SlowPassinTime said...
Cross training is something that should be done more often... My pleasure horse does the usual pleasure horse events - showmanship, pleasure, horsemanship and we're working on trail. We also do English Pleasure and English Equitation at local shows. When we feel like a break, he also (surprisingly) trail rides, can dabble in games like barrel racing, and even plays polo. He does it all quite well, really - his only problem ever is not being able to relax enough to really perform.
SlowPassinTime had other questions about self-carriage, but that subject is HUGE , will take lots of thought on my part and could go on for days, so I'm ducking it at the moment. But the subject above caught my eye and my A.D.D. brain. So I've been chewing on that one for several days.
I'm thinking about the muscle development we achieve in our horse through training for a specific discipline and how it affects performance elsewhere.
I know that a well-bred pleasure bred horse will hit the ground carrying his head level and stepping deep with a flat kneed swing. His muscles are longer and flatter than other horses.
A cowhorse is compact and agile. She's born with a lightening fast response to outside stimulus. As a weanling she will put her head down and cut back and forth with her siblings, sit in the dirt and slide or roll-back like a champ, just for fun. Her muscles are bunched and strong, developed for explosive forward movement and sudden stops.
My daughter has a cutting bred foundation colt. His parents are cutters and so is every generation behind him for about ever. He naturally travels with his neck extending dead level from his short back. His hind legs step way underneath himself and he'll track anything she puts him on with his nose in the dirt and his eyes straight in the eyes of whatever he's after (Yes, he's totally cool). His lumbar muscles are heavily developed and his semitendinosis is extremely long and developed, reaching well-down into the back of his leg.
All of these horses are developed further by the type of training done on them for the sport they were bred for.
The cowhorse will travel uphill from tail to poll and her back, belly, hindquarters and neck will develop accordingly to make this easier.
The pleasure horse will develop strong abdominal obliques to help him carry his long low frame while maintaining correct drive from the back and lift through the shoulders.
I'm certainly not saying cross training won't work. I am saying that if I develop my cowhorse's muscles to work like a cowhorse, she will be extremely uncomfortable trying to frame up like a pleasure horse. Not to mention she'll look like crap.
If I try to take a seasoned pleasure horse to a cutting I will lose my entry fee.
They are not bred or conditioned to cross over.
So I guess my thoughts are along the lines of, what is fair to expect of our horses? Is SlowPassinTime nervous and high headed because he isn't physically capable of everything being asked of him?
Could the arena anxiety and spooking come from not knowing what's expected? Could he have actual discomfort from being asked to perform in ways he just isn't meant to?
I'm not picking on you, Slow Passin Time. I don't know your horse well enough to really form an opinion, I'm just thinking out loud.
I do know Pleasure is incredibly demanding, both physically and mentally.
So now I'm throwing open the discussion. Let me go get my popcorn.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
I Had To Start Somewhere
Pepsi was the first horse I trained at my new job in Green Mountain Falls. Up until I met Bob and Pepsi, I was giving lessons, riding the stud who stood at the barn and getting the word out I was working in the area.
My boss, Jim, came into the arena and handed me a phone number. "Call this guy, he's got a horse for you."
"Do you know anything about the horse?"
"She's a two-year-old mustang/arab cross. She's been started, but her new owner is green. I guess she tossed him pretty good and ran home, now he can't get her out on the trail."
Visions of a tiny, elfin, two-year-old filly lugging some green dufus down the trail flitted through my head.
"Two's pretty young to be riding on the trail, don't you think?" I asked.
"I don't know anything else, but call him, he's going to board here if things work out."
I called the owner and talked with him a bit. It turned out he was the third owner of this mustang/arab. She had come out of a breeding program at a dude ranch who which was planning on breeding the ultimate dude horse. Pepsi had flunked out of the program. She had refused to stay in line behind the other horses. She kept busting loose from the pony horse and heading home. So she had been sold to family for a 10-year-old boy. After she had thrown the boy and bolted home a few times they sold her to poor, naive Bob.
"I took her out on a ride and she threw me and ran home," he told me, "I ended up in the hospital with a bunch of broken ribs. If you can't fix her I'll have to get rid of her."
"How old is this horse again?" I asked.
"She's two."
"I'm surprised she's big enough to ride, much less cause all this commotion."
"Oh, she's pretty big."
What a gomer, I thought, and we made arrangements to bring her to the barn the following week.
I pulled into work and was surprised to see my boss waiting for me. He was leaning on the door of the indoor arena. The smirky grin on his face made me wary.
"What's up?" I asked.
"You're horse is here."
"OK." I couldn't figure out the grin at all.
I stepped past him into the arena and stopped cold. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light I made out the silhouette of a horse tied to the rail. I looked around for another horse. This couldn't be Pepsi.
Mustangs in Colorado tend to be small. Many of them don't ever clear 14 hands. Arabs are not known for their height. I had forgotten that in World War II there had been an influx of draft horse blood mixed into the mustang herds.
The horse I stood staring at was a sharp reminder that somewhere, somehow there had been a heavy dose of draft horse blood crossed into at least one herd of Colorado mustangs. She was a 16hh behemoth (Stop laughing you warm-blood riders you, 15 hh is big to me, this thing was a moose). Her head was enormous, her neck upright and short. Her barrel was deep and her back was short and strong. Her legs were as long as a thoroughbreds, heavily feathered and surprisingly refined.
She had a small, but kind eye and a great roman nose. Her heavily muscled chest was broad enough to push her elbows out and her toes in.
Jim stood behind me, his hands in his pockets.
"This is Pepsi?" I asked.
"Poor little thing, hope you don't hurt her tiny self riding her around." Jim burst out laughing and left the arena.
I spent a week on the ground with Pepsi. She seemed friendly and intelligent. She wasn't particularly co-ordinated, but her sheer size and young age explained a lot. She was easy to saddle and was quiet to sack out. Someone had done a decent job of starting her. I began to have a little hope.
The first day I rode her I had my assistant, Kathy, near by. She sat on the fence, a bored look on her face. Pepsi had been quiet enough to work with and Kathy wasn't expecting anything fun.
I stood in the stirrup, one hand on the horn, the other on the cantle. I was really high in the air. Normally when I stand over a young horse for the first time they shift around, trying to balance me. Pepsi stood like a rock. I bumped her with my knee. She moved away from the pressure, steady and solid.
"Here goes," I said.
I swung a leg over and sat in the saddle, letting my off boot dangle outside the stirrup. Pepsi stood quiet. She turned and sniffed my boot. She seemed relaxed and happy.
I went ahead and asked her to walk on. She was supposed to be started after all. Pepsi cruised around the arena. Her back was relaxed, her tail quiet. She guided left and right, no problem.
I settled deeper into my saddle and asked for a trot. Pepsi moved off in a big, shambling trot. She took eight, nine, ten strides and suddenly spun 180 degrees and bolted.
I watched her thunder across the arena, her tail clamped and her eyes wide in terror. She had spun out from under me slick as snot and left me flat in the dust. I couldn't believe it. I sat up and studied Pepsi as she trotted off her nerves. I had pretty much figured out the problem. That elephant could move. Kathy caught her up and was nice enough to keep her smiles to herself. I dusted myself off and crawled back on for round 2.
Pepsi didn't get me again, but I had plenty of respect for her after that first ride. She got to where it was time to head back outside.
I had no trouble with her on the trail as long as we went out in a group. She was incredibly strong and sure-footed. I was pretty pleased with her. Her owner, Bob, took regular lessons on her and was progressing nicely.
"I want to take her out alone," Bob told me.
"I'd work on that one a little at a time Bob, she's coming along fine," I replied.
"The whole point of you training her is to get her out alone."
I was beginning to doubt my chosen profession.
"OK Bob, I'll start taking her out."
Big words from the trainer, especially since I couldn't get her past the arena door if she didn't feel like it. She was powerful and quick, at the same time such a klutz she would fall to her knees finding her way down a gentle slope. She was a knot of anger and fear and a friendly, willing mount. She could spin and bolt like a startled gazelle, but couldn't hold a lope around the arena. Her head, measured from nose to poll, was 2 inches longer then her neck, poll to withers. When she set it against me I couldn't make her do anything she didn't want.
Her huge head coupled with her short, sticky neck made her impossible to stop if she got away from me. She could bull into my hands and take me wherever she wanted. Which was home. Pepsi would whip herself around and take off for the barn whenever she got worried. She would mow over other riders, stomp dogs, topple aspens and run through a parked car or two, nothing phased her.
I felt like Tarzan on the rogue elephant in a stampede. Except Tarzan could stop his elephant.
I was stumped.
I remembered a book I had read once about a Colrado horse trainer back in the 1940's. He was an arrogant blow hard, but a fun read. He had an interesting story about how he cured a barn sour horse. I decided to try it. Pepsi was only two. She was going to just get stronger. That head was going to get bigger.
I took her out one day and we rode to the corner of the barn property. Pepsi began to shake her head and fight. I kept pointing her down the trail. We fought and jumped and bolted and started again. Finally I got her to a spot about fifteen feet farther down the trail than usual. I got down and drug her another ten feet to a shady spot under a tree. There I gave her the 1/2 can of rolled oats I had stashed earlier in the day. I loosened her cinch and led her home.
The next day I took her out and she went pretty willingly to the spot where I had fed her the day before. I got down, loosened her cinch and led her another 25 feet down the trail. Where I had another 1/2 can of oats waiting. I let her eat and we headed home.
I planted oats every 50 feet or so down the entire two mile loop by our place. Every day she had to go a little farther to get her oats. Pepsi got to where she was pretty willing to go wherever I pointed her. I kept it short and sweet.
Bob started keeping her oats in his saddle bag. He would ride her until she got anxious. Then he would ride her at least 25 feet past where she was starting to act up. If he got scared he would get down and lead her, but they still headed out a ways. Then he would give her some grain and head back.
As time went on he would make her go farther and farther to get her oats. Eventually he quit taking the oats. Her reward became a rest, a loosened cinch and some grazing time.
It worked. Nobody got hurt. Pepsi forgot her fear. I was credited for fixing a renegade. Bob didn't sell his horse. As a matter of fact, Pepsi and Bob are inseparable. She is about 17 hh and 1300 pounds. She can pack out an entire elk by herself during hunting season. She and Bob became champions at black powder target shooting from horseback, or some crazy ass thing. The two of them trail ride like maniacs all over the mountains. She has to be 15 or 16 by now. Last I heard her head wasn't any smaller and her neck wasn't any longer, but it doesn't really matter anymore.
I prefer just to get on a horse and tell them to get. Most of the time that works for me. But I have used my "hidden surprise" method to get a horse down the road more than once. It's never let me down.
My boss, Jim, came into the arena and handed me a phone number. "Call this guy, he's got a horse for you."
"Do you know anything about the horse?"
"She's a two-year-old mustang/arab cross. She's been started, but her new owner is green. I guess she tossed him pretty good and ran home, now he can't get her out on the trail."
Visions of a tiny, elfin, two-year-old filly lugging some green dufus down the trail flitted through my head.
"Two's pretty young to be riding on the trail, don't you think?" I asked.
"I don't know anything else, but call him, he's going to board here if things work out."
I called the owner and talked with him a bit. It turned out he was the third owner of this mustang/arab. She had come out of a breeding program at a dude ranch who which was planning on breeding the ultimate dude horse. Pepsi had flunked out of the program. She had refused to stay in line behind the other horses. She kept busting loose from the pony horse and heading home. So she had been sold to family for a 10-year-old boy. After she had thrown the boy and bolted home a few times they sold her to poor, naive Bob.
"I took her out on a ride and she threw me and ran home," he told me, "I ended up in the hospital with a bunch of broken ribs. If you can't fix her I'll have to get rid of her."
"How old is this horse again?" I asked.
"She's two."
"I'm surprised she's big enough to ride, much less cause all this commotion."
"Oh, she's pretty big."
What a gomer, I thought, and we made arrangements to bring her to the barn the following week.
I pulled into work and was surprised to see my boss waiting for me. He was leaning on the door of the indoor arena. The smirky grin on his face made me wary.
"What's up?" I asked.
"You're horse is here."
"OK." I couldn't figure out the grin at all.
I stepped past him into the arena and stopped cold. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light I made out the silhouette of a horse tied to the rail. I looked around for another horse. This couldn't be Pepsi.
Mustangs in Colorado tend to be small. Many of them don't ever clear 14 hands. Arabs are not known for their height. I had forgotten that in World War II there had been an influx of draft horse blood mixed into the mustang herds.
The horse I stood staring at was a sharp reminder that somewhere, somehow there had been a heavy dose of draft horse blood crossed into at least one herd of Colorado mustangs. She was a 16hh behemoth (Stop laughing you warm-blood riders you, 15 hh is big to me, this thing was a moose). Her head was enormous, her neck upright and short. Her barrel was deep and her back was short and strong. Her legs were as long as a thoroughbreds, heavily feathered and surprisingly refined.
She had a small, but kind eye and a great roman nose. Her heavily muscled chest was broad enough to push her elbows out and her toes in.
Jim stood behind me, his hands in his pockets.
"This is Pepsi?" I asked.
"Poor little thing, hope you don't hurt her tiny self riding her around." Jim burst out laughing and left the arena.
I spent a week on the ground with Pepsi. She seemed friendly and intelligent. She wasn't particularly co-ordinated, but her sheer size and young age explained a lot. She was easy to saddle and was quiet to sack out. Someone had done a decent job of starting her. I began to have a little hope.
The first day I rode her I had my assistant, Kathy, near by. She sat on the fence, a bored look on her face. Pepsi had been quiet enough to work with and Kathy wasn't expecting anything fun.
I stood in the stirrup, one hand on the horn, the other on the cantle. I was really high in the air. Normally when I stand over a young horse for the first time they shift around, trying to balance me. Pepsi stood like a rock. I bumped her with my knee. She moved away from the pressure, steady and solid.
"Here goes," I said.
I swung a leg over and sat in the saddle, letting my off boot dangle outside the stirrup. Pepsi stood quiet. She turned and sniffed my boot. She seemed relaxed and happy.
I went ahead and asked her to walk on. She was supposed to be started after all. Pepsi cruised around the arena. Her back was relaxed, her tail quiet. She guided left and right, no problem.
I settled deeper into my saddle and asked for a trot. Pepsi moved off in a big, shambling trot. She took eight, nine, ten strides and suddenly spun 180 degrees and bolted.
I watched her thunder across the arena, her tail clamped and her eyes wide in terror. She had spun out from under me slick as snot and left me flat in the dust. I couldn't believe it. I sat up and studied Pepsi as she trotted off her nerves. I had pretty much figured out the problem. That elephant could move. Kathy caught her up and was nice enough to keep her smiles to herself. I dusted myself off and crawled back on for round 2.
Pepsi didn't get me again, but I had plenty of respect for her after that first ride. She got to where it was time to head back outside.
I had no trouble with her on the trail as long as we went out in a group. She was incredibly strong and sure-footed. I was pretty pleased with her. Her owner, Bob, took regular lessons on her and was progressing nicely.
"I want to take her out alone," Bob told me.
"I'd work on that one a little at a time Bob, she's coming along fine," I replied.
"The whole point of you training her is to get her out alone."
I was beginning to doubt my chosen profession.
"OK Bob, I'll start taking her out."
Big words from the trainer, especially since I couldn't get her past the arena door if she didn't feel like it. She was powerful and quick, at the same time such a klutz she would fall to her knees finding her way down a gentle slope. She was a knot of anger and fear and a friendly, willing mount. She could spin and bolt like a startled gazelle, but couldn't hold a lope around the arena. Her head, measured from nose to poll, was 2 inches longer then her neck, poll to withers. When she set it against me I couldn't make her do anything she didn't want.
Her huge head coupled with her short, sticky neck made her impossible to stop if she got away from me. She could bull into my hands and take me wherever she wanted. Which was home. Pepsi would whip herself around and take off for the barn whenever she got worried. She would mow over other riders, stomp dogs, topple aspens and run through a parked car or two, nothing phased her.
I felt like Tarzan on the rogue elephant in a stampede. Except Tarzan could stop his elephant.
I was stumped.
I remembered a book I had read once about a Colrado horse trainer back in the 1940's. He was an arrogant blow hard, but a fun read. He had an interesting story about how he cured a barn sour horse. I decided to try it. Pepsi was only two. She was going to just get stronger. That head was going to get bigger.
I took her out one day and we rode to the corner of the barn property. Pepsi began to shake her head and fight. I kept pointing her down the trail. We fought and jumped and bolted and started again. Finally I got her to a spot about fifteen feet farther down the trail than usual. I got down and drug her another ten feet to a shady spot under a tree. There I gave her the 1/2 can of rolled oats I had stashed earlier in the day. I loosened her cinch and led her home.
The next day I took her out and she went pretty willingly to the spot where I had fed her the day before. I got down, loosened her cinch and led her another 25 feet down the trail. Where I had another 1/2 can of oats waiting. I let her eat and we headed home.
I planted oats every 50 feet or so down the entire two mile loop by our place. Every day she had to go a little farther to get her oats. Pepsi got to where she was pretty willing to go wherever I pointed her. I kept it short and sweet.
Bob started keeping her oats in his saddle bag. He would ride her until she got anxious. Then he would ride her at least 25 feet past where she was starting to act up. If he got scared he would get down and lead her, but they still headed out a ways. Then he would give her some grain and head back.
As time went on he would make her go farther and farther to get her oats. Eventually he quit taking the oats. Her reward became a rest, a loosened cinch and some grazing time.
It worked. Nobody got hurt. Pepsi forgot her fear. I was credited for fixing a renegade. Bob didn't sell his horse. As a matter of fact, Pepsi and Bob are inseparable. She is about 17 hh and 1300 pounds. She can pack out an entire elk by herself during hunting season. She and Bob became champions at black powder target shooting from horseback, or some crazy ass thing. The two of them trail ride like maniacs all over the mountains. She has to be 15 or 16 by now. Last I heard her head wasn't any smaller and her neck wasn't any longer, but it doesn't really matter anymore.
I prefer just to get on a horse and tell them to get. Most of the time that works for me. But I have used my "hidden surprise" method to get a horse down the road more than once. It's never let me down.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Cross Training
For whatever reason, I am completely unable to just ride. I have to either be training, think about training, or planning on training. It's a knee jerk reflex at this point.
I am still on my quest to successfully show my horses, train them myself and kick some butt. I also want my horses to be happy and healthy, enjoy their life and get plenty of the Big Four.
As I was trotting up the steep hill behind our barn I was thinking of ways to incorporate trail rides with training to improve Pete's performance.
Both of us are out of shape. Pete has a tendency to hollow out and string his hind legs behind him as he goes.
I stood up in 2 point position, or at least as close as my creaky boned, bad postured self would let me and encouraged Pete to really trot up the hill. He began to drive very effectively with his rear and picked up his back nicely the last half of our climb.
We sat at the top and aired up while I thought. Driving up the hill got him working his legs and back the way I wanted. Putting myself in a 2 point position got me out of his way and worked my legs and core. It was much more interesting than being in an arena for both of us.
So how else can I take advantage of being out of an arena and improve my show performance?
I began thinking about some of the discussions we've had recently. Spooking came to mind. Just being out alone, making my horse travel in the gaits I choose and picking a straight course along the way will help teach my horse to just go where I point him. Very simple, no tricks or buttons being pushed, no shoulders in or out, just git. As he becomes more willing to trust in my decisions he will become less reactive in the show pen.
As my ride progressed I worked on how I handle a spook in general. Because Pete really doesn't spook much I had plenty of time to think about how my horses react, how I react and what's the best way to handle both of us.
It occurred to me that a horse who is looking at something in the distance raises his head. Just because my horse stops and raises his head doesn't mean he's going to spook. It just means he's looking. Since I ride in an area rife with coyotes, bears, mountain lion and the last of the 60's era psychedelic crowd (wild Manitouites), it doesn't hurt for me to look with him.
I practiced dropping my rein hand when Pete stopped to look. Just to be on the safe side I rested my hand on the swell of my saddle to stop any reflexive rein clutching. I made myself relax. All he did was look. It was great.
In my thoughts I went a step farther. I thought about my yellow mare. I know exactly what she would do in the same situation. She would stop, look, not feel me responding and then she would scream, "OMG,OMG,OMG!!!!" She would flip her platinum mane, spin a few times at a high rate of speed and take off with a buck and a bolt.
Keep in mind, she wouldn't really be scared, it's just how she is. A molly-coddled arena baby.
I went back to our discussion on rollkur and other dubious training methods. The reining trainer in the photo I showed you was after a horse who would keep his head low and level, stay off his bit and continue to drive from the back. I did not feel this was a cruel or inhumane training method. It was an effective approach to teaching the horse to keep his head and neck level and his face supple.
At the very informative website http://www.sustainabledressage.com/ I had seen an interesting chart on how a horse's vision is affected by different head positions. By lowering our horse's heads we are limiting what he can see.
A reining horse will have to trust his rider to direct him through a pattern because if his head set is correct he won't be able to see much of the arena. He can't spook at what he isn't looking at. The horse will learn to depend on his rider, not himself, for his safety.
Which will help create the good reining horse AQHA defines as : To rein a horse is not only to guide him, but also to control his every movement. The best reined horse should be willingly guided or controlled with little or no apparent resistance and dictated to completely. Any movement on his own must be considered a lack of control. All deviations from the exact written pattern must be considered a lack of or temporary loss of control, and therefore faulted according to severity of deviation. Credit will be given for smoothness, finesse, attitude, quickness and authority in performing the various maneuvers while using controlled speed.
Great for reiners, not so great for cowhorses. We need them to see. They need to track and control a cow at a high rate of speed. They need to think. With us or without us. Somebody back in the comments said something about muscle twitch response? About it being higher in our twitchy little cow horses than in other horses. I would like to know more about that one.....It explains a lot.
So, my thoughts went on, if I could get my yellow mare out on the trail, give her time to look, but trained on her in a way that would limit her sight when I didn't get the reaction from her I wanted (as in deal with it), could I teach her to trust me to work through something scary by lowering her head and driving her? Hmmmm.
I do know, if I could get a conditioned response on the trail of take a look, then keep on going in the needed direction or I'll work you like a reiner, I would about eliminate all my arena problems.
About then Pete got bored so we went up a few more hills. In a few weeks I think I'll practice driving him towards his bit for a few strides, on then off, as we go up the hill. I'll take his face from side to side and soften his body when I don't like his behavior. It will be interesting to see what comes of this.
In my thinking on just that one ride I rifled through the file I'm building in my mind from the things I'm learning on this blog. I thought of riding simply with a purpose like a roper, driving with my legs and head position from dressage, keeping my horse light and responsive with almost no weight on my bit like a good spade bit horse and threw in the two point just for grins.
I would like to keep going with this thought process. I would really like to know the purpose behind some training methods, without getting into the abuse. I mean, is rollkur abusive in any context? Or can it be a tool used in moderation to benefit the horse? Can I use some pleasure horse training methods to get my horse to pick up his back? How else do I use the trail to train for the arena?
You guys now have a peek into my wacky brain. I can be a total pain in the ass to ride with because I'm like this most of the time.
My question right now? How can I use hill work to become better in the show pen? If we all get in on this it could get really fun.
HorseofCourse- What kind of shoes are you using on your horse? I saw pictures of you working in the snow on a shod horse with no snow-pack, what gives?
I am still on my quest to successfully show my horses, train them myself and kick some butt. I also want my horses to be happy and healthy, enjoy their life and get plenty of the Big Four.
As I was trotting up the steep hill behind our barn I was thinking of ways to incorporate trail rides with training to improve Pete's performance.
Both of us are out of shape. Pete has a tendency to hollow out and string his hind legs behind him as he goes.
I stood up in 2 point position, or at least as close as my creaky boned, bad postured self would let me and encouraged Pete to really trot up the hill. He began to drive very effectively with his rear and picked up his back nicely the last half of our climb.
We sat at the top and aired up while I thought. Driving up the hill got him working his legs and back the way I wanted. Putting myself in a 2 point position got me out of his way and worked my legs and core. It was much more interesting than being in an arena for both of us.
So how else can I take advantage of being out of an arena and improve my show performance?
I began thinking about some of the discussions we've had recently. Spooking came to mind. Just being out alone, making my horse travel in the gaits I choose and picking a straight course along the way will help teach my horse to just go where I point him. Very simple, no tricks or buttons being pushed, no shoulders in or out, just git. As he becomes more willing to trust in my decisions he will become less reactive in the show pen.
As my ride progressed I worked on how I handle a spook in general. Because Pete really doesn't spook much I had plenty of time to think about how my horses react, how I react and what's the best way to handle both of us.
It occurred to me that a horse who is looking at something in the distance raises his head. Just because my horse stops and raises his head doesn't mean he's going to spook. It just means he's looking. Since I ride in an area rife with coyotes, bears, mountain lion and the last of the 60's era psychedelic crowd (wild Manitouites), it doesn't hurt for me to look with him.
I practiced dropping my rein hand when Pete stopped to look. Just to be on the safe side I rested my hand on the swell of my saddle to stop any reflexive rein clutching. I made myself relax. All he did was look. It was great.
In my thoughts I went a step farther. I thought about my yellow mare. I know exactly what she would do in the same situation. She would stop, look, not feel me responding and then she would scream, "OMG,OMG,OMG!!!!" She would flip her platinum mane, spin a few times at a high rate of speed and take off with a buck and a bolt.
Keep in mind, she wouldn't really be scared, it's just how she is. A molly-coddled arena baby.
I went back to our discussion on rollkur and other dubious training methods. The reining trainer in the photo I showed you was after a horse who would keep his head low and level, stay off his bit and continue to drive from the back. I did not feel this was a cruel or inhumane training method. It was an effective approach to teaching the horse to keep his head and neck level and his face supple.
At the very informative website http://www.sustainabledressage.com/ I had seen an interesting chart on how a horse's vision is affected by different head positions. By lowering our horse's heads we are limiting what he can see.
A reining horse will have to trust his rider to direct him through a pattern because if his head set is correct he won't be able to see much of the arena. He can't spook at what he isn't looking at. The horse will learn to depend on his rider, not himself, for his safety.
Which will help create the good reining horse AQHA defines as : To rein a horse is not only to guide him, but also to control his every movement. The best reined horse should be willingly guided or controlled with little or no apparent resistance and dictated to completely. Any movement on his own must be considered a lack of control. All deviations from the exact written pattern must be considered a lack of or temporary loss of control, and therefore faulted according to severity of deviation. Credit will be given for smoothness, finesse, attitude, quickness and authority in performing the various maneuvers while using controlled speed.
Great for reiners, not so great for cowhorses. We need them to see. They need to track and control a cow at a high rate of speed. They need to think. With us or without us. Somebody back in the comments said something about muscle twitch response? About it being higher in our twitchy little cow horses than in other horses. I would like to know more about that one.....It explains a lot.
So, my thoughts went on, if I could get my yellow mare out on the trail, give her time to look, but trained on her in a way that would limit her sight when I didn't get the reaction from her I wanted (as in deal with it), could I teach her to trust me to work through something scary by lowering her head and driving her? Hmmmm.
I do know, if I could get a conditioned response on the trail of take a look, then keep on going in the needed direction or I'll work you like a reiner, I would about eliminate all my arena problems.
About then Pete got bored so we went up a few more hills. In a few weeks I think I'll practice driving him towards his bit for a few strides, on then off, as we go up the hill. I'll take his face from side to side and soften his body when I don't like his behavior. It will be interesting to see what comes of this.
In my thinking on just that one ride I rifled through the file I'm building in my mind from the things I'm learning on this blog. I thought of riding simply with a purpose like a roper, driving with my legs and head position from dressage, keeping my horse light and responsive with almost no weight on my bit like a good spade bit horse and threw in the two point just for grins.
I would like to keep going with this thought process. I would really like to know the purpose behind some training methods, without getting into the abuse. I mean, is rollkur abusive in any context? Or can it be a tool used in moderation to benefit the horse? Can I use some pleasure horse training methods to get my horse to pick up his back? How else do I use the trail to train for the arena?
You guys now have a peek into my wacky brain. I can be a total pain in the ass to ride with because I'm like this most of the time.
My question right now? How can I use hill work to become better in the show pen? If we all get in on this it could get really fun.
HorseofCourse- What kind of shoes are you using on your horse? I saw pictures of you working in the snow on a shod horse with no snow-pack, what gives?
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