Friday Night Hunter-In-Hand Classic: June 29th

[Haleigh Sharphowl]

Friday Night Hunter-In-Hand Classic
All Breeds Welcome
Friday, June 29th, 2007
Judge: Winnie Sharphowl

---

This is a post-on-board hunter-in-hand show for all breeds and all ages of horses. Horses must be shown in English snaffle bridles and nothing else.

Posts must be no longer than two Furcadian paragraphs. This rule is STRICTLY enforced. Although use of colorful vocabulary is encouraged, it should not be at the expense of clarity of the overall picture. Use words to accentuate your character, not detract from it!

Horses may post until this thread is closed the evening of the show. Posts will not be read by the judge until that evening, so you may edit your posts for as long as your heart desires. At the beginning of your post must be your character's show name.

Handlers are of no interest for this show and need not be mentioned in posts.

Prizes
1st - $15,000 -- Royal Assault & Sage Issip
2nd - $5,000 -- Caution Tape & Wyndlily Sharphowl
3rd - $1,000 -- Bend and Snap
4th - $250 -- Self Image
* = depending on entries, a yellow rose may be offered for 1st as well as a cash prize.

[Faux]

"... next is Self Image, handled by Kalmia--"

Oh, the competition must be sweating now. With one foot forward and a tug on the lead, this little Dutch Warmblood yearling was off and ready. Why, Self believed he looked rather handsome with that little mahogany snaffle bridle fit snugly around his head, the deep hue only visible against the white patches of his pelt. Silver buckles littered among the contraption, followed by a polished bit resting over his tongue--did it matter? He actually enjoyed those shiny lil' things. Not even the lead was considered too awful for this prissy equine, since it was the same dark red leather as his simplistic, clean bridle. After he slowed to a walk to continue his confident display, Self lifted his head like the cockiest animal in that ring with his tail raised and stride perfect, if he did say so himself.

Now, he knew he was something special. The little conceited colt was probably laughing internally at just how easy he had it--really, c'mon. Look at that coat! He could stare at himself for hours, just admiring the unusual brown and white tobiano coloration. His white tail and black and white mane flew after each stride like a banner in the wind, just as soft and untangled as they looked. Even as a sexually immature yearling, man, was he a stud. Now, as he was led towards the center of the ring, ears perked, intelligent eyes wandering, one could swear they saw a glint in his eye akin to some sort of horse-like wink. Oh, the devil. He really thought he had this competition in the bag, already!

[Sage]

"...Caution Tape..."

Austin relied moreso on his Handler, than his full-package. That being said, he was the newbie for today's Halter Event. His first ever and the stress showed on his face. His eyes were somewhat bewildered and his stocky leggings ever dancing and shifting from side to side. It took a few jerks of the bit to silence his inability to stand quietly before he actually listened the forth time. Loud snorting intervals as he was led into the show arena, a prancing contortion of his cloud-white leggings and he halted -- a shift being made. He stood... quiet and collected as the judge approached.

Caution Tape gave meaning to his name. His stocky build made few nervous to approach. Yet it was his warm inviting hide of milk chocolate and liver chestnut that drew in the crowd of buggering eyes. His muscles conformed, he curled his elongated face that adorned the deep brown Bridle at the nape, contorting a gorgeous appeal of Stallion for not only the Judge, but a relieved Handler as well. Back leggings stood relatively far apart, giving line and proportion as his lush whip'cord of auburn hair curled at the bone. His slightly short back, robust shoulder blades and thick nape-line gave a pit-bullish appearance. Surprisingly enough, he snorted and whickered out loudly as the judge became finished and walked away. 'What?' Austin began prancing in step once more beside Handler, 'We're done?'

[Kisco]

Now entering the ring Bend & Snap a Dutch Warmblood Stallion...

When Spit-N-Image reporduced this beauty, no one could deny the fact of his heritage. The onlookers would see the linage of Champions. Snap was aware of his duty to uphold his fathers name, poised for his entrance he gave a light snort. Good Evening to you all. Like a gentleman of the royal court, he entered like a drifting feather. Light with animated yet controlled action, not once did his head teeter off the straight forward. Sporting his Black Square Raised Bridle on his noggin, giving the ultimate look of regal intentions as he eased into a halt alongside his competition.

Take a look at me! Prized Bay Paint Dutch Warmblood stood, with all the professional attitude he could muster. Snap had been groomed earlier this day, giving him a sleek look as he squared into stance. Aren't I Handsome? Would've been his statement, if a horse could talk to the judge. But quietly he'd wait the ready, moving on in to give the Judge a upclose view to his mechanics and structure. Perfection. He took off into a two-beat flight, much like a bird gracefully taking a wing. Not only would his posture be pronounced in correctness. But his conformation was indeed near perfect, displaying he was the true heir to the throne of his fathers legacy.

[Haleigh Sharphowl]

The show program made it clear to the spectators: "27. Royal Assault, handled by Sage Isip."

The Thoroughbred stallion needed no introduction. Still fit despite being off the track for over a year, long chrome-dipped legs carried the chestnut around the perimeter of the ring. Royal Assault donned a simple black bridle: understated elegance at its best. He paid close attention to his newfound handler, always watching her from the corner of his large eyes that suggested tranquility and intelligence. This general din of a sporting event was common to his leaf-shaped ears, and in the back of his mind he was wondering if that distant memory of a racing saddle would become a reality.


Self-confidence showed through as his handler came to a stop. As trained, he assembled his legs into a square stance; his hind legs slightly off as permissible for hunter horses. The stud's braided tail lay motionless: a squirt of fly spray earlier had done the work for him. His pulled-short mane had been tied up into little button braids, and his spotless coat shone with a thin layer of show sheen. His cinnamon-hued coat had slight dappling along his withers and haunches, suggesting proper feed and excellent conditioning, as did his impressive muscles. The stallion was young, but already approaching his prime. He did not fidget when touched by the judge, as some of his type often did. When asked to trot, he lit up immediately, knowing the judge's eyes were only on him. His ground-covering stride required his handler to run alongside him, and he held himself in a manner that suggested supremacy. Indeed, it was like race-day all over again, and this was the victorious post-parade.