Q's and A's

Pines4equines says-All of a sudden, I had the idea, even if the pack of horses gets ahead of me, I halted him, backed him. Sometimes nice and soft, sometimes harshly depending on how harshly he was treating me. IT was like night and day in his behavior change! Is there something to this backing that's maybe the secret ingredient? Please explain.



This worked for you because you created specific movement away from the other horses and are giving him a command that will refocus him. Instead of hanging on his face you made him back when he pulled against your hands. So the discipline was a specific command, back, instead of simply pulling or holding. I think the worst thing a person can do is take a hold of a horse's face without a specific command in mind.

This can work (like it did for you), but sometimes making a horse back on the trail will cause them to panic and rear.

I will half-pass my horse a few steps left, then right,then left, etc. until he is soft in my hands and focused on me, then release my reins and let him go again, rinse and repeat, until he's where I want him. This makes him slow and focus, but doesn't actually take him away from the herd, so it keeps the anxiety down.

If backing works, than go for it.



Endurance Granny says-My question is about the "death trot". I'm struggling with my arabian mare on rating. She has a go-a-holic trot...I'm desperately wanting her nice little ground work trot to occur under saddle. You know, the nice little soft pitty pat trot that doesn't rattle your teeth. Would you care to help an aspiring endurance rider smooth out the trot? I'd be ever so grateful. I find myself all to often in the reins, as she pushes faster and faster. I need a loose rein, and a collected trot.



I work on rate initially in the arena or in an area both my horse and I feel safe in. I ask for the trot and the second it gets bumpy or unpleasant I pull my outside rein (rail side) and turn the horse the other way. I pull hard enough to make the turn unpleasant, but I'm not tearing up the horse's mouth either.I just want to pull hard enough to pull my horse out of the death trot, change the direction of her feet and her forward motion.
I immediately relax my rein and ask for the trot again. As soon as she gets bumpy I pull and go the other way again.
Eventually, my horse will hesitate before slamming into the horrifying trot, because I have been yanking her around every time she sped up.
When I feel the hesitation I'll give her a big "Good Girl!" and pat on the neck then just sit quiet until the trot speeds up again, then I'll pull her around again. I keep this up until she'll hesitate or slow down for at least a couple of steps from just a lift of my rein before she speeds up again. Then I quit for the day.
If I practice consistently and religiously she will learn to hold a steady trot.
The key here is to expect your horse to beat you to the punch and slow down before you pull her around. I am very slow with my hand when I'm doing this. I bring up my hand slow enough for at least two beats before I even make contact with her mouth.

I use this same approach to cure jiggers and chargy horses. I don't give them anything to pull against. The reins are loose until the horse goes beyond the speed I ask for, then I change the direction of their feet. I've never had it not work as long as I was consistent.

This can take awhile, it all depends on how ingrained the horse is with her expectations of being held.

Londoner-Her problem is stopping. She will stop anywhere - in the middle of a long, unfamiliar hack, at the arena door before we have set off, even in the driveway on the way back home. So I would call it napping, but with no clear direction of where she wants to nap to. The best way to get her out of it is to take my legs completely off her, or get off and lead. I would like to teach her to respond to leg pressure in these situations, as it's how she was started, but she will crow-hop and buck, sometimes rear.

This problem is pretty basic. Your horse has stopped her feet. Once her feet stop her brain stops. The key is to get her feet moving again.
If I am on a stuck horse I make standing still just about impossible. But I only focus on one foot at a time. I don't kick her directly forward with both feet. I'll kick the haunch over, move a shoulder, rattle my reins back and forth, push a rib, ask for a half pass, turn a step or two into a turn on the forehand.I'm not particularly nice about it on a horse I know well enough to get after, but I'm careful with one who will buck or rear.
If she's rearing I kick over her hindquarters first, which will drop her down on her front end again. If she's crow-hopping I get the shoulders moving to get her rocked back on her hindquarters. I also make a lot of noise.
The key is to get all parts of her moving and make it uncomfortable until she steps forward.
The second she moves forward I relax, look forward and assume she's going to be good from now on. If she's not I do it again.

That's all I've got today, gotta get typin'....

Crystal, Fallon and Sonita

Crystal always had a weakness for babies. Not when they were tiny, with milk dripping from their whiskery muzzle as they peered from under their mother's tail. Crystal didn't fall for them when their baby coat began to fall away to reveal their true color either.

Crystal fell for the weanlings who raced in a wild herd around her. Her tender heart went out to the rowdy little boogers who were still sure the world was theirs.

She loved their curiosity and timid gestures of friendship. Crystal even loved the mischievous nips and carelessly thrown kicks from impudent colts and fillies who had no thought of halter, bit or saddle.

Which is how Crystal ended up with Fallon.

Fallon was slim-legged and delicate. She was a fairy-like filly with big eyes and a dished face. The little filly with a deep chestnut coat was a surprising stand-out from her solid boned, coarse headed brothers and sisters.

Crystal had said she was done with babies. She had bought her good Arab/Quarter gelding, James (his registered name is Bond, James Bond), as a yearling and had invested heavily in his training. He had become a solid minded citizen, but not without a lot of work, patience and money.

"Next time I'll buy a broke horse," she swore, "for what James cost to train I could buy a good one."

Of course that was before she met Fallon.

Crystal bought her and then kicked herself in the butt pretty regularly for doing it. When she brought her to me for training as a two-year-old she kicked herself in the butt and started writing checks too. Oh well.

Fallon broke out fairly easy, except for only running backwards for the first three or four rides. She was flighty and sensitive, but showed a lot of promise. Crystal took regular lessons and kept up with her filly's progress.

When Fallon turned three we started her rein work and a little bit of cow work. She was capable and willing with enough spook and blow to keep her interesting.

Crystal took her out on the trails and worked through many of Fallon's fear issues. It was starting to look like Fallon would make a decent show horse.

I got to show Fallon for the first time in the spring of her 4-year-old year. She looked at her cow in the herd work and ran a clean and decent reining pattern. She handled the chaos of a NRCHA, AQHA, NRHA combined show and was calm and relaxed about being stalled for the first time. She out-scored Sonita in her reining. Crystal was happy, excited and proud.

Her little filly had the makings of a competitive cowhorse.

One night I got a late call from Crystal.

"Hey Crystal, what's up?" I asked.

"Fallon's colicked. The vet is going to do surgery," Crystal's voice was shaking and I could feel her pain and tears through the phone.

"How can Norm do surgery? He's not set up for it. I'd think he'd send you to Littleton Large," I said.

Our vet was great and reliable but had a mobile practice. I was a little confused.

"I couldn't get a hold of Norm, so I'm using one of the boarder's vet, Dr. Death" she told me..

Of course that wasn't his real name, or the name Crystal gave me. It was the name this clown had earned after several botched cases where the only common thread was a dead horse at the end of the story. He was notorious for jumping into colic surgery.

I became very still.

"What's wrong?" Crystal asked.

"I think surgery is pretty drastic, I'd sure want Norm to look at her."

"I don't know what to do, he's prepping right now."

Interfering with a client's choice about a serious issue like this one is a treacherous road. As her trainer I knew I could influence Crystal easily. If Fallon died because I stopped her from operating on her filly it would weigh on my shoulders for the rest of my life. I stayed silent, trying to decide what to do.

"What would you do if it was your horse?" Crystal almost begged.

The panic and pain in her voice tore me apart. Crystal was my friend. Friends say what they feel, at least the good ones do, even if the outcome isn't ideal.

"If it was me, I would load my horse up and head for Littleton Large, I would trust the vets there to help me make an intelligent choice. I would feel safe there," I said in a rush.

"But Dr. Death said she could never survive the trip!"

I could tell Crystal was crying now.

"Crystal, why did you call me?" I asked as gently as I could.

"I don't really know," she said.

"If you called me because you have a gut feeling this man shouldn't operate on your horse, than go to Littleton Large. If you called me because you've made your decision and need support than I'll come out there and help you."

Crystal took Fallon to Littleton Large. The veterinarians listened to Fallon's gut, did some blood work and told her surgery might give the suffering little horse a 10% chance of survival.

Crystal had Fallon put down that morning. She told me she was done with babies.

............................................................................................................................................................

Two years later, I was at the barn, saddling my second shift of horses. Crystal was hanging out, grooming Sonita for me and visiting.

"I've been thinking," she said.

There was something about her voice that gave me pause. I turned around and looked at her.

Crystal's eyes were huge, her face pale and strained. She tangled her fingers in Sonita's mane. Sonita jerked her head up and pinned her ears.

"I think I want to buy Sonita," she said.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

Crystal drew in a deep, quavering breath, "Yes. I'm sure. I can give you a down payment now. We're taking out a loan. I can pay off the balance when you get back from the Worlds."

Good enough. I had sold my horse.

Wordy Wednesday

Here's a great new Wordy Wednesday. I love these stories. I'll try to have my next Sonita post by Thurs. night or Friday......


What We Do for Love!

It was the third evening of my first wilderness pack trip. We'd had a lot of adventure, so we went to bed pretty early -- about 9:30 p.m. Sleep was quick to come and I crossed my fingers that the day's ride was enough to keep Maxine quiet for the night. If only! At some point in the night, I was roused by nervous pawing.

I rolled over and asked Travis what time it was. I prayed that it was at least 5:00 a.m. so that I would have an excuse to start her breakfast to quiet her down. Travis checked his watch and replied, "It's 11:00 p.m."

WHAT!?! IT'S ONLY 11:00 P.M.!?! ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME!?!

Tired and groggy, I rolled out of the tent and walked to Maxine's clearing. The nearly full moon flooded the wilderness, so I could see without a flashlight. A strong wind had come up -- the haunting tree-top wind that brings monsters and ghouls from lands far away. I looked at Maxine. She was calm in my presence, but I could see fear in her eyes. "Momma, how could you leave me tied here, alone, as bait for a cougar or whatever creature might be lurking in the shadows?"

My heart sank.

I turned to walk back to the tent. As soon as I passed the trees, Max started to fuss again. I knew what I had to do...

"Psst. Give me my sleeping bag," I said to Travis.

"What?"

"Give me my sleeping bag," I repeated. "She's scared and I can't leave her up there alone. She might tie herself up again. I'm going to sleep with her."

"Do you have to?"

"Yes, I do."

I quickly returned to Maxine's clearing -- sleeping bag in one hand, chair in the other. "This is nuts," I thought, as I placed the chair near her head, hopped in my sleeping bag, and settled in. Fortunately, my sleeping bag unzips from the bottom, so I was able to stick my feet out (in case I needed to get away in a hurry).

With the bag warmly over my head and flashlight in hand, I closed my eyes to get some sleep. Max stood quietly above me, making happy mule sounds.

I wish I could say that we fell asleep then and there, but that wasn't the case. Max was quiet but still very aware of her surroundings. Every so often, she'd freeze, staring into the woods behind us.

Now, the sensible part of my brain knew that there was nothing to be scared of. We weren't in bear country and it was highly unlikely that a cougar would attack a giant blue worm in the middle of the night. Still, I was surrounded by darkness and the unknown, so I wasn't quite so sure about my safety.

I drifted in and out of sleep for about an hour. Then, at about 12:30 p.m., Maxine locked on something in the distance. Something was walking toward us -- an animal that sounded to be about 120 to 150 pounds. I froze, cursing myself for bringing my flashlight but leaving my knife safely in the tent.

The animal came closer.

"Sit or stand?" I thought. "Sit or stand?"

Finally, it was too close for comfort. I leapt from my chair and shined my light into the forest. The animal gave out an eery cry, "Eeeugh!" It turned and headed further into the forest. It cried again, this time from a much greater distance. I stood frozen for a moment, then I looked around at Maxine. She dropped her head and began quietly licking and chewing. Content the creature was leaving, I returned to my chair and sunk lower in my sleeping bag.

Personal observation: I never did see what crossed our path that night, and no one else heard our visitor except my husband Travis (so I'm not completely insane). The general consensus amongst the group the next day is that it was a deer that was headed to the lake for a midnight drink. Mom had seen a doe in the area twice, so it made sense. Travis and I later listened to some deer sounds online, and it's quite possible that it's what we heard. Deer or not, it was creepy as hell in the middle of the night!

I woke up again around 2:00 a.m. The wind had died down and the moon was about 20 minutes from dropping beyond the horizon. I knew it would be really dark soon and I'd be much happier if I were safe in the tent. I'm not sure why I feel safer behind a millimeter of nylon, but I do.

Maxine was sleeping soundly, so I tip-toed to the tent. I waited for her to stir as I unzipped the door, but she remained quiet. I happily snuggled up next to Travis, who hadn't gotten much sleep either. He was too busy worrying about me.

Exhausted, I was soon in dreamland.

Of course, this was just one adventure from "The Pack Trip from Hell." You can read about the rest on my blog, Mule Musings, at http://crowguys.blogspot.com/.

I hope you enjoyed my story!