My first riding instruction came from Anna Sewell. I read "Black Beauty" when I was 7 or 8 years old.
I loved horses with an uncontrolled passion, but it was the passion of a child with no experience. I wanted to run like Roy Rogers and Trigger, have a horse which reared and screamed like Fury and loved only me like my friend Flicka.
Black Beauty opened my eyes and heart to the hard life of a horse trying to survive in the harsh world of man.
Anna Sewell taught me to emphasize and sympathize with the potential cruelty waiting for a kind-hearted, thinking, feeling animal tied to humans forever through no choice of their own.
Marguerite Henry followed and gave me the need to run wild and free on a horse who chose to spend time with me. Walter Farley made my desire to fly on the back of my closest friend even stronger. Reading through the Black Stallion series and watching Alec grow into a competent and caring horseman under the careful tutelage of Henry planted a seed of thought. In order to become a real equestrian, to truly understand this magical animal I was going to need a mentor.
I wasn't a child who listened, not in school, not at home, but I understood the importance of listening to someone who could teach me about horses.
My first real, honest to God instruction came from Mark Reynor, the owner of a local dude stable. Mark taught me how to sit a trot, neck rein and suck it up when I didn't get to ride the beautiful horse I was hoping to ride and instead was given the scabby, icky ones nobody wanted.
My next instructor was my best friend from junior high through high school. She taught me how to saddle a horse, the joyous difference between a dude horse and an owned horse, and through my years being friends with Karen, I developed a ferocious desire to compete, that I still have and struggle with to this day.
During this same period of time I rode with Mike Craig. He opened my eyes to the magic of training without force, but with the use of timing and rhythm. He taught a training approach he learned from Monte Foreman, a innovative and intuitive trainer wrapped in the exterior of a gruff and surly old cowboy. I became not only a better rider, but discovered a curiosity which translated into a need to train my own horses, no matter what discipline I might be caught up in at the time.
As my life's path unrolled in front of me I eventually became a horse trainer. When I entered this incredibly competitive field I was many years behind my peers, not only in method and awareness, but in age as well.
I began to catch up with the help of Devin Warren. Devin is a beautiful rider, sleek and professional, and I met him while learning to ride an extremely difficult stallion in events I had no understanding of.
I was supposed to show this horse in Western Pleasure, Reining, Western Riding and Trail. I was so lost I came to the conclusion everything I had learned until that moment was crap. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. I threw everything away and started over.
Horses were now my business and I had to be a pro. I learned to use a German martingale, a correction bit and the value of a tie wall. I found my core, my legs and learned how to remember a pattern.
I learned how to create drive in slow motion, find control through the feet of my horse instead of my hands, and that Western Pleasure wasn't my deal.
My next trainer and true mentor was the Big K. Over several years he introduced me to Reined Cow Horse. The event gave me everything I had ever wanted, finesse, beauty, technical challenge and speed. He taught me to throw away all my gadgets.
I learned to train a horse from the ground up without a noseband, without a martingale, without heavy use of my hands.
I advanced into a world of the highest levels of horsemanship I had ever seen and the most horrific treatment of horses I had ever witnessed. I learned to love the fire and sensitivity of a winning bridle horse and to take pride in not only being able to ride them, but to train them. I also began to question every single aspect of what I was doing.
Slowly my past began to seep back into my awareness. I remembered Mark telling me I needed to learn to feel the rhythm of my horse's gaits, so I could tell when I was riding him until he was footsore.
The patience it took to feel a horse onto his leads or to encourage a youngster to lope up his first trail came from Mike, not the "hurry up and ride them through" world I was in then. I realized my horses stopped better, turned harder and understood their job better if I let them find their way through a slow building of cues and giving them time to think.
I left the Big K bitter and disillusioned. I struck out on my own and finally had time to think. I began to develop the theories and ideas that had been kept on the back burner for so many years. My training became better, cleaner, kinder, and more precise.
My final trainer was a retired veterinarian who had me starting her colts. She had ridden dressage in her youth and had been an Olympic team alternate many years before. She recognized a "touch of the classics" in my style and was happy to comply when I asked her for lessons.
My western ways no more interfered than my cutting saddle as we practiced and discussed shoulders, hips, balance and forward. The language of the horse was no different no matter the trappings and some final bricks fell into place. I worked and sweated and strained my brain, it was great.
Since I retired I have made peace with all of my mentors. Whether they were complete horsemen or trainers doesn't matter anymore. Each was instrumental in my development and each had something to offer.
I still think like a trainer, I'm currently working on lead changes on a straight line every eight strides. My immediate goal is to trim it down to four.I still try to learn, cutting is probably the hardest thing I've done, but I love it.
I am enjoying immensely my time with just my two personal horses. Our relationships are peaceful and filled with joy, I'm remembering the lessons taught by perhaps my greatest mentor of all, Mort, my first horse. I can appreciate the shine and scent of a sun soaked summer coat. I am finally able to just hang around and visit with my horses. Sometimes I saddle up and we meander the same way I did as a kid. Every once in a while we blow across the prairie at full speed just because we can.
So who was your trainer?
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
Turning the Hare Into a Tortoise
I got a training inquiry from a young woman who wants to slow her rope horse down. He's got one speed and it's fast. She's not asking for the moon here, just a nice, relaxed lope every once in a while.
I like rope horses. The well bred ones are big, pretty in the fat cheeked, old timey way I originally fell in love with, congenial and have solid bone.
They go where you point them, move out when they're told and can behave themselves when tied to a trailer all day.
We used to get rope horses in periodically to soften their shoulders and generally lighten their front ends for their roper owners. Other times we got them in to help them change careers, this mainly entailed teaching them to get comfortable on both leads, lightening and limbering their front ends and getting controlled speed on a loose rein.
Because I was low gunzel on the totem pole I was picked to ride most of these horses. Resolving problems like these taught me a bunch as a trainer and left the cow horses for my boss. So he won on both sides and I pretty much came out ahead too.
The biggest aspect I needed to keep was their forward motion. Rope horses move out, and with all the rinky dink stuff we teach our reiners and reined cow horses, it's easy to create a very bendy, twisty thing and not have enough forward. I didn't want to lose all the lovely forward motion, I wanted to shape it.
Stop and go, circling, backing up, these are all things that happen as part of the routine for a rope horse and he's not going to equate this with slowing down. Running until he's tired can be difficult, again, because he's been run until he's tired on a pretty regular basis and it's just part of the days work.He's not bolting, he's doing what he thinks you want.
Special equipment won't work either, he's used to leaning his way through tie-downs and mechanical hacks, so martingales and draw reins will just fold him over, and he'll run that way.
Keep in mind, these horses weren't being bad, they were just working the way they were taught to work. They will go straight and fast no matter what's tossed at them, it's just another day at the Idiot Human Demands Factory and they want off the clock.
I learned through trial and error to keep things simple. First I put the horse in a ring snaffle. The snaffle is my primary tool in teaching shoulder control, so every horse I rode spent time in it, no matter the age or the head gear used prior to the horse coming to me.
I would start making sure I had a turn on the forehand. Then go to the walk and trot with a lot of bends to the left and right. Lots of serpentines and spirals, working to get a light feel through them and control of the shoulders, hindquarters and ribs.
Through all this I didn't pull back. I only went to the left or right. Yes, I got going pretty fast sometimes, but I still only used one rein or the other. The turns would eventually get them slowed down and then I would relax my rein even more, get my legs off and let the horse travel straight for awhile.
Depending on how hot the horse was I might be pulling left or right every few steps, but I always released when the inside shoulder followed my hand and led into the turn.
The sequence I was after is hand, nose, shoulder, foot. I like to get to where the horse will step in the direction of my hand with the inside shoulder leading without pressure from me.
I kept this up for days if needed because it got the horse used to and seeking a loose rein.
Once I had all the parts responding the way I needed them to I moved into transitions. Transitions, transitions, transitions.
At first I didn't have stop and back as part of the deal, just walk, trot, fast walk, fast trot, slow trot, walk etc. I didn't want to lose my momentum and again, a rope horse stops and backs all day and then takes off at a run, this doesn't equate as a discipline to him, at least not at first. My reins stayed loose, I wasn't going to pull back on him, no matter what.
Every time I wanted him to transition up I would squeeze with my legs as a cue. He might over-react at first, but I did it anyway. My reins stayed loose.
All lot of ropers are not ridden with leg contact, rope saddles are designed for the rider to get up and off the horse, not for close contact. So squeeze can mean take off, but I kept asking consistently for what I wanted, if I got too much, I just went to bending until he got back where I wanted him. I needed and expected him to learn a squeeze is a conversation, not a shout.
When I wanted him to transition down I'd exhale, relax my seat and legs, give him 10 seconds or so to respond and then start going right and left until he slowed. I released my hold as soon as I felt him begin to slow. My reins only came in contact one at a time and I didn't switch over until the the nose followed my hand and the shoulder followed the nose. My legs stayed active and helped position him inside or out as needed.
I didn't say Whoa and I don't take my legs completely off, not yet. My reins stayed loose.
When I finally stopped him I relaxed my seat, took my legs completely off and then brought in my hands, if needed, left, right, left, right, in rhythm with his trot, not worrying about the shoulder, just alternating pressure until he stopped. When he stopped I released all pressure and said Whoa. Yes, after he stopped.
Transition, transition, transition, for days if need be. Quiet, consistent, friendly.
When I had control of his body, he could calmly transition up and down, and hold the asked for speed for at least half a lap around the arena, I started thinking about loping.
When we loped I only thought about the lope. I didn't care about a lope depart, I preferred he trot into it at the moment. I didn't care about leads, that's another training issue and I wanted him comfortable at the slower gaits before I worried about leads.
I clucked to signal a trot and kissed for a lope. When I kissed to my rope horse I squeezed at the same time and my reins were what? Loose you say? You betcha!
If (when) he took off I simply sat there. I didn't pick up my reins for at least six or seven strides. Then I'd exhale, relax my seat and legs and began to work his mouth. If he slowed, I released, if he trotted I released, if he stopped I smooched him back into the lope. I didn't say Whoa, I asked him to slow down.
Now I went back to transitions.
I'd warm up at the walk and trot, then go to my lope. When I got a good slow down at the lope I'd quit for the day. Our hard work was still at the walk and trot.
My final step was to lope up the long side of the arena, on a loose rein, and then transition down to a trot about 10 ft. before the corner of the short end. I'd trot through the corner and smooch him back into the lope on the straight away. Pretty soon he'd be thinking about the transition through the corners and he'd slow down on his own.
That's when I'd ask for a Whoa now and then. I'd still relax my seat and take off my legs before I said Whoa, but I didn't wait until he stopped on his own. I'd go ahead and pick up my reins and work his mouth, left right, left, in rhythm with his stride until he stopped.
There's a good start for you. Be careful, be patient and what about those reins???? Stay loose!
I like rope horses. The well bred ones are big, pretty in the fat cheeked, old timey way I originally fell in love with, congenial and have solid bone.
They go where you point them, move out when they're told and can behave themselves when tied to a trailer all day.
We used to get rope horses in periodically to soften their shoulders and generally lighten their front ends for their roper owners. Other times we got them in to help them change careers, this mainly entailed teaching them to get comfortable on both leads, lightening and limbering their front ends and getting controlled speed on a loose rein.
Because I was low gunzel on the totem pole I was picked to ride most of these horses. Resolving problems like these taught me a bunch as a trainer and left the cow horses for my boss. So he won on both sides and I pretty much came out ahead too.
The biggest aspect I needed to keep was their forward motion. Rope horses move out, and with all the rinky dink stuff we teach our reiners and reined cow horses, it's easy to create a very bendy, twisty thing and not have enough forward. I didn't want to lose all the lovely forward motion, I wanted to shape it.
Stop and go, circling, backing up, these are all things that happen as part of the routine for a rope horse and he's not going to equate this with slowing down. Running until he's tired can be difficult, again, because he's been run until he's tired on a pretty regular basis and it's just part of the days work.He's not bolting, he's doing what he thinks you want.
Special equipment won't work either, he's used to leaning his way through tie-downs and mechanical hacks, so martingales and draw reins will just fold him over, and he'll run that way.
Keep in mind, these horses weren't being bad, they were just working the way they were taught to work. They will go straight and fast no matter what's tossed at them, it's just another day at the Idiot Human Demands Factory and they want off the clock.
I learned through trial and error to keep things simple. First I put the horse in a ring snaffle. The snaffle is my primary tool in teaching shoulder control, so every horse I rode spent time in it, no matter the age or the head gear used prior to the horse coming to me.
I would start making sure I had a turn on the forehand. Then go to the walk and trot with a lot of bends to the left and right. Lots of serpentines and spirals, working to get a light feel through them and control of the shoulders, hindquarters and ribs.
Through all this I didn't pull back. I only went to the left or right. Yes, I got going pretty fast sometimes, but I still only used one rein or the other. The turns would eventually get them slowed down and then I would relax my rein even more, get my legs off and let the horse travel straight for awhile.
Depending on how hot the horse was I might be pulling left or right every few steps, but I always released when the inside shoulder followed my hand and led into the turn.
The sequence I was after is hand, nose, shoulder, foot. I like to get to where the horse will step in the direction of my hand with the inside shoulder leading without pressure from me.
I kept this up for days if needed because it got the horse used to and seeking a loose rein.
Once I had all the parts responding the way I needed them to I moved into transitions. Transitions, transitions, transitions.
At first I didn't have stop and back as part of the deal, just walk, trot, fast walk, fast trot, slow trot, walk etc. I didn't want to lose my momentum and again, a rope horse stops and backs all day and then takes off at a run, this doesn't equate as a discipline to him, at least not at first. My reins stayed loose, I wasn't going to pull back on him, no matter what.
Every time I wanted him to transition up I would squeeze with my legs as a cue. He might over-react at first, but I did it anyway. My reins stayed loose.
All lot of ropers are not ridden with leg contact, rope saddles are designed for the rider to get up and off the horse, not for close contact. So squeeze can mean take off, but I kept asking consistently for what I wanted, if I got too much, I just went to bending until he got back where I wanted him. I needed and expected him to learn a squeeze is a conversation, not a shout.
When I wanted him to transition down I'd exhale, relax my seat and legs, give him 10 seconds or so to respond and then start going right and left until he slowed. I released my hold as soon as I felt him begin to slow. My reins only came in contact one at a time and I didn't switch over until the the nose followed my hand and the shoulder followed the nose. My legs stayed active and helped position him inside or out as needed.
I didn't say Whoa and I don't take my legs completely off, not yet. My reins stayed loose.
When I finally stopped him I relaxed my seat, took my legs completely off and then brought in my hands, if needed, left, right, left, right, in rhythm with his trot, not worrying about the shoulder, just alternating pressure until he stopped. When he stopped I released all pressure and said Whoa. Yes, after he stopped.
Transition, transition, transition, for days if need be. Quiet, consistent, friendly.
When I had control of his body, he could calmly transition up and down, and hold the asked for speed for at least half a lap around the arena, I started thinking about loping.
When we loped I only thought about the lope. I didn't care about a lope depart, I preferred he trot into it at the moment. I didn't care about leads, that's another training issue and I wanted him comfortable at the slower gaits before I worried about leads.
I clucked to signal a trot and kissed for a lope. When I kissed to my rope horse I squeezed at the same time and my reins were what? Loose you say? You betcha!
If (when) he took off I simply sat there. I didn't pick up my reins for at least six or seven strides. Then I'd exhale, relax my seat and legs and began to work his mouth. If he slowed, I released, if he trotted I released, if he stopped I smooched him back into the lope. I didn't say Whoa, I asked him to slow down.
Now I went back to transitions.
I'd warm up at the walk and trot, then go to my lope. When I got a good slow down at the lope I'd quit for the day. Our hard work was still at the walk and trot.
My final step was to lope up the long side of the arena, on a loose rein, and then transition down to a trot about 10 ft. before the corner of the short end. I'd trot through the corner and smooch him back into the lope on the straight away. Pretty soon he'd be thinking about the transition through the corners and he'd slow down on his own.
That's when I'd ask for a Whoa now and then. I'd still relax my seat and take off my legs before I said Whoa, but I didn't wait until he stopped on his own. I'd go ahead and pick up my reins and work his mouth, left right, left, in rhythm with his stride until he stopped.
There's a good start for you. Be careful, be patient and what about those reins???? Stay loose!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Scared or Mad - Tally
I rode Tally hard that morning.
She chugged like a little freight train, her snorts growing louder as she relaxed and lost herself into our workout. She turned into a little machine as she warmed up.
Her muscular little body surged with power and her natural cadence made it easy to get lost in the rhythm of her lope. She was deep strided and strong, making me feel like I was on a much larger horse as she carried me through the corners without a lean or a wobble.
The bright little bay worked on her own to stay evenly balanced between my legs. She was the only horse I had ever ridden that took my concept of keeping an imaginary sliver of air between my seat and legs and made it literal. With just a touch she would reposition herself so no uneven contact came between us.
Tally was an incredible education. I had to be aware and soft all the time, my riding had to be instinctive, my timing blended with hers to the second, or the surge of panic I knew so well would come bubbling up through her, her back would hollow, her head rise in the air and her legs would begin to scramble.
If my middle was solid and my stinking, eternally sinking, right hip hadn't slid into the pocket of my saddle I could bring her back to me with a sigh, a touch of my calf. My riding improved on my other horses in leaps and bounds. The more instinctive and less intellectual my training became the better off we all were.
My heart ached at the thought of selling her, but my reserves were going fast and my time was becoming more precious as my business began to grow. I needed Tally to learn to accept other riders and I needed it quick.
My assistant Kathy had finally decided she was ready to give Tally a whirl. She wanted her tired and she wanted her on a longe line with me on the end of it.
So I worked hard to tire the mare that morning. Tally was hard to wear out. She had become addicted to our morning work outs, her need to move came closer to being satisfied the harder she went, so it was difficult to wear her down. Tally had flipped my standard release and rest reward system. Her reward was getting to move out, circling at a good clip, huffing and chuffing away. Right when I would think she was ready to stop, her heavy tail would flag a little and she would ask for more.
Finally we stood in the middle of the arena, sweat rolling of both of us in waves. Tally was bright and soft, but relaxed, and I was rolling around on a contact high that gave me confidence this mare could do anything.
"Why don't we start with you just getting up and down on her, we'll take it slow," I told Kathy as I slid down.
"Sounds good to me," she said. Her mouth was set and her shoulders stiff as she approached. "I still want you on the end of a rope."
We slipped off Tally's bridle and put the halter and longe line on. I tied the head piece tight and close to her ear, making sure the pressure on her face would be even, not too much on her nose, not too much on the poll.
She was puzzled. Kathy should be unsaddling her, taking her out for a rinse and tying her back in the line up, not getting her ready for another ride. Tally's eyes stayed soft and she rested her nose first on my arm, then Kathy's shoulder.
"Yep, I'm gonna ride you," Kathy told her.
"Live and let die," I said.
My long time friend glared at me, my compliant and congenial assistant gone in a flash, "Shut...up."
Kathy muttered something I couldn't quite hear as she put the bridle back on over the halter.
I stepped away, the longe line doubled in my hand, enough slack in it to tell Tally Kathy was in charge.
Kathy gathered her reins, stepped into the stirrup and stood up in one easy move. She balanced straight in the stirrup, over Tally's back, one hand on the swell, the other on the cantle.
Tally snorted and raised her head. Her eyes rolled white and she started to shift around.
"Janet...." Kathy said.
"Hold steady, she's just sorting things out, if she goes, just step down and stay at her shoulder. I'll pull her around if need be," I answered.
Tally rebalanced and sighed. Her head dropped as she relaxed and Kathy stepped off.
"That was great! Let's go again." I said.
"Can I wait until I don't want to puke anymore?"
"You're fine, hop on up there."
"I hate you when you're perky."
We repeated stepping into the stirrup several times until Tally started looking around and began to get restless.
"Do you want to swing a leg over or should we quit for the day?" I asked.
"If you ever want to see me again we'll quit for the day."
"OK, we'll go again tomorrow."
"Hooray, I can't wait," Kathy said. "By the way, I think you can put Tally up, I need to go have a cup of coffee."
The next morning began the same, except Kathy was feeling little more positive and Tally was completely unconcerned when she stood up in the stirrup.
"Do you want to get on and walk her around? We can make it her regular cool down," I asked her.
"That will probably work," Kathy told me. She seemed calm and relaxed when she threw her leg over Tally's back. Tally stiffened, but offered no resistance.
Tally was stiff and white-eyed, but she listened to the unfamiliar hands on the reins.
"It's like riding a little bulldog," Kathy said.
"Bull terrier? French Bull Dog?"
"More like a Boston..."
Tally bolted. Her hind legs suddenly powered under her and she was off like a shot. Kathy grabbed the swells with both hands and deepened her seat. I set my legs and balanced the longe line across my hip so I could power Tally down as she took off across the arena.
She didn't leave. She cut across the circumference of our circle and headed straight towards me. I frantically started gathering in the line so she wouldn't get caught up in it. The mare's eyes had gone cold and hard, like dark little marbles. As she shot by I saw Kathy pick up the reins and pull. Tally leaned into the bit and pulled back. The leverage lifted Tally's front end off the ground and she pushed off with her hind end. They were burling straight into the arena wall.
I got my line squared away and put some steady pressure on the halter, trying to stop the blind bolt without pulling horse and rider over.
"Get off her face!" I shouted. Kathy was white faced and silent, there was nothing in her world except Tally. She couldn't hear me.
I don't know if Tally felt the pressure of the longe line or decided against crashing into the wall, but she veered away, gathering even more power through her turn, her legs thrust deep into the arena as she took off up the side, so close she slammed Kathy's knee into a support beam.
When she hit the end of the longe line I felt her gather for another leap.
"Hang on!" I shouted, but Kathy had enough. She let go and flew into the arena wall as Tally ripped into yet another turn.
The air was heavy with dust and I could barely make out Kathy's still form on the arena floor. Tally stood about twenty feet away, stamping her foot and twitching her tail in irritation.
I ran over to Kathy and knelt down next to her.
"Kathy? Kath? Are you all right? Oh God, let her be OK."
She groaned and rolled over in the sawdust.
"I am never riding that bitch again."
She chugged like a little freight train, her snorts growing louder as she relaxed and lost herself into our workout. She turned into a little machine as she warmed up.
Her muscular little body surged with power and her natural cadence made it easy to get lost in the rhythm of her lope. She was deep strided and strong, making me feel like I was on a much larger horse as she carried me through the corners without a lean or a wobble.
The bright little bay worked on her own to stay evenly balanced between my legs. She was the only horse I had ever ridden that took my concept of keeping an imaginary sliver of air between my seat and legs and made it literal. With just a touch she would reposition herself so no uneven contact came between us.
Tally was an incredible education. I had to be aware and soft all the time, my riding had to be instinctive, my timing blended with hers to the second, or the surge of panic I knew so well would come bubbling up through her, her back would hollow, her head rise in the air and her legs would begin to scramble.
If my middle was solid and my stinking, eternally sinking, right hip hadn't slid into the pocket of my saddle I could bring her back to me with a sigh, a touch of my calf. My riding improved on my other horses in leaps and bounds. The more instinctive and less intellectual my training became the better off we all were.
My heart ached at the thought of selling her, but my reserves were going fast and my time was becoming more precious as my business began to grow. I needed Tally to learn to accept other riders and I needed it quick.
My assistant Kathy had finally decided she was ready to give Tally a whirl. She wanted her tired and she wanted her on a longe line with me on the end of it.
So I worked hard to tire the mare that morning. Tally was hard to wear out. She had become addicted to our morning work outs, her need to move came closer to being satisfied the harder she went, so it was difficult to wear her down. Tally had flipped my standard release and rest reward system. Her reward was getting to move out, circling at a good clip, huffing and chuffing away. Right when I would think she was ready to stop, her heavy tail would flag a little and she would ask for more.
Finally we stood in the middle of the arena, sweat rolling of both of us in waves. Tally was bright and soft, but relaxed, and I was rolling around on a contact high that gave me confidence this mare could do anything.
"Why don't we start with you just getting up and down on her, we'll take it slow," I told Kathy as I slid down.
"Sounds good to me," she said. Her mouth was set and her shoulders stiff as she approached. "I still want you on the end of a rope."
We slipped off Tally's bridle and put the halter and longe line on. I tied the head piece tight and close to her ear, making sure the pressure on her face would be even, not too much on her nose, not too much on the poll.
She was puzzled. Kathy should be unsaddling her, taking her out for a rinse and tying her back in the line up, not getting her ready for another ride. Tally's eyes stayed soft and she rested her nose first on my arm, then Kathy's shoulder.
"Yep, I'm gonna ride you," Kathy told her.
"Live and let die," I said.
My long time friend glared at me, my compliant and congenial assistant gone in a flash, "Shut...up."
Kathy muttered something I couldn't quite hear as she put the bridle back on over the halter.
I stepped away, the longe line doubled in my hand, enough slack in it to tell Tally Kathy was in charge.
Kathy gathered her reins, stepped into the stirrup and stood up in one easy move. She balanced straight in the stirrup, over Tally's back, one hand on the swell, the other on the cantle.
Tally snorted and raised her head. Her eyes rolled white and she started to shift around.
"Janet...." Kathy said.
"Hold steady, she's just sorting things out, if she goes, just step down and stay at her shoulder. I'll pull her around if need be," I answered.
Tally rebalanced and sighed. Her head dropped as she relaxed and Kathy stepped off.
"That was great! Let's go again." I said.
"Can I wait until I don't want to puke anymore?"
"You're fine, hop on up there."
"I hate you when you're perky."
We repeated stepping into the stirrup several times until Tally started looking around and began to get restless.
"Do you want to swing a leg over or should we quit for the day?" I asked.
"If you ever want to see me again we'll quit for the day."
"OK, we'll go again tomorrow."
"Hooray, I can't wait," Kathy said. "By the way, I think you can put Tally up, I need to go have a cup of coffee."
The next morning began the same, except Kathy was feeling little more positive and Tally was completely unconcerned when she stood up in the stirrup.
"Do you want to get on and walk her around? We can make it her regular cool down," I asked her.
"That will probably work," Kathy told me. She seemed calm and relaxed when she threw her leg over Tally's back. Tally stiffened, but offered no resistance.
Tally was stiff and white-eyed, but she listened to the unfamiliar hands on the reins.
"It's like riding a little bulldog," Kathy said.
"Bull terrier? French Bull Dog?"
"More like a Boston..."
Tally bolted. Her hind legs suddenly powered under her and she was off like a shot. Kathy grabbed the swells with both hands and deepened her seat. I set my legs and balanced the longe line across my hip so I could power Tally down as she took off across the arena.
She didn't leave. She cut across the circumference of our circle and headed straight towards me. I frantically started gathering in the line so she wouldn't get caught up in it. The mare's eyes had gone cold and hard, like dark little marbles. As she shot by I saw Kathy pick up the reins and pull. Tally leaned into the bit and pulled back. The leverage lifted Tally's front end off the ground and she pushed off with her hind end. They were burling straight into the arena wall.
I got my line squared away and put some steady pressure on the halter, trying to stop the blind bolt without pulling horse and rider over.
"Get off her face!" I shouted. Kathy was white faced and silent, there was nothing in her world except Tally. She couldn't hear me.
I don't know if Tally felt the pressure of the longe line or decided against crashing into the wall, but she veered away, gathering even more power through her turn, her legs thrust deep into the arena as she took off up the side, so close she slammed Kathy's knee into a support beam.
When she hit the end of the longe line I felt her gather for another leap.
"Hang on!" I shouted, but Kathy had enough. She let go and flew into the arena wall as Tally ripped into yet another turn.
The air was heavy with dust and I could barely make out Kathy's still form on the arena floor. Tally stood about twenty feet away, stamping her foot and twitching her tail in irritation.
I ran over to Kathy and knelt down next to her.
"Kathy? Kath? Are you all right? Oh God, let her be OK."
She groaned and rolled over in the sawdust.
"I am never riding that bitch again."
Monday, August 22, 2011
Mouthy Monday
Hi, I'm Jessica, and just wanted to share. LOVE the blog!
Why I Love Horses
I’m going to attempt to put into words the multitude of reasons I love horses. Of course, as you know, it’s never quite possible, and anyone who doesn’t love horses would never understand, but I’ll try anyway.
I’ve always been interested in horses- I literally can’t remember a car trip that I didn’t scan the roads for horses, or a time that horse books didn’t excite me. I’ve read them all- the classics, like Black Beauty, National Velvet, and the Black Stallion. I was OBSESSED with the Saddle Club books- I seriously think I’ve read every single one. And, more recent, the Heartland books, and the Phantom Stallion. Mostly just anything I could get my hands on- I have 3 different horse encyclopedias, a bunch of riding and care books, even a book on horse barns. And most of my horse exposure up until 8th grade was just that- in books. My thoroughly middle class family lived in the suburbs of Chicago- no land, and boarding was a premium. Lessons were something like $40 for one half-hour. I always gravitated towards the horses whenever I did see them, and my uncle who lives in Georgia owns mules, so I got some “real world” experience in the mountains with him once a year. I distinctly remember one year riding every single day for two weeks- a mandate my uncle made and my cousins hated. No one could really understand it; no one in my family was interested, I had never had lessons, and my parents didn’t really encourage the obsession- they mostly just tolerated it. I still try to figure out why I started to love horses, and I guess that’s where I start.
Horses are beautiful. I mean, really- just look at them! Grazing, messing around in a field, or in movement, I was always amazed at the pure beauty of all horses. As a girl, I guess I’m drawn to this beauty sort of like I’m drawn to pretty flowers, or jewelry, or sunset views. I’m pretty confident that’s why most girls go through a horse-crazy stage. But it goes deeper than that. Why didn’t I just grow out of it, like most do?
Horses are powerful. Their beauty, along with their awesome strength, is something I wonder at to this day. I guess mostly I just wonder at the fact that, at any moment, any horse could say, “screw you!” Pull away, or trample any human. But they don’t. They don’t want to. They continually lend us their strength, never asking for anything in return. Wow. If only I could be like that!
Horses live in the moment. I started having regular contact with horses just about the time I went through the worst years as a kid. My friends all dumped me, I wasn’t doing well in school, and my mom and I had a fight every day, it seemed like. I would go to the barn, and none of that mattered. Suddenly, I had a friend that loved me no matter what- as long as I had treats! I had someone to take care of, and if I made a mistake, it didn’t matter. I fixed it, and five minutes later, everything was good again. I had control of this part of my life when everything else seemed to spiral into chaos the moment I touched it.
Horses love you. All the time. No matter what. I’ve seen horses starving to death in a field of dirt come up to the fence and nicker when someone approached. How can horses love so deeply that even when everyone forsakes them, they still try? Or the horses who put up with EVERYTHING- upside down bits, bouncy kids, see-sawing hands, and work until they drop. They never complain or act up, even when you can’t even believe you’re watching a 10 year old practice her vaulting on her old gelding- who doesn’t especially like the constant crashing onto his back in the field.
Horses trust you. With parents that pretty much strangled the life out of me as a teenager, trust was huge to me. The horse I feed trusts me to give him his food every day, without fail. The horse I ride trusts me to tell him what to do, even if he doesn’t like it. In the barn, I’m trusted with barn doors, gates, feeding schedules, vaccinations, and countless other literally life and death things that make me feel important, even when I’m not that important out in the real world.
Horses don’t lie. If they’re mad, they let you know! If they love you, you know that too. There’s no back-stabbing, no doing one thing and thinking another, and definitely no laughing behind your back. It’s all right there, in their faces. And there’s nothing better than when they nicker and trot to the fence as soon as they see you. Likewise, you can’t lie to a horse. You can’t pretend you’re not scared or nervous or mad- they know. So you have to learn to control your emotions, and you have to feel whatever it is that’s bothering you. I’ve got a habit of sucking all my bad stuff inside and running away from it, but with horses I can’t.
Horses are fun! There’s so much you can do- want to be casual, and just poke around at home? Trails. Want to compete? Shows- in pretty much any discipline imaginable. Want companionship, or just to hang out with other people? Competitive trail, or riding in groups, or joining a barn. Want an adrenaline rush, or have a need for speed? Jumping, rodeo, or eventing. Want to get into shape, or really exercise? Endurance, or Ride and Ties. There’s literally something for everyone!
When I’m with horses, I’m not the clumsy, shy, disorganized, chubby nerd who doesn’t quite fit in. I am confident in the fact that I know what I’m doing, and how to do it. I have tons of friends at the barn! And who could be clumsy on the back of a galloping horse? Sometimes when I ride, I feel like grace in motion. My room is a mess- but I’ll spend hours organizing the tack room, cleaning stalls, or sweeping the hay loft. I live and breathe horses. And some people just don’t understand, but at least I’ve tried to explain.
So, feeling down? Saddle up.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
You Get the News First
I don't own the blog, a company in CA(?) bought it, but asked me to write it. I'm going to take a crack at not just keeping it going, but making it my own.
I'll definitely keep going with Mugwump Chronicles and the flavor won't change here. I'm going to also try to be true to Fugly's mission, but in my own way. I don't have it in me to be as in-your-face as Fugly, but I do have some strong opinions and it will be fun to harass a few of the commenters.
It's going to be interesting finding a balance between the two blogs, feel free to call me out if my "Fugly voice" creeps over here.
Exploring Fugly World is going to be quite the challenge, but it's going to be an exciting one.
Wish me luck, I'll 'fess up to who I am over at FHOTD tomorrow.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Training for the Weekend Rider
Weekend riders used to make me crazy.
I long held the opinion if you were going to own a horse you needed to ride the dang thing. As a kid I scorned my friends who didn't ride every afternoon during the school years and both days on weekends.
Once I became an instructor and started getting students with their own horses I was notorious for climbing all over them if they hadn't been on them during the week.
There was no way they could hide it either. I had taught too many students who rode only once a week, on dudes or my school horses, to not recognize a rider warming up her butt from a week off her horse.
As the years passed I began to slowly get it. Well cared for horses don't mind much if they're ridden or not and many weekend horse owners love and take excellent care of their horses.
People can love their horses, need their horses and only manage to ride at their lessons or on a weekend trail ride a couple times a month.
The key was to create lessons which covered the needs of my clients and helped them progress. If they could only succeed by riding more often then they were capable of I was setting them up for failure. Not a good trait in a riding instructor.
I didn't let them off the hook though. I would try, through example, to show my students what was possible through daily riding and be blunt about what it would take to reach the higher levels of horsemanship.
The biggest problem with a rider who can only ride once a week or so is finding a horse who will continue to be soft and compliant when he is ridden a few times a month.
I have found horses for clients in the past which were soft and easy to ride and be around. Within a few months or a year the horses would become "bad," or "difficult," sometimes it would be about being caught or getting pushy. Sometimes the horse would become broncy or start bolting.
The problem almost invariably, at least at the beginning, was the horse was fresh. He hadn't been ridden in a long time and decided he liked it that way. So he'd act a little stupid and scare his rider into backing off. This suited the horse just fine and the problem would soon escalate.
Before you know it there would be a rodeo on the weekends instead of a nice trail ride and the horse world loses yet another needed horse owner.
What started as simple fractious behavior has built up to create a frightened and/or angry horse and owner. Horses don't find fault, in themselves or the people around them, they do find trust or distrust. When he acted up he was simply goofing, now he can't find leadership and is in trouble every time he comes in to be saddled. So fight or flight steps in.
What's the answer here?
This is where ground work comes in.
Hate to say it, but I'm not talking about 44 games, advance and retreat, or the dance of the seven veils. I'm talking ground work.
I want my horse under saddle, attached to a longe line and working hard. I'm gong to have a longe whip to show direction and insist on compliance if need be.
I want the line so I can hoist his head where I need it hoisted, not wait until he chooses to be my friend. I want him saddled so he learns that when it is on we're going to work, not play. I want the whip for forward momentum and shoulder control. I want him to decide ground work is so hard he can't wait for you to knock it off so you'll get on his back and leave him alone.
My basic plan for a weekend rider with a feisty horse would be to encourage her to get out more. Even one extra fifteen minute session on the longe line can make a world of difference in a horse's attitude. Three or four would be better.
If a horse hasn't been ridden awhile and I think there's a buck or two in there I might turn them out first. If I do this I just turn them out, no input from me, no saddle or bridle. I'll give them half an hour or so, then catch him, saddle, long line and off we go.
I'm wary of turn out with a fresh horse, I worry about explosive play on an horse which hasn't been warmed up. It's a good way to blow tendons, tear muscles etc. so I'll avoid it if possible. I am all over turning a horse out after he's been worked, a good roll and slow cool down is a great way to end the day.
When I first start my fresh horse out on the line I want a trot. If I can get a walk right off then I sure don't need to be longing him. I don't want a bolting charging run either, this is about work NOT play.
So I'll ask for a trot. I don't care if I have a speedy trot, a flagged tail, whinnying or looking around, not yet anyway.
I do step in for bolting, bucking, cutting across in front of me or turning to face up.
For bolting I yank him down. I'll take a step to his hip and pull him towards me, breaking his forward momentum. When he stops I ask for the trot and send him out immediately, no "Good boy," (he's not) and no "I said WHOA you son of a goat!" (he's not). I just keep asking for the trot until I get it. Then we start working. He gets a good boy when he's completely on task, not before.
For bucking I get to spanking hard with the longe whip, speeding him up with authority and some aggressive body language, THEN I yank him down and send him out at the trot.
Cutting across in front of me gets pretty much the same treatment as bolting, except I'll slap him pretty hard with the whip across the shoulder. A shoulder coming towards me is very pushy and I'll do what it takes to push him back out.
Facing up without me asking irritates the tar out of me. This is not friendly submission, it's an evasion and I get it cleared up immediately. I slap the ground behind the horse, coming closer and closer to the shoulder until he heads out again. If he gets whapped, so be it, he had plenty of warning.
I don't have my horses face up, I like them to stay parallel and let me approach, but that's another story for another day.
Eventually we have a good trot going and I begin to transition the horse up and down, trot, extend trot, jog and eventually walk. I ask for lots of halts, lots of changes of direction.
When my boy is working well I start to transition in the lope.
Before I'm done I want a quiet horse, not whinnying, not looking around, just soft and sweet and working.
He should be sweaty too.
If the horse has an issue under saddle I'm dealing with, I'll get on, sit for five minutes or so and get down. That's it for now.
The reward for listening is me sitting quiet, with a lot of sweet talk and pats and then we're done. I add more time in the saddle and less on the line as the behavior improves.
If the only issue is freshness then I just get on and go for my ride.
If this is more training than the weekend rider is ready for than I suggest taking lessons, or trying a share/lease arrangement.
The main point I want to make here is, there is nothing personal in your horse's behavior. It's just the need to get those muscles working, a need so strong you can lose his brain completely.
A little more time and a consistent work plan can get that brain back in short order.
I'm just glad to know the weekend rider is out there, doing her best to balance a full life and keep her horse a vital part of it.
I long held the opinion if you were going to own a horse you needed to ride the dang thing. As a kid I scorned my friends who didn't ride every afternoon during the school years and both days on weekends.
Once I became an instructor and started getting students with their own horses I was notorious for climbing all over them if they hadn't been on them during the week.
There was no way they could hide it either. I had taught too many students who rode only once a week, on dudes or my school horses, to not recognize a rider warming up her butt from a week off her horse.
As the years passed I began to slowly get it. Well cared for horses don't mind much if they're ridden or not and many weekend horse owners love and take excellent care of their horses.
People can love their horses, need their horses and only manage to ride at their lessons or on a weekend trail ride a couple times a month.
The key was to create lessons which covered the needs of my clients and helped them progress. If they could only succeed by riding more often then they were capable of I was setting them up for failure. Not a good trait in a riding instructor.
I didn't let them off the hook though. I would try, through example, to show my students what was possible through daily riding and be blunt about what it would take to reach the higher levels of horsemanship.
The biggest problem with a rider who can only ride once a week or so is finding a horse who will continue to be soft and compliant when he is ridden a few times a month.
I have found horses for clients in the past which were soft and easy to ride and be around. Within a few months or a year the horses would become "bad," or "difficult," sometimes it would be about being caught or getting pushy. Sometimes the horse would become broncy or start bolting.
The problem almost invariably, at least at the beginning, was the horse was fresh. He hadn't been ridden in a long time and decided he liked it that way. So he'd act a little stupid and scare his rider into backing off. This suited the horse just fine and the problem would soon escalate.
Before you know it there would be a rodeo on the weekends instead of a nice trail ride and the horse world loses yet another needed horse owner.
What started as simple fractious behavior has built up to create a frightened and/or angry horse and owner. Horses don't find fault, in themselves or the people around them, they do find trust or distrust. When he acted up he was simply goofing, now he can't find leadership and is in trouble every time he comes in to be saddled. So fight or flight steps in.
What's the answer here?
This is where ground work comes in.
Hate to say it, but I'm not talking about 44 games, advance and retreat, or the dance of the seven veils. I'm talking ground work.
I want my horse under saddle, attached to a longe line and working hard. I'm gong to have a longe whip to show direction and insist on compliance if need be.
I want the line so I can hoist his head where I need it hoisted, not wait until he chooses to be my friend. I want him saddled so he learns that when it is on we're going to work, not play. I want the whip for forward momentum and shoulder control. I want him to decide ground work is so hard he can't wait for you to knock it off so you'll get on his back and leave him alone.
My basic plan for a weekend rider with a feisty horse would be to encourage her to get out more. Even one extra fifteen minute session on the longe line can make a world of difference in a horse's attitude. Three or four would be better.
If a horse hasn't been ridden awhile and I think there's a buck or two in there I might turn them out first. If I do this I just turn them out, no input from me, no saddle or bridle. I'll give them half an hour or so, then catch him, saddle, long line and off we go.
I'm wary of turn out with a fresh horse, I worry about explosive play on an horse which hasn't been warmed up. It's a good way to blow tendons, tear muscles etc. so I'll avoid it if possible. I am all over turning a horse out after he's been worked, a good roll and slow cool down is a great way to end the day.
When I first start my fresh horse out on the line I want a trot. If I can get a walk right off then I sure don't need to be longing him. I don't want a bolting charging run either, this is about work NOT play.
So I'll ask for a trot. I don't care if I have a speedy trot, a flagged tail, whinnying or looking around, not yet anyway.
I do step in for bolting, bucking, cutting across in front of me or turning to face up.
For bolting I yank him down. I'll take a step to his hip and pull him towards me, breaking his forward momentum. When he stops I ask for the trot and send him out immediately, no "Good boy," (he's not) and no "I said WHOA you son of a goat!" (he's not). I just keep asking for the trot until I get it. Then we start working. He gets a good boy when he's completely on task, not before.
For bucking I get to spanking hard with the longe whip, speeding him up with authority and some aggressive body language, THEN I yank him down and send him out at the trot.
Cutting across in front of me gets pretty much the same treatment as bolting, except I'll slap him pretty hard with the whip across the shoulder. A shoulder coming towards me is very pushy and I'll do what it takes to push him back out.
Facing up without me asking irritates the tar out of me. This is not friendly submission, it's an evasion and I get it cleared up immediately. I slap the ground behind the horse, coming closer and closer to the shoulder until he heads out again. If he gets whapped, so be it, he had plenty of warning.
I don't have my horses face up, I like them to stay parallel and let me approach, but that's another story for another day.
Eventually we have a good trot going and I begin to transition the horse up and down, trot, extend trot, jog and eventually walk. I ask for lots of halts, lots of changes of direction.
When my boy is working well I start to transition in the lope.
Before I'm done I want a quiet horse, not whinnying, not looking around, just soft and sweet and working.
He should be sweaty too.
If the horse has an issue under saddle I'm dealing with, I'll get on, sit for five minutes or so and get down. That's it for now.
The reward for listening is me sitting quiet, with a lot of sweet talk and pats and then we're done. I add more time in the saddle and less on the line as the behavior improves.
If the only issue is freshness then I just get on and go for my ride.
If this is more training than the weekend rider is ready for than I suggest taking lessons, or trying a share/lease arrangement.
The main point I want to make here is, there is nothing personal in your horse's behavior. It's just the need to get those muscles working, a need so strong you can lose his brain completely.
A little more time and a consistent work plan can get that brain back in short order.
I'm just glad to know the weekend rider is out there, doing her best to balance a full life and keep her horse a vital part of it.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Follow in My Footsteps
Kidlette Takes A Big Step
My daughter is a talented, kind, intelligent, young woman. That being said she is also a willful, stubborn, opinionated, little flower child, determined to find her own path in this world and to pick the rockiest, hilliest path she can possibly try to conquer.
Not that I wanted her to dive into a career based on a reliable, solid income, health benefits and retirement, I just hoped the one she chose would have those things. Sigh.
It is beginning to look like she's heading into the world of horse training. As she grew up riding and helping in our little training business I never thought she would end up deciding to take it on.
You'd think lying on a cot in the tack room, in flu induced misery, with a space heater and sleeping bag to ward off her chills because I still had to work no matter how sick she was, would have been enough. Or napping on a saddle blanket in the corner of our very dusty indoor late at night while I rode, "...just one more."
"I will never do this for a living," she would proclaim as she loaded horses at 4 am.
"This totally sucks," she would mutter as she hauled manure out of stall after stall.
She worked and rode hard and grew up in an odd world of wealth and poverty. Her friends were well-to-do kids, either clients, children of clients or the kids she ran with at the horse shows. they had money, often lots of it, and had access to a caliber of horse she could only dream of.
Being the daughter of a cow horse trainer who only reached the middle of the pack at the height of her career, she dealt with years of sleeping in a rusty rattle trap trailer, competing against highly trained kids on highly trained bridle horses on her little foundation snaffle bitter. It was hard on her in a lot of ways, but good for her too. She became tough and detailed oriented and one heck of a hand.
When she faded out of horses and began to grow into a new life invested in social awareness and good times, I worried about her, but not as much as I would have if she decided to apprentice with a trainer and head off to the pro circuit.
She kept the first colt she trained herself from nose to tail and enjoyed him as a saddle horse. I was glad she still loved her horse and happy she still liked to come ride with me. I envisioned a life for her filled with travel and adventure, college, children and health insurance.
Not too many months ago she burst my little mommy bubble into so many soap suds.
"Mom, I miss riding colts."
"Yeah, I miss it too," I muttered, acting for all the world like I didn't know where this was heading.
"I'd love to lope a few for somebody."
I stayed quiet, hoping the whole line of conversation would simply evaporate. If you know the kidlette you would understand she is not one easily swayed when she grabs onto an idea.
"Can you think of somebody I could lope for? Mom?"
"You'll lose your non-pro status."
"I don't care. It's not like I can afford to show. I'm just like you, the only way I'm going to get back into showing is if I'm riding somebody else's horse."
So off she went. She began riding colts for Jay, the man who owns my barn. Things went all right. I hate to say it, but they went too all right.
"Man, that little girl of yours can ride," Jay told me.
"Yes she can."
Didn't she remember when she actually got chill blains on her skinny little legs working during a particularly brutal winter? How about working your heart out for a client or their horse only to be dismissed without a thought when somebody newer, better or selling the latest snake oil swept them away?
Was she forgetting the late nights figuring and refiguring how to pay the rent and buy groceries AFTER the hay bill was paid? The years of never knowing from month to month what our income would be? What about trying to squeeze in just one more rank, sorry, bullet headed piece of junk backyard stud colt in order to pay for fuel to the next big show?
What part of, if you get hurt you will have no job, therefore, no income, a huge hospital and HEY! NO BENEFITS did she not understand?
Was I a little freaked? Yeah, a little.
When I poured out my fears to a very wise woman I know I was surprised at her reaction.
"What a great legacy to have her choose to follow in your footsteps!"
"My crookedy broke down and broke bowlegged footsteps..." I grumbled.
"She grew up watching you fight to follow your passion, you've made her want to try to do the same."
"But it didn't work, I didn't succeed."
"Maybe that isn't how Kidlette sees it."
Then my daughter tells me about a horse she was asked to work. It's a filly who has been tied out, tied down, thrown to the ground, tarped, you name it, it's been done to her. Nobody has gotten through to this horse.
Jay recommended her to the filly's owner because of the quiet way she has with a youngster.
He told her he likes the way her colts work for her because what she wants makes the most sense for everybody and the horses try so hard for her.
"I've been thinking about the word 'horsemanship,'" she said. "It's like the word relationship. Except with man and horses. Until you establish a relationship with each horse you can't trust them and they can't trust you.
I think that's why you need groundwork. to begin a working relationship between me and my colt that will last through the training period."
Oh my God, she can do "trainerspeak."
"But you can't do it all on the ground," I replied, "horses who do tricks on the ground but can't be ridden, they're only relationship is a bad one."
"Duh mom. I'm talking about just enough groundwork to establish myself and get a rhythm going. Give me a break."
Aha, there's my kid. I have to admit, I love talking horses with my daughter. I love watching her mind whirr and click as she sorts out the different possibilities of each horse. I'm impressed with her solid hands, amazing seat and bravery.
I don't know if she'll stay with horse training. It's a big world out there and its calling Kidlette.While training I learned patience, the logic of sequential thinking, and the value of a rock solid core. I gained and lost incredible friends, learned more about people than I wanted to, and was able to raise my daughter and still work.
I learned about braggarts and witnessed extreme humility. I have watched incredible acts of cruelty and amazing kindness. I was able to spend time on the road with my daughter and forced her to listen to "Samba Mia" for countless miles.
So I guess I wish her well. I hope she finds her passion. I wish to hell she'd get some health insurance.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Mort, Me and the Upper Rio Grande 50 Miler
Hi guys. I'm glad to be back. I'm not leaving or slowing down, I simply didn't realize how complex and overwhelming my life was going to be. Things might be a little wonky for awhile yet, but are definitely on the upswing. I've missed all of you, believe me.
Thanks so much for the Kindle reviews, I'm already popping up all over. Now to get back to regular posting and life will be good again.
Me and Mort- Pacing
It was cold in the mountains at seven in the morning. I shivered in my T-shirt and turned to untie my saddle strings to get at my jean jacket. The sun was bright, but not hot enough to burn off the fog settled heavy and wet on the floors of the surrounding canyons. Horses and riders milled at the starting line and I sat watching them, my jacket forgotten.
The more seasoned competitors bantered back and forth, their voices clear like a layer of ice along a stream bed, making up for us greenies, who clutched our reins and sat our anxious horses in tight lipped silence. Steam rose from necks and flanks, and coiled with the conversation, thinned and disappeared into an impossibly deep blue sky.
I looked up and felt the ache that always swept through me at the beginning of an endless Colorado morning. Mort shook his head and foam speckled my knees. He didn't know what we were doing, but he was ready. He danced in place, light in the front, until I kicked him to the side.
"He's going to exhaust himself before we ever get going," Cindy said. Her saddlebred gelding stood calm and alert, one hip cocked, oblivious to Mort's antics.
"He's fine," I answered. "He has his own style of warming up."
"I wouldn't worry if he wasn't so thin," she answered. "I just don't know if he's going to have the reserves to get through all 50 miles."
I knew he could go 50 miles. We had covered that distance and more before. On weekends Mort and I routinely trotted over 30 miles just to go visit friends in Black Forest. I had never competed in a race over this kind of distance though. Cindy knew a lot more about these rides than I did.
Maybe he wouldn't be strong enough to keep up with her horse. He was certainly a lot fatter than Mort. His back sagged under Cindy's weight, a sharp contrast to Mort's quivering muscles which easily held my saddle a good two inches off his back. I could see the first three ribs on Mort's sides and the ropey muscles on his shoulders and butt stood out in stark relief.
I didn't really know Cindy. I had wanted to get to this race so bad I had simply jumped at the chance for her to be my ride sponsor. I wouldn't be old enough to ride on my own until I was 18. I'd have to keep up as well as I could. I hoped she'd wait for us. I hoped we didn't ruin her ride.
I could tell by her face she did too.
"Let's get this show started!" the man in the pace car hollered and the horses formed into a loose herd behind him as we walked down the road. Mort jigged and grunted and snapped his short little tail. The sharp smell of nervous sweat filled my nose and I could see the road dust already sticking to his neck and the hollows over his eyes.
Cindy glanced over at us and shook her head.
"He'll be fine once we can trot," I told her.
He didn't let me down. After half a mile of nonsense the car sped up and we moved into a steady trot. Mort immediately levelled out and I was able to loosen my reins. Cindy's gelding moved out with us and I watched her horse with enjoyment. I had never really watched a Saddlebred move with a natural headset and gait, and it was a beautiful thing to see.
His trot was elegant and efficient, his ground covering stride was every bit as fast as Mort's, something I had never seen before.
"What's Mort Doing?" Cindy was watching him move with a puzzled look on her face.
"This is his travelling trot, why?"
"He's pacing!"
"What?"
"Pacing, his left front and hind go forward, then his right."
"This is how he's always goes."
"Quarter horses don't pace. I thought he was a purebred."
"He's registered, I have his papers. What's wrong with pacing anyway?
"It's fine for a horse who's supposed to pace, like a Standardbred, but in a quarter horse it's probably a sign of lameness or something. How long has he moved like that?"
"Like I said, always."
I quit talking and watched the trail ahead of me, lost in my own troubled thoughts.
What if Mort was lame? What if I had been hurting him trotting him like this? Worst of all, what if pacing meant he wasn't really a Quarter Horse after all?
We covered ground at our usual speed and I had trouble maintaining my gloom and doom. I could never stay down when we were exploring and the trail was gorgeous. Mort might not trot right, but he sure felt good. He snorted and played as we went, his head high and his eyes wide. It was impossible to look at the world through the frame of his pricked ears and not feel optimistic.
"Janet!" Cindy called. "You've got to slow down!"
I glanced behind me and saw her way behind us. I reined in and waited as her gelding struggled up the hill we had just lunged up seconds before.
"I told you to take it easy!" she snapped. "We need to have some horse left to get through the ride!"
Why should we slow down? This was supposed to be a race dammit. Mort was breathing easily and ready to rock. Her gelding was blowing and sweat soaked. So was she.
Somewhere, in the back of my dim little brain, a light bulb began to glimmer.
I kept it slow and we walked most of the way into our first vet check. Mort and I sailed through, his deep and steady P/R brought a smile to the vet's face.
"He's ready to go on right now, good for you!"
Not a word about being too thin, or in poor shape.
We ended up waiting an hour. Cindy's gelding was having a tough time. I watched as she stripped off his saddle and led him into the stream. She stood next to her gelding, up to her knees in the water, gently sponging him off.
It seemed like a great idea, so I stripped off Mort's saddle and hopped up on his back. We waded into the stream and he began to paw great sheets of water behind and over us.
"King Tumba terrorizes tiny toddling tots!" I told him, sliding into our old game with him as my war elephant and me as his simple mahout.
He suddenly dropped in the water and I shrieked as I rolled off him and into the icy brink. Laughing, I scrambled up and waited for him to decide to get on his feet. Mort groaned and stretched out on his side. I threw my leg over and balanced on him. The freezing water cascaded around my makeshift horse dam and soaked us both through.
He finally heaved himself up and I clung to his mane, pushing off with one foot to shift to the middle of his back.
"What are you, eight?" Cindy snapped."How are you going to ride soaked to the skin?"
"It's getting hot, we'll dry off." I mumbled and rode over to let him graze in the sun. This could turn out to be a long day.
Cindy's gelding finally passed his P/R, just minutes before he was pulled. We went on our way at a much slower pace. I didn't dare mention how uncomfortable my damp clothes were. I was wearing corduroys instead of jeans and they were rubbing at my knees as they dried out.
We rode in silence until the lunch stop. As we came into the camp there was another exhausted horse standing in a stream with her owner. The mare stood quietly, her head hanging just above the water. Her lip hung low enough to cause the faintest ripple.
Cindy pulled her gelding after her P/R check.
"I'm sorry Janet, I don't want him to end up like that mare."
"I understand." But I didn't, not even a little.
I understood I was screwed. I couldn't finish the ride without an adult.
Thanks so much for the Kindle reviews, I'm already popping up all over. Now to get back to regular posting and life will be good again.
Me and Mort- Pacing
It was cold in the mountains at seven in the morning. I shivered in my T-shirt and turned to untie my saddle strings to get at my jean jacket. The sun was bright, but not hot enough to burn off the fog settled heavy and wet on the floors of the surrounding canyons. Horses and riders milled at the starting line and I sat watching them, my jacket forgotten.
The more seasoned competitors bantered back and forth, their voices clear like a layer of ice along a stream bed, making up for us greenies, who clutched our reins and sat our anxious horses in tight lipped silence. Steam rose from necks and flanks, and coiled with the conversation, thinned and disappeared into an impossibly deep blue sky.
I looked up and felt the ache that always swept through me at the beginning of an endless Colorado morning. Mort shook his head and foam speckled my knees. He didn't know what we were doing, but he was ready. He danced in place, light in the front, until I kicked him to the side.
"He's going to exhaust himself before we ever get going," Cindy said. Her saddlebred gelding stood calm and alert, one hip cocked, oblivious to Mort's antics.
"He's fine," I answered. "He has his own style of warming up."
"I wouldn't worry if he wasn't so thin," she answered. "I just don't know if he's going to have the reserves to get through all 50 miles."
I knew he could go 50 miles. We had covered that distance and more before. On weekends Mort and I routinely trotted over 30 miles just to go visit friends in Black Forest. I had never competed in a race over this kind of distance though. Cindy knew a lot more about these rides than I did.
Maybe he wouldn't be strong enough to keep up with her horse. He was certainly a lot fatter than Mort. His back sagged under Cindy's weight, a sharp contrast to Mort's quivering muscles which easily held my saddle a good two inches off his back. I could see the first three ribs on Mort's sides and the ropey muscles on his shoulders and butt stood out in stark relief.
I didn't really know Cindy. I had wanted to get to this race so bad I had simply jumped at the chance for her to be my ride sponsor. I wouldn't be old enough to ride on my own until I was 18. I'd have to keep up as well as I could. I hoped she'd wait for us. I hoped we didn't ruin her ride.
I could tell by her face she did too.
"Let's get this show started!" the man in the pace car hollered and the horses formed into a loose herd behind him as we walked down the road. Mort jigged and grunted and snapped his short little tail. The sharp smell of nervous sweat filled my nose and I could see the road dust already sticking to his neck and the hollows over his eyes.
Cindy glanced over at us and shook her head.
"He'll be fine once we can trot," I told her.
He didn't let me down. After half a mile of nonsense the car sped up and we moved into a steady trot. Mort immediately levelled out and I was able to loosen my reins. Cindy's gelding moved out with us and I watched her horse with enjoyment. I had never really watched a Saddlebred move with a natural headset and gait, and it was a beautiful thing to see.
His trot was elegant and efficient, his ground covering stride was every bit as fast as Mort's, something I had never seen before.
"What's Mort Doing?" Cindy was watching him move with a puzzled look on her face.
"This is his travelling trot, why?"
"He's pacing!"
"What?"
"Pacing, his left front and hind go forward, then his right."
"This is how he's always goes."
"Quarter horses don't pace. I thought he was a purebred."
"He's registered, I have his papers. What's wrong with pacing anyway?
"It's fine for a horse who's supposed to pace, like a Standardbred, but in a quarter horse it's probably a sign of lameness or something. How long has he moved like that?"
"Like I said, always."
I quit talking and watched the trail ahead of me, lost in my own troubled thoughts.
What if Mort was lame? What if I had been hurting him trotting him like this? Worst of all, what if pacing meant he wasn't really a Quarter Horse after all?
We covered ground at our usual speed and I had trouble maintaining my gloom and doom. I could never stay down when we were exploring and the trail was gorgeous. Mort might not trot right, but he sure felt good. He snorted and played as we went, his head high and his eyes wide. It was impossible to look at the world through the frame of his pricked ears and not feel optimistic.
"Janet!" Cindy called. "You've got to slow down!"
I glanced behind me and saw her way behind us. I reined in and waited as her gelding struggled up the hill we had just lunged up seconds before.
"I told you to take it easy!" she snapped. "We need to have some horse left to get through the ride!"
Why should we slow down? This was supposed to be a race dammit. Mort was breathing easily and ready to rock. Her gelding was blowing and sweat soaked. So was she.
Somewhere, in the back of my dim little brain, a light bulb began to glimmer.
I kept it slow and we walked most of the way into our first vet check. Mort and I sailed through, his deep and steady P/R brought a smile to the vet's face.
"He's ready to go on right now, good for you!"
Not a word about being too thin, or in poor shape.
We ended up waiting an hour. Cindy's gelding was having a tough time. I watched as she stripped off his saddle and led him into the stream. She stood next to her gelding, up to her knees in the water, gently sponging him off.
It seemed like a great idea, so I stripped off Mort's saddle and hopped up on his back. We waded into the stream and he began to paw great sheets of water behind and over us.
"King Tumba terrorizes tiny toddling tots!" I told him, sliding into our old game with him as my war elephant and me as his simple mahout.
He suddenly dropped in the water and I shrieked as I rolled off him and into the icy brink. Laughing, I scrambled up and waited for him to decide to get on his feet. Mort groaned and stretched out on his side. I threw my leg over and balanced on him. The freezing water cascaded around my makeshift horse dam and soaked us both through.
He finally heaved himself up and I clung to his mane, pushing off with one foot to shift to the middle of his back.
"What are you, eight?" Cindy snapped."How are you going to ride soaked to the skin?"
"It's getting hot, we'll dry off." I mumbled and rode over to let him graze in the sun. This could turn out to be a long day.
Cindy's gelding finally passed his P/R, just minutes before he was pulled. We went on our way at a much slower pace. I didn't dare mention how uncomfortable my damp clothes were. I was wearing corduroys instead of jeans and they were rubbing at my knees as they dried out.
We rode in silence until the lunch stop. As we came into the camp there was another exhausted horse standing in a stream with her owner. The mare stood quietly, her head hanging just above the water. Her lip hung low enough to cause the faintest ripple.
Cindy pulled her gelding after her P/R check.
"I'm sorry Janet, I don't want him to end up like that mare."
"I understand." But I didn't, not even a little.
I understood I was screwed. I couldn't finish the ride without an adult.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Mouthy Mondays
Hey All, a great introduction to a great horse and rider team.
Please try to send me your Mouthy Monday submissions...if you tell me to go to your blog and pick something out it's just not going to happen....
Coro's Story
After begging my mom for a young horse, she finally relented when I was fifteen and said we would look only at saddle broke mares. I had fallen in love with the Spanish breeds - the Paso Fino in particular - years before but their popularity at the time made their prices unattainably high. I happened to find a ranch liquidating their stock with one unbroke gelding for sale and my mom said we could look at him. When we pulled up the drive, the owner, Sue, had him standing in front of the barn. He was a dark pewter color, gleaming in the sun, ears pricked, nostrils flared, with a haughty gleam in his eye. It was hopeless from the moment we saw him. She told us his name was El Corazon – "the heart" in Spanish - and he had already stolen mine. I led him up and down the driveway a few times – he nudged me with his nose and jumped sideways when the copy of his papers in my hand rustled. “We’ll take him!” my mom announced. She could see that he was the one. He was delivered just a few hours later (giving us barely enough time to stop at the ranch store and buy him a burgundy halter with brass fittings). To this day I hear Spanish trumpets heralding as I remember him being backed out of the trailer into our driveway. Sue handed me the rope. “He’s all yours.” It remains one of the happiest days of my life.
Baby Coro, photo given to me by his seller
Coro's sire, Azoras, who I met at Mesa View Ranch
The day I got him, July 1992
After months of leading, playing games and grooming him proudly, I first tried riding him in January, 1993. It was the day of my grandfather's funeral, and wanting distraction and perhaps all feeling a bit reckless, we decided on the way home in the car that I should get on him. I hadn't been working with him as often through the winter, but we reasoned that I'd at least have a soft landing in the deep snow that covered our pasture. It was a family project: my mom held him, my dad boosted me up onto his back...and I immediately went flying through the air. Coro hunched up and launched me off before I even had my leg all the way over. I landed softly, sure enough...about five feet from the tractor's plow blade. Coro knocked my mom down and gave her a black eye. It was a mess, but it was certainly a distraction, and it gave us something to laugh about, even years later. I didn't get on him again that day, or even soon after. I understood that he wasn't ready, and re-focused on his ground work.
Hi, Mom!
I spent the spring saddling, unsaddling (I had a synthetic dressage saddle that I only recently retired), long-lining, attempting to lunge him (he never got the hang of that as he always wanted to be as close to me as possible and couldn't understand why I kept sending him away from me), leading him through mazes of ground poles and leaning over his back. We played hide & seek and I got him to follow me over ditches and small jumps in the pasture. I remember one day when he trotted alongside me as I jogged down the driveway to get the mail. It made me so happy that he liked my company and wanted to be near me when he had freedom of choice. I took him on walks around the neighborhood and my rancher neighbors would chide "When are you going to ride that horse?"
Winter walk
We did have some setbacks and mishaps. Coro was a handful. After breaking halters, ropes and hitching posts I settled on not tying him, and he was spooky and stubborn - simply, a four-year-old. I remember a lot of evenings sitting in his corral crying, wondering if I really ever would ride him. We considered sending him to a Paso Fino trainer in Farmington, NM, but when I saw the dim little stall he'd be kept in and imagined anyone but me on his steely silver back I couldn't go through with it. I kept dreaming about what his canter would feel like. I read Dominique Barbier's book, Dressage for the New Age, which I'd ordered through inter-library loan and was unlike anything else I'd encountered. It talked about riding visually, letting the horse's personality and mindset guide the training, and it inspired me to press on through the frustration. Training Coro myself, however unconventional and flawed, remains one of my proudest achievements.
First real ride, 1993 - what a happy day!
By the time I got on him that summer, it was completely uneventful and our real partnership began. He was so comfortable with me on his back that he would startle when I dismounted or the few times he "accidentally" ejected me. He would look at me with alarm as if to say "What are you doing down there?!" Our rides got longer and longer, and soon I was taking him for gallops on the clay where I'd once raced my pony with my friend and her Tennessee Walker. Cantering my silver horse became a reality at last.
There was only one thing missing...he didn't gait. I didn't know enough about it to know if he was gaiting or not in hand, but I knew what it felt to ride and Coro was definitely trotting. I talked to several Paso Fino trainers who insisted that wasn't possible - all Paso Finos gaited naturally! Well, I had his registration papers and I had seen his sire in person, so unless he was switched with another colt at birth, Coro was 100 % Paso Fino and thus, an anomaly. I really didn't mind. I rode him in a special bitless bridle with double reins: one set attached to the sides of the headstall and one under the chin. Coro has always had a beautiful carriage and I think starting him in the Paso Fino headgear was a good foundation, even if he never took a step of corto or largo. He was still perfect in my eyes.
Handsome boy
Coro has never been an easy horse, but he's my horse. First on his back and still mainly the only person to have ridden him. My perpetual favorite, always making me smile with his sweet expression and playful attitude. We grew up together, trail riding and taking dressage lessons. One of my best memories of him is riding bareback during a thunderstorm - not the smartest thing, but I was determined to ride that day and we traced gleaming circles in the wet pasture under dark flickering clouds. He was trusting and unafraid - it felt as if we were part of the sky. Our journey together, like his coat changing from pewter to platinum, is ever transforming.
My favorite picture - he looks so big and bold, his dapples like lightning on his hindquarters
Please try to send me your Mouthy Monday submissions...if you tell me to go to your blog and pick something out it's just not going to happen....
Coro's Story
After begging my mom for a young horse, she finally relented when I was fifteen and said we would look only at saddle broke mares. I had fallen in love with the Spanish breeds - the Paso Fino in particular - years before but their popularity at the time made their prices unattainably high. I happened to find a ranch liquidating their stock with one unbroke gelding for sale and my mom said we could look at him. When we pulled up the drive, the owner, Sue, had him standing in front of the barn. He was a dark pewter color, gleaming in the sun, ears pricked, nostrils flared, with a haughty gleam in his eye. It was hopeless from the moment we saw him. She told us his name was El Corazon – "the heart" in Spanish - and he had already stolen mine. I led him up and down the driveway a few times – he nudged me with his nose and jumped sideways when the copy of his papers in my hand rustled. “We’ll take him!” my mom announced. She could see that he was the one. He was delivered just a few hours later (giving us barely enough time to stop at the ranch store and buy him a burgundy halter with brass fittings). To this day I hear Spanish trumpets heralding as I remember him being backed out of the trailer into our driveway. Sue handed me the rope. “He’s all yours.” It remains one of the happiest days of my life.
After months of leading, playing games and grooming him proudly, I first tried riding him in January, 1993. It was the day of my grandfather's funeral, and wanting distraction and perhaps all feeling a bit reckless, we decided on the way home in the car that I should get on him. I hadn't been working with him as often through the winter, but we reasoned that I'd at least have a soft landing in the deep snow that covered our pasture. It was a family project: my mom held him, my dad boosted me up onto his back...and I immediately went flying through the air. Coro hunched up and launched me off before I even had my leg all the way over. I landed softly, sure enough...about five feet from the tractor's plow blade. Coro knocked my mom down and gave her a black eye. It was a mess, but it was certainly a distraction, and it gave us something to laugh about, even years later. I didn't get on him again that day, or even soon after. I understood that he wasn't ready, and re-focused on his ground work.
I spent the spring saddling, unsaddling (I had a synthetic dressage saddle that I only recently retired), long-lining, attempting to lunge him (he never got the hang of that as he always wanted to be as close to me as possible and couldn't understand why I kept sending him away from me), leading him through mazes of ground poles and leaning over his back. We played hide & seek and I got him to follow me over ditches and small jumps in the pasture. I remember one day when he trotted alongside me as I jogged down the driveway to get the mail. It made me so happy that he liked my company and wanted to be near me when he had freedom of choice. I took him on walks around the neighborhood and my rancher neighbors would chide "When are you going to ride that horse?"
Winter walk
We did have some setbacks and mishaps. Coro was a handful. After breaking halters, ropes and hitching posts I settled on not tying him, and he was spooky and stubborn - simply, a four-year-old. I remember a lot of evenings sitting in his corral crying, wondering if I really ever would ride him. We considered sending him to a Paso Fino trainer in Farmington, NM, but when I saw the dim little stall he'd be kept in and imagined anyone but me on his steely silver back I couldn't go through with it. I kept dreaming about what his canter would feel like. I read Dominique Barbier's book, Dressage for the New Age, which I'd ordered through inter-library loan and was unlike anything else I'd encountered. It talked about riding visually, letting the horse's personality and mindset guide the training, and it inspired me to press on through the frustration. Training Coro myself, however unconventional and flawed, remains one of my proudest achievements.
By the time I got on him that summer, it was completely uneventful and our real partnership began. He was so comfortable with me on his back that he would startle when I dismounted or the few times he "accidentally" ejected me. He would look at me with alarm as if to say "What are you doing down there?!" Our rides got longer and longer, and soon I was taking him for gallops on the clay where I'd once raced my pony with my friend and her Tennessee Walker. Cantering my silver horse became a reality at last.
There was only one thing missing...he didn't gait. I didn't know enough about it to know if he was gaiting or not in hand, but I knew what it felt to ride and Coro was definitely trotting. I talked to several Paso Fino trainers who insisted that wasn't possible - all Paso Finos gaited naturally! Well, I had his registration papers and I had seen his sire in person, so unless he was switched with another colt at birth, Coro was 100 % Paso Fino and thus, an anomaly. I really didn't mind. I rode him in a special bitless bridle with double reins: one set attached to the sides of the headstall and one under the chin. Coro has always had a beautiful carriage and I think starting him in the Paso Fino headgear was a good foundation, even if he never took a step of corto or largo. He was still perfect in my eyes.
Coro has never been an easy horse, but he's my horse. First on his back and still mainly the only person to have ridden him. My perpetual favorite, always making me smile with his sweet expression and playful attitude. We grew up together, trail riding and taking dressage lessons. One of my best memories of him is riding bareback during a thunderstorm - not the smartest thing, but I was determined to ride that day and we traced gleaming circles in the wet pasture under dark flickering clouds. He was trusting and unafraid - it felt as if we were part of the sky. Our journey together, like his coat changing from pewter to platinum, is ever transforming.
My favorite picture - he looks so big and bold, his dapples like lightning on his hindquarters
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