The rearing horse

I have been suffering from some pretty hardcore insomnia lately.

You may have noticed almost all of my posts are written after midnight.

Well, tonight's viewing of close to one million horse videos on youtube is not helping the situation.

A while back, after much hemming and hawing, I wrote I response to a woman who was wondering what to do when her (admittedly very green) horse turned to face her and started popping off his front end into a rear.  If you want, you can read the original thread here:  http://equine-mind-meld.2312922.n4.nabble.com/Stopping-rearing-before-it-becomes-a-habit-td4336642.html

I'm not going to lie--there is NOTHING that terrifies me more than the rearing horse.

I have seen them go up and over backwards on top of people.

I hope it is NEVER something I have to experience.  I haven't ever seen anyone killed by it, but with the rearing horse, getting crushed is always a possibility.  And I'm just not willing to take that risk.

Me and horses have an understanding: under NO circumstances, EVER is rearing around humans okay.

That is in regards to humans on the ground, and in the saddle.

Rearing, striking, squealing, bucking in the pasture with your horse buddies is all okay.  That's the appropriate place for that behavior.

Therefore, I don't feel a shred of guilt coming down fast and hard on a horse that is getting up in the forehand.

I had to teach Chev how to lunge.  She came to me able to be saddled, and someone could sit on her back.  She was mellow as all get-out, and I give her previous owners serious props for teaching her to load and not spoiling her in any way.

She didn't have a clue about lunging, which is just fine at about 3 when she started her education.  There were brief bouts of airs above the ground, as young horses do--but she quickly learned that rearing got her NOWHERE.  Well, nowhere but a whole heck of a lot more work.

I deal with the rearing horse very aggressively.  If not due to pain, rearing is the biggest finger your horse can give you.  It is the most basic gesture not only of disrespect, but active aggression.  And, I'm sorry.  But I am the head honcho any time I'm around a horse.  When I lunge I carry a lunge whip, and I am not afraid to use it.  That being said, my main weapons are always stomping, rapid arm waving and screaming like a banshee.

As soon as the horse is going at a respectful clip away from me and has completely forgotten about rearing, I back off.

It's pretty simple.

Aggressive behavior from horse = THE MEGAN OF ABSOLUTE TERROR!!

Horsey rears, and subsequently thinks he is about to meet his maker.  That's how terrible I become.

'Course, you have to be fair when you have this kind of power, or else you're just a Terrorist.

I always back off when I get the response I want.

Notice I didn't say "back down".  I back off.  I remove the pressure I was putting on horsey so I send a clear signal about what behavior is okay.

Therefore horsey becomes respectful of my position without being afraid of me.

A lot of people think this is cruel.

Personally I think what happens to a horse after he's labeled (with good reason) a rearer and a man-killer is worse.

So it's better to avoid this whole problem as much as possible.

Tonight I watched a lot of videos of horses rearing, trying to pinpoint the moment they set their mind to it.

The really terrifying thing about the rearing horse is they can do it with almost no warning.

This video stopped my heart.  Fortunately for both horse and rider, he did exactly what needed to happen to save the situation.  Had he pulled back or not held to the horse's neck, I think it's very likely the horse would have gone over backwards with him aboard.




Didn't your heart stop for a few seconds when you watched that?

I want to stress again, this rear appears to have nothing to do with the rider whatsoever, and everything to do with what they say is an abscess that burst from his hoof the next day.  I think it's pretty apparent from the video that the abscess was in the right front hoof, as you can see the horse avoiding putting weight on it throughout the video--one hard step onto the hoof seems to be what sets him off.  When he feels his rider has heard him, he stops.  Much to the man's relief, I'm sure.

So that, my friends, is why I don't tolerate rearing in any form.  I consider even a little pop off the front legs a certain precursor to full on rearing, which once the seed has been planted, is a tough thing to "un-train".

The woman with the young rearing horse got all sorts of advice from people who said she was pushing her horse too hard.

The horse is a 4-year-old Arabian gelding who has enjoyed a cushy life as a pasture puff up until this point.

Unlike the horse above, and while I'm hesitant to say anything without actually seeing said horse, I'm pretty sure he was just expressing his displeasure about being asked to do anything more than eat carrots and hay all day.

I don't think 4 years old is too young to learn to go around in a large circle on the line.

Nor do I think you do your baby any favors by keeping him on a short rope--it just causes more stress and torsion on joints that aren't yet well developed.

Get him out on the line, and make him and his little uneducated hooves stay out there.  It's about time for your little young'un to learn about personal space.

The girl in this next video doesn't seem to have any clue that her poor riding seems to be this horse's primary reason for his behavior.  She doesn't even seem to understand how dangerous this can be, since she describes this as "just goofing around".




I think to the horse-tuned it's pretty obvious how unhappy this horse is throughout the whole ride--I feel like I saw no fewer than 7 moments before the rear that told me that ride was going south, FAST.  And she ignored all the warnings.  So, there you have it.  It's a great contrast to the video above, because this poor horse's entire problem seems to be his rider!  She doesn't even have a clue that she's training her horse to respond with this behavior every time.  Not that she deserves better behavior, since she's listening to him so little.

No wonder comments are disabled.

I'm sure pretty soon the horse will be "too naughty to be ridable."  Sure.  Totally his fault.  Poor thing.

Nip it in the bud!

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.