Who Are You, and What Have You Done With Galahad?

Galahad didn’t come to me right away yesterday morning when I went to his stall—I had to call him in from his run, and there was no whicker of greeting. That didn’t bode well. When I haltered him I could tell something was different—he was unusually alert and watchful as we walked to the arena barn. On the way there I decided I needed the stick, not just his halter, to work in the round pen. Good decision!

Round pen work, for any of you not familiar with it, is a basic and effective way of gaining the horse’s trust and respect. The theory is that if you can control his feet—that is, make him move at a speed that you set and in a direction that you specify—you can be trusted to protect him. You become the lead horse and he’ll follow you.

The round pen is a walled or fenced arena maybe 50 feet across (don’t quote me on this). You stand in the middle and the horse works around the outside edge. You can use just the horse’s halter to drive him, or a whip or stick. That’s not to strike the horse with, but just to make noise and commotion to be sure you have control of his direction. (You can google “natural horsemanship” and get lots more information.)

Early in the process, you have to get pretty assertive to convince a running horse that it’s necessary for him to reverse his direction, but once he gets the idea, just raising your arm or the stick does the job. As your work progresses, you get to the point where you can signal the horse with energy, body language, and/or sound to pick up whatever gait you specify. Later, this all translates into communication when you’re riding.

I’m no authority on round pen work, but I’ve had some experience, and it has always worked well with Midnight, cranky as he is. As you can see from the photos, I can drive him like crazy and make him work until he’s lathered up, and when I let up the pressure, he comes right over to stand by me, and then follows me around with no halter or anything.

But in the round pen yesterday, Galahad was a different horse than the one I know. This wild pony had no interest in being told what to do. I did have directional control—though he tested that a few times—and upward speed control. His downward transitions were iffy—he pretty much slowed down if and when he wanted to. Much stranger, to my mind, was the fact that he not only wouldn’t turn in toward me when he changed directions, but that he wouldn’t come to me when I let him stop and I backed away. He wouldn’t even let me approach him! As soon as I took a step in his direction, he’d walk or trot away from me. This is very unusual behavior for him.

Hmmm. So every time he moved away from me, I made him run a lap or two, then trot a lap or two. I made him change directions whether or not he wanted to, at various speeds. Ideally, after a few rounds of this, the horse begins to turn toward you when he changes directions, and then you reward him by letting him rest. Not Galahad; not yesterday. The three or four times he turned in toward me, he just kept walking.

OK, buddy, if that’s what you want, go for it. I’d raise the whip slightly and off he’d go for a few more laps. Again and again I made him change directions, and again and again he turned away from me and kept going. Dropping my energy and backing away had no effect. Sometimes he’d stop, sometimes not; but he never came toward me. And on and on we went. He was drenched with sweat—he’s not used to that much exercise—but he refused to give in.

After an hour, I realized I was going to miss my riding lesson. But I couldn’t just give in, either, and let him win this one. If you do that with a horse, you lose his respect, and it takes a very long time to regain that. I can’t afford to let that happen. So we continued, both of us exhausted, for another 45 minutes. He apparently was going to die trying to resist me. By this time I was mostly letting him walk, focusing on directional changes, making him canter and trot for briefer periods of time when he’d try to do his own thing. I had flashes of guilt—“Oh, my poor little horse!”—but then he’d toss his head and take off at a gallop all on his own.

Finally, I was clear that I was going to have to settle for something less than ideal cooperation, because I had an appointment at 5:00 and it was already after 2. He was at least stopping more readily by this time, turning his head (but not his body) toward me. In the end, after more than two hours, he let me approach him without moving away. I’ll take it, I thought, and put the halter on him.

Once I got his halter on, he backed out of the arena as though nothing had happened. We walked for a bit to finish cooling him down, I hosed off his legs, and then we walked back to his stall for his afternoon feeding. What an ordeal!

I really admire his spirit. Once he and I come to an understanding, Galahad is going to be a tremendous horse and a great companion. But there’s a lot of round pen work between now and then. He’s out in the pasture today, running with his buddies, but tomorrow it’s back to work.

Mr. Frisky

I nearly got my head kicked in today by my playful colt.

It was cold and wet when I got to the barn. I wanted to let Galahad out to run—he was in yesterday, too, and I knew he’d have a lot of pent-up energy.

But where? There were horses in the big outdoor arena and the round pen, and there were people and horses working in the indoor arena, but the smaller jump arena was open. I decided to take both boys out there to play. Galahad was desperate for exercise—he was actually rearing with excitement while I was trying to lead the two of them. I had to get pretty stern with him, but he finally settled down.

I took them into the arena and got the gate shut behind us, then looped Midnight’s lead rope over the bars. Thank goodness he was behaving normally, in contrast to Mr. Frisky, who was dancing around in anticipation of a good run. I backed Galahad up a bit, got his head bent around enough to get the halter off, made him stand still for a few seconds, then turned him loose. He threw up his head, spun away from me, took a couple of bouncing steps, and then started running and bucking. His heels, head-high, missed me by a couple of feet on the first kick. Pretty scary. That’ll teach me to wear my helmet!

The two of them raced around that arena, dodging the jumps, chasing each other and having a blast. I let them go at it for about 20 minutes, by which time Galahad had slowed down a lot. He doesn’t have as much stamina as Midnight—partly because he’s never been in good condition, and partly, I suspect, because he’s still got that infection going in his nose or sinuses.

I wish I had had a camera—Galahad, when he’s fresh, has the most beautiful “air trot,” with his tail in the air and his head up, all four feet coming clear up off the ground. You’d swear he was an Arabian, to watch him prance. And to see the two of them doing that is just breathtaking. I’ll try to get some photos one of these days.

Hiking with Galahad

Galahad, like Midnight, loves the trails. At this point in his career, I don't dare ride him out there--we both walk. He finds everything interesting and many things a little bit alarming. Trees with holes in them might hide monsters; shadows on a hillside might be  he monsters themselves. He trusts me, though, and stands still when I ask him to.

On the trail the other day we came across a recently dead squirrel, missing part of its head. He found that intensely interesting. He sniffed its back, sniffed the stump of its neck, turned it over with his nose and sniffed its belly. For a minute I thought he was going to nibble it, but eventually he had enough and we walked on.

I can hardly wait until it's safe to ride him out there. That certainly won't be until after the archery deer season, which runs through the end of the year. This color horse isn't called "buckskin" for nothing. And both he and I need more experience.

When we came back to the barn, I hopped on and rode him around the arena for a little while. He's learning to neck rein, slowly but surely, and to respond to leg pressure. By myself, I've only ridden him at a walk because I ride bareback for the most part, but will try a trot soon.

It still amazes me that this huge and wonderful animal allows me to ride him.

Update on Mags

My friend's horse Mags is still hanging on, so to speak, over in Columbia. The latest report is that he's off the sedation but maintaining his calm mood. He'still suspended, and will be for another month. They're only x-raying once in a while, so they don't yet know how the leg is healing, but it's looking more hopeful because he's not fighting the treatment.

He'll never be ridable again, but my friends are building a lovely and well-equipped barn for Mags and their other horses on their new property, where he can retire there when he comes home from the vet school. Fingers crossed, Mags.

[Note: In the end, Mags didn't make it. One day, a week or so after this note, he shifted his weight too fast and too energetically, and re-fractured the leg beyond saving. The vet school summoned his owners, and they were there, holding Mags's head, when he passed on. R.I.P, good boy.]

Horses Play Rough

My friend's horse Mags got kicked yesterday out in the pasture and fractured a front leg above the knee.

The report came in yesterday afternoon that he had been hurt somehow and was on three legs. They managed to get the horse back into the barn, an operation that took an hour or more, as Mags hopped along, unable to put any weight at all on the injured leg.

At first, everyone was relieved because they thought it was his knee that was involved, and the x-rays showed the knee was fine. Late in the evening, though, the vet looked again at the films and discovered the telltale tracings of a fracture.

This morning the vet re-wrapped and splinted the leg (a very high-tech operation: a split piece of PVC sewer pipe, a six-foot-long 2 X 4, and duct tape!). When the splint was in place, Mags could hobble, his weight partially supported by the pipe and the wood.

There was a scary moment: When Mags took his first step, he was startled by the movement of the 2 X 4 at his shoulder, and tried to rear. The vet and his assistant got him calmed down quickly, though, and managed to get him into a trailer to take him to the vet school in Columbia. Prognosis: guarded. He'll be in a sling for at least a month, followed by another month of stall rest at the Columbia facility and possibly two months back at home. Recovery rate from this type of fracture is maybe 80%...provided Mags will tolerate being partially suspended in that sling for such a long time. Many horses--perhaps most horses--will not.

The vet school there is an amazing place--dedicated staff and talented students, round-the-clock attention, state-of-the-art facilities. Mags will get the best care possible--provided his leg survives the trip, and provided he will tolerate the sling. He's young (seven), calm, and trusting, and he's a smallish horse; all these will improve his odds.

All I could do, standing there watching this morning's events, was try to keep everyone (including myself) calm. Horses are so sensitive, and the last thing Mags needed was to have his human friends overly agitated. But how do you stay calm in a situation like that, especially if you're the owner? How would I behave if it were my own horse? How would I fact the prospect of having to euthanize Gahalad or Midnight?

Horses play rough; it's just what they do. As the trailer drove away, I could see two palominos play-fighting in the pasture, rearing and kicking. I left Galahad in his stall this afternoon instead of turning him out....

A good day?

Galahad worked very hard today. He's a smart horse, a willing horse. What's more, he has heart. This horse is one of those who would do whatever you asked of him, to the very best of his ability, until he dropped from exhaustion. These kinds of horses are all too easy to take advantage of.

I think that's what happened today. We were so excited about all the new skills he was learning--tucking his head, jumping barrels, learning to allow a rider on his back--that we forgot he's just a youngster. We forgot that he's never been asked to do more than stand around in his stall except for the three times a week he got to go run around in a pasture with his buddies and eat grass. This is not yet an athlete.

The fault is mainly mine. I saw how tired he was getting, and I hinted at it to my trainer friend. "Say, how do you know when a horse is getting tired?" Later, I pointed out how his lower lip was starting to sag from fatigue. Yes--but did I say, "Hey. Let's stop now--he needs some rest"? Nope. I deferred to my friend, who is 1) male and 2) in a position of "authority" because he's a trainer. I forgot that he's also 1) a man (which, through no fault of his, automatically makes it more difficult for me to speak what I know), and 2) tremendously excited about the prospect of working with such an intelligent and willing horse. My friend would never do anything to harm this or any horse, but he might, in his excitement, overlook the signs, or ask more than might be best for Galahad himself.

It's my responsibility to speak for my horse. I won't forget that again. No harm done--our guy will be a little stiff tomorrow, but he'll be just fine. But it's a lesson for me.

Horses Have Bad Days, Too

Yesterday I was completely convinced that Galahad was having second thoughts about our relationship and wanted to go back home to the rescue ranch. Actually, I thought he hated me. He was grumpy, wasn't interested in walking around with me, didn't want to let me put a halter on him, wouldn't drop his head for me (something he's very good about, normally), refused to back up without an argument. He wasn't sick; he was just in a bad mood.

Today he's fine. As I sat in his stall drinking coffee, he was his usual sweet, curious self. So I guess we humans aren't the only ones who sometimes wake up on the wrong side of the bed.