or a stream-of-consciousness grumble about my no-stirrup struggles.

There are nights, however, when my running narrative turns in the direction of four-letter words. I do own a mare, after all, and I maintain that I am just mirroring her language.

“You aren’t keeping your hands consistent, and I don’t appreciate it.”

I’m convinced that every horse show warm-up ring has them. We’ve all seen them. The one horse and rider who are flying around at speeds that would rival American Pharoah, making the same mistake over the same warm-up jump, over and over again, then revving up for another attempt.