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Description
Zip's entry for the Horst of the Year Show 2015

The beast, with her doe-wide eyes, relaxed into the snaffle bit. She was calm, as she always was, with her expensive looking garter-like white stockings. Oh, was she a sight! A wild black mane and a wild black tail, the muscled hindquarters only a gymnast could claim to have. Oh! She was beautiful.

But poor Osheen, with his pale face and paintbrush-point freckles, was nothing of the sort. His pointy, birdlike (perhaps) face settled into a frown of concentration. He wasn’t quite sure whether his sweet horse had the brutal desire to win that these horses sometimes had to have. Sure, sure, she was no racehorse, and yes, of course, she had no direct competition, per se, but it was there, oh, was it there.

He sighed, trying to convince her that his heart wasn’t pummelling his ribcage. Would he ever stop being so nervous, come competitions? Probably not.

And when the time came for him to give her the gentle squeeze from the leg, he gave his watch a long hard look. They wouldn’t be too slow, surely. Surely. She was fast, strong, brave. And boy, would she hurtle towards a jump. He could trust her to clear them all. She would die before giving anything less than her best.

She sped, her modest neck shooting up with her erect ears, the silence of her breathing speaking of hybrid motors. Osheen, perched on the back of the saddle, thrust her forwards, holding the reins carefully in his gloved hands. The boy, this young man, was quite secondary to the action. And he knew this. As long as he could stay on, support her when she needed him, draw her to the next jump, encourage her to change leads- well, it would be quite alright.

Oxer, straight, water- no matter, no matter. She flew, she flew. And Osheen would follow, heart in his dreadfully parched mouth, nearly knocking his head on her neck upon landing. Oh no, he wasn’t the smoothest, not by any stretch of the imagination. But they were a team. The bright bay ink with the scratchy nib, the baying hound and her accompanying gunshot. What a team! What a team.

They snaked, they swerved, they ran, threw each other around, breathed, together. Always together. And when they got to the final jump, the brown and gold, the fox-like creatures claiming the wooden stands, she did what she did best.

And when her hooves hit the ground, the horse gave a snort, as if to say “Perfect isn’t easy, but it’s me.”

Horse name: Zip
Rider: Osheen Burns
Stable: Astantine Stables
Country: Belgium
Class: Show Jumping
Entry number: 022
Qualifiers: n/a
Previous show experience: 2015 Totally Thoroughbred Open Show - 2nd Place
Extra images: 1 2 3

All art © to Fran Thomas of Astantine Stables and Shitlet
No references used

Description
Zip's entry for the Horst of the Year Show 2015

The beast, with her doe-wide eyes, relaxed into the snaffle bit. She was calm, as she always was, with her expensive looking garter-like white stockings. Oh, was she a sight! A wild black mane and a wild black tail, the muscled hindquarters only a gymnast could claim to have. Oh! She was beautiful.

But poor Osheen, with his pale face and paintbrush-point freckles, was nothing of the sort. His pointy, birdlike (perhaps) face settled into a frown of concentration. He wasn’t quite sure whether his sweet horse had the brutal desire to win that these horses sometimes had to have. Sure, sure, she was no racehorse, and yes, of course, she had no direct competition, per se, but it was there, oh, was it there.

He sighed, trying to convince her that his heart wasn’t pummelling his ribcage. Would he ever stop being so nervous, come competitions? Probably not.

And when the time came for him to give her the gentle squeeze from the leg, he gave his watch a long hard look. They wouldn’t be too slow, surely. Surely. She was fast, strong, brave. And boy, would she hurtle towards a jump. He could trust her to clear them all. She would die before giving anything less than her best.

She sped, her modest neck shooting up with her erect ears, the silence of her breathing speaking of hybrid motors. Osheen, perched on the back of the saddle, thrust her forwards, holding the reins carefully in his gloved hands. The boy, this young man, was quite secondary to the action. And he knew this. As long as he could stay on, support her when she needed him, draw her to the next jump, encourage her to change leads- well, it would be quite alright.

Oxer, straight, water- no matter, no matter. She flew, she flew. And Osheen would follow, heart in his dreadfully parched mouth, nearly knocking his head on her neck upon landing. Oh no, he wasn’t the smoothest, not by any stretch of the imagination. But they were a team. The bright bay ink with the scratchy nib, the baying hound and her accompanying gunshot. What a team! What a team.

They snaked, they swerved, they ran, threw each other around, breathed, together. Always together. And when they got to the final jump, the brown and gold, the fox-like creatures claiming the wooden stands, she did what she did best.

And when her hooves hit the ground, the horse gave a snort, as if to say “Perfect isn’t easy, but it’s me.”

Horse name: Zip
Rider: Osheen Burns
Stable: Astantine Stables
Country: Belgium
Class: Show Jumping
Entry number: 022
Qualifiers: n/a
Previous show experience: 2015 Totally Thoroughbred Open Show - 2nd Place
Extra images: 1 2 3

All art © to Fran Thomas of Astantine Stables and Shitlet
No references used