Captain

I have written quite a bit about the trainers I have ridden with, and the fact that I have a tendency to give Walter Farley the same weight as Monte Foreman when it comes to training tips.
My most influential teachers have been the horses I've been lucky enough to work with.
I've had the privilege of keeping a Grand Prix Dressage horse legged up while his owners were on vacation. (OK you dressage guys, I now get why you'll take 100 years to train your horse. He was the coolest thing ever. You should have seen his face when I plopped my beat up old cutting saddle on his giant WB self :)
I've also been handed some of the rankest, scabbiest, nastiest stuff you can imagine. These are always the ones that need to be finished reiners in thirty days or less. Don't get me wrong, I never promise that this can actually happen, although I have noticed the people who expect this usually can't ride well enough to tell what they've got when I'm done.
Once in a while even I get tired of my eternal, righteous yammering. So I thought I'd periodically share a story of different horses I've had come through my life. I'll try to keep a balance between my successes and my failures. The real force that has shaped me as a trainer.
If it's boring let me know. I plan on keeping up the Mort stories too.

Captain
Captain was different the day he was born. His mother was a beloved pet. His sire a well bred cowhorse. Captain hit the ground running like a mustang. He was wild eyed at the sight of anything remotely human.
As the days went by he displayed no curiosity towards the quiet, friendly people that worked around him. His mother was relaxed and mild, perfectly willing to let people see her baby. Captain was not.
His first vet visit was wild and out of control. The vet, a well seasoned and kindly horse specialist, ended up with a little tiny hoof print in his forehead.
"You're going to have fun with that one." He told the owner.
Captain and his mother were moved out to live with a broodmare band on plenty of acreage. He ran like crazy, but never socialized with the rest of the foals.
His mother was dominant in the herd, but Captain never took advantage of her status. He continued to hide from potential friends, both human and equine.
At ninety days his increasingly nervous owner asked for help getting a halter on him. The struggle that ensued became an epic tale that still resounds across the eastern Colorado plains today. There was blood. Lots. None of it on, or from, Captain.
Once the halter was finally buckled on his head he flipped over backwards, three times in succession. Keep in mind, there was no restraint, no lead ropes. Nobody was trying to hold him. Just a freaking halter.
Fast forward three years later. I got a phone call from his very weary owner. Captain was still with her. He had gotten over his fear of people. He would happily mow anybody down to say hi. As long as he wasn't tied. As long as nobody tried to catch him. Or saddle him. Or trim his feet. Or vet him.
He had gotten over his fear of other horses. He would regularly rear up and hook his front legs over the top rail of his run to say hi to the horse next to him. He was extremely studdy, even though he had been gelded as a yearling.
He had spent five months with a Morgan trainer. A trainer I knew to be a good hand. He came back to the owner unridden. He was easier to catch, and he would lead, kind of. The trainer didn't want him back.
"Please see what you can do." The owner begged. "I want to sell him, but I can't like this."
She was willing to give me 120 days to get him ridden. She was trying to give this wacky horse a fair shake.
At that time I was sure that any horse could be trained if it was approached in the right way. I had a lot of confidence in my abilities. I thought I was pretty hot stuff.
I warned her that I was going to be tough on the horse. I was going to insist that he accept each step of his training. I was sure he just needed my guidance and he would be fine.
Captain had grown into a tall, weedy, big headed bay. His chest was so narrow it looked like both front legs came out of the same hole. He was weak loined, and narrow rumped. If ever a horse need to be well broke and sociable, it was him.
The first week I had him I tried to do some basic ground work. He would run and charge over me like I wasn't there. I would snap the lead rope as discipline and he would fly into a wild panic.
Our own version of "Airs Above The Ground" would follow.
I tried some simple, free longe, NH stuff in the round pen. Captain had been there ... wouldn't do it. He just threw himself at the round pen walls with no regard to where I was.
I tried to pony him off another horse. At the first hint of pressure he freaked and threw himself on the ground. Where he commenced to lay there groaning. The groaning grew to astounding wails that I had never heard come out of a horse.
I soon grew used to Captain's weird wailing. He did it every time he felt a need to comment on anything I did to him.
At the end of the day he would go happily to his stall for dinner. Every morning he would greet me, forelegs over the stall door, stretching out his neck to nicker a friendly "Hey, how ya doin'?"
I spent a lot of time rounding him up. He kept crawling over the five foot gate at the front of his stall.
I was getting the idea that Captain had some issues with confinement. That was the base of all his troubles. I'm a little slow sometimes, but when I get it, by jingo, I'm on it.
Every morning I began wrestling him out to an isolated spot on our arena rail. I would tie him and leave.
Captain would spend the day throwing himself to the ground. Trying to jump the rail. Digging giant holes. Rearing, bucking, and of course, filling the air with his weird wailing. I kept half an eye on him, but went about my day as if he was fine.
At the end of the day I would go to untie him. Every day he was white eyed, covered in sweat, and shaking. Every day he would spook and blow as I approached him. I ignored all of it. Talked to him cheerfully as I took him back to his stall.
As soon as I put him up he would relax, take a drink, and grab a mouthful of hay. He would turn and look at me, friendly and calm as could be.
The next day we would start again. This went on for thirty days.
I noticed that Captain was never hurt in any way. With all his flinging around he never had a mark on him.
No scrapes, no bumps, no sore spots. I on the other hand was pretty dang black and blue. Hmmmm.
At the beginning of our second month Captain decided to up the ante. He started rearing high enough to get his forelegs over the top rail of the arena. Then he would climb the fence with his hind legs and flip over to the other side.
The wailing would begin. And he was in our way.
After the third time I had to untie the still unscathed Captain and take him back around to his tie spot, I made my first big mistake.
I decided to tie him to the middle rail so he couldn't get his head over the fence.
I was working another horse when my mentor came riding up to me.
"Look at your little buddy." The Big Kahuna said.
"Oh hell." Was all I could come up with.
Captain had managed to get his front legs over the top rail. His head was still tied to the middle rail. He had tried to climb the fence with his hind legs, and they had slipped through the first and second rail.
He was hung like a Salem witch in the stocks. Wailing.
The Big Kahuna and I just sat our horses, staring at my little train wreck.
"How am I going to get that undone without killing him or me?" I asked my role model, my mentor, The Big Kahuna.
"Beats me." He shrugged, and went back to loping.
Big sigh from me.
I rode over to him. I looked him in the eye. He looked back at me, not as scared as I felt he should be.
I leaned down and started working on my very tight quick release knot. Eventually I was able to quick release his head.
As soon as he felt the rope loosen he started to flail like a maniac.
He managed to pull his front legs off the fence and crashed to the ground.
I hung on to the rope, and retied him as soon as he stood up, this time back to the top rail.
Captain hit the end of the rope and started slamming against the fence.
I rode away and didn't even look at him.
When it was time to put him up I went over him carefully. He had two slight scrapes on the back of his forelegs. He felt frisky enough to buck a circle around me. That night I changed my tactics.
I'll finish this up tomorrow.
Later.

But I love her!

There are lots of horses needing homes. Lots. I often get going on what not to do as a horse owner. I work hard at being the best horse woman I can be, and try to land on the side of the horse as often as possible. I feel I set a pretty high standard as to what an owner needs to accomplish to deserve the hayburner in the back yard.
I know I push myself, and my students pretty hard with my expectations. I lost a potentially very big money client this year. I did it by challenging their motivation for owning a horse at all. Now another trainer has them that is better at making them feel good about what they're doing.
I could rant about the injustice of them not listening to me, or be angry at the clients for going where they can hear what they want to hear. I could be mad at the other trainer for playing their game.
Instead I'm evaluating what makes a person a good horse owner. I'm evaluating whether my standards are actually serving the horses, or my ego.
I have heard two truths over the years that base my core belief in how I need to manage my life with horses.
The first came from a very wise and realistic trainer early on in my open riding years.
The horse I was showing was a very stressed, over trained, ulcer ridden stud with no manners. In those days I was still thinking I had to prove myself. Which meant I would crawl on anything with hair. I automatically assumed anything that went awry was my fault, even though I had inherited this horse from another training barn.
During this five day show I had endured him dragging me across the arena, after a mare, when I dropped his bridle for a bit check. I was saved when a fellow exhibitor left his horse and helped me tackle him.
Throwing a hysterical fit and kicking a trail course to smithereens.
Mounting a mare WHO WAS BEING RIDDEN while his owner was warming him up for their non-pro pleasure class.
Bucking through every lead change on a riding control course.
I was sitting on him that night, watching the rest of the show, which was going quite smoothly without us, by the way. We were both too wiped out to fight, so I guess you could say we were in a peaceful place.
I was talking about him to another trainer, and was struggling to say something positive.
"He's just so stressed by all this commotion." I started.
"Stressed my ass." The other trainer said.
"This is how I see it. We feed them, vet them, float their teeth, groom them, and protect them from the elements." she added.
"We buy every gadget known to man kind for their comfort.
We have extended their live expectancy 15 to 20 years past what it would be in the wild.
If I decide I need them to go to a horse show and show for eight or nine hours because I'm an idiot, then they can damn well do it."
I never forgot that.
The other was from a client who had tipped a few too many one night at another show, many years later.
"This show stuff is just nuts." He said.
"We talk about horses that want to show, or like the spot light. Who are we kidding?
You know what a horse wants out of life?
Four things.
They want to eat, sleep in the sun, run on a windy day, and take as many big healthy dumps as they can possibly fit in."
I never forgot that one either. I call them the big four.
So what makes a good owner? In my mind it's one that gives their horse the big four as often as possible.
So a lot can be forgiven. Stupid mistakes. Bad decisions. Poor riding.
Remember, your horse will forgive it all if it has plenty to eat and drink.
I have a client who refuses to take a lesson. I have no idea why.
She has had me train every horse she has.
I have advanced each of them to a much higher level then she can ever hope to ride to. Only because she won't come learn how to ride them.
This used to drive me absolutely nuts.
It finally occurred to me that her horses could care less.
They happily sink to her level and motor her around where she pleases.
She will not extend one iota of effort to improve her skills.
She enjoys riding fancy horses.
She loves them, gives them plenty of the big four, and brags on them endlessly. They stay with her forever.
I consider her an excellent owner.
I have worked with owners who knew nothing about horses but still owned at least one . They usually show up, flustered, scared, and pretty belligerent. Their horse is almost invariably, long footed, thin and pissed off. I had one show up once with the halter on upside down. No joke.
I used to cop a pretty officious attitude. I shamed them, and made them feel like they didn't deserve to ride a tricycle, much less a horse.
Good for my ego, bad for business.
Bad for the horse.
Now I thank them. Ask them what their goals are. Gently start guiding them to giving their horse the big four. I try to remember, that no matter how difficult they are, they came for help.
I consider them excellent horse owners.
I had a client. The daughter owned a very talented, very fried little cowhorse mare. She was bought from another young girl that had won a lot on her, fried her brain, and proceeded to dump her on the clients.
They knew the horse was fried. They bought her because they loved her. They were going to give her a forever home.
I knew all this because they told me this repeatedly.
They decided to make her a versatility horse.
Makes sense doesn't it? She's too fried to compete in cowhorse, so let's add three or four more events. That should calm her down.
Their trainer tried to slow them down. She worked on their horsemanship. She put the horse in a softer bit. She did what she could.
I met them when they came to a cowhorse clinic I was the clinician for.
Their trainer recommended they bring me the horse. I got the mare for thirty days. They were very worried. They had never let one of their babies go to a trainer before.
They loved her so.
They brought the horse with an astounding number of supplements.
Blankets. Instructions. So many instructions.
I stressed the importance of them coming out at least twice a week during the thirty days. I felt it was vital the young girl learned to ride the mare as I worked with her.
We made out a schedule.
They cried when they left her. They loved her so much.
The next time I saw them was three weeks later.
They couldn't believe how calm she was.
"I've never seen her so happy!" Mom kept saying over and over.
I was a little confused. This mare was pretty dang grumpy.
We squeezed in two good lessons on her in the next week.
The mare worked well and the daughter was an excellent rider.
They took her home a week early because Christmas was coming and they wanted to make sure she got her Christmas Carrots. They loved her so.
The next time I saw them Mom was saying, "We could barely get her in the trailer. She hid in the barn when we pulled up. She chases us out of her pen. I hate that bitch. If you can't fix this she's going down the road."
Guess what?
I'm not thinking they're going to pick up on the big four.

Surely, This Mess Can't Be My Fault?

I'm on a reprieve. I was supposed to show a horse to a client today, and she called in sick. I guess that's OK. It's not like I need the dough or anything. (grumble, whine)
It's all good, because this client falls into the category of a topic that's I keep chewing on.
She's responsible, educated, and loves her horses. She has developed a working relationship with me that is based on trust.
I keep thinking about all the other brand new, about to be horse owners out there.
Who's responsibility does the welfare of our horses come down to?
The buyer? The seller? The owner, or trainer?
We are a society that loves to blame somebody else for our whoas. (I know I'm misspelling woe, you good grammar cops you! I'm trying to be funny.)
I do my fair share of vilifying slimy horse traders, greedy trainers, and self serving clinicians.
Today I'm after the owner.
I'm after the parents who buy their kid a horse, and never look again, except to sign checks and bitch about vet bills.
I'm after the kids who ride their horse into the ground because they don't know any better.
I'm after the 40 year old woman who buys the horse she's dreamed of since she was a little girl, and finds out it wants to kick her teeth in rather then be caught, AFTER she brings it home.
Every one of these scenarios leads to horses at a sale. Horses that get picked up by the killers.
I'll start with the parents.
MOM!!! DAD!!! WAKE UP!!!!
Would you buy little Morgan a car and hand her the keys, just because she's driven her friend Buffy's car around the block a few times?
Would you buy her the cheapest car possible, and never hire a mechanic to look at the tires, or under the hood, especially if you knew nothing about cars?
Would you never check to see who she was driving with, where she was driving, or how she drove the car she was given?
Would you cut corners on maintenance and repairs on that piece of crap car because you didn't realize how expensive it would be?
Is anybody that stupid?
OK. Maybe you are, but I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt.
A horse is not a car.
It is a living, breathing, thinking, feeling being that has been dumped on your mercy. Not little Morgan's. Yours.
If you are too stupid to educate yourself on the reality of horse ownership, and all the inherent responsibility that comes with it, then your daughter will be too.
If you don't help her learn to be a kind, loving , and thinking horse owner, than she will be dumping the horse as soon as it hurts her, (it will) isn't competitive enough, (it won't be) or is permanently injured through ignorant use. (I guarantee that one)
If your actions teach her that you don't care enough about her to keep her safe, or that her horse is a throwaway, how's it going to go for your grand kids?
Now I'm after the kids.
Please, please, work as hard at learning about your horse as you worked your parents to buy the horse in the first place.
This is your horse. He depends on you for everything. He will give you everything he has in return for a fair shake.
Read books. Watch videos.
Now is the time and place for NH clinics. There's a few I wish you wouldn't go to, but any of them are better than none at all.
Take some basic dressage lessons. Even if you want to chase cans.
Learn how a horse thinks. How he works. How much joy there is in becoming his buddy. In understanding his body language.
Talk to your vet about nutrition. Feet. I can't say enough about feet. I'm big on asking vets for recommendations on everything from farriers to riding instruction. They know who's safe. They know who's honest. TRUST YOUR VET.
If you only want to ride then go to a riding stable. Ride a friends horse. Don't buy one.
If you only want to ride, you don't really want a horse.
Last but not least, I'm on to the 40 somethings that bought their dream horse and suddenly went Uh Oh.
I love you guys. You are my bread and butter. I am happy you have your horse. Now read all of the above and call me. Quick. I mean it. Hurry. And get out your check book.