Horses and Depression

I'm in a decent frame of mind right now.

Because I'm feeling this side of perky, which for me means being willing to poke a wasp nest with a stick, I thought I'd bring up a subject I've done a lot of thinking about over the years. I haven't talked about this on the blog, or anywhere really, except with a very few close friends. I'm talking the Big D, the blues, melancholia (my favorite) or as is commonly known, depression. 

During my fifteen or so years in the field of horse training and riding instruction, I noticed horses attract a lot of people with various brain induced issues. ADD folks love horses, abuse victims are often drawn to them, and many people suffering from various levels of depression find relief in owning, riding, or just petting a quiet horse.

I'm one of them. It wasn't until I was an adult that I even knew I had a problem. When I finally understood what was going on, I was firmly convinced my depression came from environmental causes. Which for me, meant taking a much closer look at my life, both past and present, deciding which of my problems were out of my control and which were not, and doing something about the ones I could.

During this phase of self-discovery, I became a better person, stronger, kinder, and more in control of my destiny, but I didn't get better. Every stinking time I took one of those "Are You Depressed?" tests I always ended up in the red zone. You know the ones I mean, after I added up my points I was supposed to turn myself in RIGHT NOW because I was absolutely frigging looney tunes.

Then I found out I had Parkinson's Disease (PD). One of the first things I learned was that depression is one of the gifts graciously given to people with PD (PPD) from our dopamine destroying brains. It's gift that keeps on giving too. It has been recently found that depression can be a primary symptom of PD and been screwing with PPD for years before diagnosis. Medication helps, but it's a problem I'll more than likely get to play with for the rest of my life.

My thoughts were, Fine. I'll accept and deal, after all, I've been dealing for years. 

I stepped up, got in therapy, took my meds and kept on trucking.

Then one day, I read this lovely little missive on a blog (everything I want to stick in your brain is printed in blue).

------ " Please raise your hand if you have ever been significantly depressed and genuinely wanted to curl up and die or even seriously thought about ending it all, but instead, because you are responsible, got off your butt and fed your kids and/or your horses and went to work anyway. My hand is up. I bet most of your hands are, too. I simply do not believe that any significant portion of society suffers from depression so crippling that they cannot function at all.  Most of us have the ability to kick ourselves in the ass and get moving again, and most of us do just that.  Bear in mind, I am not saying that catatonic levels of depression do not exist – just that they are rare, and that too often, depression is an excuse for lying around like a lump not even trying to improve your life or live up to your responsibilities.  (Cue flaming from people who do not understand this paragraph and will feel the need to write 2000 words on their horrible depression and how I just don’t get it)." -- 

My first reaction was overwhelming guilt and a sense of worthlessness. Why? Well, that's what we depression patients do, right?

Plus, in the past, I have neglected both my family and my animals.

I was busted, outed, caught red-handed trying to shove my dirty little secret deep into my pocket.

I justified the neglect I had allowed to take place, I never had child or animal  services show up at my door and talk with me, issue a citation or take away those nearest and dearest to my heart. 

My justification wasn't working for me though, I am not one to let myself ever catch a break. Also, I have a basic premise I have lived by for years and still believe firmly in, many of you have read this before. 

There are always reasons, but never excuses.

My responsibility was to learn the most I could about myself, physically, mentally and chemically, and make sure I had the tools to take care of those most important to me --no matter where my head was on any given day. I started with making sure I understood what my diagnosis meant. Here's some information I think is crucial when it comes to understanding what's going on.

The Merck Manual - for health care professionals

Major depression: Periods (episodes) that include mental or physical symptoms and are classified as major depression. One of the symptoms must be sadness deep enough to be described as despondency or despair (often called depressed mood) or loss of interest or pleasure in usual activities (anhedonia). Other mental symptoms include feelings of worthlessness or guilt, recurrent thoughts of death or suicide, and a reduced ability to concentrate. Physical symptoms include changes in weight or appetite, loss of energy, fatigue, psychomotor retardation or agitation, and sleep disorders (insomnia, hypersomnia, early morning awakening). Patients may appear miserable, with tearful eyes, furrowed brows, down-turned corners of the mouth, slumped posture, poor eye contact, lack of facial expression, little body movement, and speech changes (soft voice, lack of prosody, use of monosyllabic words). Appearance may be confused with Parkinson's disease. In some patients, depressed mood is so deep that tears dry up; they report that they are unable to experience usual emotions and feel that the world has become colorless and lifeless. Nutrition may be severely impaired, requiring immediate intervention. Some depressed patients neglect personal hygiene or even their children, other loved ones, or pets.

National Institute of Mental Health

Major Depressive Disorder (MDD) :

MDD is the leading cause of disability in the U.S. for ages 15-44

MDD affects approximately 14.8 million American adults, or about 6.7 percent of the U.S. population age 18 and older in a given year

While MDD can develop at any age, the median age at onset is 32

MDD is more prevalent in women more than men

Definition of Depression from the World Health Organization (WHO)

“Depression is a common mental disorder that presents with depressed mood, loss of interest or pleasure, feelings of guilt or low self-worth, disturbed sleep or appetite, low energy, and poor concentration. These problems can become chronic or recurrent and lead to substantial impairments in an individuals ability to take care of his or her everyday responsibilities.At its worst, depression can lead to suicide, a tragic fatality associated with the loss of about 850 000 thousand lives every year.” 

Definition of Depression from MedicineNet.com
“... A depressive disorder is not the same as a passing blue mood. It is not a sign of personal weakness or a condition that can be wished away. People with a depressive disease cannot merely "pull themselves together" and get better. Without treatment, symptoms can last for weeks, months, or years. Appropriate treatment, however, can help most people with depression.” 

My next, much healthier reaction to the blog post was F#$@%^*# A##H^&#@!
                                                
Obviously this woman had never been in the pits of a dark depression. The insult of being lumped in the same group as animal abusers and crazy hoarders was incredibly stupid and cruel.

Uneducated rants like hers don't help anybody, they just feed the fire of ignorance by choice.

So how do I fight back, when all I want to do is crawl into bed and hate myself?

I started therapy, to help me delve into the intricacies of depression and how it affected me. I'm a very private person, therapy is excruciating for me. I didn't have a history of talking about my worries and fears with anyone, especially myself. I stuck with it though.

The next phase for me was learning to let go of my own snap judgments. I worked hard on finding kindness and sympathy, even if I had to fake it. I'll be darned if I didn't begin to understand that most angry people were scared. 

Training horses began to change for me. I went deep, worked hard to understand my relationship with horses and theirs with me. Then I let it all go and began to work without all the baggage. My horses got better and better.I got more accomplished with them than ever before in a much shorter time frame.

I began to find balance. 

Am I all better? No. But I'm working on it.

Now, back to my no excuses rule.

Depression is a fact in my life. It is my REASON for letting things fall down around my ears. It is not an EXCUSE. It doesn't matter if my depression gets better or not, I can't let it effect the well-being of my family or animals. Here's where I'm at to keep them protected, even if I end up bat-shit-crazy someday.

1. Learn to recognize the symptoms of an oncoming bout of depression.
This is different from person to person. My first warning signs are when I'd rather eat raw cookie dough than cook dinner and not maintaining my fish tank.
2. Talk about it. 
You don't have to tell the world, just someone you can count on to keep an eye on you and knows who to contact. 
3.. Have help lined up to step in when you are heading into a depressive state.
This can be a good friend stopping by to ask the kids what they had for dinner, or to see if your housekeeping has changed. Maybe a relative can be available to check in and take over some of the responsibilities that are suddenly overwhelming you. Have temporary help available to feed and care for your animals. 
4. Therapy, therapy, therapy.
 Make damn sure a medical professional knows what's happening.
5. Be Prepared
Get your ducks in a row when you are mentally in a good place, not wallowing in the blues.

Now that I have these precautions in place I don't worry about letting those in my care down, at least not as much. I know being prepared has helped me be more honest with myself. It's definitely made my over-loaded backpack easier to carry. I have also found a third reaction to the writer of that horrid post, sympathy. Does she scream with such anger and judgement because she's hiding from her own night terrors?
I don't know, and until I can ride a mile or two in her boots and spurs, I won't know. 

I do know I can ride when I'm sad and feel much, much better without the burden of guilt I carried before.

Tally

My student, Tim, the shy architect bought Tally.

They hit it off famously. She didn't mind his stiff, first year rider's seat, or the insecurity of his hands. She seemed to thrive under his gentle touch. He was amazed at her level, gliding gaits and her handle. They were a match made in heaven.

 I was terrified.

I explained how green she was, that she came from a very rough past and had a rocky start, to say the least.
Tim and Tally gazed at me with calm, happy eyes, equally incapable of comprehending what I was saying. With Tim it was because he was smitten and Tally refused to be rattled or take an uneven step with him. As far as  Tally goes, well, she was a horse.

He wanted to write me a check right there, but I insisted he lease her for sixty days first. He said fine. Then I added he needed to keep paying me to ride her at least twice a week, take lessons from me twice a week and only ride Tally while I was with him for the duration of the lease. That was fine too.

So we made our tentative deal. Tally would stay with me at my barn for the first thirty days, then we would move her down to his. I had covered every base I could think of. I had trained Tally with everything I had. She had been a rock for many weeks.

"Janet," K told me, "you are not much of a horse trader."

"I don't want to get anybody killed, that's all," I replied.

"I completely get that," K said. "It's a tough call."

Somehow he didn't make me feel any more confident.

Yet they looked beautiful together. Tim fit her, and Tally fit him. They were both small and muscled, tentative and excited. He took her for long walks, he was a hiker before the horse bug bit him, and Tally was a willing companion on the trail. I figured they were doing the ultimate desensitizing walking the trails. Tim had Tally willingly passing bikes and joggers an not flying into a wild panic as they came from behind.

I started to relax.

"Janet, I want to buy Tally now" Tim said. "We're fine, and I'd feel better if I owned her before I moved her. I want her to be at my barn."

I still hesitated.

I was looking at a situation no responsible horse trainer or dealer will let happen.

Green plus green equals black and blue, no matter how good it looks on the surface. If I was really honest, which I had been studiously avoiding, my equation was actually, green plus green plus green.
I was considered very green in the cow horse world. I was in my first year as a competitor and had never ridden horses of this caliber before. Reactive, sensitive, quick legged and quick minded, I was in a mad scramble to keep up with these horses and I had a lot of riding and training years under my belt.

Tim did not. Call Tally crazy, bad-minded, dangerous, all of that was up for debate. I truly, deep down in my gut, believed she was well on the road to recovery. She was, however, all cow horse.

What finally made me overcome my paranoia and sell the horse was the tight bond between the two. She lit up like my Grandma's birthday cake every time she saw him. Besides, Tim promised to keep up our riding schedule once they moved down the pass. I'd keep riding her and he wouldn't ride her unless I was there.

It kept getting better. Tally settled right in and their unique relationship continued to flourish. Tim was a new rider in his 40's, but he was smart, athletic and dedicated. He just kept getting better. He could sit her stops, guide her through a lead change -- and actually know if he got it -- and sit through a set of spins without getting dizzy. Tally stayed solid.

We started making plans for his first show. I would ride her in a warm up show about three hours away and if all went well, Tim was going to come with me to Amarillo for our first AQHA, NRCHA sanctioned show of the year.

I had just sat in my chair with a quart of water and a Mike's Hard Lemonade when my phone started ringing. I hadn't been home for ten minutes and I really didn't want to spend the next hour talking to a client about Fluffy's progress. Jim went to answer for me, but came out carrying the phone a few minutes later.

"It's Nancy," he said.

My mouth went dry and I didn't know if I could find the spit to talk to her. Nancy was the BO at Tim's barn.

"Janet?" She said. "We had an accident out at the arena today. Tim and Tally had quite the wreck."

Good Dog, Bad Dog...."

 Charlie, my rat terrier, is putting modern day dog trainers to shame.
Shame on you! Thump. Bad trainer! Go lay down! Click, click. Good down! Have a cookie!

I am experimenting on poor Brockle. Not really. Oh, I'm experimenting all right, but simply in how to clean up our communication.  When I see the light go on in his eyes, I know I've got it and I keep that method. If I find an even better one, I keep that on. So I don't really mean, "poor" Brockle, because, if anything, he is becoming multi-lingual.

A few days ago I was experimenting with playing tug-of-war. I already knew it was a dominance game dogs like to play with each other and their owners. I knew it simulated play over a carcass. I also understood the importance of making the dog begin and end the game on my say so.

I had outlawed the game in the house. Jim's balance is precarious and mine can be, depending on the day, so my house has become a quiet zone. No running, jumping, game playing and so forth. Quiet, gentle behavior only, with plenty of ear scratches and back rubs. The same rules apply to the dogs.

Back to tug-of-war...I had read that for everything we teach a dog they need to also learn a counter maneuver. So if I teach sit, I need to teach stand. If I teach "Quiet" I need to teach "Speak." It occurred to me, it would be wise for me to have a command for "Give," since Brockle has a high prey drive and a lightening fast reaction to protect his group. I don't quite have a handle on either of these reactions yet. I might, at some point, want to say "Give" so he'll drop the Chihuahua or mailman.

So I decided we would play tug-of-war in the backyard. I would initiate the game and make him release and quit at my request. Brockle thought this was a great idea. He had no intention of following through on my "We're done!" command though. He slitted his eyes, probably to keep the sun out of his very enlarged pupils, and dug in.

I was going to try something new, which according to my reading, was a much more effective way to train my dog. I held on to the toy, not giving an inch, but not pulling either, stood up straight and looked away.

After a few minutes, it worked.

I said, "Good dog!" and gave him a scratch.

We tried again. I said "Get it!" and the tugging commenced. I said "Give!" stood up, looked away and prepared to wait. Charlie came flying up, slammed all of his 20 muscley pounds into Brockle's shoulder, growled and snapped, and Brockle obediently gave up the toy.

Charlie looked at Brockle with a very clear, "Mind what she says, boy!" and stalked off.

We tried again. I said "Give!' to Brockle, Charlie came flying, hackles up. I said "Off!"to Charlie  this time, he skulked away, Brockle argued for a few minutes and then gave up the toy.

This went on for a while, Brockle got to where he was relinquishing the toy within 30 seconds or so, so I released him from our session and started to head towards the house.

I turned  at the door to watch Brockle play. He was flipping the tug-of-war toy in Charlie's face. Charlie ignored him for a bit, finally got  a weary, aggrieved look in his eye, stood up and grabbed it.

This should be good. Brockle is roughly three times Charlie's size.

The second Charlie felt a tug, he looked Brockle in the eye, growled once, and Brockle IMMEDIATELY dropped the toy.

That's the response I want. Dang it.

Charlie did not say "Good boy!" either. He walked around with the toy, stiff legged and hackles up, for a few seconds then dropped the toy and lay down next to it, with a meaningful glare at Brockle. Brockle looked sad, bounced around and looked cute, then gave up and left.

So yes, I'll keep reading, but I'm going to start paying a lot more attention to Charlie.

Some of my observations so far:

Dogs will lay down dogs to make a point.

Horses do not lay down horses to make their point.

The same people who cry "Animal abuse!" when a trainer lays down a dog, are the first in line at a Ken McNabb clinic to teach their horses to lay down, "because it creates a calm, cooperative state."
I'm confused.

My house has become very calm, very peaceful and very under control since Brockle came. I'm treating them as a group, or a pack, if you will, with me as their leader. Can't tell you if I'm calm, assertive or benevolent. They're learning the same rules Brockle is. They back off and sit when someone comes to the door.
They wait patiently for their meals.
Nobody bothers 9-pound Snocone while she very slowly works through her meals, even though she's the first to be given her food and the last to finish.
All dogs wait at the bottom of the stairs while people go up and at the top while people go down.
All dogs sit quietly to have their leashes put on.
No dog pulls on the leash.
All dogs sit quietly when I take off their leash and wait until I say, "Go play!" to leave.
We don't go for walks, playtime, or eat until all dogs are lying quietly and not staring at me.

I'm not adverse to using treats when what I'm teaching my dogs makes them unsure or nervous. It doesn't make me like treats, I feel like I'm using a crutch to cover up my poor dog handling skills. If I knew what I was doing, they wouldn't get upset. In the meantime, I'll use treats, but I won't be happy until I know why I'm worrying them and stop it.

Dogs feed their puppies. They play with them and tolerate quite a bit of nonsense. They cuddle them.
When the puppies grow up they quit sharing food. They play when it's appropriate, but become much less tolerant. They are still affectionate, but it's much more subtle. Status is made clear before affection happens.
I want my puppies to be puppies and my dogs to be dogs, so I'm going to think about this for a while.

I've got some fun concepts forming, and dog stories building, in the mean time, I'll get back to Tally.