Collection - It's All About the Feet

Collection is one of the first advanced concepts we start hearing about once we're past the basic WTC.

As a kid, I thought collection was about creating a pretty picture -- by keeping my horse's nose in. As many of you know, my horse, Mort was a head slinging, hard mouthed runaway. It made sense for the advice I heard the most to be, "Get that nose down!"

I didn't understand how collected he was without any help from me. His hind legs always were under him and his front end was loose and light. There's something about a horse who can jig for twenty miles and bolt into the wild blue yonder at the drop of a hat that creates a rounded frame.

My biggest breakthrough in understanding collection came when I realized this is not a man-made way of going. Horses collect all by themselves.

When left to their own devices, a horse collects as needed for the maneuver at hand. Spooking, fighting, stopping themselves from falling off a cliff, or jumping over an irritable bear, all require collection.

The mustang (Kiger 1) is beautifully collected. See the pissy horse (Kiger 2) coming up behind him? He's creating the whole kit and caboodle by driving the hindquarters forward. The beautifully flexed poll on Kiger 1 comes from resisting being moved out, but still having his butt shoved into his head. He in position to rock back and start kicking or to spin and come in biting or striking.  See how his hips are angled toward Kiger 2's head? This horse could easily step in to a haunches in, or 

kick Kiger 2's face off.

     

Horses travel by choice by dragging themselves along with their front end, and letting their hind legs trail happily behind a hollowed out back.

We humans realized a collected horse is a smother ride. It also benefits the horse by strengthening the back and easing the stress of lugging our lumpy selves by getting those hind legs to bear a portion of our weight.

Different disciplines have different ideas of what  constitutes a collected frame.

Personally, I think this is what causes 90% of the clashes between English and Western riders.

Western Reining Horse  -- Collected

Western Horse -- not Collected

English - Dressage Horse -- Collected

English - Dressage Horse -- Not Collected

Western --Pleasure Horse -- Collected

Western-- Pleasure Horse -- not collected

English Jumper -- collected

English Jumper -- not collected

I am not bashing any discipline here.

I'm not even bashing the riders that have missed the collection boat. I don't know any of their circumstances, they were simply clear examples of the mess created by saggy middles and sprawling legs.

I do want to point out that collection can happen no matter where the head is. The reason this can happen is because collection isn't about the head. It's about drive. Which comes from the feet. 

A rider from any discipline will never, ever, EVER collect their horse by pulling the reins to their hip bones. 

All that can happen is the horse will raise his head, hollow out his back and trail those legs behind.

 

What do these images have in common? The riders aren't using their legs to shape their horses.Their legs are too forward to do anything but hang like deadwood and put them out of center. 

Collection begins in the back of the horse. By squeezing, pushing or bumping (name your poison) with your calves you will propel the horse's hindquarters forward.

"But  he just speeds up!" My argumentative audience interjects.

"Shut up for a minute." I respond.

As the horse begins to pick up speed, your hands create just enough contact with the horse (bit, halter, fairy dust) to create a wall. 

Yes, a wall. You are propelling your horse into a wall. Jamming them into that baby so you can squeeze them together between nose and tail like a car in a compactor at Hank's Auto Salvage.

The woman with the white pants is squeeeeeezing her horse and shoving his head into the wall (see red line). This encourages him to take deeper, longer steps so he can puuuuuuush the wall with his forehead. This lifts his back. The harder he pushes, the rounder his back becomes, and the farther he reaches underneath himself  with his hind legs.

The headless rider is doing the exact same thing  except his rider is bump, bump, bumping and he will puuuuush his wall (red line) on a loose rein.  The deep, reaching steps and the lifted back are created the same way.

Here's the deal. Neither horse needs to be pulled on in order to collect. The vertical carriage  comes from the push into the wall, which is created by the legs of the rider driving the hindquarters forward. The riders hands give the horse a place to go to, so it can push that frigging wall.

If a horse is used to having his face pulled only to drop his nose, BUT FOR NO OTHER REASON he will learn to get behind the bit. Once his poll is tipped over his nose he can't push against the wall...if he can't push he can't collect. He can however, get some relief from those yanking hands

Can't you see the power all leaking out the back?

Collection is essentially a way of creating boundaries both front and back with our hands and legs that create the ultimate in efficient, beautiful movement. There should always be an equal amount of pressure between legs and bit. Always. If the horse has confidence in the communication and trust in hands and leg, he will find the best way to go comfortably between the boundaries we have established. 

To Spook or Not to Spook, That is the Question -- Synopsis

When Student pulled into our facility she had ten minutes before her scheduled lesson started. I always allowed an extra 45 minutes between lessons to accommodate all the stuff that can hold up anybody hauling horses.

I was at the tack room, not more than 50 yards away. She had never been to our barn, but basic country courtesy dictates the visitor finds the visitee and says, "Hey, we're here," before unloading.
That in itself was enough for me to decide it was safer or me to keep an eye on her instead of continuing to ride. If there was a problem, I needed to be able to handle it.

It wasn't her awareness of good manners that concerned me, it simply alerted me that Student didn't understand how things ran at a place like ours, which can cause accidents. I liked her for not punishing her horse when he knocked her down and  I trusted her decision to saddle her own horse.

By then I knew quite a bit about my student and her horse. The horse didn't stand tied. He had no concept of personal space, and zero respect for his owner. He was sound, lively, and exhibited a playful good nature.

My student was a little frightened of her horse. She had probably been stepped on more than once. She didn't understand her horse was kind of a shit.

Student was trying hard to prepare her horse for riding in an atmosphere she found intimidating. Her personal insecurities had her so internalized she didn't notice other riders in the arena, that everyone but her was mounted, or think to ask where I was going to conduct her lesson.

Her unawareness of what was going on around her put her horse in a position of having to pay attention for her. Because he was seeing all this exciting new stuff and Student clearly had no idea how to help him translate it, he was spooking.

I liked the horse.

He was more of a "Look at that! Check that out! I think I know that guy...Whoa Nelly, now that's a big ass tractor!" kind of horse that a "OMG we're gonna die!" horse.

Once she decided to round pen the horse I knew we wouldn't be riding that day. I went back to work. Student was going to take a lot of work before I'd be able to get her and her horse reining, which was why she was there, but the next lesson would help me decide on whether she stayed or not.

Student had clearly thought things through before she came back. She arrived in plenty of time to be ready when her lesson started. She wasn't as nervous.

She handled her first experience on a well mannered, but sensitive horse just fine. Once she understood what a slack rein was, she left it.

By the time I was done knocking her horse's pointy little shoulder off me, student had begun to appreciate the horse she was sitting on. I could see the wheels spinning.

Her horse was sensitive enough to pick up on my pointing game, which told me Student had some good things going for her as a horseman. He wasn't dull or sullen so I felt pretty confident that he hadn't been NH'd to death.

Student quickly picked up on the key points I offered her and put them to use.

Her checks cleared.

She was in.

To Spook or Not to Spook, That is the Question 3

Shoot, I have to add something to yesterdays post. I guess all my fan mail had me too excited to think straight.
Before I left Student to switch horses I told her to not let the horse come to her when they stopped.
If he made a step toward her she was to send him out again, and keep doing so until he rested in the exact same place she had released pressure.

"But that's when we join up," she told me.

"His version of joining up seems to be mowing you down when he crosses the pen, keep him off you."

****************************************************************************


I loped my next horse for ten minutes before I headed back to Student. He was young enough I needed him to feel like standing still before I popped her up on him.

The dust in the round pen made it clear she had been working. She stopped when she saw me. Her gelding stopped the second she turned and seemed grateful.

"I'm not sure I understand what you meant," Student said.

"You understood enough, that horse looks ready to learn something."

"Really?" She smiled. It was big enough to start collecting dust and it was real. This was getting cool. The horse wasn't the only one ready to listen.

"Is he crawling over the fence trying to get at my horse?"

The gelding stood in the same spot she had left him. His eyes and ears were on Student.

"Well, look at that. I think he's standing there because he's afraid of you."

"Let's think about that," I said. "Is he watching me?"

"No."

"Is he watching my horse?"

"No."

"Who's he watching?"

"Me."

"There you go, he's about to come over here, so put him back to work before his thought becomes an action."

Student picked up her whip and went to work. Things were choppy and awkward, but he wasn't hollering and he wasn't trying to mow her down.

"OK, hold up a minute," I called. "I want you to try something."

Student dropped her whip and turned and the paint stopped with a little bit of style. He lowered his head and cocked a hip.

"This is kind of a getting to know you exercise. I want you to do exactly as I tell you. Don't ask questions, don't hesitate, just go. If you feel scared or worried, then stop. There's no mistakes to be made, so don't worry about it, are we good?"

"Okaaay."

"Go ahead and face your horse, full on, but look at the ground--about three feet in front of his nose. I'm going to have you work completely straight.When you look at your horse, your eyes, shoulders, hips and feet will be in line. Does that make sense?"

"Kinda."

"Good enough. When I say go, I want you to stare at the point of his shoulder like you can burn a hole in him. Then, extend your arm,  point your finger at the exact same spot and start marching towards him. Don't say anything, don't touch him and don't talk, just move at him like you mean it.

"Get ready, set, don't look at him yet! Okay, Go!"

Off she went. The gelding started to move away.

"Keep your eyes and finger locked on that shoulder and go!"

Two more strides and he turned to the rail and trotted of the other direction.

"Good, now point at this inside shoulder, burn a hole in him with those laser eyes and go!"

He turned into the fence and loped off again. Student started laughing. "I can't believe he's doing this!"

"Fun, huh?" I said. "You've got control of his shoulders. Play with that a little. She turned him a few more times and then pointed at his butt. He raced off."

"Oops," Student said. She turned and tossed me a worried look over her shoulder.

"What happened?" I asked.

"He ran when I pointed at his butt."

"What did you want him to do?"

"I'm not sure."

"Think a minute."

"I thought he would turn toward me."

"Nope. Play with it until you sort it out."

It took a bit, but she got things figured before she ran out of horse.

"I push him faster when I point to his butt and turn him with the shoulders."

"Yes. Now, stop him, halter him, and lead him around the yard. Play some more. Give him lots of slack. Keep his shoulders going where you want them, see where you can send him, try to control his speed, and change maneuvers before he hits the end o the lead rope."

Student was happily pushing her paint all over the place with her finger and a stare when K came around the back. Her horse was starting to get caught up in it with her, his eyes were one her hand, and he started to side-pass a step or two in a clean, controlled arc.

 "Look K," I said, "that horse has some moves."

"What kind of weirdness are you up to now?"

"Just showing her where his shoulders are."

"I think you're just having fun with her."

"I  think she's having fun with her horse. Besides, have you seen that thing spook even once?"

To Spook or Not to Spook, That is the Question 2

When she pulled in the following week I was at the far end of the arena, visiting with K while I aired up a barely broke youngster.

"Well, check it out," I said, "not only did she show up, but she's an hour early."

"Maybe she's a keeper," K said.

"She's gonna need to dig deep this is one hot mess." I walked the tired baby in a slow zig-zag back to the tie rail. I held my rein high and wide until I felt him step under my hand, then released and moved to the other rein.

I hollered a hello and got a cheerful wave from my student. I kept half an eye while I saddled my next horse. The student went through pretty much the same routine as the week before. Her horse was every bit as skittery. I got another one loped while she played show and tell with her gelding, petting him and talking softly every time he spooked. The paint was in a great mood, he pulled her here and there, grabbed at grass, snorted and raced around her at the end of his rope, tail flagged and head in the air.

By the time she headed to the round pen I was able to saddle something a little more broke than the last few. I rode through the indoor and slid the back door open. My student stood two fences over, in the middle of the pen, clutching her longe whip while her horse trotted around her. The paint spooked at the sound of the arena door and cut kitty corner, almost stomped my student and then swapped ends with a fart and a buck.

He slid to a stop, got his head over the top rail and nickered at my horse while I worked my way through the gates. Student put her game face on, hit the whip on the ground and got him going again, but now he wanted to visit. He'd trot off for half a loop, then cut across, each time close enough to make her step back. Then he stood at the fence and sweet-talked my horse some more.

"He was doing better before you scared him," Student said.

"With the door or my horse?" I asked.

She didn't have an answer, so I assumed it was both.

"Can I show you something?" I  tried again.

"Sure." Student looked relieved.

I dismounted and motioned her out of the pen. She came out and took my horse's rein.
"Go ahead and sit on her."

Student flashed the whites  of her eyes at me, but stepped up onto the horse. She picked up the reins in nervous hands and the mare started to back. A look of horror crossed her face and she began to try to reel in the eight foot reins by the handful.

The mare was backing in a circle now, in response to a cranked left rein, and began snapping her tail. Student turned purple trying not to scream.

"Let loose of the horse," I said.

Student looked at me glassy eyed as the mare bumped into the fence and began backing her way into the cow pen.

"Let your reins loose," I said.

Student grabbed up some of the slack in the right rein.

The mare sighed and stopped, her head yanked to the side, snaffle run through her mouth and all. She rolled an eye at me.

"Let go of your reins," That mare was a saint.

"She'll bolt again."

"Um, well, she didn't bolt, she thought she was doing what you wanted."

"I didn't do anything!"

"...and as soon as she sorted that out, she stopped, now let go of her head."

Student finally released the mare. I stepped to her head, got her bit straight, loosened up her reins, crossed them over nice and flat and handed them back to Student.The mare dropped her head and cocked a hip.

"Leave her reins alone, she won't go anywhere or do anything. It would be better for you to let them lay on her neck and cross your arms than fidget with them. Can I get in with your horse now, will you be all right?"

"Yes, I'll be fine, why do you people use these long reins?"

Since I had lost the habit of answering any question that began with "you people," I went ahead and climbed the fence into the pen. I grabbed a halter and lead off the fence, walked to the middle and threw the whip over the fence. The gelding spooked and started to run around me.

I spent a few minutes making him stop and turn by holding onto the lead rope and chucking the halter at his shoulder.

"Now watch me, look where I'm throwing the halter."

The gelding came off the fence and veered towards me. As he passed I hit him with the halter and lead rope as hard as I could. Student screamed, gelding got his ass back on the rail.


I let the gelding rest. At first he watched me, then, he started looking around.

"He's looking for trouble," I said.

"He's not doing anything," Student answered.

"He's quit wondering what I'm going to do and is looking for something more interesting. So I'm going to get his attention back."

I raised my hand with the halter and he trotted off two solid strides and then cut loose with a buck and a jump. I tossed the halter again and whapped him on the rear, sending him out at a run.

I chased him around a few times, stopped and turned him and then stopped again.

"I didn't intend to spend the day roundpenning your horse. Come in here and practice what I was doing. Yes, you can use your whip, but be aware of where that tip is pointed. I've got to switch horses, when I get back I'll show you what we needed to get done today.

To Spook or Not to Spook, That is the Question 1

My new student pulled in and unloaded her horse from the old stock trailer. I sat on the bench against the tack room wall and watched her get ready. I had a great view through the wooden slats.

She pulled a helmet out of the back of her Suburban and put it on.. Then, she unloaded her gear and set it on the bumper. Brushes, pad, saddle, bridle, all in a row.

The paint gelding faced her behind the  closed divider. He wasn't wearing a halter and he whinnied non-stop. She slid open the divider a few inches and he jammed his nose into the space, trying to muscle his way out. She talked to him in soothing tones.When she raised the hand carrying the halter,  he spun away and pressed his nose into the far corner. My student now faced his crouched and quivering butt. She stepped away and peered through the slats at me.

"Have you hauled this horse before?" I called.

"Yes."

"Have you unloaded him by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Then go on, unload him," I said.

She stood still. The horse turned back around and started pawing the floor. Even in the shadows I could see her flinch away.

She came back out of the trailer and dug around in the back of her car for a bit. She found what she was looking for and toted at least 10 lbs. of horse candy back into the trailer. I could hear her start in sweet talking him.

Five minutes and at least a pound of treats later the horse was haltered and she brought him out, headfirst. He hopped out of the trailer, planted his front legs, snorted hard and spooked a mile.  He was almost on top of my client trying to run off. She screamed a little -- not the there's a zombie trying to eat me kind of scream, it was more of a found a dead  mouse in the water tank scream. He spun away and slammed into her chest, first his shoulder and then his hip. She went ass over tea kettle. He jumped back in the trailer.

"Do you want some help?" I asked.

She stood up and dusted herself off. "Nope, I'll get him."

I gave her points for sticking it out and settled back to enjoy the show.

She went through another couple pounds of treats, but got him unloaded and led him to his tack. He spooked again as they approached the tack and bolted. She hung tough and he raced around her in circles on the end of his lead rope. It took another ten minutes before he quieted enough to be groomed.

She didn't tie him, she just looped the rope over her arm and wrestled with him. He spooked at the curry. She held it out for him to sniff. He spooked at the brush, the saddle pad, the saddle an she let him sniff each and every one, but she got him saddled.

Finally, I thought. I went to the tie rail and saddled my horse. I swung up and trotted into the arena to warm up. My new student was still leading her horse. He spooked at my horse. He spooked at the chutes, the arena door, the railings, clumps of dirt and a pile of manure.

That horse about yanked the arms off of that poor woman while she led him around the arena. When they had spooked at every nook and cranny she came over and reached to pet my mare's nose. The gelding stepped around her and goosed my mare in the flanks. She squealed, the client, now pinned between the horses, cut loose with another scream. This one was definitely a zombie's got me scream. The paint spooked.

"Can I use your round pen?" she asked.

"Sure," I answered.

They jumped and skittered their way to the pen behind the indoor.

I had two more ridden before she came back. I kept thinking I should go check on her, but she'd cut loose with a zombie scream once and again, so I knew she was fine. By the time they came back, she was bright red, soaked with sweat and out of breath, but she was on her horse. The paint was barely damp. He stood with his head flung high, eyes bugged and his tail kinked a little to the left.

"What are we going to do today?" she asked.

"Oh, your lesson time was up before you headed to the round pen," I told her. "We'll try again next week."

She still paid me, so I gave her a couple more points.

Manners Matter

I moved my horses a few weeks ago.

Madonna, Odin, and my friend Kathy's mare, Rosie are living together in a safe pen with plenty of room to play wild mustang if they want.

I received a compliment about them that kept running deeper the longer I sat on it. At the end of the first week I was visiting with the barn manager.

"I have to tell you," she said, "those are the most well mannered horses I've ever worked around."

"Well thanks," I said. "considering Odin bit a chunk out of that gelding his first day."

She shrugged. "It was his first day,the gelding's owner should have known better than to shove her horse's face at him."

I knew I liked her.

"You're just throwing hay, how much trouble can they get in?"

"When I come to the gate, they stand clear and don't crowd me," she said. "I can swing the gate open, push the wheel barrow in and not worry about one pushing past. If I need to move one, I just raise my hand and they move off. I mean, your horses are pretty rowdy, but while I'm in here, they don't fight or anything. I haven't had a single butt turned towards me, not one. I love your horses."

I thanked her again and we went about our business. Her compliment has been percolating since then. My horses aren't angels, believe me. Madonna has been known to run barn help out of her stall or pen. Odin will completely dismember anything made from panels if he feels they're in his way. Rosie is the queen of the mean face. All three of them will paw and whinny if they feel they've been tied too long.

I'm tickled to death to hear they're being well behaved, it secures out position in the new place. They have not lived in as open a situation as this one before, so it isn't specific behaviors they've been taught. The basic training I put on every horse I either own or was paid to train has paid off.

It's not just about getting a feel good pat on the back, it's knowing, if circumstances change and take them from my care, I have given them a better chance for a good life. They have different talents, are at different levels of training, and have wildly different temperaments, but they share one thing in common, they are respectful and safe to handle.

I have some rules I instill and maintain from the first day I start with a horse. Most of them are about personal space--mine, not theirs.

My horses can't step closer than, oh, three or four feet to me. If I want to be closer, I'm the one who steps to them.
When I approach towards, next to, or past their hindquarters, I expect them to take one step away from me. Always. Forever.
They can't lean their shoulders towards me.
My horses may not step into me. Ever. This includes spooking. I'll let them spook and get behind me, but they better not bang into me.
They never, ever crowd a gate. This fits under the respecting three feet of Janet's personal space rule.
They don't fight when I'm in their space.
They lead where I tell them to.
They don't kick, bite or make ugly faces at people.
They stand tied.
They behave for the vet and the farrier.

These are my basics.

I try to respect them too. Personally, I feel like if I acknowledge their likes and dislikes, they trust me more and work harder to comply.

Madonna doesn't like her ears touched. So, I don't. Don't get me wrong. If I need to doctor them, I do. She drops her head for a bridle and is fine with having her ear folded into a one ear. If I need her ear, I get her ear. But I leave her be. I don't try to touch them without reason. I don't clip them.

Odin is as sweet and snugly as a gelding can be. If he knows you. Unfamiliar hands reaching for his face send him spinning away. I let him be wary. I warn people off when they want to pet him. He'll let them ride him, but he doesn't want them up in his grill.

Even though I let them have their quirks, I can still trust them to be non-threatening and quiet around people.

Which leads me to my next point.

My horses are broke.

They are as safe to ride as they are to handle. I have to stick a caveat in here. They are safe to ride if you have the skills needed to ride them.

 Rosie is the most tolerant. A green rider doesn't faze her. She'll pack anybody around an arena, but she won't give up any cool moves until her rider knows how to get them.

Odin is almost as laid back. He's still young enough to need support from his rider periodically, and could become frightened without it. But it doesn't take much to get him rode. He's going to be as awesome as Rosie as the years go by.

Madonna is a snorty, high wired, bug-eyed, hot mess. It's easy for someone who doesn't ride cow horse to frighten her. I've never seen anyone who rode her step down without a big grin though. She's cool.

Each horse is well trained for a market that's always looking.

I feel I owe each and every horse I work with at least that much.

As far as I'm concerned, the greatest disservice possible to a horse is to not educate them. I know way too many 7-year-old geldings that still aren't started. They'll eat carrots and rip hay out of your hands, but you can't ride them around an arena.

When I think about my animals welfare, I always consider what will happen to them if something happens to me. So far, I've been able to make arrangements for all of them. It hasn't been any trouble either, because they come with the best possible safety net I can offer them. They're broke.

Open Horses

It wasn't until I entered the world of reined cowhorses that I heard the term "open horse." The term was closely followed by "non-pro horse."

It seemed there were two kinds of cowhorse. Those suitable for open riders, the people that competed at a professional level, and those meant for the non-pros, or the people who didn't ride for a living.

It took me years to understand what the difference between an open caliber horse and a non-pro horse really was.

An open horse can reach the absolute upper levels of competition and win. Their agility, instinct and drive are so incredibly high they can hold their own against all others. They are lightening quick and hard to ride, potentially impossible to stick if the horsemanship doesn't match. Open horses are ridden by open riders, trainers who do nothing else but ride.

A non-pro horse can compete in a non-pro world and succeed, without pile-driving their rider, our clients and income, into the dirt.

At least that was how I understood it then. It's all true mind you, but there is much, much more.

When I bought Madonna, there was a lot riding on my purchase. I had sold Sonita in order to get my next project. She had brought me enough money to buy something current, something bred right, something that would advance my career.

There was more. I had strapped on my big girl chaps, and sold the horse I had poured sweat and thought and blood and guts into, to further my career. I had never sold one of my personal horses before. I needed my next horse to somehow stuff my intestines back into the huge hole selling Sonita had left. I needed an open horse.

I showed K some photos of a Reminic bred gelding. He was sharp, bright bay, came from a breeder we knew and respected and even as a long yearling, had that edgy look I had learned to appreciate in the show pen.

"That could be a nice horse," K agreed, "I'm not sure it's the direction you want to go."

"Where do I want to go?"

"I'd like to see you on something softer, a horse that's biddable, that you'll have success on right away. A Chic O Lena would be a good choice. They're easy to ride and can still take you where you want to go."

I knew he had a Chic O Lena bred filly, but it was too easy a jump to make. I tried to get to the root of where he was going. K spoke in so many layers, it always paid to think things through before answering him. "You don't think I can handle a Reminic?"

"You can handle a Reminic. I just think it's time you showed something that showcases your talent as a trainer instead of your ability to survive."

I ended up buying the Chic O Lena and will be eternally grateful for the push. Madonna is everything he promised and more, but in the back of my insecure mind, I decided I wasn't worthy of the elusive open horse. I was being delegated to a life of riding non-pro horses and hoping to squeak into the money with the real trainers.

I have run into the same scenario in the dog world. I've been reading some training blogs and breed blogs, one of which is dedicated to Malinois and Dutch Shepherds.

These dogs are edgy, athletic, lightening quick and protective. They are bred for a job and God help the world around them if they don't have one.

They are, as far as I can tell, "open dogs."

Reading some of the posts and the following comments made me uneasy. There was a tone to them that was very familiar. I've been retired from the horse biz long enough to have forgotten that tone. I sorted it out though.

For many, there is a mystic quality to horse training. The idea that there is something magical about someone who can get horses to not only be model citizens, but spin, float, jump, slide, or move in amazing rhythms.

For some, it creates a feeling that trainers are better than them, an elevated human with a deep understanding of animals.

As trainers, we often nurture that feeling, after all, it makes us feel good, secures our income and helps justify the endless, grueling, mind numbing hours that go into becoming mystical.

I'm going to be honest here. It's a bunch of bullshit.

Becoming a horse trainer takes full time dedication to horses. Becoming a good trainer involves actually riding them, and it takes working and riding hundreds of horses. It needs to be an obsession about what makes them tick, so strong that the long hours, low pay and high injury rate mean nothing.  You might need to be crazy to be a trainer, but there is no magic.

There is the ever elusive feel, an ability to absorb and adjust to the animal--it's an asset believe me. It's still not magic. If I was into cars, feel would make me a good mechanic. Without feel, both mechanical and training ability  are still in reach, it just involves more sweat equity.

I am picking up the same vibe on the dog sites.

Here are a couple of quotes:

"Well said and in short most people lack the intelligence to train and give the Malinois what it needs to be mentally healthy and physically fulfilled."

"...our permissive, anything goes society has filtered down to our pets. no rules, no limits - that is the American way. our dogs, our children our society suffers for it."

 I don't know about you guys, but I read this and all I absorb is, if I can't handle a Malinois, then I'm stupid and my children are spoiled brats. 

Which leads me straight to, don't tell me I shouldn't own a Malinois, I'm going to adopt that 18- month-old male I saw on CL yesterday. That'll show 'em.

The real truth is, if you are interested in a breed of dog like this, then they need the same obsessive dedication it takes to become a pro in the horse world.

Trust me, there are stupid dog trainers with crappy kids, who can still turn out a high quality police dog. 

We crave to be as savvy as a trainer of national IPO champions or as wise as a dressage master. Of course we do, because we're convinced they have magical abilities we never will. 

It's easier to envy special powers than it is to dig in and do the work. 

It's easier to let ourselves feel superior to others than to reveal we're schlubs just like the next guy. 

The disservice comes to the animals.

Instead of Malinois being desirable military and police dogs, to be admired for the work they do, they are becoming yet another breed to elevate our place in society. If I can control this animal, than I control my environment. I am smarter, faster, stronger and better looking than all of you Lab owners.

The ruination of the breed soon follows.

It happens with horses. Horses are started by people with a video and good intentions. Young show prospects are bought by wealthy first-year riders, because of how they look under the trainer. They're trained, right?

If we could disconnect the status somehow, things would go better for our animals.

I finally understand what an open horse is. It is a horse with the ability to win big in the show pen. It can be mean, crazy, bad-legged, or colic every Thurs. like clockwork, none of these things matter. All that matters is it can win.

A good non-pro horse is kind, well balanced, mannerly and forgiving. A good one can still compete and win an open class. A good non-pro horse is priceless.

Most people work at something other than reining or fly ball for a living. Good thing, because us trainers need your dollah dollah bills. 

If we could somehow quit inferring that people with less knowledge than us were inferior, then maybe we would quit thinking the way to equality (superiority) is through the breed or the ride.

What I Look for In a Horse

I won't take as long with the Tally stories, I'm finally in a mood to finish up, but I had a good question posed by a regular reader so I wandered off the trail a bit.


I was asked what I look for when I'm buying a horse.

My breed of choice is a Quarter Horse. My chosen discipline is Reined Cow Horse.

I definitely have a type of horse I'm drawn to. It's part instinct, part training. I've noticed my attraction crosses breed lines, but the type runs true. I would be happy to ride any of these horses.

Madonna - Quarter Horse

Kiger Mustang

Cow Horse bred Quarter Horse

Morgan

Arabian

Andalusian

This isn't a list of my favorite breeds, it's a showcase of what I like to see. If any one of these horses were unloaded and handed over to me to ride my inner child would be doing cartwheels.

I used to look at the horse first, then pick apart the conformation, then look at the papers. 

"Ooooh, pretty.
"Where's my 4H book?
"Does he have papers?" 

Then, I got a little older. It went like this:

"Ooooh pretty.
"How's he bred?
"Where's my 4H book?"


Then, as a pro, it became this:
"How's he bred?
"Ooooh pretty.
"Where's my 4H book?"

Except, once I was a pro, I was too cool to admit I still used my tattered 4H book from 1972 to check conformation.

The order is situation dependent. 

If I'm looking for a show horse, I'll start looking at prospects papers first. I am more interested in the mare than the stud, although both are important. The foal will be raised by the mare and will inherit her habits and temperament, both good and bad. If I have a choice, I like to know the mare. Genetically, I'm going to get the mix I'm going to get, so I want earnings on both sides. The price I'm willing to pay goes hand-in-hand with what the past generations have done in the discipline I compete in. 

A halter champion won't help me if I want a cutting horse. It gets even more complicated. A reining bred horse is bred to wait for guidance from the rider. A cutting bred horse is an independent cuss and thinks for himself, and a reined cowhorse  has a little of both. Each type is bred to perform it's job, and although the physical differences may be slight, they are there and they're important.

Once I have a list of prospects in mind, I get to go look and turn loose my, "Ooooh, pretty." 

I guess I should be jumping to conformation, but I decided a long time ago that horses cost too much to not have what I want. I want pretty. My idea of pretty, not yours, not my boss', not my mom's. 

What do I think is pretty?

When I was in college, a friend told me, "For somebody who doesn't like Arabs you sure own the most Arab-y Quarter Horse I've ever seen."

WAIT!!! Before anybody gets their feelings hurt, I like Arabs just fine. I was a snotty 19-year-old giving grief to her Arab riding roommate. 

I like small, pretty heads with little ears, big eyes, small muzzles and big flaring nostrils. I like my horses to travel with a higher head set than your average quarter horse and a nice arch, not just for looks, but the feel between the reins.

I like a solid, strong coupled horse with a smooth top line-no weird dips or bumps from poll to tail. I like a well-muscled horse and a round croup, but not to the extreme.

I like long, nicely sloped shoulders, hindquarters to match, and a low set tail.

Visually, I'm drawn to long legged horses. As far as conformation goes, I look for clean, straight legs, solid bone, decent sized feet, and pasterns that aren't too long or super-short. I want the cannon bones to be short. When a horse moves I look for a deep stride underneath from the hind.

Long shoulders with a nice angle give me a horse with a nice reach, and big butts power the motor. If 

 the shoulders are too upright (short) I'm going to get a rough ride, a short stride, clipped from the deep reaching hind and too much heel.

I like a clean throatlatch and a fairly high tie-in on the neck. The longer and better angled the shoulder, the better the neck will be. A pretty, functional neck is twice as long on it's top line as the bottom. The mustang up above has a pretty crappy neck, but there's enough to work with.

I want some withers and well-sprung ribs.

I'm really picky when it comes to the loin and the coupling of my horses. I want solid muscle and a smooth transition to the croup. The loin and coupling are what transfers the motion of the hindquarters through the back and forward to the forehand. Think about that for a minute.

I like a long hip and a long, well developed semitendinous muscle. 

Weak legs make for a weak horse. Anything the 4H book tells me is bad concerning legs, I believe.

All of this is negotiable, to a point. Madonna is slightly over the knee, Odin is a little long...
they both get the job done.

I like my horses, oh, I don't know, kind of punky. Madonna is the easiest horse I've ever had the pleasure to ride, but she's notorious for running barn help out of her pen. See? Punky.

It's not that I have a desire to tame the wild mustang or conquer their spirit...I just like some 'tude. It keeps things interesting. There's a spark in the eye I like to see, a little, "Oh yeah, Says who?"

My horses are well behaved on the ground. They would never drag, crowd, stomp or kick. But they like to mess around. We play, what else can I say? I don't know how to explain it, other than I'm interested in what they have to say, so I look for a horse with an opinion.

So there it is. 

Know Your Horse

Madonna

   It was hot in Albuquerque. The heat shimmered on the horizon and even in the early morning hours it washed over us in waves.

Our horses still had their winter fuzzies, it was late May and even the stalled, blanketed, live-under-lights show horses had more hair than they needed. We had left Colorado during a spring blizzard and 24 hours later, were showing with an expected high of 98 degrees.

Madonna was fretful She hated being sweaty. She flung her head in irritation at the sweat trickling from her forelock into her eyes. She kicked at her belly and my heels every time the wet back cinch slapped against her. She swatted her heavy tail at the foam between her butt cheeks, bit at her damp leg wraps and crow-hopped at the sensation of sweat trickling down her flanks and legs.

"Dammit! Knock it off!" I pushed her into her snaffle with my legs and asked for the lope. She was logy and stiff, every fiber of her being quivered with resentment.

I was hot too. My boss, my daughter, my young horses being shown for the first time, they were all feeling the heat. It was creating different levels of whiny irritation, lethargy and reluctance, but nary another horse or human was the sniveling wreck Madonna was.

All the other horses in the warm-up pen loped along, smooth and calm. Even the boss's normally fractious stud, Bucksnort, was working steadily.

"I swear," the boss hollered at me, "that mare is such a drama queen."

"Awww, is 'My Pretty, Pretty Princess Pony' not feeling it today?" My own daughter had turned against me.

I was embarrassed. How could a horse hate to sweat? What a freak. I shrugged, sucked it up and put her to work. My run was coming up and I needed her attitude adjusted before we walked in the ring. What a crybaby bitch.

She had finally settled and was working quietly. We were on deck. I asked for a stop, got a nice one and gave her her head. She'd have plenty of time to air up  and I could mentally run through my pattern a few times. I was in the hole when I realized Madonna was still puffing. Her heart rate hadn't dropped at all. If anything, it was higher. Oh shit. I slipped a stirrup right as her knees buckled and was standing safely on the ground when my mare collapsed.

 Madonna lay on the ground panting. I loosened her cinch and let her rest for a second. People started to gather round. The ring steward came over.

"I'm guessing you're a scratch?" He asked.

Madonna stood, I stripped her saddle and led her to a water pump. Once she was hosed down she began to perk up. An afternoon under a tree, several sponge baths and some electrolytes had her back on track before we headed home.

I never completely figured out what happened. She wasn't as show fit as I'd have liked, but she wasn't out of shape. She wasn't carrying a winter coat, and she had been raised and trained on the Colorado prairie. Heat was a way of life for her.

A month later we were riding with Sandy Collier. She had just wrapped up a clinic, her hosts were friends of mine and fellow trainers, she had an extra day, and yes, there are perks to going pro.

It was intimidating, riding under the steely gaze of one of the very best in our profession. There were only four of us and Sandy was enjoying being straightforward, not worrying about hurt feelings or political correctness and working the crap out of us.

She had me wobbly legged by noon, something even the Big K was hard pressed to do anymore. It was awesome.

We had just finished lunch, re-saddled our horses and were back at it. Sandy was talking, I was listening and Madonna started pawing. I moved her hindquarters a bit and she stopped. Then she started again. I found myself hoping we'd get to work before she started being a total fool and BAM! she went down.

"Son of a bitch!"

What the hell was going on? A real thrill of fear went through me. Something was going seriously wrong here. She stood back up and I loosened her cinch.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Sandy said. "Get back on that mare and go lope some circles. She doesn't get to pull that."

I explained what had happened the month before. That it had never happened before and I was freaking that she was sick, or hurt, or something.

"OK," Sandy said. "Get her in the shade, cool her down and keep track of her heart rate."

One of my hosts was a veterinarian. He came by twenty minutes later a declared her ready to get back to work. When I came back to the arena Sandy had some interesting input about my dilemma.

"Think back on what happened today. Was her breathing up?"

"No."

"We had just started riding again. She had rested, been fed, watered and hosed down. It's hot today, but there's a breeze, and it's not a sudden change in temperature for her. She's fit."

"I guess that's why I got so worried. Horses don't lie," I said.

"That's right," Sandy agreed. "They don't fake it, they don't plot against us and they don't look at life as good or bad, it just is. They do however learn incredibly fast.

"Your mare learned that when she laid down at a show, on a hot day, you took her saddle off, washed her down with cool water, fussed over her, fed her and gave her the day off. Today, when she realized she was going back to work, she decided to let you know she done."

I digested that one for a minute. We went back to work. I kept an eye on Madonna. Her breathing stayed steady, she sweated like a worked horse should sweat, she was on task and alert and the next time she tried to lay down her butt met the end of my romel. She's been fine ever since.

Madonna still doesn't like sweat in her eyes. I found that if I smear a little Swat ointment in her temporal fossa - okay, I was just showing off, I call them the hollows over her eyes - and tie her forelock back it helps immensely.

I also think her irritable reactions to being sweaty are because she doesn't feel good when she's overheated. It's that simple.

When I need to work her in the heat I limit the time she's out. I keep her in the shade. I make sure she has plenty of cool water and electrolytes. I free feed her grass hay to keep her engines running. After we are done working, she gets a cool bath, I wrap her legs in those cooling bandages the barrel racers are so fond of, and I let her rest.


The thing is, Albuquerque nearly did her in. She does, truly have problems with extreme heat and sudden, steep changes in temperature. My mare is not a bitch, a prima donna, a drama queen or spoiled. She doesn't pick fights, want to be beaten, need an attitude adjustment, or to be brought down a peg.

Don't get me wrong. I use all of these phrases and I've called her all these names. The thing is, I also have learned those are my human descriptions of horse behavior. I can use them as long as I don't believe them and especially as long as I don't act on them.

It took a single swat on the rear to impress upon Madonna that I expected her to work until I said we were done. The reason goes back to her early years when I first started handling her.

If I need to discipline a horse, I make sure the horse completely understands the lesson. I am not unfair. I don't pick, fuss, shake my finger, say "Bad horse," or take the behavior personally. I don't tun the horse into a quivering, panicked wreck.. I do, however, make my point crystal clear.

I work hard to be consistent. If I have decided a behavior is unacceptable, it's that way today, tomorrow and forever.

While I readily accept the smallest try while teaching maneuvers, I offer no learning curve when it comes to rude or dangerous behavior. Horses understand black and white thinking when it comes to their natural behaviors. The unnatural stuff, like riding, hugging, handling them the way we want them to be handled, these things need to be taught in increments.

My horses trust me. I hear them. The Albuquerque incident was a serious education in the art of listening for me. So was my time with Sandy Collier.

Madonna's behavior could have been considered bad at both places. She was flighty, wouldn't pay attention, pawed, stomped, kicked at my heel and finally laid down.

She was sick at the show. She felt crappy and was internalizing her discomfort to the point of being incapable of behaving. The last thing she needed was to pack me around an arena.

She effectively learned how to tell me she wanted me off.

While riding with Sandy, I effectively explained there was a time and place to pass on those messages.

In return, I pay attention. I don't let embarrassment at how my horse is "behaving" make me forget her rhythm. If she's not responding the way I want, I automatically run through what could be going on from a horse's point of view.

Is she wound up? Whinnying? Bucking? Spooking?

I might call her a bitch, but here's what runs through my mind:

Has it been five years since she's seen a showgrounds?

How long has it been since she's been ridden out alone?

Has she had enough exercise to keep her brain activated?

I know for a fact she is not "out to get me." She doesn't need me to knock her around with my lead rope until she drops her head and licks her lips. She doesn't need me to jerk her mouth and spur the crap out of her.

She needs to move. I can want it to be her fault all I want, but horses don't understand fault. They understand the need to move. If they haven't moved enough, they can't think about anything else. If I don't understand that, I'm a bad trainer and a selfish idiot.

For me, it's loping circles until she's quiet. Then long trotting around the showgrounds, the barn, down the road, anywhere, as long as we're headed somewhere of my choosing. If it takes all day, well, that's my bad, not hers. If I had properly gotten her ready for whatever it is I wanted, none of this would be happening.

For other's the same thing can happen with some longing, round pen work and a little clicker work.

It doesn't matter how it gets done, as long as movement is the starting point and working together is the finished product.

Anyway, I digress. I work hard to keep my personal feelings out of my interaction with my horse. I still slip up, but I'm getting pretty stinking good at it.

My horse is my friend.

I believe this completely.

My horse is my best friend.

Well, maybe, but that's because I'm anti-social and weird. This is my problem, not my horse's.

I am my horse's best friend.

Now I'm anthro..antopo...anthripod...whatever, now I'm humanizing her. I don't know if she thinks about me at all once she's hanging around her feed tub. She sure doesn't squall for me like she does for her pen-mate, Rosie. She's a horse after all, and she knows it.

I'm the one that blurs the lines.

Humanizing our horses is arrogant,lazy and self-indulgent. I learned the hard way, it can potentially get a horse killed, and it can create training problems that make you look like a complete dork in front of Sandy Collier.

Know Your Equipment

I was in a piss poor mood. K was mad at me, the wind was up, weather was rolling in and I was three horses behind.

I had a client coming in to ride, and she was bringing an out-of-state friend, Pat, with her for a double lesson. Normally I enjoyed working with Elaine. She was a trainer and riding instructor, rode a nice horse and was fun to talk to.

Elaine had gotten her start as a trainer by completing Richard Shrake Resistance Free certification program. When she brought a friend, it was usually one of her fellow graduates. When I had two of them to work with, I usually ended up on the defensive, which was fine most days. Today, I just wasn't up for it.

My mood slid from dour straight to bitch as I watched my new student get ready to ride. She unloaded a decently built cremello 3 or 4-year-old QH gelding. I don't know why, I the majority of cremello owners I've met over the years have an odd, misplaced pride in their horse. I guess I should say in themselves. It's like there's a secret cremello club out there which elevates both horse and rider to a higher level of horsemanship than the rest of us.

Pat was clearly a member of the club.

She took so long to groom the horse's gleaming coat, Elaine had already loped her warm-up circles and was getting down to business before Pat made her entrance in the arena. Her horse was dressed to the nines in his Richrd Shrake pre-signal sweet-spot bit, a Circle Y Richard Shrake equitation saddle, and a conglomeration of rope and pulleys called the Richard Shrake Rhythm Collector. Pat wore a Richard Shrake baseball cap and a Richard Shrake Certified Trainer Jacket.

Elaine and I continued to work as Pat led her gelding around the entire football field sized arena. She showed him every single place he could spook for the rest of the session. Finally, she got on. She rode him along the arena fence. The colt had a good attitude and he obligingly spooked at every place she had showed him. She leaned forward and patted him after every spook, cementing the lesson.

I sighed.

"Elaine, what have you done to me?"

"Give her a chance," Elaine said. "She's actually pretty good."

Finally, Pat decided to join us.

"What can I help you with today?" I asked.

"Oedipus has trouble picking up his left lead."

I slowly went deaf and blind as Pat went into a twenty minute explanation of how he refused to give his rib because of a stiffness in his back and....I don't remember the rest, I was thinking about lunch.

I came to when I felt a long, awkward silence growing to epic proportions."How long have you been riding him?"

"120 days."

"How long have you been loping him?"

"We just started a few weeks ago."

"OK. I'll tell you what. Take all that shit off his head and I'll have you on the left lead in five minutes."

"What do you mean? This is a Rhythm Collector."

"I know what it is and I know that Richard never, ever intended it to be used on a colt that can't lope. While you're at it, lose the drop noseband too."

Pat dove into her theory about why she needed Oedipus' mouth tied shut, poll locked down and a death grip from her hands. I wondered if the diner would still have any French Dip left by the time I got there.

When I came to I stared at her for a few seconds. I had a very brief internal debate on the pros and cons of explaining my training methods.

"Look. I can get you on your left lead. I can only show you the way I do it. I'm assuming you're here because your translation of Shrake isn't working out for you. My way takes a horse wearing nothing but  a ring snaffle, a saddle and a rider. I'm not interested in any other way because it works for me. It's up to you."

I turned my back and started working with Elaine again. Pat sat her horse for another ten minutes, dismounted and took him back to the trailer.

"God Janet, who pissed in your Wheaties?" Elaine asked.

"Richard Shrake. Now, try spinning two turns left, then trot out right, we'll see if she'll re-balance her shoulders."


OK. Here's my disclaimer. I am not, in any way, bashing Richard Shrake. He has some good ideas and has helped many a rider.

Why Pat had me so riled up was her complete lack of understanding of her equipment. She had no idea how her bit worked, what her weight was for or what that sweet little gelding was mature enough to handle.

She chose to address it by adding a piece of equipment she had absolutely no clue how to use. She instinctively knew she could trap him even tighter between her hands with it, which the was polar opposite of how I trained.

Plus, I was in a mood. I mentioned the tussle between me and K, right?

At Elaine's next lesson, she told me she smoothed Pat's ruffled feathers on their trip home. The same afternoon she coaxed her into trying my way to get a horse on its lead. Elaine knew my methods well.

It took her 10 minutes to get the left lead.


I guess this is more along the lines of The Tenets of Mugs, or Mugwumpian Philosophy....or...?

Anyway. Here goes.

Know Your Equipment

1. I officially don't care what you ride with. English, Western, or Bohemian Chic, it doesn't matter to me. I don't care if you choose to spend your life leading your horse around.
If you're happy with the relationship you have with your horse then so am I.

2. I can only teach what I know. I can't help you use a piece of equipment I'm either not familiar with or have rejected, because it doesn't fit into my program.

2. I do care if you don't understand how your equipment works. If you want to ride in a mechanical hackamore, go for it. It is your obligation as a responsible horsaii to understand how it works, what it can do and what it can't do.

3. Learn how to use your saddle. Where is your balance point? What is it used for? How does it fit? How long should your stirrups be?

4. Know how to properly use your add-ons.
Please remember, if I say I hate running martingales, it doesn't mean I hate you.
I can tell you why I hate them, what I think happens when they are used, and why they work like a crutch with a wobble.
You may disagree and reject my thinking. I'll still respect you. Unless you don't have a clear mechanical understanding of what the martingale is for and why you want it.

Then, I will mock you. Lots.

Mugwump Finds a Mission Statement

I'm going to be frank.

Having my life yanked out from under me, crumpled up like a piece of tin foil, run over by an eighteen-wheeler, and then handed back to me to flatten out best I can has been an education.

I've learned that life, although chock full of surprises, is definitely recyclable.

I used to joke that the only way I would ever finish a book, or seriously get back to my art would be to put me in prison, preferably solitary. Then, once the boredom, frustration and anger passed (because of course I'd be innocent), I would finally settle in and get to work.

I haven't been incarcerated, but I have been penned up, and it's not looking too good for parole.

I spend roughly 24 hours a day caring for my husband, who suffered two strokes during surgery for a blood clot going on four years ago. This happened about a year after I was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease and most of you know about the one armed thing.

Good grief, if my life isn't a country song, I don't know what is.

I get a break on most weekends. My step-kids come down to visit their Dad and I get a few hours furlough. On the days my body and the weather is cooperating I get in some horse time. It's kind of a crap shoot.

I get to work my dog with the Cool K9 crew on Sundays, which is a sanity saver and then some.

It's been hard to write, especially about horses and the life I built and lost. I still write my weekly food column, but struggle to meet dead lines. It's amazing how busy I can be within the confines of these walls. Mindless chores are exhausting, worry without answers is more so.

I haven't quit the horses though. I can't. They run through my dreams at night and their hoofbeats drum in the back of my mind during the day. In the half light of early morning I think about bending, flexing, hoof placement and how to get more, with less.

My thoughts spin and take me to further research, daydreaming and theory. I find myself questioning and challenging my thoughts and motivations when it comes to myself, my connections with people and for the most part, my philosophy about horses, training and how it shapes every nook and cranny of my ever changing position in this world.

It's pretty cool, this clarity of thought.

Today, I'm sharing it. It will probably morph some more,and some of you may find yourself scratching your head and thinking, "Well duh, isn't that what you've been saying all along?"

Buts it's new and clear and exciting to me, so shut up and let me lay this out.

First off, I need to set something straight. For myself as much as you guys.

I have always represented myself as a middle of the road horse trainer with moderate success in National Reined Cow Horse Association competition.

The moderate success in the NRCHA is true. I earned enough money as an open (professional) competitor to knock me out of a bunch of the fun stuff as an amateur. I did not earn enough to make much of a stamp in the record books, or hire barn help.

I am, however, a damn fine horse trainer. I worked hard,  studied hard and  rode with an open mind. I thought long and hard on the best way to educate the horses and riders who passed through my care. I developed some kick ass feel and learned to create well mannered, well balanced horses with a light handle and reliable behavior. Some of those horses were really rank bastards, some were physically, mentally (or both) inferior to the tasks set before them, but I got the job done. Shit guys, I know stuff.

Unfortunately, I had a blind spot that truly crippled me as a pro.

I'll have to go with example here.

"Ol' Spanky has a crappy lead change. He can do everything else, the slide is awesome, spins are right there, he really looks at a cow, but I can't count on the change. I've taken him to trainers X, Y and Z, they all told me to sell him."

There I'd be, looking at some bony, wormy poorly bred piece of ...well, you know, and my brain would click in one one solitary thought. The horse needs to change leads.

I would begin. The bigger the mess the more excited I got. I would work and experiment and breakdown each movement. Sticky stifle? Club footed? Out of balance? Draggy hind end? I'd find it and work on it. Most of the time, I'd get it done too.

Then I'd start in on the client. I was always surprised and a little sad if they weren't as excited as I was. I'd drill 'em, and balance 'em, give them exercises both on and off the horse, make sure they understood rhythm, collection, leg sequence, front end vs. back...Most of the time, they'd get it too.

Then we would head for the show pen.

Most times, they'd get through. A shout would go up from those who knew of this horse's struggles with his lead change, a few of my fellow trainers would give me a "good job" head nod, my client would beam and complete their pattern. The score would be well out of the money,but by God, the damn leads got changed.

OR

When the pressure was on, Ol' Spanky would fall back to his old ways, dump his inside shoulder to the north, hollow out his back and swing his hindquarters due south. He'd fling his head, snap his tail and show the world a mouth full of yellow teeth and a waggling tongue. For some reason, the client would panic, forget to hold him up with the inside leg while adding gentle intermittent pressure with the outside leg, hold the reins with just enough pressure to offer support, but not so much to slow down the horse, drive with both legs to encourage collection and ....

You guessed it. Said client would grab the horn with one hand, start to jerk the crap out of Spanky, drop their weight to the inside stirrup to make it easier to spur the shit out of the squalling bolting mess on the outside and go to town.

Either way, there were two end results.

 The client would sign on with another trainer. A much more savvy trainer. Kind words would be said about the kick ass job I had done getting Spanky to change leads.The new and improved Spanky would be sold for a good price. My ex-client would buy a very nice horse from the new trainer, one with a point and shoot lead change. The trainer would get a commission for selling Spanky, a commission for finding the new horse and charge my ex-client $200 a month more for training. Client would go on to win stuff and I would have yet another horse I trained making big wins an the local riding club.

OR

My poor client would catch the fever from me, and head back to the drawing board, as hooked with my obsession to take Spanky farther than  life or Mother Nature had ever intended him to go. Those were the clients I kept for years.

I never learned what the more successful trainers in my field already knew. A bad-leaded horse can learn to change leads but they will still be bad-leaded. In the cow horse world this creates more work for the rider, who will have to carry the horse through his changes forever. Unless the run is flawless, you're looking at point hits every time.

A bad-leaded horse is going to have other problems, from a creating a rough picture, to a potential safety hazard. When I'm doing a fence run or changing directions while circling my cow, I don't want to be wondering where Ol' Sparky's feet are.

While my peers worked with the knowledge that to have a healthy forest you have to trim some saplings, I was so focused on that single tree, I ended up carving a totem pole.

But I'll tell you what, I can teach just about anything to change leads.

Guess the Mission Statement will have to continue tomorrow.

Later.