APRIL 2014 FLYING CHANGES 17 16 WWW.FLYINGCHANGES.

COM APRIL 2014

The Devil Wore
Dressage Boots
I
f the devil were to pick an equestrian sport, youd think
hed choose eventing. Eventing is a devil-may-care sport
wherein participants risk death, have a grand time over fences,
and let all hell break loose. Satan could wear a ame-red vest
and matching helmet cover. His horse would be decked out in
red as well, from leg wraps to saddle pad. But no, eventing is too
obvious. The devil, being a devious soul, chose a more detailed,
torturous, and heart-breaking sport: dressage!
How do I know? Because Ive seen him, felt him, and heard
him laughing in the barn aisle.
Just try riding a perfect dressage test (or as close to perfect
as you, a mere mortal can ride), and youll know its a sport
with a cruel streak.
Years of lessons, practice, and visualization, and you crumble
completely in the show ring. Your generally well-mannered
mount is surely possessed. He never acts this way at home,
you complain. And your friends agree. Evil is afoot.
The devil himself surely rides a red chestnut mare, her mane
braided with other-worldly skill into 1,000 perfect plaits. Exact-
ing as he is, even thats not enough for a good dressage score.
The devil loves striding into the show ofce, the red lining of
his dressage coat aring stylishly, outraged about his scores.
When you enter the show ring, he is hovering behind the
judges stand making gestures of Supreme Evil at the horse
youve been scoring 9s and 10s on in your imagination. Suddenly
youre scoring 4s and 5s and getting comments like Horse
needs to relax, Could show less expression, and Staying in
the arena would be nice.
When he is not scaring your horse, the devil sits on your
shoulderusing his nagging voice in your ear to undermine
your condence. In the end, the devil wins because good inten-
tions arent enough in this sport.
Boots From Hell
If you think the devils interest in dressage is supercial, think
again. As they say, the devil is in the details. Case in point:
dressage boots. Name another sport (something you do for
fun) where you purchase high-priced equipment only to have
it turn on you. New dressage boots are so tall and stiff you are
expected to go through a break in period where you cannot
walk in them, let alone mount or ride a horse. This is seen as
normal in the dressage community. Logical? No. Expected?
Yes. Dressage boots are clearly from hell.
Several years ago, my faithful Efngham boots (kind and
gentle soles who clearly slipped under the devils radar when
they were created) gave up the ghost. It was a gradual death
I repaired them numerous times and they held out as long as
they could. Finally, my faithful leather friends could no longer
keep my feet dry on a damp day (of which we have many, here
in the Northwest. The devil may have a hand in rainy weather
too, but thats another story.) Im comforted to know Ill see
my Efnghams again in heaven.
Needing to replace my boots, I went to one of my favorite
tack stores. Shopping for gear is fun! Normally.
The devil disguised himself as a helpful tack store employee
and gleefully told me that Efngham boots are no longer
made. He encouraged me to purchase another brand, which
looked like dressage boots but were in actuality Boots From
Hell: boots so tall and stiff, the leather cut into the back of
my knees. Unable to bend my legs, I stumbled like a horse in
shipping boots. Given that I was in pain, I was skeptical...but
the devil assured me that all would be well. Theyll soften up
in no time, he purred.
Setting Dignity Aside
I took the boots home and started the break in period.
Following tradition, I attempted to wear the boots around the
house, in the ofce, and so on. In theory, the leather would
soften, allowing the ankle to develop a nice fold, dropping the
height just enough to stop the boot from gouging the back of
my knees.
Alas, once I got the boots on, I couldnt get them off. I fought
a sense of panic as the stiff leather pressed against my calves.
I pulled one foot partially out of the boot, where it jammed
so tight I couldnt push it back in or pull it completely out. I
imagined calling 911 and having handsome EMTs free me from
the boots using the Jaws of Life. The devil lounged across the
room, chuckling, as I weighed my options.
Not wanting to alarm the neighbors with the arrival of a

Lauren Davis Baker

medical team, I used the time-honored, two-person boot removal
technique that rarely fails. The following, four-step process is
accepted as normal in the equestrian community, despite the
fact that it was clearly devised by the Evil One. Imagine the
pleasure this process gives the Lord of Darkness.
To begin, I, the Boot Wearer, sat in a chair sticking one
throbbing, boot-clad leg straight out in front of me. I rmly
grasped the arms of my chair for leverage and emotional sup-
port. Next, the Boot Remover (in this case, Al, the man I am
engaged to marry) stood in front of me with his back to me.
Trust is an important part of every relationship.
Al, aka: Boot Remover, inserted the offending boot between
his legs, knees lightly bent, and grasped the boot with both hands.
Id like to report that Al stopped to say, Honey, I love you at
this moment, but he had more important things on his mind.
At this time (and this is where the devil began to giggle), I (aka:
Boot Wearer/Victim) pushed the sole of my other booted foot
into Als buttocks. Al was forewarned to accept this behavior
as reasonable, if not loving.
Al pulled while I pushed, an action that is supposed to remove
the boot. Instead, my foot jammed further into the L-shaped
ankle curve of the boot and my calf muscles, trapped in stiff
leather, started to swell and cramp. The devil smiled at the tears
rolling down my face and blew me a kiss.
When the chair position fails (as it did for me), theres an
even more ridiculous option. This time I, the Boot Wearing
Victim, lay on the oor and grabbed a doorframe for leverage.
Setting all dignity aside, Al and I repeated the buttock pushing
procedure. Al contributed helpful comments such as, This is
ridiculous! which pleased the devil immensely. He loves it when
loving relationships are threatened, which is why he created a
boot that cant be removed without the wearer kicking trusting
friends and loved ones in the butt.
The offending boots were eventually removed with Al and
remaining engaged. However, I now felt more broken-in than
the boots. Plan B: I sent my expensive boots to be stretched.
In theory the boots are punished and returned home in a more
docile frame of mind.
My boots were actually stretched several times, twice locally
and once by a pro in Texas known for his boot-punishing skill.
Still, the boots remained unwearable. I resorted to Plan C: for
a mere $150 I had my new boots defaced with a zipper. If Id
wanted boots with a zipper, I wouldve bought them that way.
The Boots from Hell returned with zippers installed and I could
step into them and zip them up to my calves. A huge relief. Yes,
I had to stuff my calves in, like cramming into a too-tight party
dress, but I could get in and out of them without the Jaws of
Life or an emergency crew on standby.
Years after their purchase, I was able to walk in my boots.
I tried to look past the months of pain and the after-market
zippers. I actually rode in them several months later. I now
slip them on and off with only a dim memory of the suffer-
ing they caused me ... and just the slightest suggestion of the
devils laughter in the background. But I know hell be back in
full-force the next time I enter the show ring, hovering behind
the judges stand to scare the hell out of my horse. Such is the
sport of dressage.