Euthanization....how do we know it's time?

Here's the latest shot of Leland. I'm pretty happy with the little punk.

I've had a few things happen in the last few months which got me thinking about putting a horse down. When do we decide it's time and what are the reasons for it?

I am worried about the horse industry in general and especially about my own personal horses.

What will happen to them if they are not in my care? How many horses ended up in a can because I failed to make them a serviceable animal? Do some of them deserve to be euthanized because I failed as a trainer?

My biggest question is, Who the hell am I to decide whether a horse deserves to live or die? Is it simply ego talking if I assume I'm the only one who can be responsible for the horses I own?

My mare Loki is an example. If Loki colicked and the only chance for her to make it was surgery,I would put her down instead. Why? Because Loki comes from a line of horses who die from colic. She is a sensitive mare and gets colicky from stress, change or a bad scare. She colicked within 24 hours of having Leeland and was in severe pain for several hours. The vet wasn't particularly worried about her but he did say she could do this every time.

She does best on a pasture with no supplements except hay. In a stall she does well with free choice grass hay and a couple of flakes of alfalfa. Again, no grain or supplements. She loses weight easily and gains it back slowly.

Loki is a talented and lovely mare. I owe her a lot. She is the kind of horse you can hop on after months off and she'll just tool around nice as can be. I take care of her as best I can and would be broken hearted if I had to face the decision to operate on her or not. Because I wouldn't. There are so many things that can go wrong with a colic surgery it would only add to her list of ailments.

Laura Crum recently made the decision to fork out huge amounts to have surgery done on her son's horse, Henry. Henry is 20 years old.

Do I think it was a good idea? Yes I do. The horse is in the middle of raising her son. He is as healthy as, well, a horse. He is tough and safe. I'd have paid it too.

Leeland was born a bilateral cryptorchid. When I was pricing out his surgery I was really horrified. I kept getting bids from $1,200 to $2,300. In my mind this was a $1,000 colt. I was really stuck behind a rock an a hard place. To my mind, he was unlike Henry, Laura Crum's horse. Henry had proven himself and was also truly needed. I wasn't sure about my little colt, no matter how much I liked him.

It made me wonder how many of these colts end up at the sales, a situation I'll do anything to avoid.

Bilateral cryptorchids develop stud mannerisms, big old stud heads and are often stunted if they aren't gelded.. So you end up with a butt ugly pain-in-the-ass. I knew that wasn't an option.

I told my boss I was considering putting him down if I didn't figure something out.

She was horrified.

"Don't you have a credit card?" She asked me.

Keep in mind this is the paint breeder who is losing her house. She also has a yearling filly who was born deformed. She's incredibly crooked. The theory is she was too big for the mare she's out of. There have been thousands dumped into this filly. She will never be rideable. She is already showing signs of arthritis.

"I'm dragging myself out of a mountain of debt," I told her, "I don't use my credit card for anything any more. I have to figure out how I'm going to live when I'm old. I've made a few rules and I stick to them. One is no elective surgery on my horses unless I have the money in the bank. I don't."

I did work it out. I found out Leland was sterile so I could leave him on the pasture. I left him intact (or is that sucked up?) until he was two. I saved enough money to get him done after I found a vet that would do it for under $1,000. I made sure I could afford half again that much in case something went wrong. I also found help through a rescue (front range equine rescue) who reimbursed me 30% of my vet bill. They would have given me 50% back if I decided to euthanize him. They're great.

He's much happier now and so am I.

By facing the fact that I would put him down before I ran him through a sale I was able to get things in perspective. It also mobilized me so I found a way to get him done.

I feel I was being responsible for my horse.

When I moved from my last job as a trainer I decided to put my beloved 32-year-old Annie down. She was blind. She was arthritic. Was she reasonably happy? I think so.

But now I had to move her. She would have to get oriented again. She had to live through the fire of being established in a new herd. She had never tolerated being kept in a stall or run, I wasn't going to do that to her.

I feel I was responsible for my horse.

Then there are the horses I couldn't ride. If you read the Captain story you know how I felt about him. I knew I could ride him, but he kept hurting everybody else. I felt he was a danger to himself and others. I felt he should have been put down. His owner told me she regretted not having him destroyed.

BUT... She gave him to a John Lyons trainer. The John Lyons trainer learned the hard way how weird he was. She was afraid of him for quite awhile. But she couldn't leave it. She kept working with him. She rides him all of the time now. I hear he's becoming quite the dressage horse. She's planning on keeping him, because she would never unleash him on someone else, but she likes him.

So who am I to decide that I'm the only one who can ride a tough horse?

I started a big, fat, Hancock-bred, blue roan mare. She bucked so hard, neither I, my young and bouncable assistant or the local buckaroo could stay on her. I turned her back to the owner with some dire warnings and she took her out to a guy who trains out of T-Cross ranch. She threw him often, tore down a solid timber round pen and broke his arm. But after 7 months he got her done. I hear she still bucks some, but the gal loves her and still has her.

Who am I to say if I can't ride them, they can't be rode?

So I'm slowly changing a lot of my previous lines of thought.

I still believe if I breed it I'm responsible for it. It's what I consider responsible that is changing.

I think all my horses need to have a solid base on them, not just tricks for the show pen. They need to be kind. They need to be willing. They need to be patient.

I have to keep my own situation healthy, physically and financially, so I can take care of my horses the way they need to be cared for.

I also need to get back to work. Later.

Mouthy Mondays

Good morning boys and girls..
Ignore me, I had a crazy week-end. Colics, county fairs, couple of good rides....action packed to say the least. The colic is over, we're all good there.

On to Mouthy Monday

FD wrote this one, it's a great discussion piece I think. She doesn't have a blog (yet) but writes so well I think we should start hounding her. Hee Hee.


The One That Got Away. (Metaphorically speaking.)

Do we all have horses that we look back on and wish we could have a do over? Mugs has mentioned it in passing, and god, I know I certainly do. I look back at the patient horses I rode in my teens and cringe, because I’d been taught to fiddle, (it took a dislocated shoulder to break me of the habit) but there’s one horse in particular from about ten years ago that really haunts me.

Bob was a lop-eared, woolly-dread locked chestnut with no shoes, a fat belly and a surprising amount of feather. I don’t think he’d ever seen a dressage arena and he certainly wasn’t ready to compete. We reckoned the dealer he was bought from had seen his (novice) owner coming. He was, according to his papers, genuinely a TB. But he was of a peculiar type of TB – the bog-Irish type, and incredibly ignorant with it. He went upside down, he was dead to the leg, no mouth to speak of, and he had a bone-jarring trot and proper leg-flailing-wall-of-death canter. He wasn’t the most prepossessing event prospect.

On the other hand, he was sound, clean legged, quiet to handle, with a nice pop in him and seemed pretty much bombproof.

Streams? Okay.
Umbrellas? Whatever.
Braying donkeys? No problem.
Double-decker lorries full of sheep? Pfft.
Clippers? He wanted to know if they were edible.

He endeared himself to me forever when he’d only been at the yard three days by standing fast in the face of a couple of dozen 6ft by 6ft square sheets of polystyrene packaging sailing over the hedge at the bottom of the field and flying towards us. I braced the lead rope across his chest, and used him as leverage in order to (successfully) hang onto the other horse I was leading.

So, as far as I was concerned, he was off to a good start. The days turned into weeks and then months. Bob changed shape, his coat gleamed, his (horrible) feet grew out, and his way of going improved immensely; he learned to canter circles, and what a lateral aid was. He retained his goofy quality to handle on the ground and adored being groomed and fussed over.

There was just one fly in the ointment: sometimes for no discernible reason, he’d throw a wobbly. Now, don’t get me wrong, he was never going to win any rodeo awards, we’re talking buck, prop, spin, bolt the length of the arena before stopping and looking foolish territory. But it was disconcerting, in an otherwise dead quiet horse and rather frightened his owner. After one of the girls nearly fell under a HGV, we put him in a market harborough to hack out; if you were quick enough and strong enough you could boot him forward and haul his nose back in when he began to whirl. As a temporary solution this worked, but you can’t ride a test in one. I thought at first it was spooking or a confidence issue, and then I wondered if he was testing us, but it didn’t seem to make a difference how may times you corrected him or how forcibly.
It would come out of the blue, in no particular area and without prior tensing. We couldn’t find a pattern: not weather, not the tack, not the skill level of the rider, not particular movements. We looked at whether it was coming, going, being alone in the arena, being in company, in the lead, middle or rear. We even tried blinkers at one point. Being fresh or tired made no difference. Sometimes he wouldn’t put a foot wrong for weeks and then suddenly, I’d have to kibosh thirty or forty attempts in under an hour, and he’d still be trying it even when he was foamy with sweat. Other times, he’d do it once, then not at all for the rest of the ride.

And yes, we had him checked by a vet. And the dentist. And we checked for nutritional issues. And he was seen by a physiotherapist, and a chiropractor and the saddle fitter and we had his feet xrayed. (Two different chiropractors in fact. Also the black box man, the magnet pusher, the horse psychic and the crystal-healing lady. But those are stories for another day.)

He improved on the flat and over fences to the point where he could credibly do a Novice event, and started going out and about. He did OK, but with this quirk he had, he was not quite what you’d call reliable. One particular event, his owner came home in tears. He’d done a workmanlike dressage test, and a lovely clear cross-country. Unfortunately, he’d thrown two wobblies in the SJ arena and dumped her warming up.

She decided to sell him, and I can’t say she made the wrong decision, although I was frustrated. He’d been with us the better part of two years, and capable though he was, he wasn’t consistent, and that’s what she needed – she’d come off a few times and he was beginning to affect her nerve.

He went to a professional re-seller, who was definitely cautioned (I know, because I warned him myself) and was sold once, that I know of, to a semi-pro, who sent him on after a couple of weeks. The next I heard of him was some months later and rather sad news – he’d put a dealer in hospital with a broken back. Apparently he’d been taken out cross-country to be shown off for someone, and something had gone horribly wrong. I don’t know where Bob went after that, but I doubt it was anywhere good. I didn’t tell his ex-owner, who went on to have a hell of a lot of fun with a sweet Welsh/TB cross.

So what went wrong? I don’t know and that’s why he’s stayed with me – out of all the horses I’ve handled, I think he’s probably the biggest failure, and certainly one of the end results I’ve regretted most. And the bugger of it is, even now, I don’t know what I’d do differently.

All Roads Lead to Stephenville/ Sonita

Brum, brum, brum brum. My big diesel roared along the two-lane highway. I had my best friend in the front seat, our two girls and my dog in the back, a trailer full of horses and The Texas Playboys cranked up on the C.D. player.

I can't think of a time I'm happier than on a road trip to a horse show. I love the excitement of being on the road, the anticipation of meeting and riding with friends I only see at the shows. I know my clothes, my tack, my horse and my kid are clean, there's an uncracked jug of Margaritas in the cooler and there's always the hope of that first big win dangling in front of you.

We were on the way to Stephenville, Texas and the National Reined Cowhorse World Show. The girls chattered and fought in the back. When my little dog Dinah got sick of them she would hop up front and perch on Kathy's knee.

For much of the thirteen hour drive we were on back country roads. The flat brown countryside was spotted with dirty snow and intensified the giant winter sky.

We traveled through tiny towns and would stop when we found a promising diner with a field close by so we could let the horses out for a drink and a stretch and then do the same for the girls.

For the most part all three mares were quiet and steady. Sonita had only a little nervous sweat under her blanket and even drank a little from her yellow bucket.

I felt calm and relaxed. I didn't have a shot in hell of placing, which took a little of the stress off. This was my last show with Sonita, we were going out with a bang. All I wanted was to have a clean run for our last hurrah. I was a happy little Buddha.

I knew my mare well enough to understand I had no guarantees. Sonita was who she was, if we had a good ride it would be great, if we didn't it would be OK. After this show she was going home to her new owner. I had no intention of not enjoying her for who she was.

When we pulled into Stephenville the girls were out cold, a tangled mess of arms and legs, their soft snores filled the cab of the Ford and strands of their long hair stuck in the corners of their mouths. Little Dinah Dog was curled in the middle of the heap, her bat ears were tuned to us and her eyes grew bright as we turned into the show grounds. She knew we were almost there.

I parked in front of the barns and whacked on the bottoms of the girls feet. They groaned and whined as they felt around for their boots. Kathy and I jumped out of the truck and were slapped in the face with the cold wet washcloth that passed for air in Stephenville. We dug around until we found our books and headed off to the show office, Dinah tucked in at my heel.

The girls stumbled out into the cold night, yanking their jackets on and making faces at us as they went to unload. The mares stomped and whinnied. Horses in the barn called back to them, eager to assure and be assured.

The smell of burnt coffee greeted us, blinking and squinting at the bright lights, as we stepped into the office. A young woman, with a tired slump to her shoulders, stood behind the counter, patiently explaining the stall designation to a tall man in a cowboy hat. She straightened and smiled at us over his shoulder.

"C'mon in, I'll be with you in a minute," she said.

"You've got a late night going," I replied, the clock told me it was a little before one in the morning. How our thirteen hours had turned into fifteen was a mystery.

Kathy stepped up to the desk and grabbed the phone book. She wanted to call the motel we were staying in and assure them we were coming. She kept her voice low, but I could tell by the sound of her voice she was apologising for the late hour. She turned and grimaced at me. She had obviously awakened the owner of the motel. Our finances didn't allow us to stay somewhere that could afford a night clerk.

I leaned against the wall. We were here. Pretty soon our horses would be bedded in their stalls, a clean, warm blanket on them, their water buckets full and a good feed in front of them. We would head to the motel, the girls would tumble into bed and Kathy and I would crack open the margaritas. I still felt calm and happy. I was going to enjoy every minute of this show. Who knew when I'd have a horse who could get me here again.

The tall cowboy gathered up his paperwork and turned to walk out the door. I looked up into the craggy face of a man I had only seen on the cover of magazines. Todd Crawford tipped his hat and walked out the door. The winter air came rushing in as he left. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I might have passed it off as the cold, but cold couldn't explain the sudden twist in my stomach. This was the big time. My happy little Buddha disappeared with a whimper. I was terrified. We were at the World Show.

Gates and Gaits, Forward Ho!

Shannon wrote in again, she's written a lighter story this time and it's great fun. She still hasn't coughed up her blog address. I know it, but if you don't send it with your post I'm not putting it up, I don't know if you want it published or not. Let me know!




Most Embarrassing Moment….. Lately


Three years ago my mare, Sera, was thinking she didn’t want to work for a living. When I rode her, she’d run through her shoulder, go backwards instead of forwards and she would rear. She was six at the time and a race track reject. And I was teaching my very first project her new job as a riding horse.

She had me scared. I'll admit it. But I am nothing if not determined! Mostly I could ride her through the bad behavior, but the rearing was freaking me out. I’d jump off when she was at her worst and lunge her. If you can’t be good, you will work my dear. You will go forward and you will work. Hard. And work she did!

Around the time I finally had her convinced to move forward vs. sucking back and going up, I noticed an ad for a “De-Spooking Clinic”. It sounded interesting and maybe it would help me with my courage which was sometimes lacking!

I called the number and talked to the barn owner who was nice as pie, but the clinic was 2.5 hours away. Hmmmm. I wasn’t sure I wanted to drive that far by myself. What if something happened like a flat tire or my truck broke down or there was an accident?? I told the nice woman I’d have to think on it and get back to her.

I can really get myself in a twirl over the “what if’s”. I know it’s a bad habit. I told that voice in my brain to shut up and decided I would go. The woman at the barn gave me the name and number of another person I could meet up with along the way to tailgate with over to the clinic. That made me feel better, at least if something happened on the Interstate, I wouldn’t be totally alone.

Of course Sera and I arrived safe and sound. The barn hosting the clinic was immaculate. There was an ornate, iron, automatic gate that slowly opened when the sensors detected a vehicle. It closed automatically once the vehicle was through. “Wow – that’s fancy.” I thought. I parked my truck and trailer, unloaded my mare, groomed her and walked to the indoor arena.

The first half of the day was ground work with nothing but a halter and lead rope. There were tarps set up and bridges and pots of big bushy plants… things to startle or spook the horses.

We spent the morning in groups at each “station”. Each horse and handler team worked to get their horses over, on or up to whatever scary thing was there. It was fun and watching all the different horse and handler teams was interesting. There was every size and shape of person, horse and pony.

We broke for lunch and we were supposed to meet back up in the indoor fully tacked up and ready to ride in an hour.

When I returned to the indoor with Sera and climbed up on her, she was an instant live wire. She was snorting, tense, running through her shoulder and threatening to rear. I simply breathed, in and out, deep breaths and kept her moving forward. She seemed to be the only horse exhibiting nervous energy and a lot of people were staring at me. I tried to block them out as I moved Sera forward.

She calmed down eventually… well “sort of”. As long as I let her keep moving, she was o.k. While the clinicians talked to everyone about what they would be doing, we were supposed to be on our mounts standing still. Not Sera. Well, not unless they wanted to witness WWIII. I kept her going in small circles both directions, out of everyone’s way. We'd stop occasionally but it wasn't for long.

The clinician wanted me to back her until she’d submit to standing still.

I don’t always stand up for myself very well, but there was no way in hell I was going to go backwards on Sera after I’d spent all winter getting her FORWARD. I politely told them, No thank-you and continued with my mare going forward in little circles.

Sera relaxed as the afternoon wore on and our group finished up with some outdoor riding exercises. Sera was glad to be outside and moving forward. I felt exhausted from a day of trailering, ground work, riding and a lot of different concepts.

I led Sera back to my trailer, untacked her, groomed her and loaded her up. The people I’d followed down were ready to leave and I followed them down the drive. They drove through the fancy, ornate, iron, automatic gate.

I started to drive through the fancy, ornate, iron, automatic gate. I was moving slowly forward, inch by inch. I looked up for a moment, distracted by someone waving goodbye to me.

CRUNCH

Oh crap.

I looked in my mirrors and the hub of my trailer was impaled on the fancy iron gate. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. My armpits began sweating profusely. The rig I was following home didn’t see what happened and continued on….

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap… I didn’t pay close attention to how exactly we got here since I followed them. I’m never going to find my way out of here! Crap, crap, crap…. Beads of sweat appear on my forehead.

I tried to go backwards.

SCREECH CRUNCH SCREECH

Nope. I can’t. My trailer hub has become one with the fancy automatic gate and I’ve completely trashed the first tire.

Everyone in the outdoor arena going through their paces stopped to watch me.

Crap, crap, crap. I want the Earth to open and swallow me whole.

I get out and I smile through clenched teeth while I give a small wave to the onlookers. “Yup – s’all good here. Nothing to look at, I’m fine. See how nonchalant I’m acting? Oh, it’s just a little scratch. Go back to riding – stop looking now. I’ll be on my way in just a moment…”

I look and there is NO WAY I can go forward or backward. A crowd of children has gathered around. Where in the heck did all these kids come from anyway?!

One little boy goes running back to the barn, “Hey you guys! Com're! Lookit this lady who ran into the gate! C’mon! Hurry!”

Please God, can you strike me down dead right now? Please? Pretty please with sugar on top?

The owner of the barn comes out. She is still so nice it’s almost painful. She gets her husband. There is a small crowd surrounding my trailer. Everyone is evaluating the situation.

No one can leave the clinic because I’m blocking the driveway and gate. There are a couple trailers in line to leave. No one can come into the barn for the same reason. There is a boarder in her car waiting to get in on the other side.

My shirt is soaked with nervous, anxious sweat. The pits are wet, the back of my shirt is wet, I have boob sweat and I have sweat running down my face. I want to die from the embarrassment.

The owner’s husband tried a crowbar. No dice. He tried a hammer. Nope. He tried every tool he had without success. My wheel well was melded to the gate. How that happened while I drove 5-10mph I will never know.

His gate was most definitely broken - adding insult to injury. I gave him my information for insurance purposes.

We got my tire changed while people were trying to figure out how to release my trailer from the gate. The people I was going to follow home? The blessed angels realized I wasn’t behind them and they came back for me. I wanted to cover these complete strangers with kisses I was so, so, incredibly grateful.

The barn owner’s husband ended up going back to the barn and bringing back his CHAINSAW to cut the wheel well free from that fancy, ornate, automatic, expensive…. now broken… gate.

And the same little boy who went running off to gather his friends to watch? He looked at the chainsaw, he watched them cut the wheel well away and he looked at my trailer containing Sera who remained totally silent throughout the ordeal.

“Boy. That’s a good horse in there!”

I'm Over On the Other Side........

I posted over at http://www.equestrianink.blogspot.com today. More strangeness from me about the "do it right, do it once" theories on horse training. C'mon over, the water's fine.

Thinking our Situations Through

I'm worried about Horsenoob and her bucking trail horse. Once again, looking at the big picture, I see a horse who has succeeded in getting to go home every time he bucks off his owner. Now there is an issue. The horse decided it works so well he is
refusing to go to the arena.

I think Horsenoob needs some serious work with her trainer. She needs to be riding through her issues with the trainer there to help. If the trainer is the only one who can ride the horse it isn't trained. Good luck with this one and keep us posted, OK?

When Sarah asked about her pleasure horse who worries when he gets off the rail I had to think a bit. Pleasure horses are trained to feel safest at the rail. So your horse needs to learn he can be safe in other places. I have had pleasure horses in training with me who I was supposed to "reprogram."
I just rode them. I ignored their worries, let them rest in the middle of the arena instead of on the rail and rode pretty randomly.
If the horse gets behind the bit I go back to a ring snaffle and ride two handed. When they get behind the bit I turn them, then send them forward with both legs.. We go here and there and I turn every time I need contact. I don't worry about leads, head sets, nothing but going and turning.The horse begins to realise the head ducking is simply a turn cue as far as I'm concerned and they knock it off.
It's fun to ride like a doofus once in a while and even more fun if you end up teaching your horse something.

I have gotten some really interesting comments from yesterday's post. I'm seeing a universal theme here. I keep getting questions about specific situations. What if the trails are too narrow, the trees are too thick, there's barbwire on one side and trees on the other (I hate when that one happens), the mud is too deep, the stupid horse can't seem to remember his herd mates are right over there and so on.

We're setting up walls here. Giant, 8 foot thick, concrete walls. These walls stop us from seeing the real issue. The horse isn't following his nose.

I'm going to say it again, hell, lets all say it together, the horse isn't following his nose.

If my horse will follow her nose I am going to get through the bad spots, every time. But there has to be a clear communication between me and my horse. When my hand points in the direction I want, my horse's job is to follow my hand immediately with her nose. Then her legs immediately follow the nose.

If you have been reading me for awhile you have heard this before and if not, well here we go. From day one my horse learns to follow my hand. When I start my groundwork I use my body language to help the horse to understand what I want.
I step in front to stop her and point in the direction I want her to go.
I step to the hip to send her out and point where I want her to go.
It's kind of like an invisible lead rope.
It doesn't take long before I switch and use my hand first and then finish the task with body language. Most of the time the horse reacts to my hand signal right away. All of them do eventually.
Then I'm able to stand in the middle of my arena and not work so hard, which is always my goal.
I use the same direction whether I'm longing them with a line or free in the pen.
It's not complicated. I just point where I want my horse to go, then I make it happen.

Once I start riding the horse, I ride two-handed and make sure my cues stay quiet and clear. I bring my guiding hand out, the horse can see it before I make contact and pull.
Pretty soon said horse is turning the direction my hand points.

So my horses learn from the get go to follow my hand. By the time we're in a full bridle they can feel my hand move and off they go.

The key is to be consistent. This might make it a little clearer why I don't use a one rein stop. I want the feet to be working to get under my hand immediately.

When Kinsey talks about ground driving your horse I think he's after the same thing. Teach your horse to follow his nose. He is not suggesting you get off every time you have a problem and drive your horse around. He is saying work your horse at home, teach him what you expect and then, in increments, work towards your goal.

John Lyons said once, "If you can't do it in the arena you have no business going out on the trail."
This has stuck with me throughout my whole training career. He doesn't mean you have to set up a narrow trail or a bog to cross in your arena. Those would be walls. He means have your horse trained well enough to listen to you, then go tackle those walls.

I'll give you a few examples. The first one might as well be Loki. I told you yesterday how freaked she was. I told you how I felt like I was riding a powder keg. But she didn't do anything.
She stretched way out at one point, like a dog trying to get you to play, I was sure I was dead meat. But she straightened back up and we went on our way.

I was extremely clear in my communication. The only time I got my legs into her was when she didn't want to go where I told her. I breathed deep and stayed loose when she was going quiet. The key to what saved my bacon was Loki knows to follow her nose. She has been expected to do this in every interaction she has ever had with people. So she did. She's a good girl.

If I had been driving her I could have worked her through the problems she was having and probably gotten her feeling better sooner. Driving a horse is all about following his nose after all.

My other example is my gelding Pete. We had a bit of a smack-down last week. I got him out to be a buddy horse for my BO's new horse. He had legitimate reasons to be grumpy. I pulled him off his dinner. He didn't have hind shoes and was getting pretty foot-sore. Did I mention I yanked him off his dinner?

I didn't know he was foot-sore yet. I didn't care about his dinner. So I saddled him up and we headed down the road.

We got about 50 yards out and I turned around to talk to the BO. Pete did a lovely roll back (ahem) and started walking back to the barn. I turned him back around and booted him into a trot. He shook his head at me, roll-backed again and started home.

I'm going to be the first to admit, the head shake should have told me he was sore, but he pissed me off.

I started to work him a bit, nothing crazy, just some leg yields, and Pete kept swatting his tail and threatening to send me to the moon.

Again, in retrospect, he was trying to tell me his feet hurt and I needed to hoist my big self off him, but I was mad. He was being a total jackass.

After about 10 minutes of this I stepped down and knocked him around pretty good. I mean jerked him around and slapped him with my eight foot reins.

This is not training method I recommend, by the way, but I am not always the professional I would like to be.

The BO was sitting there staring at me, pretty horrified, I think. Oh well.

Pete gave it up, dropped his head and relaxed. I got back on and we went on a very short trail ride. Because he started to behave, I started to pay attention to him and figured out he was sore. So we did a short loop and went back.

If Pete had been trained to drive I might have gotten down and driven him, instead of whacking on him. I would have seen he was sore right away.

This is why I think Kinsey has some interesting points to ponder.

That being said, we need to talk about small victories. When I started Pete on trails he was a total arena baby. He had been hauled over a mountain or two, but since he was in a horse trailer it didn't make much of an impression.

When I first started taking him out alone I simply rode him to the top of the first hill out of sight of our barn. He was nervous and fussy, but he went. As soon as we got to the top of the hill we rested a minute, he got to look around a little and we went back. I always dismount, loosen his cinch and lead him the last 100 yards or so before we get to the barn, at least at first.

As soon as we started getting to the top of the hill without any nerves we went on to the next hill. Then the next. In the mean time I was going out on rides with my daughter and some of the boarders. He crossed some scary dark mud with the group. He followed his nose like a good boy and he jumped the whole thing. I didn't worry about it. The next time he was better, and the next, and now he tromps through mud nicely. He's still cautious and puts his head down to sniff, but he goes.

If he had been more traumatised I would have taken even tinier steps, but I didn't need to. If I had a horse that drives I could start out with walks around the barn. I might like it. I would probably enjoy the safety of it. It would be good practice to get the feel of driving my horse.

The biggest point I'm trying to make here is you can't get too specific about the problems that arise. The horse has to trust you to get him through the scary things in life. Then you will be able to get him there.

Backcountry Basics has a ton of good information in it, no matter how you choose to use it.

You Can Always Learn Something

When I was a young, horse-crazy girl, Mark Reynor and Western Horseman Magazine were the ultimate horse resources.

Mark was the consummate horseman, craggy, wise and just stern enough to create an almost John Wayne-like aura. He rode his wildly spotted Appaloosa gelding, Britches, with an ease that took my breath away. Mark helped shape my young attitude as a horseman by always considering the safety of the young riders in his charge first and his horse second (or it could be the other way around).

Each month,I eagerly poured over a borrowed copy of Western Horseman. The cowboy magazine was published in my own city of Colorado Springs and taught me everything, from home-made hoof dressing to how to tie a rope halter. To me every word was gospel.

I drooled over the photos of the beautiful "bull-dog" quarter horses (yeah, I'm that old), laughed at the silly cartoons and tried to ride my horse the way the "real cowboys" did.

Western Horseman and my time with Mark Reynor pretty much set the way I approached horses for the rest of my life. Horses were made to be ridden and if I was going to own one, it was my responsibility to learn how to do it right.

Mark has long been gone but Western Horseman is still going strong. I rotate my magazine subscriptions now and haven't gotten a new Western Horseman in about a year. But I always look forward to them and find myself scrounging up somebody else's copy every chance I get.

When we were talking about bolters and rearers I was doing some research to find some help beyond what I had for you.

I kept coming across the name of a book published by Western Horseman called Backcountry Basics. I hadn't read it before so I couldn't recommend it. I did think it was worth tracking down a copy and taking a looksee, so that's what I did.

I am really impressed with this book. There is a lot of solid, practical advice, all related to trail riding. South Carolina horse trainer Mike Kinsey is a no-nonsense, realistic, horseman. He approaches potentially dangerous problems with so much common sense I kept slapping myself on the forehead, thinking, Of Course!

His chapters on barn sour behavior and trail manners are priceless.

A few weeks ago I went on an extremely harrowing ride on my mare Loki. She is a Foundation bred mare who earned a NRCHA national top ten rating with my daughter and took me to a NRCHA regional championship in cowhorse. This is a pretty broke horse. She also is a horse who has been on a break for the last several years.

I have been on her maybe 4 times in the last year, all of them in the arena.

I took her out on a ride with my friend Charlotte and her good gelding Red. Loki went out of her mind. She was terrified being taken away from her herd-mates. I stayed quiet and calm and kept her nose pointed where I wanted to go. I stayed on her until I negotiated my planned ride and then dismounted and loosened her cinch, ending the ride before we got back to the herd.

I don't know if I can explain how bad that ride was. Loki was on the verge of exploding with every step. She didn't actually do anything, but it was there. She kept blocking me with her right shoulder, but for no purpose. She stayed in a walk on a loose rein, but her head was in the air, her tail clamped and I felt like I was on a powder keg.

Her feet barely touched the ground, her back was up and she was really light in the bridle. Too light. She wouldn't touch her snaffle except to shake her head and worry it.

Loki felt like a horse with no rider. Unfortunately I was up there.

So, I survived the ride, but I wasn't looking for the next one. I figured I would just keep going on these puke-inducing rides until she felt better. Ugh.

Then I read Backcountry Basics.

Kinsey came up with a perfectly simple solution. He is a big believer in ground driving. I do believe longing would also work in this situation.

He starts out leading his barn sour, or in my case buddy sour, horse until she gets upset. Then he works her. Right there. The horse isn't mindlessly sent out in circles, she is worked. Transitions, stops, starts, reverse, until she pays attention to you. Then the walk continues. He advocates tiny steps. Maybe the first day you quit when you first get her refocused. Then the next you go farther.

There is no molly-coddling going on here. The horse needs to go. Sometimes he recommends a crop. If he does he explains when and how to use it.

There is no unnecessary force either, just to the point, hard work, with the rider safely working the horse on the ground.

The irony is it's pretty much the philosophy I spout here on a regular basis. I thought, Of course! too many times to count. The great part was I was seeing the horse training truths I strongly believe in through a fresh set of eyes.

I am really impressed. I'd like to get a little Backcountry Basics talk going here. I strongly suggest this book to anybody who has to deal with spooking, refusals, water-crossings etc. He starts each chapter with a list of equipment needed to accomplish the lessons covered and the behavior you need out of your horse before you attempt them.

There's nothing better than learning something new, even at my age. It looks like The Western Horseman is still giving me food for thought and good advice.

I also picked up their newest publication Understanding Lameness. I haven't gotten to that one yet, but I'm looking forward to it.

One other thing, you don't have to be a cowboy to use this training advice, anybody with an English saddle who wants to go bushwacking can benefit from this book. Be warned though, you're going to wish you were.