The Ol' Yank N' Spur - Part One

Tally's story has plunked me smack into a "True Confessions" mode, like it or not. It has made me reflective and really placing the bits and pieces of what trainers do, what works and doesn't work, and how it all shakes down for the horses so firmly clamped between leg and hand.

When I left horse training I was fed up. I was tired of people, not horses. Horses still held an endless fascination for me, a never ending opportunity to learn, and a way to be immersed in a field where I felt competent and had value. I loved entering their minds, becoming a permanent part of who they were and what they became. I was addicted to the puzzle of what makes a horse tick. My innermost sense of self was gratified and proud as I learned to teach them and become their friend at the same time.

The people? Not so much. Not everyone, I made some amazing friends during my years as a trainer, from the trainers I worked with and for, to many of my clients, but the crap definitely outweighed the shinola.

I lived in a world of conundrums. I witnessed, envied and strove to achieve amazing and complex levels of horsemanship I didn't know was possible. I also watched horses subjected to practices as routine daily life that I thought were incredibly cruel.

Because I wanted to learn, and because I didn't trust my own knowledge, experience or perceptions, I developed the habit of shutting up, sorting things out and watching the results of the world around me.
I asked questions, but carefully.

"How does that get up work?"

This was a standard question for me, it gave me an explanation for:
 a. German Martingale/draw reins/poll pressure cable tie-downs
 b. Chin strap on a ring snaffle
 c. Shoofly tassels
 d. McCarty, mecate reins
 e. Tying a pleasure horse's head up in his stall for hours before a class.
 f. Tying a three-year-old colts head to a hock hobble for hours.
 g. bits made from bicycle chain

You get my drift. I would get my answer, think about it, often times try it and just as often, decide, no effing way.

The answers, in case you're wondering, were:
a.  Restrain, control or force placement
b. stop the bit from getting pulled through the horse's mouth
c. swing around and keep the flies off
d. have the security of a single roping type rein and still have the convenience of a lead rope/horse whapper
e. make the horse too tired to raise his head above the withers
f. "He won't give his rib that direction."
g. when worn for 24 hours before a show, it softens the mouth of a snaffle bitter -- without leaving marks -- that isn't responding to the bit

These are just examples, I watched, listened and waded through lots of this stuff.

I started to think about ways to work my way around methods that seemed crazy cruel to me. How can I get a rib moved over by teaching, what does it take to get a horse to give the correct head position voluntarily?

I wouldn't announce my intention, or denounce the person or persons using the techniques that were freaking me out, I would simply try to find another way. While I was taking lessons from one barn and working at another it was easy. I just took the concept given to me home, worked out another solution that I could live with and went back when I thought I had it.

Have you guessed that in the real world I'm not big on confrontation? That's me all over. The methods I was watching were done by people I respected, people I wanted to learn from. None of them were barbarians, or sadists, although I met a few, and probably a psychopath or two. I have long held that sociopaths are drawn to the horse world because horses don't tell tales and it's filled with people who will close their eyes as long as they get results. I didn't work for those folks, but I met sure as hell met them along the way.

The thing is, these horses were trained so far beyond my capabilities I couldn't fathom it. Their lives were not ones of daily horror. They were not dripping with sores, terrified of people, dangerous from fear, or unwilling to try their hearts out for their people. Their manners were incredible. Stallions stood net to mares in a crowded arena without so much as an eye roll. Accidents happened, but I rarely saw a horse kick, bite, lean, refuse or bolt.

Many of them seemed depressed or shut down. I wanted to know exactly why. Was it the training? Life in a show barn? Were they all just exhausted?

I wanted, not to simply ride horses like this, but have the knowledge to train them too. I wanted to know if I could succeed with fair, kind training methods. I wanted to understand what was truly fair and what wasn't. I didn't know a single, solitary, loudly opinionated, self-appointed horse advocate that could ride at this level, train at this level, or understand what makes a horse tick like the professionals in this world. So I stayed quiet, watched, waited, tried to decipher what was right and what was wrong and did my damnedest to become competitive at the same time.

To this day, I haven't decided if I was right or wrong in what I did. I did, however, absorb and learn a lot, so that's what I live with. Sharing it can be rough sometimes, it certainly opens me up to criticism, and I still find myself questioning the right and wrong of how horses are trained.

I'll have more on this tomorrow. Just talking about it makes me want to go ride.

Here you go Evensong

It can happen, believe me.