Think Fast

I love the way life works out sometimes.
Talk about different horses in the same place!
I worked my newest horse to come to my barn yesterday. Yet another middle aged, rock solid in mind and body, mare. She belongs to Peg.
Peg is kind and quiet, a little on the timid side. Her goal with every horse she owns is to be its friend.
She works hard to not let them run all over her, but works with them, not at them.
She makes sure their feet are good, their weight is up, and has the chiro out enough to make me wish I were her horse.
Peg makes sure her horses have plenty of the big four.
All they can eat, lots of time to doze in the sun, room to run, and all the pooping they can dish out.
When Peg brought her mare to me, she started with a gentle admonishment.
"I've worked really hard with Uma. We're developing a bond."
"Afraid I'm going to screw her up?"
"It's just that we've progressed really far. We're building a lot of trust."
Sigh.
"She'll be fine."
Peg looked anxious.
I looked crabby.
Peg went home.
The thing is, I know Peg pretty well. She has been riding with me for several years.
I also know that Uma's name was B.O.B. when Peg bought her.
That stands for Big Old Bitch.
She is an ex-ranch horse, turned trail horse, turned Peg's latest project.
I saw her a few times when Peg first bought her.
She liked to throw her head and jump when Peg tried to catch her. She liked to rear and buck on the longe line.
She is a great, big, drafty thing.
She is intimidating.
She bucks really high.
She lands really hard.
I also know the owner before Peg. She is a realistic, no nonsense kind of horsewoman. She had no problems with Bob.
She told Peg that sometimes B.O.B. could be tough to bridle.
"Just whack her one and she'll stop it."
Peg just can't go there.
Now, a year later, B.O.B./Uma is with me.
Guess what.
Sometimes talking with the horse just doesn't work.
Uma doesn't want to talk to me, or anybody else.
I see where Peg got pulled into trying to communicate with this mare.
Walk into her stall, she snorts and jumps back into the corner. Back her out of your space and her legs become cement posts. Put on a halter, and she waits, big ol' B.O.B. head high in the air, until you reach to buckle her, then she blows and snaps her head away.
Go to saddle her and she stands, tied in knots, eyes rolling.
Uma is not frightened.
Uma is a butt head.
She glares at me, as indignant as my third grade teacher, Sister Mary Helen. (Don’t ask)
My approach with Uma has been pretty different than the one with Jerry.
I'm not asking Uma anything.
I'm telling.
I started by opening her stall door and waiting. She snorted and blew and sunk back in the corner.
I just stood there, blocking the door.
Uma decided she wanted out, and walked up to get her halter on.
It had been replaced with a heavily knotted rope halter. (What's in your trainer's tack box?)
When I put it on I was ready for her.
As she snorted and slung that big old Bob head around, I just hung on.
We swung around a little, but like I said, Uma is not scared.
As soon as she realized I was going to stay put, she stopped her crap, and let me tie the halter.
I didn't just tie it; I slid it around, and pulled and yanked every part of that halter. I rubbed her ears, I knuckled her poll, I pulled on her lips. I mocked her heavily.
She lowered her head.
I have so got her number.
I took her to the tie rail.
I let her hang out for a couple of hours.
When I saddled Uma I just tossed it on.
No problems there.
I took her to the little arena and longed her.
Man, can she buck.
Except this time, at the first buck, she met the end of my loose snapped longe line, and my heavily knotted, well tied rope halter.
Crack! went the longe line.
"Hey!" said Uma.
She stopped and glared at me. She was truly pissed.
I sent her out again, asking for some forward.
Boom! She started to buck.
Snap! Went my longe line. Uma glared.
Crack! Went the longe line on her big fat resistant butt.
She ran forward, I relaxed, she snaked her head, Crack!
She didn't buck this time. She kept going forward.
Yip!
I longed her until she thought she was in a round pen demonstration.
She only made a few halfhearted attempts to buck. She got the same discipline every time.
We stopped, I bridled her. She tried to sling her head twice.
I pulled on her ears, I knuckled her poll.
I yanked at her lips.
I hung on.
She lowered her head and took the bit.
I checked her head a few times.
Her eyes were quiet.
Her lips were relaxed.
I got on, no muss no fuss.
We ended the day there.
I should have taken her out and rode for ten or twelve hours.
I was out of gas.
How did I know Uma wasn't scared?
I know a little of her history. She has always been a workhorse.
She shows no scarring. Her muscle tone, coat condition, and build, show a life of nothing but hard work and plenty to eat.
She never tries to leave me.
She is simply in my face.
She is a righteous mass of irritation.
Her eye rolling, quivering, head slinging is a shout. "Get off me!"
When I shout back, she says, "Oh hell, go ahead."
Uma is kind of a bully.
As with most bullies, she's pretty easy to handle once I stand up to her.
I think Uma and I will do fine.
I don't know what to do with Peg though.
Sometimes you can't whisper.
Sometimes you don't get to be their friend.
Sometimes you have to tell it like it is.
I'm going for mutual respect with this mare.
If Peg will do the same, I think they'll be fine too.
The friendship might come later.