Artificial Training Devices

I'm not planning an assault on all Natural Horsemen, (well, maybe a little one).
I do have some thoughts on the dreaded artificial training devices, so heavily sneered at by many, if not most of the NH proponents out there.
My first thought is this. Since when is ANYTHING we do to these horses natural?
From the minute we yank them off the prairie and toss them into our five acre lil' piece of heaven, the horse's life is no longer natural.
Whether you choose a leather break away halter, a rope halter, or a My Way Or The Highway Training Systems specially approved Loving Mothers Arms Gentle Restraining Device, you are still using an artificial training device.
I have long worked with the philosophy that every horse needs to be given the best chance of survival we can possibly give it.
A good nature, willing attitude, wonderful, respectful ground manners, and an ability to tolerate whatever dumb bunny throws a leg over it, will give even the ugliest mutt of a horse a better chance at living until retirement age.
I have studied, and used a lot of Ray Hunt, and John Lyons, among others. I also have dug my way into the professional show trenches.
When I have the luxury of time, I still take tiny steps in the development of my horses. I carefully craft their behavior and ability with only my legs and hands.
My horses usually stay in a ring snaffle, or hackamore (bosal) until they are six years old.
Then reality comes crashing down on my head.
In my job I routinely get horses in that are a total mess, for thirty to sixty days. I have to perform stinking miracles in an extremely short amount of time.
Half of those horses have owners who simply drop them off, and come pick them up again when their time is up.
They don't take a single lesson, even though they are included with the training.
They pick them up, take them home and ride them, think I'm a genius, screw them up again, and bring them back the next year.
That's what we trainers call job security.
I am guilty of using running martingales, draw reins, and braided mouthpiece snaffles.
I try to only use these things long enough to show the horse what I'm asking.
Draw reins, usually ten minutes on, ten minutes off.
Running martingales, properly adjusted, don't bother me much. I have them long enough that they only catch them if they throw their head.
I'll ride with a braided mouth piece one day on, one day off. The horse gets to pick which one he prefers. It's amazing how quick they decide on the smooth mouth piece.
Remember, the owner created these messes. Or bought them this way. Or didn't research their last trainer well enough. (I rarely recommend the feed store guy's, Aunt Charlottes, second cousin)
I have been given a finite time to fix them.
I do my best. I try to be smart, and safe. I'll use those devices. I'll do whatever it takes to give those horses the best chance I can. They deserve the best I can give, even if it's only thirty days.

Horse Whispering in Maui

OMG.
I am so chucking this training crap and becoming a horse whisperer. I found a guy that does clinics in the mountains of Colorado, and also in Maui.
I have no idea if he is any good.
I have no idea if I would be any good.
I just have to convince someone in Maui that I'm good.
I'm gonna pick my five good things to teach and start up my whispering.
I looked this guy up.
He's dapper. He has a really cool hat.
His really cool shirt had lots of shiny buttons on it.
He wears his gloves tucked into his chinks.
I bet he had a duster for when it gets cold.
He has a round pen, and a flag.
Most of his clinics leave riding as an option.
OK, I need to be fair here.
I read some of his training tips. He seems good minded, like he knows his stuff.
He generously answers questions sent to him.
He'll be quick to tell somebody to get professional help if it's a dangerous situation.
Maybe I'm just jealous.
I wear faded Walmart Wranglers until they fall off me in shreds.
I've just switched to my "spring" flannel, a cheaper weight of shirt than my "winter" flannel.
My cool hat is the inevitable sweat stained baseball cap you see on every eastern Colorado head.
I'm pretty geeky looking. A little lumberjackish.
I would still love to whisper in Maui though.
Maybe I should get some chinks.

Ride like Ben Cartwright

I have had some interesting reading the last few days.

I've been cruising around the fuglyhorseoftheday blog. A huge discussion has been going on about calming the dreaded "old lady nerves" we all seem to be incapable of ducking.

The older I get, one of the biggest problems I have seems to be my tendency to pick. I want the head just so, the line of travel to be dead on, the shape of my colts bodies to be in a beautiful, perfect "C" as we learn to bend.

I feel safest when all of those things are in place.

If I'm being honest, I feel safest when my poor little horses are locked tightly between my knees and my hands.

I fight my picking habits more and more as I age.

A few weeks ago I was stuck home for a few days, wildly sick with a horrible flu.

All I could manage was to lay on my recliner and watch CRAPTV. My favorite no brainer channel.

I was happily watching Bonanza.

I couldn't help myself, my trainer brain kicked in.

I'm not talking about the urge to laugh at the high headed, wildly tossing, often rearing stuff. That's how they were riding on TV then.

I was watching how those ponies were trained.

The first thing I noticed is that every horse went where it was pointed, every time. It didn't matter whether Little Joe knew how to ride or not. (Which in the earlier episodes he definitely DID NOT)

If somebody needed to lope through that arroyo, they pointed that horse at it, and off they loped. Perfectly framed in the shot.

Those horses put their feet where they were supposed to, every single step. At the speed they were asked to. No legs were in use by the riders that I could ever see.

Those horses walked, jogged soft enough to make ol' Hoss look like he knew what was up, and loped from a stand still. All the second they were told to, and they still looked reasonably happy.

How many of us can say that about our horses? I know my own arena babies often forget exactly what it means to simply head off into the sunset.

If you had seen my first run down in my dry work at my last show, you would understand why this meant a lot to me.

I would love to talk to some of those T.V. wranglers. I'd like to pick their brains. But I couldn't find any on the Internet.

Instead, when I went back to work I decided to ride like Ben Cartwright. I started with my broke ones, and progressed down to my babies.

No circles, no leg yields, no collection.

I just pointed them off somewhere, threw out my reins, and expected them to git.

I say "git" because I think that's how Ben would say it.

Did they git, you ask?

Yes they did.

I rode like that for a week.

My boss thought I was still burning with the fever, so I made her do it too.

We can git really far at my job because I'm out on the prairie.

What happened was all of my horses, broke to not so broke, had a blast.

They started to travel straight and true. Their leg coordination picked up considerably. They moved with more confidence and grace.

I on the other hand about had a stroke for the first few days. Unlike Ben, I didn't have a stunt double, so I had to suck it up.

Because I was scaring the crap out of myself, I had to give myself a few rules.

First, I couldn't check their speed, I could only steer left or right. With my hands. No legs. No pulling.

Soon I found out why you point them towards the arroyo. It slows them down.

Surprise, surprise, after a few days all of my horses began to go only at the speed I asked them for.

Once they quit worrying about what I was up to they started to relax and enjoy themselves. One interesting note, the rowdiest ones were also the brokest.

My best horse, my personal horse, my trained to the nines, two rein competitor, got pretty darn wacky. She loved the no restraint on the speed deal. She wiggled, she wobbled, she skittered, she bucked (the little rat), and then she ran. She thought this was going to be the paybacks of all paybacks.

Until we got a few miles out (yes indeedy, it's a big prairie) and she found out I still expected her to go where I pointed. In and out of dry creek beds, across fields, along sandy berms by dirt roads, whatever.

She got herself together, quit trying to mess with me, and started looking around with interest.
She started going exactly where I pointed her. At the speed I asked. I had to push her up into the next gear, and she'd slow as soon as I deepened my seat.

This was way too much fun to be a training tool. But it became one. It helped me remember how much fun it is to just ride. How good for both our brains. Don't tell anybody, but I may have ki-yi-yied a time or two. I had to trust my horses. They didn't let me down, not a one. My mare was the only one that bucked, and she was just goofing.

We should all ride like Ben Cartwright. At least once in a while. Now I remember why I rode so well as a kid. I had a bad case of the go fast. I loved my horse. I was getting my first taste of freedom. I just rode. Yippee ki yi yi!