Know When to be Small
I won’t sugarcoat it. Rain was a pain in the ass. Since the day she arrived for training, she had been tearing the place up. She wouldn’t stand tied without pulling. She would rear, she would kick, she would head butt if you got too close. I had to get the burrs out of her mane and coat and brush her, but, if I got too close to her front end, she would strike and paw. When I got to her side, she would lash her head towards me to head butt. If I crossed her shoulder with the brush, she would swish her tail angrily and cow kick. She was going to make DARN sure I understood her message. “Stay away from me.” This was a mare who had zero interest in making a new friend.
My task was to prepare her as a saddle horse. The strategy I devised involved tackling one undesirable behavior at a time. The cross ties occupied her front end, so I decided the cow kicking should be the first to go. I don’t mind a horse showing me her emotions. I appreciated her honesty. If I cause her distress, and she takes the weight off the back foot to show me what she’s thinking about, I can respect that, and change my presentation. However, it is never ok for her to swing at me, so that needed to go. Later, it was the maddening pawing which was addressed, and finally, the head butting. We worked on it in stages, and for the most part, she settled down, but on her extra grumpy days, she would offer a trick or two, just to let you know it was still on her mind. The first week here was a getting-to-know-you week, full of button pushing and boundary testing. Each of us needed to get to know each other, discover what acceptable intercourse was, and what was not.
The crazy thing was, she liked to do the work. Heading into week two, I discovered Rain had a superior work ethic. Once out of the staging area, I could take her to the arena, and we progressed surprisingly rapidly through some in-hand exercises. Sure, she’d let you know what kind of mood she was in, but once acknowledged, she was actually an extremely attentive pupil. She would notice the slightest changes of my body or hand, and know just when to step forward, when to fall back, how to match my pace and energy. Every twitch my body made meant something to her. Her gaze would follow mine. At five years of age, she had a level of focus not found in younger horses. She was delightful to work with, and seemed to look forward to in-hand work as much as I did.
By the end of week two, things were going extremely well, and I began some mounted work. She did not object to my mounting, and we spent the first week and a half getting alone very well. Circles left, circles right, stops, departs, backing. I began introducing some lateral work, wondering if that was going to be ok with her….and it was. It turns out the thing she didn’t like so well was not any particular movement. It was when I schooled, dismounted, then remounted, that she felt violated. Apparently one ride in a day was acceptable. Dismounting, walking away for a while, and coming back to re-mount…..that was asking more of her than she wanted to give. I found this out the hard way. As I lie on the ground watching her buck away, I thought, “Oh good. Now I know what she’ll do when I’ve asked too much. Greeeat.”
The next several days of lessons were a challenge. Three times I hit the ground, and I was having no luck resolving her resistances. How could something that had been going so well become such a fight? I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I’m not into horse wrestling. I’m not a cowboy; don’t bet on me at the rodeo. But somehow, someway, I had to convince her to accept a rider. That’s what I had been paid to do, after all! Unfortunately, this set about a sequence of planning, of action, which had more to do with “winning this fight” than it had to do with “making it ok” for the horse to accept me as a rider. I began the flexions, left and right, and doubling, even though I was well aware of the controversial effects of Baucher's first manner of training. I had a job to get through, and damnit, I was going to get that job done.
But honestly, I liked this horse, and felt shame after using a manner of training I believed to be coarse. So, after each session, I put her into cross ties, unsaddled, and proceeded to give her a thorough brushing and back massage. The first day of doing this, I saw a remarkable change in this horse. She dropped her head, let out a big, long sigh, and went to chewing. I thought, “Hmmm….maybe I can let her choose. We can do this the tough way, or the nice way. Maybe she can decide which way she’d rather spend her time with me?”
My task was to prepare her as a saddle horse. The strategy I devised involved tackling one undesirable behavior at a time. The cross ties occupied her front end, so I decided the cow kicking should be the first to go. I don’t mind a horse showing me her emotions. I appreciated her honesty. If I cause her distress, and she takes the weight off the back foot to show me what she’s thinking about, I can respect that, and change my presentation. However, it is never ok for her to swing at me, so that needed to go. Later, it was the maddening pawing which was addressed, and finally, the head butting. We worked on it in stages, and for the most part, she settled down, but on her extra grumpy days, she would offer a trick or two, just to let you know it was still on her mind. The first week here was a getting-to-know-you week, full of button pushing and boundary testing. Each of us needed to get to know each other, discover what acceptable intercourse was, and what was not.
The crazy thing was, she liked to do the work. Heading into week two, I discovered Rain had a superior work ethic. Once out of the staging area, I could take her to the arena, and we progressed surprisingly rapidly through some in-hand exercises. Sure, she’d let you know what kind of mood she was in, but once acknowledged, she was actually an extremely attentive pupil. She would notice the slightest changes of my body or hand, and know just when to step forward, when to fall back, how to match my pace and energy. Every twitch my body made meant something to her. Her gaze would follow mine. At five years of age, she had a level of focus not found in younger horses. She was delightful to work with, and seemed to look forward to in-hand work as much as I did.
By the end of week two, things were going extremely well, and I began some mounted work. She did not object to my mounting, and we spent the first week and a half getting alone very well. Circles left, circles right, stops, departs, backing. I began introducing some lateral work, wondering if that was going to be ok with her….and it was. It turns out the thing she didn’t like so well was not any particular movement. It was when I schooled, dismounted, then remounted, that she felt violated. Apparently one ride in a day was acceptable. Dismounting, walking away for a while, and coming back to re-mount…..that was asking more of her than she wanted to give. I found this out the hard way. As I lie on the ground watching her buck away, I thought, “Oh good. Now I know what she’ll do when I’ve asked too much. Greeeat.”
The next several days of lessons were a challenge. Three times I hit the ground, and I was having no luck resolving her resistances. How could something that had been going so well become such a fight? I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I’m not into horse wrestling. I’m not a cowboy; don’t bet on me at the rodeo. But somehow, someway, I had to convince her to accept a rider. That’s what I had been paid to do, after all! Unfortunately, this set about a sequence of planning, of action, which had more to do with “winning this fight” than it had to do with “making it ok” for the horse to accept me as a rider. I began the flexions, left and right, and doubling, even though I was well aware of the controversial effects of Baucher's first manner of training. I had a job to get through, and damnit, I was going to get that job done.
But honestly, I liked this horse, and felt shame after using a manner of training I believed to be coarse. So, after each session, I put her into cross ties, unsaddled, and proceeded to give her a thorough brushing and back massage. The first day of doing this, I saw a remarkable change in this horse. She dropped her head, let out a big, long sigh, and went to chewing. I thought, “Hmmm….maybe I can let her choose. We can do this the tough way, or the nice way. Maybe she can decide which way she’d rather spend her time with me?”
The second day of this went even better. A good massage, some focused body work on specific areas, and out came some big sighs, deep breaths, yawns and more chewing. This horse was seriously letting down, letting go of tensions within. After each day of massage, I approached her face, could see the change in her eye, and for the first time in her stay with me, was willing to participate in some breath sharing with me. The successive rides were considerably better.
Rain taught me something very important which I hadn’t understood before working with her. It isn’t strength or firmness which conforms horses. It is meekness, humility, which they responded to, if we offer it. I wasn’t in the habit of making horses work for me, and it made me uncomfortable to try to do so. For some reason, they usually wanted to work with me, chose to work with me, and that is something no amount of gadgetry or muscle could ever do. Even an educated equestrian can use some review on the importance of listening and compassion, from time to time. This is the lesson Rain tactfully, explicitly, and honestly gave to me.
4.20.12 TME
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