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Who says horses can't talk?

When I first got involved with horses a few years back, I remember thinking, "Gosh! How will I ever know what they're thinking? They have no expression!"

Seriously?

Now I marvel daily at just how expressive they are--I just had no idea, back then, how to read the nuances of the wrinkles above their eyes, the pucker of their mouth or chin, the angle of their head.

And they communicate so clearly, once you learn to read them! Here's a case in point:

We've had a dreadful fly season already this year, and the horses have been pretty miserable. Fly spray seems to be more of a condiment than a repellant for the little menaces. Several of the horses are wearing fly masks 24/7 by now. I didn't have them for any of my guys.

The other day I went to the pasture to get Nevada, who normally whinnies and moves right over to meet me. This morning, she didn't come, though she saw me right away. She was standing with one of her girlfriends about halfway down the fence line toward the woods, and there the two of them stayed.

I walked over, wondering for a moment if there was something wrong. But no, both horses were just fine. Nevada, though, had something on her mind.

She looked at me, then pointed her nose at her friend's fly mask, then looked at me again; she made that same gesture three times, just in case I missed her message the first time. "I want one of those." She could not have been more clear about it.

So, of course, I went and bought her one. She's never had a fly mask on in her life, but as soon as I showed it to her, she stuck her head right in, ears and all, and gave a big sigh of relief.

So who says horses can't talk?

Hoof Clinic

Yesterday I had the great good fortune to attend a beginner hoof trimming clinic with Ida Hammer at her place in central Illinois. I don’ t want to become a trimmer (certainly not starting out at 60+!), but I do want to know everything I can about my horses’ feet and the care they need. So a friend and I made the 4-hour trip.

The clinic was amazing, and not just because of the information. It was such an experience, on so many levels!

I had been afraid that it would smell bad and I’d be uncomfortable. Well, it didn’t exactly smell great, but there was no smell of death—the legs were fresh-frozen and then thawed, carefully wrapped with plastic and duct tape to expose only the fetlock and hoof. Those were some gnarly, smelly feet, I’ll grant you. Hooves of all shapes and sizes, in pretty bad condition.

The sheer amount of information that was shared was astonishing and overwhelming at times. Ida’s knowledge is deep and broad, and her enthusiasm and love for the horse is huge. The most important thing I learned was how much I still have to learn—a lifetime isn’t enough!

What was most interesting of all, though, was the “relationship” that I developed over the course of the day with the big horse whose foot I trimmed. There’s no explaining it in logical terms, other than to say it was my imagination running away with me—but I know that wasn’t the case. From the moment I first picked it up, that leg felt alive to me, not in a physical way, but energetically, psychically. That horse was PRESENT. His energy was big, warm, curious, friendly, happy. He was not in the least distressed by what was going on.

As the day went on and the trim proceeded, I found myself talking to him, patting him, reassuring him, like I would have done to a living horse. I was careful to put the leg down gently, and to protect it from people walking past. Doing a good job with the trim was important to me so he could walk properly and freely—even though this leg, obviously, would never again feel the ground in a joyful gallop. No matter.

Call me crazy, but that experience was as intimate as anything I’ve had with my own living, breathing horses. By the time I had that hoof trimmed up and looking great, I felt like he was “my” horse—felt so much affection for him and happiness in his presence! The thought of him running across those heavenly pastures with beautiful, sound feet was a joy.

When it was over and Ida asked who was going to take their leg home, I wanted to raise my hand. But we were several hours from home without a way to keep it chilled overnight and on the trip back.

What, you ask, would I have done with an amputated horse leg? Buried it in our little pet graveyard out in back of the house, with Shadow and Oshie and Wendy the Dog—those other four-legged family members who’ve gone on ahead.

But instead, I’ll write, and honor his memory and his sacrifice this way.

I wasn’t the only one to sense the presence of the horses yesterday. My friend, auditing, says she could feel the entire “herd” there with us, happily grazing and watching us as we learned from their feet and legs, just hanging out with us. Horses, in life and death, are amazing creatures.

Last night, lying in bed at the hotel, I missed my new-found friend and grieved his passing as if I had known him a long time. Those tears felt right and just. This morning, the intensity of the sadness has moved on and I’ve gone “back to grazing.”His memory, and my gratitude, remain.

Many thanks, my four-legged friend! And if you didn’t know love and care in your lifetime, I hope you could feel it yesterday. Godspeed!

What is leadership, really?

Working with the horses and my clients lately has gotten me wondering on just what “leadership” really means. There are so many “leadership styles,” so much “leadership training” out there that it boggles the mind!

In my work, I’m just going to have to let the horses tell me what it means and how to practice it. This, clearly, will be an ongoing topic in my life and on this blog!

My opening assumptions, based on what I’ve already learned, are these:

- A leader doesn’t make a big fuss over it. A leader’s energy is calm, grounded, and steady. When necessary, the leader’s energy escalates as much as necessary, but just enough to get the job done, and then quiets back down.

- A leader doesn’t shout—doesn’t need to. Because there’s no shouting and no drama, her followers listen and pay attention.

- A leader is respectful in her requests, but expects to be listened to. She promises that she will ask, suggest, urge, and then follow through with sufficient energy to get the job done. This is part of the “contract” she has with her followers.

- A leader rewards for the slightest effort and smallest try, so that her followers know their efforts are noticed and appreciated.

- A leader listens to her followers. They are entitled to an opinion and to be heard respectfully. However, the leader makes the decisions.

- A leader understands how to communicate effectively, with voice, energy, and body language, so that there is no misunderstanding.

These are just a few of the things that come to mind. The horses are great at teaching these principles, and they keep me on my toes as I learn, too.

A Changing Relationship With my Horses, Part Two: Galahad

I’ve been spending a lot of time just hanging around with my big guy lately: stroking, walking, grazing, grooming, cleaning his feet. Putting Desitin on his undercarriage to discourage the flies, which have been terrible already this year. Riding him, bareback, just moseying along the road. Standing with him in the pasture, watching him interact with his buddies. I feel like I’m finally getting to know his real self.

The other day I walked out to the pasture on an unseasonably hot afternoon. Galahad left the rest of the herd standing in the shade and came over to me right away.

I stood there and just stroked him for a while. The big, blue-eyed Paint threatened to come running over and chase him, but I got between them and waved my rope; the Paint suddenly discovered a very tasty clump of grass. I kept walking toward him, though, casually swinging my rope until he decided to leave in a hurry. Galahad, as usual, was watching with big eyes. “Wow! Did you see that?!” My big, gentle guy is pretty close to the bottom in the herd’s social structure.

The flies were miserable, and Galahad was clearly grumpy because of it. He kept moving his hindquarters closer to me, which is unusual for him, and “pointing” at his belly with his nose. He was pretty clearly asking for help with the flies. I offered the halter and he stuck his nose in it.

He wasn’t keen on walking anyplace very fast, but we eventually made it to the barn. It’s not like I was in any kind of hurry. I tied him to the hitching post, cleaned his feet, and put lots of bug spray on him (though it was only the herbal one, which lasts approximately five minutes). Then I put Desitin on his underneath parts again. He likes the feel of that—I think it’s soothing, and really does keep the flies off for at least a day. There were a couple of ticks, too that I got rid of for him.

Then we went into the small arena, where I started teaching him to step sideways over a downed barrel. Some of our horses at the Rescue Ranch actually like doing that. Galahad? Not so much.

He did it once, after much coaxing. I instantly walked away as a reward, then raved over him, gave him a cookie, and everything. He looked quite pleased with himself. I decided to see if he’d do it again—his pouty face came on, and suddenly the flies became even more unbearable. I admit to pushing him harder the second time. Finally, he did it again, but not willingly. I ignored that, fussed over him again, and took his halter off.

He didn’t even want to roll. Instead, he started yawning, pointedly, non-stop. “This is SO boring.” I laughed, walked over toward him with the halter held out, and said, “Are you ready to go?” He stepped right over and stuck his head in it. My boy is a clear communicator; I’ll say that for him.

After that, we walked up the hill, past the new, scary ducklings in the little shed. Galahad wasn’t nearly as unnerved by them as Midnight had been earlier that day, but still, it was something to wake a guy up. Then we came back, had a treat, and I rode him back down to the pasture. Good boy!

Interesting: our relationship is changing and Galahad clearly notices it, so he keeps testing me to find the new limits. And I’m still figuring out what those limits are—it’s a moving target, and, like any relationship, will always exist in a state of dynamic balance. But I feel like I’m seeing him as a fellow being now, not just as a horse. It’s worth the effort.

A Lesson from Nevada

I made a serious error the other day: I embarrassed Nevada in front of her friends—I swear!—by making her work right there in the pasture.

Pasture 5 is a LONG way down the lane. I was tired, it was hot, but I felt I SHOULD work with her. Now, a “should” in that context ought to have tipped me off right away that my judgement was impaired. But it didn’t.

The mares were all at the bottom of the pasture, clearly enjoying the grass that had just been mowed. So fragrant, even to me!

I walked toward the herd at the bottom of the pasture. Nevada came willingly once I got close, and I put the halter on her. Then I did a short version of our normal workout: yielding front and hind, circling me at a walk and trot—but all of it right there next to the rest of the herd. And I’m certain that she saw absolutely NO point in it. There weren’t even any treats involved.

We didn’t work for long—maybe five minutes. But it was long enough, apparently, to offend a sensitive nearly-three-year-old.

The next day, when I went to get her, Nevada took off running as soon as I got anywhere close. She’s a smart little mare: She took the entire herd down to the creek, where I couldn’t get to her without wading in and making a big fuss. Clearly, she wanted no part of me and my stupid games! Only then did I stop to see things from her perspective, and I couldn’t blame her for being offended.

The mares stayed in the water a long time—I could hear them splashing. I deserved to be dissed, so I had to laugh—but I just waited her out. I had my camera with me, and went off and took some photos.

Eventually, they all came back out, running and rolling and bucking and farting. Nevada soon spotted me, and then the real games began. She’d chase and bite at one horse or another to make them run, the stinky little mustang, to provide her with cover so she could “hide” behind them.

No matter. I made sure she kept running, and that she knew that the running was my idea, not hers. She’s such a joy to watch—that natural self-carriage and collection of hers is something to see.

Eventually, after several trips around the pasture (interestingly, the rest of the mares didn’t move unless she made them move—obviously, they knew I wasn’t after them), Nevada slowed down and deigned to look at me, kind of sideways. I approached slowly, stopping and/or turning away to reward her every time she glanced in my direction. Once she quit running, she didn’t argue much, and didn’t try to move away as I approached.

When I got up to her, at first I just petted her until she relaxed a little, then walked away from her for a minute. Next time, I showed her the halter, then walked away when she relaxed. Then I put it around her neck and asked her to flex a little—no dice at first. She was still trying to ignore me. But eventually she gave just a bit, and I dropped the halter and walked away.

By this time, she’s looking at me like I’m crazy, right? But each time I walk back to her, she’s a little softer.

Eventually, I did put the halter on her, flex her, thank her, take it off, and walk away clear out of the pasture. She watched me but didn’t offer to follow. That’s OK. Next time.

It’s a lesson I won’t forget.

[This wonderful photo of Nevada and her friends is copyrighted by my good friend at AimingHigh Photography, used by permission.]

A changing relationship with my horses

I’m re-thinking how I relate to my horses the last few months. It started, really, back when I first got Galahad and realized that the accepted training methods—even those labeled “natural horsemanship”—didn’t sit well with me. They’re still based on the dominance/submission paradigm—“Me human, you horse: You obey or I will hurt you” kind of thinking.

It’s a moving target. I don’t have a problem with riding my horses, within reason; I do have a problem with bits and spurs. I don’t have a problem with them having opinions that get listened to, and I want them to have fun when we’re together; I do have a problem with them being pushy and disrespectful. On and on. Nothing is yet clear. They weigh nine or ten times as much as I do, and I need to be safe, too.

And because I’m working on this, it seems like I’m having more fun. I love the way my horses enjoy being with me. I love the way they come to me when I call them, sometimes at a trot.

Well, they come to me most of the time, at least.

[Note on the photo: Sharp eyes will see that the horse on the right is not Nevada, but one of Galahad's gelding buddies. Close enough in looks, though, and he didn't mind being in the shot.]

Horse Time

Here’s an event that happened last month, but I never got around to writing about it at the time until one day last week.

Out at the Ranch one morning, one of the staff invited me to help her catch “Oliver,” an unruly colt who was out in a paddock playing with his little buddies and refusing to let anyone near him with a halter. My friend Sally had been trying for some time; I didn’t have any better luck. We were using the techniques that our trainer “Jay” had taught us, but to no avail. Eventually we gave up and went to get Jay himself.

Oliver was WAY more interested in playing than in being caught. He is/was a little spooky, it’s true, and for whatever reason, he recently had decided that being caught and haltered was not something he wanted to allow. He insisted—or pretended—that it was really scary.

Jay just played the game with him—and for Jay, it was a game, and fun. For Sally and me, it had been a job, or at least something that had to be accomplished in a “reasonable” amount of time. Not fun, but stressful!

Jay and Oliver played “approach and retreat” and “If you run away, you have to run really fast” for nearly an hour before Jay could begin to get the halter near Oliver’s head. And even when he could have “caught” him, Jay chose instead to reward Oliver’s relaxation by walking away—numerous times. Even when the halter eventually went on, it came back off several more times when Oliver relaxed.

In the end, Jay’s approach proved itself of huge benefit. Not only did we bring Oliver in that day, but the next day, after Jay had worked with him for a while in the round pen, playing the same games, I was able to halter him in the indoor arena. In fact, I was able, using the same techniques, to get him to run all the way across the arena to get me to put the halter on him!

So the lesson, to me, is that sometimes it takes a LONG TIME to do something the right way the first time or two. Yup. No doubt about it: It would have been quicker, that first afternoon, to drive Oliver into the “trap” that’s there in the paddock for that very reason, and catch and halter him there. But that hour Jay spent, plus the few minutes the next day in the indoor round pen, will save everyone HOURS and HOURS of effort from now on. Not to mention the fact that Oliver  now thinks that being haltered is a very good thing.

A lesson in “horse time.” In horse time, things take as long as they take—no more, no less. Things happen at exactly the right moment. Before it’s time, you can relax and have fun or eat grass, because it isn’t time yet. After it’s time, you can relax and have fun or eat grass, because it’s already happened. I want to try living my life that way.

A Reason to Focus

This was originally a much more detailed post, but I realized that the details of what happened don’t matter. Rather, it’s my response to the situation that’s important.

Horses leave the Ranch with a willing attitude (we won't put them up for adoption until they demonstrate it) and the experience of clear, respectful communication. That’s what we teach them. The “down side” of that is that the horse learns that it is possible for such communication to take place. When they reach their new homes, they all too often encounter something quite different.

Our adoptive owners, while they unquestionably love their new horses, are usually not experienced in how to communicate respectfully with them. We teach them as much as we can before they take their horse home, but often that’s not enough to overcome their inexperience and the “old-school” methods that prevail at so many barns. Owners accept advice from the experienced owners and riders around them, most of whom are not skilled in relational horsemanship techniques.

“Old-school” isn’t wrong; I’m not saying that. It’s just different, and makes a different set of assumptions about the horse/human relationship: horse as useful animal versus horse as friend and partner.

The result, sometimes, is that the horse, having learned to expect a certain level of communication, takes offense when that’s not what it experiences. It’s not the fault of the owner, who has no idea what’s suddenly “gone wrong” with his beloved new friend. Generally, the horse gets blamed for its “bad attitude,” and no one understands that what’s really happened is a failure of proper, respectful communication between horse and owner.

My recent experience with “Toodles” was a perfect example. Our new apprentice, just learning (it was her first day!), wasn’t respectful in the way she asked Toodles to flex, and the horse took offense. The result: a fight, and a situation that likely would have continued, or gotten worse, if someone hadn’t been there to correct it.

We had a similar situation crop up last week with a recent adopter. My first reaction was to get discouraged and depressed. That’s clearly not helpful. After a lot of soul-searching, I realize that, in fact, the situation is a good reminder of why Jay and I work so hard at what we do at the Ranch. It reminds me to stay focused and continue our work of educating owners and riders, one at a time.

A lesson in manners

My lesson for today was softness. I was working with "Jenny," one of our new apprentices, helping her learn the basics of haltering a horse and asking it to flex its neck to each side. “Toodles,” an older mare who’s said to be very easygoing, was our test subject. Jenny got Toodles to flex to her left, but when she moved to the right side, the horse started fighting against her. I tried to talk the young woman through the process, but with no success, so I took the lead rope and the horse fought with me, too.

Interesting. The horse knows this maneuver, but we had apparently offended her with an approach that she considered impolite and disrespectful. My guess is that Jenny hasn’t figured out what “softness” means, and Toodles took offense at having her face pulled on. It’s not at all uncommon for a horse to do that. Generally, people fight with them about it, and things go from bad to worse. The result: a “bad” horse. Not really….

After a while, I sent my apprentice friend off to watch Jay and the others, and attempted the “fix” myself. I probably should have let her stay, but didn’t want to teach her anything wrong. One of these days I’ll start trusting myself more.

Since asking her to flex in my usual, polite-but-assertive way was only getting a fight, I decided to go back to basics—real basics—and lots of softness. I took up the lead rope, slid one arm along Toodles’s back, and with the other hand, slid down the rope toward her face. As gently as a whisper, I asked her to move her head out and back toward me, and rewarded her for every twitch in my direction by releasing the pressure for a second. The first time she gave a significant amount, I dropped everything and walked away from her. Confused, she followed me. Where was the fight she was expecting (and maybe looking forward to)?

I tried that a few times, and with persistent gentleness, got her all the way back to touching her side with her nose, on both sides. It did take me 20 minutes, and when she finally did it willingly, I took the halter off and left her. By then, she followed me to the stall door and hung her head out to be scratched.

Jay’s only critique was that I should have finished by asking her the “regular” way—but my confidence isn’t quite there yet, and I didn’t trust myself not to get into another fight with her (surprise, surprise!). So I’ll go back and try again tomorrow—but I feel REALLY good that I did the right thing, and that Toodles evidently agreed with me.

Horsemanship!

Well. After all this time, I’m finally going to have to admit that my horsemanship skills are pretty good. Here are three instances from the last two weeks that have forced me to admit it.

First of all, I’ve actually been riding some of the horses at the Ranch, in spite of the fact that they’re “green,” and I've done well. Jay has been complimenting me on my willingness to get on these horses and ask them for a quick response—and to get it. That’s huge, for me! Actually, come to think of it, that’s pretty huge for anyone who’s not a long-time horseman ... and maybe for some folks who are.

I even rode “Duke,” a stubborn little Connemara pony the other day. He's been ridden quite a bit by his previous owner, but the little stinker has little or no stop, not much backup, and his lateral controls don’t work super well. However, he does a one-rein stop and, once he’s sure you’re not going to give in to him, he steers fairly well. We walked, trotted, did figure-eights, and worked on improving the “whoa.” I had a great time (and I think he did, too, though he’d never admit it). By the time we quit, he was doing those figure eights at a trot and moving almost entirely off my seat and posting cues. Way cool!

Then that same day, I had an amazing experience with the little walkaloosa I’d been riding. He spooked at a piece of paper blowing down the barn aisle as I was backing him out of the arena.

The barn aisle was clear—I had looked before we left the arena. I didn’t see the paper at first, though I knew he was spooking at something. I sure as heck wasn’t going to stop to find out what it was, thereby reinforcing his thought that it was going to eat him for lunch. I just kept asking him to back up—into whatever it was. Then, as the paper blew past him, he levitated—all four feet left the ground—but he carefully did not come toward me. Rather, he went sideways to avoid both me and the paper.

My heart rate didn’t even go up. That’s not something that can be controlled through willpower—but evidently I have gained enough experience to know, in the moment, whether or not I need to be afraid. I never even changed my stance—still with my head slightly forward, eyes and energy focused on his chest. As soon as he landed, we continued backing down the aisle to his stall.

And boy, did he back up like a dream! Head low, moving straight down the aisle, looking neither right nor left. Good boy! He didn’t “recover himself” until we got him backed into his stall—then, feeling secure once more, he challenged me a little bit, but not much.

Jay saw the whole show. His comment, afterwards: “That’s horsemanship!” I was so proud of myself!

Then yesterday at the Ranch I was planning to spend the day writing an article, but Jay grabbed me as soon as I walked in and handed me a horse to check out. “Dancer” is a lovely little mare, sorrel with a flaxen Fabio mane and tail.

I didn’t know it at the time, but this is a mare who has reared and gone over backwards several times since she arrived. She is the first horse I’ve encountered who wouldn’t do the easy yield-and-backup game that we use at the Ranch. She refused, at first, to yield either end! So I spent over an hour with her, getting her to disengage front and hind, and improving her backup. In between practices, we walked through and around obstacles in the arena, which she handled very well, head down and calm as could be.

Jay, who had been working in the round pen with another horse but who has eyes in the back and sides of his head, came over as I finished with her. “I hope you know how proud I am of you! You may not realize what a big thing you’ve accomplished there.” Then he told me about her history.

I felt great about it! And I did realize just how far I’ve come in the last ten or so months. That “Lead Intern” title is well deserved, I guess I have to admit.

Sir Galahad the Good

Galahad continues to astonish me.

He's been chosen as a "poster child" for a local organization, and yesterday was the video session out at the barn. Three solid hours of "Stand over there, please." "Can you say all that again?" "Can you get him to come up and nuzzle you while you're talking?" "Can he walk by in the background?" "Can we do that one again?" "Can you show us your regular morning routine?" "Can we show him frolicking with his friends?"

Galahad never turned a hair after the first five minutes. Five minutes? That was what it took him to get used to the video camera, the cameraman, the strange, umbrella-like lighted thing, the close proximity of the house (where he's never been before), the sound of the rattling equipment case.

What impressed me the most was that he was obviously nervous about all of it at first, but he just kept looking to me for reassurance and guidance. He trusts me that much! It made me feel wonderful, knowing that our relationship is so solid that he's willing to endure some pretty scary stuff if I tell him it's OK.

He only had one worrisome moment, when he snorted and backed away. That was the time I turned his lead rope over to someone he wasn't used to. He didn't actually do anything, but it was obvious that he was NOT OK with the idea of anyone but me calling the shots where he was concerned!

After the video crew left, Galahad had one more chore to perform: our friend had brought her two little boys, ages 7 and 8 or thereabouts, out to see the horses. Galahad, who has never had a little boy on his back, let alone two at once, gave a "pony" ride and was a perfect gentleman.

He wasn't too sure about the whole thing, but with the mom on one side, another adult on the other side, and me leading, he walked quietly. Even with the boys playing "one, two, three...WHOA!" amid gales of giggles and squirms, he stopped quietly or just kept moving when I told him to, calmly and gently.

What a guy! He's this good at five years old--he's going to be amazing when he's ten! A real jewel....

Dancing, again

I think about dancing almost as much as I think about horses, in case no one has noticed, and lately I find myself thinking about riding while I'm dancing. Probably just as well not to let my partners know that....

I had the pleasure of dancing with three of my favorite partners Sunday night. They really gave me something to think--and blog--about. It was so interesting to pay attention to what was going on in my body during the dance.

The first gentleman asked me to dance shortly after I arrived. He and I have danced together for a long time. This particular evening, for whatever reason, he wasn't up to his usual form. His lead was a little late; his feet weren't where I expected them to be. As a result, when we first started, the dance felt "off." But we kept at it. I put a little more energy into my own dancing, and he actually seemed to pick up on it.

By the time the dance finished, we were nearly back to our usual proficiency. I wonder, is this what my horse experiences when I have a bad day? After a ride, I, as the rider, am usually feeling much better than when we started.

The second gentlemen, who studies ballroom dance and is the most technically proficient of the three, asked me for a waltz late in the evening.

There were a couple of times when he’d cue a move and I’d realize I had absolutely no idea what he was doing or where he wanted me to be. None. But it worked out anyway, and here's why (IMO, of course):

If I were a less experienced dancer, I would probably have hesitated there, not knowing what the cue meant. But experience told me to keep moving.

Also, I knew my partner was an excellent dancer and a strong lead. I was able and willing to trust him and move forward without knowing where he was sending me. Very important point: If I had not trusted him, I would have stopped, like a horse refusing a jump. It's happened before, with other partners. Most embarrassing for both parties!

So at those those times of not knowing, I just kept moving, trusting that I had understood the cue and that he knew what he was doing. Sure enough, there he’d be, at just the right instant to pick me up and move us into the next phrase.

The third gentleman, always fun and inventive, asked me for a tango. He and I have done a few Argentine tango lessons, but neither of us is terribly good at it. All dance, but especially this form of tango, requires an exceptionally precise lead and follow. There are no programmed steps, which makes it both challenging and great fun.

As we danced (and we danced very well!), I was aware of every signal, every hint, of the direction my partner was moving. This gave me direction and timing. Because we're not experienced and don't dance together often, I was also aware of my own fraction-of-a-second hesitation while my body--NOT my head--processed the information and moved. It was fascinating, and gave me a greater insight into what my horse experiences when we ride.

And it was magic. Pure magic. I want to ride like that.

Becoming a rider!

A funny thing has happened recently: I'm becoming a rider. Sounds strange, I know...haven't I been riding for quite a while now?

Yes and no. I've been riding, but only horses I know well, or "lesson" horses, who are said to be safe to ride. But certainly not the green-broke horses at the Ranch. I've been afraid to get on those, for the most part.

I have been riding, and taking lessons, with an excellent local (but soon to be nationally known) trainer. Her specialty is the Monte Foreman "basic handle," which schools the horse as it gets the rider used staying balanced while the horse makes sharp but controlled turns.

So I have been getting myself ready, working up my nerve, but still saying no every time Jay suggested I ride one of our horses.

But yesterday the amazing thing occurred: when Jay urged me to ride a little "walkaloosa," two and a half years old and 13-odd hands high, with maybe half a dozen rides on him, I agreed.

I had worked with him on the ground quite a bit, and he was behaving very well. He had demonstrated that he was willing for me to ride him, by moving willingly and freely on a lead line, no matter how much speed I asked him for, and then relaxing once I let off the pressure.

So I saddled him up, worked him for a bit longer on the ground, and then...got on.

Yesterday, he argued quite a bit, but I insisted, politely but firmly, until he gave in. I mean, really, fella, all we're doin' here is followin' your nose.... It was a short ride--maybe ten minutes--and we never moved past a walk.

Today, we had our second ride, once we'd gotten our ground-school review out of the way. And we did fine! Jay even complimented me again today on how well I communicate with the horse, and how I was willing to engage him in some pretty energetic moving of his hindquarters, where other riders haven't been.

Best of all, I felt confident, secure, and capable. The little horse was willing (mostly), and we actually moved up into whatever it is that's just faster than his "trot," or whatever that gait is on a "walkaloosa." It felt like a tiny, fast-but-smooth canter. Reminded me of a paso fino that I rode once--feet moving ninety miles an hour, ground speed about a quarter of a mile an hour....

So, success on many, many fronts. Think I'm most happy with the feeling I have about it: such a boost to my confidence. Can't wait for the next ride!

Dancing with horses

I went to a Sunday night Waltz Party a while back. Especially because of my work with the  horses, I paid attention to how I follow my partners' lead.

Several of the women dancers have asked me to help them follow better, but I've never been able to give them pointers. That Sunday night dance showed me why: I have absolutely no idea how I do it.

The best answer I can come up with is that I follow the path of least resistance--if my partner raises his arm in a certain way, it feels easier to twirl under in one direction rather than in the other. But it happens instantly, and I can't tell you in words just how I know to do it.

I bet this relates to the way horses learn our cues. A horse doesn't feel your leg on her side and then say to herself, "Well, that's Leg Position One on my right side, so I'm supposed to step over with my right front leg." But in the end, with a good rider, that's what they learn to do. They, too, learn follow the path of least resistance, moving without thinking about why or how, like water flowing downhill.

I think I follow my partner's lead in the same way. I come to associate a certain touch with moving in a particular direction, but it's a body knowledge of the easiest and most comfortable way to shift my weight, not a head knowledge of what the next step should be. What I've discovered over the years is that if I stop to think about what I'm doing in the dance, my feet stop moving correctly.

Some dance partners are better than others. With some, I dance well; with others, it's more like a battle of will and balance. There have been a few with whom I simply cannot dance. On one unpleasantly memorable occasion, I came to a complete stop in the middle of a waltz, balking without thought like a horse refusing a jump. To this day I don't know why that happened. That gentleman has never asked me to dance since--likely a wise move for both of our sakes!

Dunno. But it's interesting. I think this understanding may help me be a better rider.

Unexpected turnaround

I was privileged to witness an unexpected and dramatic change in attitude in one of the horses we're working with out at the Ranch.

Liberty, who was found chained to a tree where he'd been forced to live for some time, had an understandably bad attitude toward life in general and people in particular. The best word I can think of to describe it is sullen. He really wanted nothing at all to do with us.

A couple of months ago, before we realized just how bad things were with him, Jay let me work with him. It was soon obvious that my lack of skill was making the problem worse, not better. Liberty would pull away, and I'd pull back. Liberty would turn his butt to me in the round pen and, in trying to correct that misbehavior, I'd get him running hell-for-leather and not be able to get him calmed down.

I was actually relieved when Jay took over his training, because I didn't have the skills to help this horse past his problems. Even Jay had a tough time with him. The horse became more willing to do what he was asked, but his basic sullenness remained.

One afternoon, trying out his new trailer-loading technique, Jay decided to use Liberty as a test case. After only a few minutes, Liberty loaded right into the trailer without a fuss. Success, right?

Wrong.

Liberty would not back out of the trailer. Putting a foot out and stepping down into what apparently seemed like an abyss was not something the horse was willing to do. Nope. No way.

For well over two hours, I watched Jay work with the horse. Jay's voice tone and energy never altered during that entire time. In the end, Jay built up a couple of steps behind the trailer so that the drop-off wouldn't be so deep. Liberty let Jay pick up and position each back foot, gently pull on his tail to get him to set weight on that foot, and then move to the next one.

It was, literally, one step back and two steps forward at times, as Liberty got scared about the process and retreated into the trailer. But in the end, all four feet were on the arena floor, and Jay led Liberty away.

I was fortunate to have my video camera there, so I caught the entire process. It is amazing to watch (at least if you're a horse trainer, or you enjoy watching grass grow...). More interesting than the actual process, though, is the effect we've seen on Liberty himself.

As Jay was working with him that day, we speculated that the process of getting him out of the trailer, so difficult for Liberty, might be the emotional equivalent of laying him down (see my blog post here). We could tell that the horse, by the time a couple of hours had gone by, had actually figured out that we were trying to help him escape from a frightening situation, and was allowing Jay to position each foot.

And in fact, we have seen a transformation in Liberty's attitude. He's no longer sullen. He hangs his head out of his stall door, asking to be chosen to come out and work in the arena. He's turning into a lovely riding horse, good-natured and willing.

Pretty amazing.

Such a blessing....

I am exhausted.

This internship is emotionally draining at times, mostly because the amount of information I'm trying to absorb is enormous. On days like today, it feels like trying to get a drink out of a fire hose.

That is not a complaint, just a statement of fact.

There are disadvantages to starting this kind of learning adventure when one is sixty, and one of those disadvantages is that I don't have nearly the energy that I had a decade or two ago. On the other hand, I have much more life experience, much more humility, and much more ego strength than I had in my younger years. All of those things have proven their worth a thousand times over in the last three months.

I am too tired even to write. But this photo, taken by a dear friend, shows why I'm driven to do this work, and what the reward is when I get it "right." I am so very blessed.




Photo by AimingHigh Photography

Moving my psychic furniture

The horses are helping me--challenging me--to rearrange my psychic space lately. It is exhausting. There are days when I arrive home just shaking from fatigue--and it's not because the work is physically challenging--it isn't. In fact, I'm gaining weight!

The intuitive side of my nature--that part of me that receives information from non-rational sources and just knows things--is growing stronger as I interact more and more with my equine friends. And that's the part of my psyche that I've suppressed for most of my life. My dad, after all, didn't believe in that stuff. If you can't see it, feel it, and measure it, it didn't exist.

Furniture that's sat in one place for fifty or more years--whether it's psychic or real-world--tends to kind of grow into its space, and it seems to get harder and harder to move. So I suppose it's no wonder I'm so tired lately.

Still, I wouldn't trade this experience for anything in the world. I welcome these changes, difficult though they may be right now. I like the person I'm becoming--and the horses seem to agree.

[If you want to read a more psychological account of this, you can check it out on my other blog, It's An Alchemical Life.]

Two weeks without horses!

Well, not completely without horses, of course, since I have my own to care for. But I've been away from the Ranch for two weeks now.

The first week was weather-related--the Midwest has had the worst, snowiest, coldest winter I can remember, and my little car doesn't handle snow and ice very well. The ice on the ground has also meant that I couldn't actually do anything even with my own herd, which was very disappointing.

So this past week I was home most of the time, writing. And what a week it was! Our public clinics at the Ranch, which I helped advertise, are filling up all the way through June. Our internship program has three new potential applicants, and we're making good progress on getting our "mission statement," goals, and program details worked out. Finally, I got a training article accepted in a local horsemanship paper.

A great week! It's nice to feel like I'm helping to get the word out about our work at the Ranch, and especially about our way of working with horses that's based on relationship, not on dominance. So important, that. If the whole world operated from a place where relationship counted as much as power and control, we'd all be safer and happier.

Glad to be doing my little bit for the cause with my writing. But I sure will be glad when Monday rolls around and I can get back to working with the horses!

Sir Galahad the Studly

I got a call this morning from the "principal's office at school" (read, "my friend the barn manager"), who said Galahad was acting up.

Apparently he woke up this morning and decided he was a stud again, despite the fact that he was gelded over a year ago. He charged my friend when she went to bring her own mare in from the pasture, and then herded all the other mares into a frenzy, galloping them around the field. Who knows what other naughtiness he got into. My friend didn't say, and I'm sure not going to ask.

He's been living with the mares because he and the Boss Gelding got into a terrible row on his first night out with the boys. Galahad got scared and backed into and through the fence, taking it down with him. Fortunately, I happened to go out to check on him that night and discovered him wandering down the lane, distraught, and put him in the barn. The other boys had stayed in the pasture but couldn't be left there, obviously, with the fence down, so they all spent the night locked up in the barn.

All the horses have been indoors the last few days because of the blizzard, so I'm guessing that Galahad's friskiness is a reaction to having been cooped up. That, and the fact that one or more of the mares is always in season these days, and spring is coming, despite the snow and ice.

The report is that he did fine with the geldings today, though they put him back with the mares until tomorrow, when they'll try again.

I never, ever thought I'd have to deal with phone calls from school....