The Bravest Person I Know

We talk about bravery. Forcing ourselves to take the next step. Conquering the next phase step in our horse's training. I've been following some lively discussions over at Fuglyhorseoftheday on confronting our fears.
It always sends me around to one of my students, who I now look at as a good friend.
"Peg" is one of the bravest people I know. She is fun, intelligent, and diligent in her work with her horses. She has a soft spot for horses that need a helping hand. She is also terrified of them down to her deepest, darkest, unfathomable pits of dysfunction.
She intellectually knows that her fears are unreasonable. She knows that fear is what make her unsafe, not the horses themselves. She knows that her lack of leadership makes her horses challenge her.
Every day she faces her terror. As the years have gone by she has fought day by day, fear by fear. She is slowly winning her battle.
About three years ago,I was sitting around with my mentor's wife and her sister. I was reluctant to leave the shade and get back to work. We were all idly watching another of my students warm up her horse for our lesson.
"Look at that thing move. What a mess." Wicked Wife of the West said.
"She does run like a little sewing machine." I admitted.
"That woman has absolutely no feel." WWOTW said.
"She's working on it."
"You can't teach feel."
"She finally knows which lead she's on, and has gotten her lead changes the last couple of weeks.
I call that feel."
"How many years have you been wasting on her?"
I stood up, not feeling particularly cool in the shade anymore.
"I don't know why you bother with those kind of people." She said. " That horse is trash and she can't ride it."
WWOTHW was in all her glory now.
"She loves her horse, and she loves to ride." I replied and walked off to work with my student.
I owe WWOFTW thanks. She helped me clarify why I teach.
In a world of $50,000 show horses that live with their trainers, I work with people that keep their horses as close to them as possible and ride when they can. Surrounded by riders that come on week-ends (if that) to take instruction on horses that are ridden daily by professionals, my students may appear pretty raw.
The woman they were making fun of had been riding with me since her first horse. Basic horsemanship on an appendix OT mare with only one good leg. She learned to handle her horse, ride through all the terrain Colorado has to offer, and compete with success in some small day shows. She also learned a lot about nursing a troubled, not particularly sound horse.
The horse they were making fun of was a very cute foundation bred mare that is a half sister to my daughter's show horse. That horse was a multiple National Champion in youth AND open with the NRCHA. Not exactly what I call trash.
My student had bought her mare as a weanling. She showed her in halter as a yearling. With my help she broke the horse herself. She went through all the joys and frustrations of training a youngster.
As a five year old this little mare could do an extremely respectable reining pattern, and wanted to cow like no body's business. Her owner has been faithful to her lessons, works hard on her own riding and her mare's skills . Twice over the years she has saved up enough money to put 30 days on her with me. Both times were to tighten up specific maneuvers. The horse was mannerly and willing to learn. From riding her horse, I would say this woman has plenty of feel.
The mare is now eight. She is calm, cheerful, well loved and sound. I consider this one of my great success stories.
Peg is another. When I first started with her she was taking lessons from me at a local riding stable. She came out every week to ride our "dudes". I found out that she had three horses at home that she was afraid to ride.
She had fallen into the trap many new horses do.
She thought, Hmmmm. I love horses. I'll buy horses. OMG they're big. I'm thinking this one might just kill me. I wish I knew something about horses.
Unlike many, she started taking lessons. She stuck with the lessons, and her horses at home. She read everything she could get her hands on. She worked on getting them haltered. Getting them into a trailer. Getting them to me.
Her horses were very tough. Peg had ended up with abuse cases that didn't want anything to do with anybody.
Slowly we started to work on her riding. We walked and trotted for years. Every foot stomp, every spook, every head shake sent her into a well of panic that she had a terrible time pulling out of.
I talked her into selling a horse that was never going to calm down enough for her. She finally placed him with a teen age girl that loved his rowdy self. Peg cried when she let him go. I breathed a sigh of relief.
I found her a lovely, smart, and kind ranch gelding. She avoided riding him for years because he was cold backed. He had to be longed or he would buck.
She kept improving. Her skills and confidence kept coming.
We've been working together for eight years. She started to lope this winter. I saw her ride a buck on one of her rescues that would have drilled me into the dirt.
Some days Peg is so afraid we just walk and talk.
Some days I have to walk next to her, just gabbing, not mentioning her shaking hands, frozen back, or her drawn face.
I have ridden Peg's horses. They have become soft, quiet, and steady. They are smooth between my hands and knees. Rarely does a shoulder or rib poke out. She has done an excellent job.
This past year she has started going on group rides at a local arena. She lopes with them. A lot. She has shown in Western Pleasure at a day show. Her first time in she placed fourth. She loped.
She smiled.
The other day she went loping by me on her ranch horse. She was laughing and waving at me.
(I used to make her "queen wave" to get her to let go of the horn)
We are working towards ranch horse competition.
She has taught me the benefit of chiropractic for my horses.
If I need to know about the benefits of any type of feed or supplement I ask Peg.
She continues to gently push me to read stuff like the Zen of Mind Melding with your horse.
She loves her ground work. She's really good at it.
I see the love that shines in her eyes when she looks at her horses.
I see the triumph when she gets to the next step.
I know why I ride with those kinds of people.
Peg is the bravest person I know.

Mugwump again

I wasn't going to post today, I'm behind on my horses. On the other hand, it's wet and rainy, there's one more cup in the pot, and I've got some questions rattling around in my head.
Yesterday my boss and I went to a local reining trainer for a tune-up.
I'm a big believer in getting outside help. Too many of us trainer folk get caught up in our own mystique. We start thinking we know it all. We worry that our clients will question our ability if we don't know all the answers. The most dangerous trainers I know are the ones that truly think they can solve it all.
In reined cowhorse we show three events. We have herd work, dry work, and fence work.
The herd work is our bastardized version of cutting. We know better then to call it cutting. Mainly because the cutters mock us. As they should.
Our herd work is mainly done on our futurity and derby horses. (Don't yell at me, I don't believe in futurities) We ride two handed. We steer. Our horses often use their inside hind leg to turn, a huge faux pas with the cutter guys.
Our dry work consists of a modified reining pattern. Slightly shorter in length, the horses are allowed a little more leeway in how each maneuver is executed. To my mind our dry work is a little freer, more forward than a reiner. The real reiners would tell you we're wild and half way out of control. Hey, talk to the horse. Our patterns are designed to emulate the moves a cowhorse makes while working a cow. Cowhorses are much more opinionated than a finished reiner, it shows in our work.
The fence work is all ours, baby. It is about control of the cow. Driving the cow forward instead of holding it in position, as in cutting. A good fence run is pure ballet. The horse is scored on how much work he does on his own, how complete is the control of the cow. Horse and rider need to be a team, show trust in each other, a willingness to relinquish control, or take it back, all while travelling up to 35 MPH down the fence. A good cowhorse is only going as fast as the situation dictates. A good score often comes from smart thinking, not crazy speed. If you have to hold your horse back on your run you need to go home and think a little bit.
The popular belief for a long time was that if you were fairly competent in all three events you would succeed. And you could. Then guys like Todd Bergen and Bob Avila started showing up.
Needless to say the bar was raised.
I have come to believe that the only way to succeed in this sport is to learn to cut like a cutter, and rein like a reiner, keep getting help on the fence, keep my mind open and my mouth shut. Except here. Where I can be as opinionated as I want.
In my quest for the perfect go I have gotten to peek into a lot of different worlds. In each and every one I keep seeing lame horses. Injected, drugged, stomachs churning with ulcers, horses.
Reiners with hocks so stiff their legs drag at the trot. They still slide with perfection. Time after time.
Cutters who can't even lope anymore, still eagerly going into the herd.
Cowhorses fried out of their minds, still bringing in the dough.
Where do we place the blame? The owners? The trainers? The sport standards?
I know the pleasure and all-around horses have the same problems.
What about you dressage guys? Am I right in thinking you have levels of competition designed for the age and ability of the horse?
What happens when you add a wealthy, inexperienced client that demands more?
Do dressage trainers have the same pressure to over train?
I started four horses for a veterinarian a couple of winters ago. She had a strong background in dressage. She came to me on a referral, plus I was close enough for her to keep an eye on me. I was trainer number four. This was not an easy deal.
I think she was taken aback when I asked her for some lessons. She happily complied. I got some wonderful input. She loved the rate of speed I train at. I'm considered slow by most, but fairly quick by her. She was happy, I was happy. It was a good winter.
So any dressage people who want to jump in here, please do. I know just enough to get in trouble. I still use what I learned about balance to this day. I also found out that my position in my cutting saddle is identical to a correct dressage seat. How cool is that? Except for my cutters slump of course. The vet kept begging me to sit up.
How about jumpers? Endurance riders?
Is it possible to attain the highest level of success in any equestrian sport and still have a horse sound in mind and body?
My personal horse is 6. She is just starting to be consistently competitive. I still show her lightly.
I am no longer considered a handy class stuffer, because I can occasionally bump the bubble. I am not yet taken seriously. My horse is still sound and reliable. I fight the feeling that I can never truly get to the top every day.

Horse Stories/Mort

I loved the responses from you guys on my last post. Thanks. I had a hard time writing that one. I feel guilty on many levels for going public with that stuff. But my guilt is for another day.
I need to leave the dark side for a while. I'm thinking I'll intersperse these tales of whoa with some favorite horse stories. Here's my first.

Mort/Chapter 1

Mort may have been the love of my life. Tall and handsome, volatile, funny and totally unpredictable. He was ill-mannered, wild, and lived fast. The first time he leaned over the fence and blew into my nostrils I was gone.
I was a lot like Mort. Not as tall, definitely not as good looking, but the rest pretty much fit.
One look into his big golden brown eyes and I was ready to follow him anywhere.
My parents, in a somewhat desperate attempt to help me find some balance in my life, were letting me buy a horse.
This horse would come with strings. I had to support him myself and keep him in a self-care facility. Good behavior on my part equalled keeping him.
Entering the horse world meant I had to take on the work and expense myself. They figured this would prove soon enough if I really wanted a horse. Eternal poverty, here I come. I never looked back.
I knew absolutely nothing about what I was getting into.
My experience consisted of a few years of riding lessons at the neighborhood riding stable and a close friend who owned horses.
I watched a lot of John Wayne, Roy Rogers, and Bonanza.
Bring em' on.
My poor parents were even more naive than I was.
When I tried Mort out the owner was waiting for my dad and me. He held the pretty dun, already saddled, his hand wrapped tight in the bridle. I got on, he handed me the reins and backed away. We headed into the city park at an extended trot. By the time we hit the trees we were at a fast lope. As we rounded the first bend in the trail we were at a dead run. I might have figured out he was running away with me if I had ever tried to stop him, but my reins stayed slack. I only steered, and he always went where I pointed him.
This was how John, Roy, Little Joe, and now I rode.
When we blew into the barn an hour later I knew we were meant to be.
"I love him!" I shouted as I swung down, already showing my developing prowess as a horse trader.
"Really?" The owner said, his eyebrows shot up high enough to make his Made in China, wool felt hat almost slide off his head. "Er, that's great."
As soon as it could happen I was the proud owner of Charro, soon to be known as Mort, a registered grandson of Poco Bueno.
Already in love, I failed to notice a few warning signs that a more seasoned horse woman might have picked up on.
The fact that he was the only horse at the boarding stable kept in a padlocked, six foot high run.
His scarred and lacerated tongue.
The two inch scars on both corners of his mouth.
The mechanical hackamore with a rubber covered, bicycle chain nose piece, that came with the horse.
The constant toss of his head that only subsided when he was running flat out.
The wicked glint in his eye. (OK, I saw that.)
I did notice the only things that mattered to me.
His big cheeked, heart stopping face.
The perfect diamond on his forehead.
The way his muzzle fit in my hand.
His blazing speed.
The power he was willing to share with me.
The way he laid his head on my shoulder, for just a second, after I dismounted from the first of thousands of rides.
It was all I needed to know.