Not all days are good days

We have been experiencing some pretty strong wind in Wyoming lately.

Like, 50 mph gusts.

This kind of weather is pretty miserable to ride in.  The sand blows in your face, you can't hear anything with the wind in your ears, and your horse can't hear anything either.  Also, it's cold.

So I was pretty excited to try out the brand new indoor arena.

It's not like I didn't anticipate a little bit of a fight.

Chev and I relocated here in June of 2011.  She hasn't seen the inside of an indoor arena since before the move.

I got her saddled somehow, with the wind blowing in my face and the saddle blanket everywhere, and dragged her and all associated tack up to the new arena.  I brought my lunge line and whip, because I knew she was going to be a dufus and that lunging her would help get the willies out.

She walked right into the new arena (which was a plus), and promptly forgot me completely (which was a big minus).

She was all freaked out by the arena, the poles, and the ferocious creaking noise from the wind blowing full force against the opposite wall.

Since I had her saddled, I kept her on the line so she wouldn't get too stupid and hang herself on something.  She made circles that were more like rectangles with one goose egg shaped side.  She feinted, she dodged, she tried to switch directions which she hasn't done since she was 3.  She completely forgot how to lunge.

She was so preoccupied with everything but me that she was acting like an unhandled youngster.  It was like my calm, broke horse reverted back into something I hadn't seen since I got her almost four years ago.

I lunged her for quite a while hoping for enough exhaustion to finally get her mind back on me.  Even with sweat matting her coat, she wasn't willing to come back.

Eventually I decided I should just get on, since generally I have more faith in my ability in the saddle than in groundwork.

She wasn't willing to go to the far end of the arena with all the wind blowing against the metal walls without a fight.  I had three simple rules which I hoped would get through to her.


Rule #1:  If the feet are still when I ask for a stop, all is well.

Rule #2:  If the feet are walking when I ask for a walk, all is well.

Rule #3:  If the feet are moving when I didn't ask, we're going to trot around in the far end of the arena.

Normally, she would have caught on very rapidly.  It takes her about three times to "get" a plan like this.

Today, she was pretty much completely outside of her ability to listen to me.

I kept the feet moving anyway.

We had several episodes in the beginning of vehement head shaking, whirling, skittering, shooting backwards, explosive departs, spins, and leaps.

I admit I thought to myself, "Wow...it was really stupid of me to write that blog yesterday about how long it's been since I've fallen off."

But I had to admit, even in the middle of all this craziness, I didn't feel nervous.

I kept her feet moving all the time except when I asked for the halt.  I assumed that if her feet were moving, on some level I had some sort of control of her body.

I booted her forward whenever I encountered potentially dangerous resistance like balking, getting too light in the forehand, curling up, sucking back, or shooting backwards.  I tried not to worry about the times she shot forward, because she was doing what I asked--moving forward.  At the time it seemed kind of hopeless.  But she did start to come around.

Each time I asked for a stop, I made my cues very clear, and then went completely neutral.  At the beginning, she would stop, and immediately move off again.  I would push her into a trot and circle her back for a few laps around the far side of the arena until I felt like she was ready to try again.

If she stood still, which I always hoped for but rarely got, then she got a rest and a pat while I remained neutral.

I assumed that if she trotted off on her own, she didn't need a break.

If she walked calmly without speeding up, she got to go back to the near side of the arena.  If she started trotting to get away from the far side of the arena, I immediately turned her nose around and sent her back to the far side.

We did this for probably 30 minutes straight.

We did make some progress, but I felt like she was getting overwhelmed by all of the sensory information.

Also, despite sweat running down her legs, she just wasn't tired enough to switch off the nervousness in her brain.

I chose my moment to dismount after a good, solid stop and when she relaxed into it a little bit.  Then I brought her out of the arena, unsaddled her, and brushed her out a bit.

I have to admit, at this point I was feeling pretty frustrated.

I have long believed that work was the key to getting Chev's brain going.

But work just didn't seem to be working.

I felt like it was a puzzle I needed to figure out.  I led her back up to the indoor in her halter.

I decided to let her hang in there for a little bit to see what she'd do.

She was a distracted, calling for her buddies (which she never does), pawing, pacing, circling wreck.

I got out my lunge whip and drove her to the far side of the arena.

She fought to get back.

I chased her back and forth and drove her to the back corner until she stopped.  Then I immediately dropped all the pressure and backed off.

I relaxed my body and put the whip in a neutral position.

As soon as she started moving her feet, I drove her back again.

We repeated this for several minutes, and each time she paid a little more attention to me, and a little less to the howling wind on the creaking metal.

After twenty minutes, I had her full attention.

If she stood well, didn't move her feet and kept an ear on me at all times, I rewarded her by turning my back and walking away--taking the pressure off completely.

Instead of blitzing to the other end of the arena, she would make a beeline for me at a quick walk.

When she got too close to my personal space, I drove her back and we would start again.

By the end of this she was entirely calm, respectful and tuned in.

We left the arena, I rubbed and brushed her down until she was dry, she rolled in the sand roundpen to her heart's content, and I turned her back out with her buddy.

Her eye was soft and kind.


I feel like I learned a few things today.

1) My horse is not as broke as I thought she was (darn it).

2) We have some serious personal space issues to work on (nothing like a scary environment to expose a horse that wants to jump into your arms for protection, which is SO NOT OKAY)

3) Work only works if you're doing it right.

I always try to end on a good note.  I felt like she was calm and looking to me for how and where to move at the end of our session today.  It'll be interesting to see how she does the next time we're in the indoor.