Taking Care of One Another
Okauchee was a mystery to me. This fully grown 8 yr old Spanish Mustang arrived in my yard with precious little information. I was told he had been started with a trainer (I’m presuming at age three, but that’s a guess) and that he had done well for her, producing no notable stories, and then was left to pasture for the next 5 years. Basically, he was well trained in an indoor arena, but had little experience beyond that.
Because I knew so little about him, I took no chances. I started at the beginning, with ground handling and asked him to stand in cross ties. He was happy to let me pick the burs from him, and feet trimming his second day here went well. We played in the barn, got to know one another, and I found him to be a devoted Romeo. I did not see a pushy horse before me, so much as an over-affectionate horse. He was akin to the 150 pound dog who doesn’t know he’s too big to sit in your lap. He was in my pockets looking for cookies, and followed me around as I cleaned his pen, and if I rounded a corner and stepped out of sight, it broke his heart. He would call and pace frantically, awaiting my return. I would be greeted with a sigh of relief and a lick. “Oh, thank goodness! You came back for me!” he seemed to say. “Don’t leave me again!”
In-hand work went well. When I could convince him he didn’t need to be on top of me, that is. It took time and patience for him to understand it was ok to be five, or ten feet away from me. He was in cross ties daily, as I groomed him and tacked him up, and at some point he realized that I would, in fact, consistently reappear after every trip to the tack room or feed room. Pawing and calling for me wouldn’t bring me back, but patient, quiet waiting would.
The first few rides were quiet, uneventful, as I was expecting they would be. While the arena is outdoors, it's in a relatively quiet spot of the yard, and once I became comfortable with him, and him with me, I knew it was time to introduce him to the wild, wild world beyond. Honestly, it was a scary place for him. There were birds out there, and plastic baggies. “Where are the horses?” he wondered when they left our field of vision. These first few rides were limited to the yard and driveway, and were punctuated with starts and stops as he would look for this and spook from that. The serpentine became our savior, as it was the only request I could make of him he would pay attention to, which would allow me to draw his mind away from the scary thing and back to me. So, we’d serpentine down the driveway, serpentine up the driveway; sometimes at a trot, sometimes at a canter, but always in a panic.
After a couple days of this however, he settled down, his tempo steadied. He would still spook, he would still increase his speed, but his mind would flow to the serpentine, as my hand would. We would share this idea, have the same thought at the same time, and settle into the schooling pattern. It calmed him, it focused him, and it united us. However, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to leave the yard yet. Sure, the serpentine worked down the driveway and back, but what about “out there”? What would happen when we get a half mile, or mile, down the road, across a field, and he checks out again? Is the serpentine going to save us? Are we really going to be able to serpentine a mile back home? I was filled with doubt, unsure when the right time would be to take him from the yard.
As it happened, I didn’t have to ask. He told me.
Because I knew so little about him, I took no chances. I started at the beginning, with ground handling and asked him to stand in cross ties. He was happy to let me pick the burs from him, and feet trimming his second day here went well. We played in the barn, got to know one another, and I found him to be a devoted Romeo. I did not see a pushy horse before me, so much as an over-affectionate horse. He was akin to the 150 pound dog who doesn’t know he’s too big to sit in your lap. He was in my pockets looking for cookies, and followed me around as I cleaned his pen, and if I rounded a corner and stepped out of sight, it broke his heart. He would call and pace frantically, awaiting my return. I would be greeted with a sigh of relief and a lick. “Oh, thank goodness! You came back for me!” he seemed to say. “Don’t leave me again!”
In-hand work went well. When I could convince him he didn’t need to be on top of me, that is. It took time and patience for him to understand it was ok to be five, or ten feet away from me. He was in cross ties daily, as I groomed him and tacked him up, and at some point he realized that I would, in fact, consistently reappear after every trip to the tack room or feed room. Pawing and calling for me wouldn’t bring me back, but patient, quiet waiting would.
The first few rides were quiet, uneventful, as I was expecting they would be. While the arena is outdoors, it's in a relatively quiet spot of the yard, and once I became comfortable with him, and him with me, I knew it was time to introduce him to the wild, wild world beyond. Honestly, it was a scary place for him. There were birds out there, and plastic baggies. “Where are the horses?” he wondered when they left our field of vision. These first few rides were limited to the yard and driveway, and were punctuated with starts and stops as he would look for this and spook from that. The serpentine became our savior, as it was the only request I could make of him he would pay attention to, which would allow me to draw his mind away from the scary thing and back to me. So, we’d serpentine down the driveway, serpentine up the driveway; sometimes at a trot, sometimes at a canter, but always in a panic.
After a couple days of this however, he settled down, his tempo steadied. He would still spook, he would still increase his speed, but his mind would flow to the serpentine, as my hand would. We would share this idea, have the same thought at the same time, and settle into the schooling pattern. It calmed him, it focused him, and it united us. However, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to leave the yard yet. Sure, the serpentine worked down the driveway and back, but what about “out there”? What would happen when we get a half mile, or mile, down the road, across a field, and he checks out again? Is the serpentine going to save us? Are we really going to be able to serpentine a mile back home? I was filled with doubt, unsure when the right time would be to take him from the yard.
As it happened, I didn’t have to ask. He told me.
We were walking near the barn, and this time, the spook was big. I felt the weight and power shift to his back end, his front end leave the ground, and the beginning of a pivot to the right. “Oh hello there, ground,” I though, as my weight shifted to the left. He was in position to spring to the right, I was in position to fall to the left, there was nothing left to be decided, our fate was sealed, I though. But then something unexpected happened. He stopped. He just set his front feet back on the ground, which righted me in the saddle, and stood there, generously allowing me the time I needed to adjust myself. Despite the slow motion feel, the entire event occurred in a split second, and his focus went from escaping the spooky thing, to making sure I was going to stay with him.
“All trust involves vulnerability and risk, and nothing would count as trust if there were no possibility of betrayal. True, trust necessarily carries with it uncertainties, but we must force ourselves to think about these uncertainties as possibilities and opportunities, not as liabilities. Trust is not bound up with knowledge so much as it is with freedom, the openness to the unknown.” Robert C. Solomon
Green horse that he was, I knew in that moment, he wanted to keep me with him. He’d had a perfect opportunity to be rid of me, but he felt my shift and helped me out. I decided that day Okauchee was trustworthy, and we have enjoyed many fields and watched many passing cars, deer and birds since. I did take a risk by allowing us the opportunity to enjoy riding outdoors, but we had reached a point in our relationship where trust needed to be tested in order to be proved, in order to grow as a team.
Faith is a difficult thing. Faith is confidence or trust in a person or thing, without reasonable proof to support that confidence. Every time we mount, we are trusting a big, strong animal to allow us up, engage in dialogue, and direct his movement--and he is trusting us, to not do him harm or steer him astray. They show us good faith each and every time they allow us up. The educated equestrian understands the importance of the exchange of faith and trust, and how that affects one’s training methodology choices. When we ask him to take care of us, we need to consider, how are we taking care of him? How do our methods support our desire to be trustworthy caregivers?
“The one who has FAITH, and is sincere, and has mastery over the senses, gains…knowledge. LEADERS SHOULD UNDERSTAND AND APPLY THE PRINCIPLES [OF FAITH]. Only in this way can leaders get from their followers the spirit of FULL cooperation which constitutes power in its highest and most enduring form.” Napoleon Hill, Think and Grow Rich! [Including author’s original syntax choices]
Green horse that he was, I knew in that moment, he wanted to keep me with him. He’d had a perfect opportunity to be rid of me, but he felt my shift and helped me out. I decided that day Okauchee was trustworthy, and we have enjoyed many fields and watched many passing cars, deer and birds since. I did take a risk by allowing us the opportunity to enjoy riding outdoors, but we had reached a point in our relationship where trust needed to be tested in order to be proved, in order to grow as a team.
Faith is a difficult thing. Faith is confidence or trust in a person or thing, without reasonable proof to support that confidence. Every time we mount, we are trusting a big, strong animal to allow us up, engage in dialogue, and direct his movement--and he is trusting us, to not do him harm or steer him astray. They show us good faith each and every time they allow us up. The educated equestrian understands the importance of the exchange of faith and trust, and how that affects one’s training methodology choices. When we ask him to take care of us, we need to consider, how are we taking care of him? How do our methods support our desire to be trustworthy caregivers?
“The one who has FAITH, and is sincere, and has mastery over the senses, gains…knowledge. LEADERS SHOULD UNDERSTAND AND APPLY THE PRINCIPLES [OF FAITH]. Only in this way can leaders get from their followers the spirit of FULL cooperation which constitutes power in its highest and most enduring form.” Napoleon Hill, Think and Grow Rich! [Including author’s original syntax choices]
5.4.12 TME
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Return to Educated Equestrian