I'm fixing up this trailer I got with the SO the other day, and I'm all freaked out about using the angle grinder (as a child I was afraid of sparklers too...don't judge). I am not a fan of sparks.
So as I'm holding this thing gingerly in my work-gloved hands trying to psych myself up for it, a thought occurs to me:
"Megan, literally complete idiots use this thing without issues."
So I took a deep breath, got on the damned horse (figuratively) and used the damn angle grinder, sparks and all. I did forget to breathe DURING the actual grinding in the beginning...but I got better at it.
Anyway...Sometimes I feel the same about horses.
I feel like "training" horses has become this big mysterious thing that one certain "horse whisperers" can do. Like there wasn't a time when tons of people trained their own horses. With varying results. But still. No NH needed.
The only thing I really see in common with these lower-end trainer people (and I'm not talking about the top-of-their-sport people), very generally, is that they are reasonably intelligent and observant and consistent about what they do. They have a little sense about how horses learn and they use it to their advantage.
Of course, complete idiots also train horses and do a reasonably good job for the same reasons (I might be in this category. What do I know, anyway?).
Rules for angle grinders:
1. Make sure your equipment is hooked up right. We don't want one of those disks sailing off who-knows-where at 11,000 rpms.
2. Don't try to jump in there and touch metal without getting the damn thing running first. This results in unpredictable and dangerous behavior on the part of the angle grinder.
3. Be sensitive and consistent for best results.
4. Know when to stop.
Sound familiar? Complete idiots can do this stuff. You can do it! Get out there and work your angle-grinder/horse.
Showing posts with label training. Show all posts
Showing posts with label training. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Saturday, September 1, 2012
2 in one day!! Is she back?
So a friend of mine came out to see the horses the other day.
He's really interested in them, but doesn't know much about them yet.
Like most people who are just starting to work with an animal, there are some residual fear issues to overcome.
I think fear (for us) has a lot to do with the unknown. We are afraid of horses not because of what they're doing at the moment, but what they're capable of doing at any moment with seemingly little provocation.
I had him lunge both the horses--Chev on the line and Tiny in the round pen. I think it can be helpful to realize that they do respond in a predictable manner (most of the time). And confidence can be built on the knowledge that they really are (mostly!) pretty easy to read.
I am a very nervous, high strung, worried person. My stomach churns in new situations. My nerves often get the better of me.
I was the kind of kid that couldn't even call and order a pizza because my anxiety about talking to a stranger on the phone was too high.
Ironically, about all I've done for work these last few years is talk to people I don't know on the phone, often in emergency medical situations. Irony! At any rate, I can adapt. Very quickly, sometimes.
I think this hyper-sensitivity is an asset around horses. I grew up with jumpy, unpredictable horses (Arabians, but who's keeping track anyway?) that would spin and bolt at the drop of a hat (or the buzz of a fly...or the appearance of a shadow...etc, etc ad infinitum). I sympathized with them. I, too, was a scaredy-cat afraid of everything.
I got really good at anticipating.
I could feel a spook in a horse way before they were going to bolt (often "wayyyy before" gave me a few seconds lead time). I worked well with them. I became the calm, confident one out of necessity. We understood each other.
So I guess the point is, over the years I've developed a very calm way around horses. And as a result, I have some really, really laid back horses that look to me for support in strange situations.
Tiny was a great example the other day.
I had the chiropractor out to see if anything could be done structurally to improve her way of going (there could--she was an absolute mess). To do this, he had to take hold of the lead rope.
Literally no one has handled her but me in almost three months. And before that, no one had really handled her at all. She bonded fast and hard. Now she's tough to get rid of (ha, ha).
She was pretty confused when I stepped back, and kept looking over like, "Hello? Hello? Is this okay with you? Should this be okay with ME?"
Anyway, it's sort of flattering when an animal acts that way. But the ultimate goal is to have a sane, happy, confident horse in any situation. We give them support and tools to feel secure.
So consistency is really the key here. For my friend, it will take time to learn that horses are, for the most part, predictable animals. That doesn't mean we should forget that they are potentially dangerous, whether that be intentional or not! But I think there's a lot of trust that forms there in that daily relationship of predictable handling.
Horses are great mirrors of a person.
Certainly not the first time I've heard this said, but the best I've ever heard it said, comes from Mr. Brannaman.
"Your horse is a mirror to your soul. Sometimes you might not like what you see…sometimes you will.”
He's really interested in them, but doesn't know much about them yet.
Like most people who are just starting to work with an animal, there are some residual fear issues to overcome.
I think fear (for us) has a lot to do with the unknown. We are afraid of horses not because of what they're doing at the moment, but what they're capable of doing at any moment with seemingly little provocation.
I had him lunge both the horses--Chev on the line and Tiny in the round pen. I think it can be helpful to realize that they do respond in a predictable manner (most of the time). And confidence can be built on the knowledge that they really are (mostly!) pretty easy to read.
I am a very nervous, high strung, worried person. My stomach churns in new situations. My nerves often get the better of me.
I was the kind of kid that couldn't even call and order a pizza because my anxiety about talking to a stranger on the phone was too high.
Ironically, about all I've done for work these last few years is talk to people I don't know on the phone, often in emergency medical situations. Irony! At any rate, I can adapt. Very quickly, sometimes.
I think this hyper-sensitivity is an asset around horses. I grew up with jumpy, unpredictable horses (Arabians, but who's keeping track anyway?) that would spin and bolt at the drop of a hat (or the buzz of a fly...or the appearance of a shadow...etc, etc ad infinitum). I sympathized with them. I, too, was a scaredy-cat afraid of everything.
I got really good at anticipating.
I could feel a spook in a horse way before they were going to bolt (often "wayyyy before" gave me a few seconds lead time). I worked well with them. I became the calm, confident one out of necessity. We understood each other.
So I guess the point is, over the years I've developed a very calm way around horses. And as a result, I have some really, really laid back horses that look to me for support in strange situations.
Tiny was a great example the other day.
I had the chiropractor out to see if anything could be done structurally to improve her way of going (there could--she was an absolute mess). To do this, he had to take hold of the lead rope.
Literally no one has handled her but me in almost three months. And before that, no one had really handled her at all. She bonded fast and hard. Now she's tough to get rid of (ha, ha).
She was pretty confused when I stepped back, and kept looking over like, "Hello? Hello? Is this okay with you? Should this be okay with ME?"
Anyway, it's sort of flattering when an animal acts that way. But the ultimate goal is to have a sane, happy, confident horse in any situation. We give them support and tools to feel secure.
So consistency is really the key here. For my friend, it will take time to learn that horses are, for the most part, predictable animals. That doesn't mean we should forget that they are potentially dangerous, whether that be intentional or not! But I think there's a lot of trust that forms there in that daily relationship of predictable handling.
Horses are great mirrors of a person.
Certainly not the first time I've heard this said, but the best I've ever heard it said, comes from Mr. Brannaman.
"Your horse is a mirror to your soul. Sometimes you might not like what you see…sometimes you will.”
Saturday, July 14, 2012
What do you love?
It's time to get back to what this blog is about: Horses. I love 'em. I know that whole "student of the horse" thing is a little corny, but heck, it's true and it's just how I feel.
I just got done watching the Buck movie again (because it's a brilliant way to put off packing!).
There's a part of the movie that I really loved.
Buck is standing there with a mecate (a twisted horsehair rope) strung from his hand to the hand of a volunteer.
He starts by telling the guy that's he's going to put about 20 pounds of pressure on the rope, like you would do to take a hold on a horse's bridle rein. "Don't let me pull it out of your hands," he says.
He starts by taking a firm, tactful hold on his end of the rope, and applying steady pressure until he reaches 20 pounds. The volunteer reacts by calmly adjusting to the pressure.
Buck does this a couple of times, both parties are calm, and no one is upset.
Then Buck jerks his end of the rope to get up to the same amount of pressure. The poor guy flinches, braces, and is almost pulled off his feet.
After just a couple times of this, the volunteer is really on edge. After just a couple of times of Buck yanking the rope, the guy is flinching every time Buck even picks up the other end of the rope.
He just can't help himself.
And for God's sakes, neither can your horse!
I remember I had a trainer back when I was young who had a huge impact on me.
She was a highly skilled woman, with a Dressage background and an understanding of the nonverbal.
She was always telling me to "tactfully take up the reins".
I heard that so many times that it became entirely engrained in me. I think every time I take hold of the reins, I hear her in the back of my head.
The demonstration Buck gave illustrates her point exactly. There are always a lot of ways to get something done, but it should always be done with tact.
If you need to take hold of the reins (and we all do, sometimes in less-than-ideal circumstances), you have a choice.
You can do it tactfully, or not.
And boy, you can sure tell a horse who hasn't been handled tactfully! Just like the poor guy in the demonstration, it only takes a couple of hard yanks to change the whole body and attitude of the horse.
I just got done watching the Buck movie again (because it's a brilliant way to put off packing!).
There's a part of the movie that I really loved.
Buck is standing there with a mecate (a twisted horsehair rope) strung from his hand to the hand of a volunteer.
He starts by telling the guy that's he's going to put about 20 pounds of pressure on the rope, like you would do to take a hold on a horse's bridle rein. "Don't let me pull it out of your hands," he says.
He starts by taking a firm, tactful hold on his end of the rope, and applying steady pressure until he reaches 20 pounds. The volunteer reacts by calmly adjusting to the pressure.
Buck does this a couple of times, both parties are calm, and no one is upset.
Then Buck jerks his end of the rope to get up to the same amount of pressure. The poor guy flinches, braces, and is almost pulled off his feet.
After just a couple times of this, the volunteer is really on edge. After just a couple of times of Buck yanking the rope, the guy is flinching every time Buck even picks up the other end of the rope.
He just can't help himself.
And for God's sakes, neither can your horse!
I remember I had a trainer back when I was young who had a huge impact on me.
She was a highly skilled woman, with a Dressage background and an understanding of the nonverbal.
She was always telling me to "tactfully take up the reins".
I heard that so many times that it became entirely engrained in me. I think every time I take hold of the reins, I hear her in the back of my head.
The demonstration Buck gave illustrates her point exactly. There are always a lot of ways to get something done, but it should always be done with tact.
If you need to take hold of the reins (and we all do, sometimes in less-than-ideal circumstances), you have a choice.
You can do it tactfully, or not.
And boy, you can sure tell a horse who hasn't been handled tactfully! Just like the poor guy in the demonstration, it only takes a couple of hard yanks to change the whole body and attitude of the horse.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Do we raise the bar too fast? How do we know?
I think more often than not we, as ambitious people, combined with horses, set ourselves up for failure.
I want to apologize for my lack of posts lately.
Here are the facts.
Chev's shoes were pulled 2 weeks ago, and she has been recovering. Before pulling the shoes, farrier and I went on a trail ride on the back roads. Chev was alert, but well behaved. She didn't care about cars. She didn't scream. I realized I need to ride with longer fenders to avoid ankle pain. It was a success.
She has essentially been a pasture puff for the last 2 weeks. I've been going out at least once a day to check on her, feed her dinner, lunge her a bit, do a small amount of groundwork, and generally assess her condition for returning to work.
Work and horses is such a funny thing.
I think "work" is the perfect word.
It is always a work in progress.
The goal is to have something meaningful happen in a forward direction every time we ride.
I try not to harbor grand illusions about what that has to be.
My horse is fairly well "schooled", three days away from her seventh birthday--she walks, jogs, trots, and canters with relative ease and minimal cues, moves her body off slight leg pressure, understands turn arounds, side passes and two-tracking (mostly), and is pretty sensible to ride. She is not exceedingly silly under saddle. She is not a spooker, bolter, or bucker.
I have a lot to be thankful for. She's taken my attempts at training gracefully, forgives my blunders, and is generous with her amount of try. She isn't the most talented horse, but she is honest.
What I really want her to be is more of a "broke" horse.
I got the good idea about a week ago to hop on her bareback in the halter and ride her around the perimeter of the fence.
Boy howdy, that was a bad idea.
I guess I still have this romantic notion from my childhood that you can just scramble up on your horse, and ride off--no gear, no worries.
That is just not reality.
We got to one corner of the pasture before she starting pitching.
I admit it--I was scared. For a couple minutes anyway. I flashed back to that video of the large grey horse rearing full throttle straight up in the air while his rider hung on for dear life. I grabbed mane. I waited her out as she popped up over and over again.
The weird thing was how balanced it all felt. She was not trying to unseat me.
After initial anger...I realized her feet hurt.
Then I felt like an idiot.
She was going about it in the loudest way possible without being dangerous. She has never done anything like that before or since.
So I walked her over a few feet, still mounted, so I didn't look intimidated by what she'd just done--even though I was, but I'm still the boss here--dismounted, told her I got it loud and clear and turned her out for another week.
Yesterday after a good looking lunging session, I threw my bareback pad and bridle on her and took her for an easy walk around the pasture to check my fence. No hesitation, no complaints.
Her feet are just about ready.
I just needed to listen to what she had to say.
And that brings me back to the beginning of this post: reasonable expectations.
I think it's almost human nature to set goals, and when goals are reached more quickly than we expected, to immediately set higher goals, over and over, ad nauseam, until we inevitably fail.
"We're just going to try 2' today," rider with her green jumper says. Horse pops over it with no problems, because he's been set up with a task he can easily succeed in. "Well that was easy...let's try 2'6"." And on and on. And before you know it, you've got a horse that won't jump a cross rail.
"We'll just do one canter depart." Horse departs well and canters smoothly. "Well that was easy...we'll just do another, and canter a few laps this time." And before you know it, you have a horse that balks at the depart, swishes her tail, kicks to the inside or outside, and doesn't canter at all.
With horse training, the bar has to be low until the horse is confident in what he can do and how you ask. That's not to say there aren't times to push it--if you've been cantering 3 laps for a week, it's okay to step up to 6 laps, or whatever--but many of us (yours truly included!) push too hard too fast, which sets everyone up to fail.
One of the things I've had to learn the hard way was really setting the horse up to succeed.
It seems like a lot of riders I watch set their horses up to fail just so they can punish them. They ask for the canter depart just so they can crank their horses back to a stop.
Boy--I would hate to be that horse.
It really gives me some admiration for what they put up with from us.
I strive to be fair. And setting them up for punishment sure isn't fair.
An honest horse will try to give you an honest answer. He'll shake his head, position his ears and move his body in ways he hopes communicate to you what is going on. He'll give or brace to pressure. He'll choose to listen to you or try to get you to listen to him. The trick is figuring out how to read the signs and what they mean--and it's different for each horse, even though they share a basic language. I believe this is at the heart of developing "feel".
And now, a laugh the hunter/jumpers will appreciate...(click to enlarge)!
I want to apologize for my lack of posts lately.
Here are the facts.
Chev's shoes were pulled 2 weeks ago, and she has been recovering. Before pulling the shoes, farrier and I went on a trail ride on the back roads. Chev was alert, but well behaved. She didn't care about cars. She didn't scream. I realized I need to ride with longer fenders to avoid ankle pain. It was a success.
She has essentially been a pasture puff for the last 2 weeks. I've been going out at least once a day to check on her, feed her dinner, lunge her a bit, do a small amount of groundwork, and generally assess her condition for returning to work.
Work and horses is such a funny thing.
I think "work" is the perfect word.
It is always a work in progress.
The goal is to have something meaningful happen in a forward direction every time we ride.
I try not to harbor grand illusions about what that has to be.
My horse is fairly well "schooled", three days away from her seventh birthday--she walks, jogs, trots, and canters with relative ease and minimal cues, moves her body off slight leg pressure, understands turn arounds, side passes and two-tracking (mostly), and is pretty sensible to ride. She is not exceedingly silly under saddle. She is not a spooker, bolter, or bucker.
I have a lot to be thankful for. She's taken my attempts at training gracefully, forgives my blunders, and is generous with her amount of try. She isn't the most talented horse, but she is honest.
What I really want her to be is more of a "broke" horse.
I got the good idea about a week ago to hop on her bareback in the halter and ride her around the perimeter of the fence.
Boy howdy, that was a bad idea.
I guess I still have this romantic notion from my childhood that you can just scramble up on your horse, and ride off--no gear, no worries.
That is just not reality.
We got to one corner of the pasture before she starting pitching.
I admit it--I was scared. For a couple minutes anyway. I flashed back to that video of the large grey horse rearing full throttle straight up in the air while his rider hung on for dear life. I grabbed mane. I waited her out as she popped up over and over again.
The weird thing was how balanced it all felt. She was not trying to unseat me.
After initial anger...I realized her feet hurt.
Then I felt like an idiot.
She was going about it in the loudest way possible without being dangerous. She has never done anything like that before or since.
So I walked her over a few feet, still mounted, so I didn't look intimidated by what she'd just done--even though I was, but I'm still the boss here--dismounted, told her I got it loud and clear and turned her out for another week.
Yesterday after a good looking lunging session, I threw my bareback pad and bridle on her and took her for an easy walk around the pasture to check my fence. No hesitation, no complaints.
Her feet are just about ready.
I just needed to listen to what she had to say.
And that brings me back to the beginning of this post: reasonable expectations.
I think it's almost human nature to set goals, and when goals are reached more quickly than we expected, to immediately set higher goals, over and over, ad nauseam, until we inevitably fail.
"We're just going to try 2' today," rider with her green jumper says. Horse pops over it with no problems, because he's been set up with a task he can easily succeed in. "Well that was easy...let's try 2'6"." And on and on. And before you know it, you've got a horse that won't jump a cross rail.
"We'll just do one canter depart." Horse departs well and canters smoothly. "Well that was easy...we'll just do another, and canter a few laps this time." And before you know it, you have a horse that balks at the depart, swishes her tail, kicks to the inside or outside, and doesn't canter at all.
With horse training, the bar has to be low until the horse is confident in what he can do and how you ask. That's not to say there aren't times to push it--if you've been cantering 3 laps for a week, it's okay to step up to 6 laps, or whatever--but many of us (yours truly included!) push too hard too fast, which sets everyone up to fail.
One of the things I've had to learn the hard way was really setting the horse up to succeed.
It seems like a lot of riders I watch set their horses up to fail just so they can punish them. They ask for the canter depart just so they can crank their horses back to a stop.
Boy--I would hate to be that horse.
It really gives me some admiration for what they put up with from us.
I strive to be fair. And setting them up for punishment sure isn't fair.
An honest horse will try to give you an honest answer. He'll shake his head, position his ears and move his body in ways he hopes communicate to you what is going on. He'll give or brace to pressure. He'll choose to listen to you or try to get you to listen to him. The trick is figuring out how to read the signs and what they mean--and it's different for each horse, even though they share a basic language. I believe this is at the heart of developing "feel".
And now, a laugh the hunter/jumpers will appreciate...(click to enlarge)!
Friday, April 20, 2012
Crooked legs
I actually made it out to see Chev yesterday, and arrived right before my farrier. He's been working with a 4-year-old filly through the barn owner for some people he's never met, and was there to ride her.
I think it's strange that people will have their horse in training and never come out to see it. This is a "free" horse--and believe me, no untrained horse is free--that the barn owner is apparently charging the owners $700 a month for training and board. Farrier told me he's getting $400 to train the horse (a reasonable fee), and in 30 days already has her w/t/c and stopping like a champ. He's doing a pretty good job with the little filly. They have signed up for another month of training (which in any other case would be wise). What I don't get is, full care board is $260. So what's the other $40 for? Hmmm.
Anyway.
I can't imagine these poor people know much about horses, because their "free horse" unfortunately looks like this up front:
The first time the farrier had this horse out for training, tied to a post, I literally did a double take and said, "Tell me her front end doesn't really look like that!" I thought she must have just been standing funny, but no, she is so pigeon-toed her feet almost point at each other when she's squared up. This conformity is so bad she already has massive amounts of sidebone forming, her fetlocks are trashed--and she's only 4 years old.
So here's what I don't get.
Besides the obvious fact that this poor sweet animal should never have been created in the first place, since this kind of conformation fault is most certainly hereditary...
Why, oh why, when this filly came in, did no one tell the unsuspecting and largely clueless owners that they had an animal unlikely to stay sound in ANY kind of work for more than a couple of years?
Why did no one mention to them that their $1400 in training could have bought them a nice, well broke, registered horse that can already do everything they hope for?
Oh yes--I know...
Because that way no one makes any money.
I want to make this clear though. I don't fault the farrier one bit.
He has been contracted out by the barn owner to do the training. He has neither met, nor spoken with the owners directly, nor have they come to see any of the training sessions, nor does he have any way to contact them--except through the barn owner.
What a mess.
And the poor filly is sweet as can be--of course. If her legs had been straighter she most certainly would have been worth every dollar of training put into her.
But in my opinion, it is cruel and hastens the breakdown of a horse with this kind of deformity to ride it at all.
In my opinion, she should be made as comfortable as possible with corrective trimming and a nice pasture for as long as she can live without pain.
But as a riding horse, I don't see much of a future here. It's true she doesn't stumble--yet--but it's only a matter of (short) time before she breaks down completely.
What a shame.
In other news, I rode the beast after more than a week off, and she was good. Unfortunately when I got her back to the tie rack afterwards her pulling back issue resurfaced. I decided to just leave her tied for 30 minutes, during which time she had several more episodes. She'd get to the end of the rope, suck back and pull pull pull, almost sitting down like a dog with her hind legs braced under her, realize she wasn't getting anywhere, and come forward again. It was actually fairly calm, if you can ever describe a 1,300 pound animal pulling with all its weight on a metal post as "calm". This time, everything held fast, and after 6 or 7 times, she was done with that, even licked and chewed after she gave into the pressure. I would feel worse for her (since surely it must hurt to do that)--except all she has to do to avoid the pain is not pull back. I still think (thanks to the Hancock in her) that it will take another few sessions of this to cure her completely. But it's a start.
Chevy has more than a few conformation faults of her own, but at least all 4 feet point in the same direction--forward!
I think it's strange that people will have their horse in training and never come out to see it. This is a "free" horse--and believe me, no untrained horse is free--that the barn owner is apparently charging the owners $700 a month for training and board. Farrier told me he's getting $400 to train the horse (a reasonable fee), and in 30 days already has her w/t/c and stopping like a champ. He's doing a pretty good job with the little filly. They have signed up for another month of training (which in any other case would be wise). What I don't get is, full care board is $260. So what's the other $40 for? Hmmm.
Anyway.
I can't imagine these poor people know much about horses, because their "free horse" unfortunately looks like this up front:
Oh dear.
The first time the farrier had this horse out for training, tied to a post, I literally did a double take and said, "Tell me her front end doesn't really look like that!" I thought she must have just been standing funny, but no, she is so pigeon-toed her feet almost point at each other when she's squared up. This conformity is so bad she already has massive amounts of sidebone forming, her fetlocks are trashed--and she's only 4 years old.
So here's what I don't get.
Besides the obvious fact that this poor sweet animal should never have been created in the first place, since this kind of conformation fault is most certainly hereditary...
Why, oh why, when this filly came in, did no one tell the unsuspecting and largely clueless owners that they had an animal unlikely to stay sound in ANY kind of work for more than a couple of years?
Why did no one mention to them that their $1400 in training could have bought them a nice, well broke, registered horse that can already do everything they hope for?
Oh yes--I know...
Because that way no one makes any money.
I want to make this clear though. I don't fault the farrier one bit.
He has been contracted out by the barn owner to do the training. He has neither met, nor spoken with the owners directly, nor have they come to see any of the training sessions, nor does he have any way to contact them--except through the barn owner.
What a mess.
And the poor filly is sweet as can be--of course. If her legs had been straighter she most certainly would have been worth every dollar of training put into her.
But in my opinion, it is cruel and hastens the breakdown of a horse with this kind of deformity to ride it at all.
In my opinion, she should be made as comfortable as possible with corrective trimming and a nice pasture for as long as she can live without pain.
But as a riding horse, I don't see much of a future here. It's true she doesn't stumble--yet--but it's only a matter of (short) time before she breaks down completely.
What a shame.
In other news, I rode the beast after more than a week off, and she was good. Unfortunately when I got her back to the tie rack afterwards her pulling back issue resurfaced. I decided to just leave her tied for 30 minutes, during which time she had several more episodes. She'd get to the end of the rope, suck back and pull pull pull, almost sitting down like a dog with her hind legs braced under her, realize she wasn't getting anywhere, and come forward again. It was actually fairly calm, if you can ever describe a 1,300 pound animal pulling with all its weight on a metal post as "calm". This time, everything held fast, and after 6 or 7 times, she was done with that, even licked and chewed after she gave into the pressure. I would feel worse for her (since surely it must hurt to do that)--except all she has to do to avoid the pain is not pull back. I still think (thanks to the Hancock in her) that it will take another few sessions of this to cure her completely. But it's a start.
Chevy has more than a few conformation faults of her own, but at least all 4 feet point in the same direction--forward!
Does this picture make my head look big?
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Another video
I've been a busily planning little bee lately.
I figured out that I need about 150 t-post caps to cap off all the t-posts on the property (cost TBD, awesome friend Marian thinks she can get them wholesale for me), roughly 130 Sun Guard step-in fiberglass posts that are supposed to be good for temporary fencing (http://www.tractorsupply.com/sun-guard-ii-fiberglass-step-in-post-3602233), and about 3,900 total linear feet of electric polytape for the inside fence. I think I've settled on this charger--needs to be solar powered because of the location of the pasture, and this one came with high marks: http://www.horse.com/item/parmak-deluxe-field-solar-charger/BXF19/
I also found someone local who's selling a few hundred feet of good used v-mesh horse fencing for $100, which might be useful for protecting Chev from the barbed wire at the front part of the pasture where the electric fence needs to run closer to the barbed wire fence--just in case she were to get too close or decide to start pawing at something.
I also finally got out to RIDE said horse today--it always seems ironic to me that I can spend so much time planning horse things, looking at horse things and working on horse projects and never get to actually see the darn horse--but that's part of the point of moving her closer to me. I am so ready to ditch this 2 hour commute.
I did get a short riding video today too. I had to do some editing because of course I spent half the time off camera. It's really hard to set all of that stuff up from the back of a horse--I have to move her out of the way, focus the camera, then move back in to start filming...I see why you need another person for this.
I have no idea what the loud BANG is in the beginning of the video. I assumed when I turned around I'd see my camera laying sideways on the big metal barrel I put it up on--but everything was fine, so I dunno...Spirit barrel.
I did, however, get the straightest, most lifted canter depart ever on Chev yet today. We have been really working on installing specific "buttons"--a touch here controls the shoulder, here the hip, here for sidepass, here for canter--she is catching on. Unfortunately I have to be pretty exaggerated with my cuing at this point while she figures everything out, but still, it was exciting! I usually have to really help her with the bend for her canter departs, this time I just barely touched her with my outside spur in the right spot, gave a little kiss and away she went! She is also learning how hip control relates to the canter, since she is naturally built to kind of drag on into it.
I only got one depart on camera, bummer.
Without further ado...
I figured out that I need about 150 t-post caps to cap off all the t-posts on the property (cost TBD, awesome friend Marian thinks she can get them wholesale for me), roughly 130 Sun Guard step-in fiberglass posts that are supposed to be good for temporary fencing (http://www.tractorsupply.com/sun-guard-ii-fiberglass-step-in-post-3602233), and about 3,900 total linear feet of electric polytape for the inside fence. I think I've settled on this charger--needs to be solar powered because of the location of the pasture, and this one came with high marks: http://www.horse.com/item/parmak-deluxe-field-solar-charger/BXF19/
I also found someone local who's selling a few hundred feet of good used v-mesh horse fencing for $100, which might be useful for protecting Chev from the barbed wire at the front part of the pasture where the electric fence needs to run closer to the barbed wire fence--just in case she were to get too close or decide to start pawing at something.
I also finally got out to RIDE said horse today--it always seems ironic to me that I can spend so much time planning horse things, looking at horse things and working on horse projects and never get to actually see the darn horse--but that's part of the point of moving her closer to me. I am so ready to ditch this 2 hour commute.
I did get a short riding video today too. I had to do some editing because of course I spent half the time off camera. It's really hard to set all of that stuff up from the back of a horse--I have to move her out of the way, focus the camera, then move back in to start filming...I see why you need another person for this.
I have no idea what the loud BANG is in the beginning of the video. I assumed when I turned around I'd see my camera laying sideways on the big metal barrel I put it up on--but everything was fine, so I dunno...Spirit barrel.
I did, however, get the straightest, most lifted canter depart ever on Chev yet today. We have been really working on installing specific "buttons"--a touch here controls the shoulder, here the hip, here for sidepass, here for canter--she is catching on. Unfortunately I have to be pretty exaggerated with my cuing at this point while she figures everything out, but still, it was exciting! I usually have to really help her with the bend for her canter departs, this time I just barely touched her with my outside spur in the right spot, gave a little kiss and away she went! She is also learning how hip control relates to the canter, since she is naturally built to kind of drag on into it.
I only got one depart on camera, bummer.
Without further ado...
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Better and better
Okay, so things pretty much went as-planned today.
I tied her up in her paddock, brushed her out, booted her up and straight to the roundpen we went.
Almost.
She refused to go in said roundpen, because as I mentioned before, shooting backwards is her new answer to everything.
My immediate response was to make her work. Disclaimer: I never like to work a horse before they've had a warm-up. Just like an athlete, it's always best to start slow and then build up the workout. But in this case, she just needed to move, NOW. So when she shot backwards, I pushed her into a circle with the leadrope and the lunge whip and around she went. Still no go. So I "lunged" her again, and after two tries of that, she walked right in with me.
Whew.
I had her work hard enough in the roundpen to get all her attention back to me, and then I spent 10 minutes just doing stretching exercises with her until she was giving to pressure easily.
The ride was good. She feels unbalanced, of course, since I've been really inconsistent with my riding lately, but we did a lot of shoulder-ins and moving the hip in one step at the walk. I really avoid lateral work--I used to think that I just hated doing it, but lately I've realized that I really avoid it because it hurts my hip.
Oh, the hip. I managed to tear a ligament in my hip while jogging when I was in highschool. I am always really aware when I'm riding of how much more stiff and closed my right hip is compared to my left. This is really unfortunate for a lot of reasons.
When riding, one of the major goals is to be as straight and balanced as possible. Good communication is much easier when the cues are even on both sides of the horse.
Unfortunately for me (and my horse), I'm crooked all the time. Because my right hip flexor doesn't work as well, I don't sit as deeply or move as flexibly in the saddle on the right side.
Bummer.
I think I'll write more about imbalance later.
Anyway, we did a lot of lateral work (all I could handle) and I spent the whole last 20 minutes of cool-out riding with one hand and trying to give her all the signals with my legs and seat. What an exercise! It really shows you how much (or little--in my case much!) you rely on the reins to get your directions and movements.
Man are my legs sore now.
I did hose her off after the ride with hardly a look from her at the hose (which was the source of this whole pulling back problem we're having, ironically!). It's been 70 and HOT in Wyo lately, and she seemed to appreciate the hose down. I brushed her out and put her up, and both she and Speedy got quite a few carrots.
I also bought a girth extender for my English saddle, because Ms. Chubby outgrew all of my girths.
I'm hoping to get out there tomorrow too...stay tuned for how well that plan turns out!
I tied her up in her paddock, brushed her out, booted her up and straight to the roundpen we went.
Almost.
She refused to go in said roundpen, because as I mentioned before, shooting backwards is her new answer to everything.
My immediate response was to make her work. Disclaimer: I never like to work a horse before they've had a warm-up. Just like an athlete, it's always best to start slow and then build up the workout. But in this case, she just needed to move, NOW. So when she shot backwards, I pushed her into a circle with the leadrope and the lunge whip and around she went. Still no go. So I "lunged" her again, and after two tries of that, she walked right in with me.
Whew.
I had her work hard enough in the roundpen to get all her attention back to me, and then I spent 10 minutes just doing stretching exercises with her until she was giving to pressure easily.
The ride was good. She feels unbalanced, of course, since I've been really inconsistent with my riding lately, but we did a lot of shoulder-ins and moving the hip in one step at the walk. I really avoid lateral work--I used to think that I just hated doing it, but lately I've realized that I really avoid it because it hurts my hip.
Oh, the hip. I managed to tear a ligament in my hip while jogging when I was in highschool. I am always really aware when I'm riding of how much more stiff and closed my right hip is compared to my left. This is really unfortunate for a lot of reasons.
When riding, one of the major goals is to be as straight and balanced as possible. Good communication is much easier when the cues are even on both sides of the horse.
Unfortunately for me (and my horse), I'm crooked all the time. Because my right hip flexor doesn't work as well, I don't sit as deeply or move as flexibly in the saddle on the right side.
Bummer.
I think I'll write more about imbalance later.
Anyway, we did a lot of lateral work (all I could handle) and I spent the whole last 20 minutes of cool-out riding with one hand and trying to give her all the signals with my legs and seat. What an exercise! It really shows you how much (or little--in my case much!) you rely on the reins to get your directions and movements.
Man are my legs sore now.
I did hose her off after the ride with hardly a look from her at the hose (which was the source of this whole pulling back problem we're having, ironically!). It's been 70 and HOT in Wyo lately, and she seemed to appreciate the hose down. I brushed her out and put her up, and both she and Speedy got quite a few carrots.
I also bought a girth extender for my English saddle, because Ms. Chubby outgrew all of my girths.
I'm hoping to get out there tomorrow too...stay tuned for how well that plan turns out!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
I noticed something cool the other day
that I completely forgot to write about.
I noticed halfway through my (bosal) hackamore ride with Chev about a week ago that she had foam in the corners of her mouth.
Whatddyaknowabout that?
And here all these years I thought even if a horse was working correctly they had to have a bit in their mouth to get happy foam.
Yet another myth dispelled!
I noticed halfway through my (bosal) hackamore ride with Chev about a week ago that she had foam in the corners of her mouth.
Whatddyaknowabout that?
And here all these years I thought even if a horse was working correctly they had to have a bit in their mouth to get happy foam.
Yet another myth dispelled!
Monday, February 13, 2012
Contact
Contact is something I think about a lot.
It's something I should probably attempt to define for those of you who read but aren't horse-crazed individuals.
The dictionary-type definition of contact helps us understand what it means for the horse person. Generally, contact is defined (relevantly) as "the state of physical touching" and "as a means by which to give and receive information" and "to communicate with".
In horseman's terms, the word contact is frequently used to describe the connection between the rider's hands, the reins, and the horse's mouth.
There are a lot of different types on contact, and their use and application varies widely based on the style of riding.
For example, hunter/jumpers tend to keep what's called "strong contact". This loosely translates (sometimes incorrectly) as a "tight grip on tight reins". Jumpers are notoriously very strong horses, and showjumping courses are timed and can be very technical--the speed and bravery needed to compete successfully can make for a very strong horse. Here's an example of probably the most famous female rider showjumping team in recent memory:
Western pleasure classes abhor contact of almost any kind. They are said to be "riding on a loose rein", often a "draped rein", which means the bit is in a neutral position most of the time and signals are often passively imbued or given with mostly all seat/leg. Here's an example of what's successful in high level Western Pleasure:
But they would both be pretty bad.
Ahem...does this seem a bit crazy to any of you?
Biotop is in perfect elevation and is not being held up be the reins at all. He has his nose just slightly ahead of the vertical, and he looks free up front and engaged behind. He also looks happy. And so does his rider.
By all accounts, Biotop was a challenging horse to ride, even for a master like Dr. Klimke. Yet he warmed the great stallion up not in the double bridle, but a simple snaffle. That was his philosophy. And I think it's evident from the photo of Biotop that for him, contact was certainly not a means of force-controlling the horse. It was there for precise communication only.
So when did "contact" go from light pressure to something that causes bone spurs in the horse's neck and mouth? I don't know. But it surely isn't the correct way of doing things.
What do you consider to be appropriate riding contact? Do you ride that way because people have told you to, because you have found it on your own, or because you fear what your horse will do to you if you don't?
It's something I should probably attempt to define for those of you who read but aren't horse-crazed individuals.
The dictionary-type definition of contact helps us understand what it means for the horse person. Generally, contact is defined (relevantly) as "the state of physical touching" and "as a means by which to give and receive information" and "to communicate with".
In horseman's terms, the word contact is frequently used to describe the connection between the rider's hands, the reins, and the horse's mouth.
There are a lot of different types on contact, and their use and application varies widely based on the style of riding.
For example, hunter/jumpers tend to keep what's called "strong contact". This loosely translates (sometimes incorrectly) as a "tight grip on tight reins". Jumpers are notoriously very strong horses, and showjumping courses are timed and can be very technical--the speed and bravery needed to compete successfully can make for a very strong horse. Here's an example of probably the most famous female rider showjumping team in recent memory:
Beezie Madden and Authentic make it look easy. (Image ©
Randi Muster)
Western pleasure classes abhor contact of almost any kind. They are said to be "riding on a loose rein", often a "draped rein", which means the bit is in a neutral position most of the time and signals are often passively imbued or given with mostly all seat/leg. Here's an example of what's successful in high level Western Pleasure:
Katherine Fuller on One Jazzy Sheik, top 5 in Amateur Western
Pleasure at the 2009 AQHA World Show
Personally, I respect both of these kinds of contact. I understand that they have a totally different purpose, and that the training, equipment and end goals are completely different. The amount of contact is appropriate for the discipline. You wouldn't want those reins flopping around and getting caught as you try to clear a 6' jump, just as you wouldn't want to be putting a lot of contact pressure on the horse's mouth when he's wearing a large curb like the one in the Western Pleasure photo above. Either would be equally disasterous.
Well, the jumping one might be worse.
But they would both be pretty bad.
One area that I think is constantly in a state of debate is Dressage.
My foundation is in basic Dressage, like a lot of riders. I have heard many people tell me over the years that Dressage horses must be ridden in tight contact. I have even heard, in books by masters, no less, that as the horse progresses into a larger bit, like the traditional Weymouth/Bridoon combination bridle (aka, the double bridle), that plenty of spur and leg must be used to compensate for the lack of forward produced by contact on a "sharp" bit.
Ahem...does this seem a bit crazy to any of you?
Just humor me here for a few minutes.
As you may have gathered from my post the other day, I love Dr. Reiner Klimke. He won 6 Olympic gold metals over the course of his life. Tragically the world lost him in 1999, when he succumbed to a heart attack at age 63.
Here's an image of Klimke and his "great love", the Trakehner Biotop.
Look at that (lack of?) contact! This is what I picture in
my mind when I think of "perfect contact".
Dr. Klimke is considered by many to be one of the great masters of Dressage (I certainly feel that way!). Look at Biotop: he is forward, free, happy, and not behind the vertical. They both look absolutely wonderful. He is riding off the snaffle rein much more than the curb rein, just as he should be. There is a straight line from the snaffle rein to his hand, while the curb rein remains mostly inactive.
Biotop is in perfect elevation and is not being held up be the reins at all. He has his nose just slightly ahead of the vertical, and he looks free up front and engaged behind. He also looks happy. And so does his rider.
By all accounts, Biotop was a challenging horse to ride, even for a master like Dr. Klimke. Yet he warmed the great stallion up not in the double bridle, but a simple snaffle. That was his philosophy. And I think it's evident from the photo of Biotop that for him, contact was certainly not a means of force-controlling the horse. It was there for precise communication only.
Unfortunately, I think this picture is becoming pretty rare in the Dressage world.
I know it is so fashionable to pick on the Dressage super star Anky Van Grunsven, but I just can't help myself. She is a perfect example of how Rollkur, or "hyperflexion of the neck" is still winning at the highest levels of Dressage. Here's an image of "Iron Hand Anky" riding a horse in full Rollkur:
Anky riding in contact so strong horse is forced to break over at the 3rd vertebrae,
which can cause permanent musculo-skeletal damage
Here's another image of a horse being ridden in Rollkur. Note the rolling eyes and whipped-eggwhite foam coming from a very unhappy mouth. His crank noseband is on so tight it's even starting to asphyxiate him:
Lord save me from this bloody "contact"!
If you had that kind of "contact" on another human being, I think you'd be asking for some serious trouble! In all honestly, I don't think ANYONE outside of the horse would would describe what is happening there with the reins as "contact". I think it would more accurately be described as "brute force".
So when did "contact" go from light pressure to something that causes bone spurs in the horse's neck and mouth? I don't know. But it surely isn't the correct way of doing things.
Anyway, these are some pretty extreme examples. If you want to read something truly scary, I encourage you to click on over to Sustainable Dressage's pages on Rollkur, where she describes in awesome detail about what it is and how it affects the horse: http://sustainabledressage.net/rollkur/index.php
What do you consider to be appropriate riding contact? Do you ride that way because people have told you to, because you have found it on your own, or because you fear what your horse will do to you if you don't?
What happens when you "throw the contact away"? Does your horse not know what to do, fall on his face or take off with you?
If contact is for subtle communication, a light touch, and to give your horse an aid--can he feel it through all of your contact?
If you ride with almost no contact, how do you get your horse to come back to you?
Have people told you that the only way to control your horse is by moving up to a sharper bit?
I guess the point here isn't the point fingers and blame everyone, but rather to understand that contact doesn't have to mean pain. It doesn't have to mean tight reins. It only has to mean that you can feel your horse's mouth, and he can feel the signal that you're transmitting to him. That can be done on all kinds of reins, and I think is independent of rein length, or rein tightness, to some degree at least.
What do you think? I do read all comments and I love a discussion!
Saturday, February 11, 2012
The rearing horse, part 2: when it's not the horse's fault
Oh lord.
You know how I said the other day that there's nothing that terrifies me more than a rearing horse? Especially if the rearing is sudden and unpredictable, and has little to do with the rider?
This video is an example of the OPPOSITE of unpredictable rearing (thanks to Fugly Horse of the Day for leading me to a distinct rise in blood pressure and these few minutes of my life I can never get back). Watch on...
There is so much wrong with this video it's hard for me to even know where to start. In no particular order:
1. Unbroke horse in huge shank bit on a tight rein
2. Stupid idiot on horse in shorts and tennis shoes
3. No arena (not a requirement for breaking horses, but a darn good idea)
4. No helmet (this one's debatable, but it's a still good idea given the circumstances)
5. Hightly distracting and stressful environment
6. Uncapped T-poles for the pasture near enough to get impaled on (uncapped t-posts anywhere are a big no-no...I have a personal story about that one for later)
7.Stupid idiot is wearing spurs too (OH HE ISN'T?? That's a miracle! We have to give him credit for one thing, I guess)
Remember how I said before (I did, didn't I?) that horses will rear as a result of too much information that a horse can't make sense of? This video is a perfect example of that. He's hauling back on the reins which are attached to a truly horrific looking bit (on an unbroke horse!), which the other guy pulls her head, and he attempts to kick her forward. It doesn't look to me like she could be much more braced and tense. She's getting so many mixed messages that she doesn't know what to do...so she rears. And I think it was completely justified.
He also just leaps up there with no finesse or concern for her well-being, lands hard, and screws with his stirrups FOREVER. And what does she do? Nothing. She stands patiently, even though she's nervous. She thinks that is what she is supposed to do. She is a good horse.
So who didn't see that coming? Was she just going to stand there being pulled all sorts of directions, in pain forever? Nope...
This is also a perfect example of: Brute Force Ain't No Way to Train a Horse.
This is so far away from "feel" that it's not even in the same universe.
And what has this horse learned from this...ahem, "training session"?
Looks to me like she's learned that someone will get on her, hurt her mouth, yank her head, and kick her sides until she rears and dumps them.
I also love how the other spectator runs away from the horse after the guy falls off, like she's some sort of "crazed, dang'rus an'mal, y'all!!"
What a terrific start.
Lord, that poor animal.
I think we all need a little "brain bleach" after that one, don't we? So here's one of my favorite rides of all time: Dr. Klimke and his marvelous horse, Ahlerich, performing in New York in 1987--and still brings tears to my eyes every time I watch it. I wish I could have found a clip that was better quality. Enjoy!
You know how I said the other day that there's nothing that terrifies me more than a rearing horse? Especially if the rearing is sudden and unpredictable, and has little to do with the rider?
This video is an example of the OPPOSITE of unpredictable rearing (thanks to Fugly Horse of the Day for leading me to a distinct rise in blood pressure and these few minutes of my life I can never get back). Watch on...
There is so much wrong with this video it's hard for me to even know where to start. In no particular order:
1. Unbroke horse in huge shank bit on a tight rein
2. Stupid idiot on horse in shorts and tennis shoes
3. No arena (not a requirement for breaking horses, but a darn good idea)
4. No helmet (this one's debatable, but it's a still good idea given the circumstances)
5. Hightly distracting and stressful environment
6. Uncapped T-poles for the pasture near enough to get impaled on (uncapped t-posts anywhere are a big no-no...I have a personal story about that one for later)
7.
Remember how I said before (I did, didn't I?) that horses will rear as a result of too much information that a horse can't make sense of? This video is a perfect example of that. He's hauling back on the reins which are attached to a truly horrific looking bit (on an unbroke horse!), which the other guy pulls her head, and he attempts to kick her forward. It doesn't look to me like she could be much more braced and tense. She's getting so many mixed messages that she doesn't know what to do...so she rears. And I think it was completely justified.
He also just leaps up there with no finesse or concern for her well-being, lands hard, and screws with his stirrups FOREVER. And what does she do? Nothing. She stands patiently, even though she's nervous. She thinks that is what she is supposed to do. She is a good horse.
So who didn't see that coming? Was she just going to stand there being pulled all sorts of directions, in pain forever? Nope...
This is also a perfect example of: Brute Force Ain't No Way to Train a Horse.
This is so far away from "feel" that it's not even in the same universe.
And what has this horse learned from this...ahem, "training session"?
Looks to me like she's learned that someone will get on her, hurt her mouth, yank her head, and kick her sides until she rears and dumps them.
I also love how the other spectator runs away from the horse after the guy falls off, like she's some sort of "crazed, dang'rus an'mal, y'all!!"
What a terrific start.
Lord, that poor animal.
I think we all need a little "brain bleach" after that one, don't we? So here's one of my favorite rides of all time: Dr. Klimke and his marvelous horse, Ahlerich, performing in New York in 1987--and still brings tears to my eyes every time I watch it. I wish I could have found a clip that was better quality. Enjoy!
Friday, January 27, 2012
I don't want this to be a blog that slams other training methods...
But...What the hell were they thinking?
I actually titled this file "Parelli WTF.jpg".
I really don't want this blog to at all be about "I'm right" and "they're wrong". If there's any one thing I can freely admit, without a "but" in there, it's that I am not a trainer, and I don't know everything there is to know.
In fact, I've said before that I know just enough to know I don't know enough.
And I really, truly believe that!
That's part of what makes horses fun. There is always something more to learn, something to realize you're not doing right, and a way to fix it. It's a learning process, and it can last you through your whole life.
That being said...is the Parelli camp actually advocating that I have to eat grass with my horse to "collect my horse's heart" and bond with him? I seriously thought this was a cruel photoshop joke on Mr. Parelli when I first saw this cover.
If that's "Mastery", then I'll happily stay a dumb horse gal bumbling along in ignorance for all eternity...
If that's "Mastery", then I'll happily stay a dumb horse gal bumbling along in ignorance for all eternity...
Because that, folks, is just plain crazy.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Cardinal Rule #1--My first Ah Ha! Moment
I'll admit, I'm not the sharpest tool in the box when it comes to schooling leads.
In 2009, shortly after her 4th birthday, Chev bowed a tendon twirling like a maniac on turnout in the roundpen. When I brought her in, she was tender on the rocks. She was barefoot at the time, and she always had hard hooves. She was never stone tender. That got my attention right away.
When I lunged her to assess her better, something was definitely wrong. Chevy has a lot of head movement at liberty or on the line at the trot. I've had two vets assess her, and they both said, "It's just the way she moves." But this time I could definitely see a head bob. There was the tiniest bit of swelling in her left front just below the knee. No heat. Everyone told me it was a stone bruise.
I should probably mention at this point that I have this strange "feeling" sometimes around animals. When I look at an animal, I can usually tell if something is wrong, even if they look fine on the outside. It's really strange. I guess I probably just notice things other people wouldn't notice. With Chevy, I couldn't explain what it was, but I knew something was wrong.
I called the vet and made an appointment to come out the following morning for an ultrasound of both front legs. I felt a little silly doing it, since I didn't have much reasonable data to indicate a problem.
Sure enough, her left front superficial flexor tendon was bowed.
A "bowed" tendon technically just means it doesn't appear normal. This could mean anything from minor swelling to a tear, a hole, or even complete severance of the tendon connection. Major injuries give the tendon a bowed appearance. This is pretty common to see in Thoroughbreds. But it can happen to any horse.
In Chev's case, luckily, the tendon was just swollen without any perforation.
It still meant she was on stall rest for two months.
Imagine confining a three-year-old child to a crib for two months, and you pretty much have how much fun that was for both of us.
I spent many evenings down at the barn walking her in slow, big loops around the barn. Soon everyone knew us.
After a month of nothing but hand walking, we graduated to a few minutes of trot work.
Eventually she was back on the lunge line again. I was terrified she would re-injure herself and be unridable.
Anyway, the point of all this is to explain why, at 5 years old, my horse was just learning how to canter under saddle.
I started riding her again about two and a half months after her injury on the advice of the vet, in late August of 2009. We did a few minutes of trot a day, but most of it was walking, halting, and learning to steer.
I didn't really get her cantering under saddle until almost her 6th birthday, about a year ago.
I mentioned before that my horse is one-sided, like many horses.
I could get her going on one lead, but not the other. She was completely "one-leaded."
My gelding had one lead, and while I loved him absolutely, I didn't really have to heart to push him into working on both leads all the time. Before he was retired to a life of trail riding (which he loved), we could do flying changes when he was 23--but it wasn't much fun for either of us. I decided at that point in his life, he had earned pleasant rides under saddle that he enjoyed. His show days were over, and he deserved to just have fun. Plus, he was a real blast out on the trails, where it didn't matter what lead he chose.
But I was determined my filly would have both her leads.
I worked day after day, trying everything I could think of to trick her into picking up the lead.
I saw our lives unfolding before me: Megan and her one-leaded horse. AGAIN.
It was very discouraging.
When you're in this situation, trying your hardest to canter your filly correctly in an arena and not kill anyone or yourself, you tend to solicit a lot of unwanted advice.
"Stop her and back her up hard when she takes the wrong lead," one teenage know-it-all said.
"Get her in a tight circle and then ask!" Another yelled.
"If she's on the wrong lead just put her in a circle and she'll have to switch!" the first one said again.
"You have to turn her nose to the outside or she'll never get it!!" the would-be trainer told me.
"TURN HER HARD AGAINST THE WALL AND THEN ASK HER HARD FOR THE LEAD ON THE WAY OUT!!!" someone else shouted.
It was ridiculous. And very frustrating. I didn't see the logic in any of these things, but I faithfully tried them in front of my audience, and every one failed. Repeatedly.
After a while my teenage audience wrote us off as a lost cause, and left us alone.
It wasn't that Chev was trying to be bad. Chev didn't know she had another lead under saddle.
She was just trying to chug along in the most comfortable and balanced way she knew how.
And I didn't want to punish that.
But I didn't have a clue about how to get through to her what I wanted.
I went home every time frustrated and defeated.
I was reading a lot of mugwump at this time, since her advice seemed really solid, simple and straight-forward to me.
I remember I was reading an entry on stops.
She saw the stop as a reward for the horse. A chance to get a break from work.
Slowly the gears started turning in my brain.
I had an idea.
The next time I was out at the barn, I tried my theory.
After a long warm up, I asked for the canter.
Chev struck off on the only lead she knew. It was wrong, but instead of stopping her, I let her chug along for a few laps around the indoor arena before I said "Hhhhho."
She rested a minute, we walked off, I asked again.
Wrong lead again.
I had her keep going around and around until I felt I'd made my point. I let her halt and air up a little bit. Then we struck off again.
Wrong lead again. Around and around and around we went. Probably ten laps.
We stopped. She was getting tired. I could feel her thinking about what she could do to get out of this crazy routine I had invented.
I asked again. She picked up the wrong lead again. Around and around and around. Fifteen laps this time.
Whew!
As she aired up a little, I considered what had happened so far. This was a lot more pleasant ride than the other ones, even if it was all spent on the wrong lead.
We walked off, I put her in a trot, stopped my posting and clearly asked again.
And guess what?
My little pony picked up the correct lead.
I was so happy I nearly cried.
I stopped her after four or five strides, let her rest a good long while and praised her lavishly. I resisted the urge (and potential pitfall) of making her stay on the right lead for more than a few strides.
We walked out, she cooled off, and we quit for the day.
The gears were turning.
My next ride started off about the same, but it only took her two times of loping around and around the arena on the wrong lead before she figured it out. I only had her go a few strides on the correct lead before letting her rest. That way she knew the difference, and knew she could expect a reward if she did the right thing.
There was no yelling, no thumping, and no stress to this approach. There was no cranking of the reins, tight turns, loss of balance, or stiffening of her neck.
Even though she's still much more comfortable on her left lead, I never had much trouble getting her leads after that.
This was my first really huge "ah-HA!!" moment with Chev.
So thanks, mugwump, for helping me figure out my first cardinal rule of training.
Rule #1: Make the right thing easy, and the wrong thing hard.
In 2009, shortly after her 4th birthday, Chev bowed a tendon twirling like a maniac on turnout in the roundpen. When I brought her in, she was tender on the rocks. She was barefoot at the time, and she always had hard hooves. She was never stone tender. That got my attention right away.
When I lunged her to assess her better, something was definitely wrong. Chevy has a lot of head movement at liberty or on the line at the trot. I've had two vets assess her, and they both said, "It's just the way she moves." But this time I could definitely see a head bob. There was the tiniest bit of swelling in her left front just below the knee. No heat. Everyone told me it was a stone bruise.
I should probably mention at this point that I have this strange "feeling" sometimes around animals. When I look at an animal, I can usually tell if something is wrong, even if they look fine on the outside. It's really strange. I guess I probably just notice things other people wouldn't notice. With Chevy, I couldn't explain what it was, but I knew something was wrong.
I called the vet and made an appointment to come out the following morning for an ultrasound of both front legs. I felt a little silly doing it, since I didn't have much reasonable data to indicate a problem.
Sure enough, her left front superficial flexor tendon was bowed.
A "bowed" tendon technically just means it doesn't appear normal. This could mean anything from minor swelling to a tear, a hole, or even complete severance of the tendon connection. Major injuries give the tendon a bowed appearance. This is pretty common to see in Thoroughbreds. But it can happen to any horse.
In Chev's case, luckily, the tendon was just swollen without any perforation.
It still meant she was on stall rest for two months.
Imagine confining a three-year-old child to a crib for two months, and you pretty much have how much fun that was for both of us.
I spent many evenings down at the barn walking her in slow, big loops around the barn. Soon everyone knew us.
After a month of nothing but hand walking, we graduated to a few minutes of trot work.
Eventually she was back on the lunge line again. I was terrified she would re-injure herself and be unridable.
Anyway, the point of all this is to explain why, at 5 years old, my horse was just learning how to canter under saddle.
I started riding her again about two and a half months after her injury on the advice of the vet, in late August of 2009. We did a few minutes of trot a day, but most of it was walking, halting, and learning to steer.
I didn't really get her cantering under saddle until almost her 6th birthday, about a year ago.
I mentioned before that my horse is one-sided, like many horses.
I could get her going on one lead, but not the other. She was completely "one-leaded."
My gelding had one lead, and while I loved him absolutely, I didn't really have to heart to push him into working on both leads all the time. Before he was retired to a life of trail riding (which he loved), we could do flying changes when he was 23--but it wasn't much fun for either of us. I decided at that point in his life, he had earned pleasant rides under saddle that he enjoyed. His show days were over, and he deserved to just have fun. Plus, he was a real blast out on the trails, where it didn't matter what lead he chose.
Ben at 22 in his right lead canter, me with terrible equitation & a bareback pad
But I was determined my filly would have both her leads.
I worked day after day, trying everything I could think of to trick her into picking up the lead.
I saw our lives unfolding before me: Megan and her one-leaded horse. AGAIN.
It was very discouraging.
When you're in this situation, trying your hardest to canter your filly correctly in an arena and not kill anyone or yourself, you tend to solicit a lot of unwanted advice.
"Stop her and back her up hard when she takes the wrong lead," one teenage know-it-all said.
"Get her in a tight circle and then ask!" Another yelled.
"If she's on the wrong lead just put her in a circle and she'll have to switch!" the first one said again.
"You have to turn her nose to the outside or she'll never get it!!" the would-be trainer told me.
"TURN HER HARD AGAINST THE WALL AND THEN ASK HER HARD FOR THE LEAD ON THE WAY OUT!!!" someone else shouted.
It was ridiculous. And very frustrating. I didn't see the logic in any of these things, but I faithfully tried them in front of my audience, and every one failed. Repeatedly.
After a while my teenage audience wrote us off as a lost cause, and left us alone.
It wasn't that Chev was trying to be bad. Chev didn't know she had another lead under saddle.
She was just trying to chug along in the most comfortable and balanced way she knew how.
And I didn't want to punish that.
But I didn't have a clue about how to get through to her what I wanted.
I went home every time frustrated and defeated.
I was reading a lot of mugwump at this time, since her advice seemed really solid, simple and straight-forward to me.
I remember I was reading an entry on stops.
She saw the stop as a reward for the horse. A chance to get a break from work.
Slowly the gears started turning in my brain.
I had an idea.
The next time I was out at the barn, I tried my theory.
After a long warm up, I asked for the canter.
Chev struck off on the only lead she knew. It was wrong, but instead of stopping her, I let her chug along for a few laps around the indoor arena before I said "Hhhhho."
She rested a minute, we walked off, I asked again.
Wrong lead again.
I had her keep going around and around until I felt I'd made my point. I let her halt and air up a little bit. Then we struck off again.
Wrong lead again. Around and around and around we went. Probably ten laps.
We stopped. She was getting tired. I could feel her thinking about what she could do to get out of this crazy routine I had invented.
I asked again. She picked up the wrong lead again. Around and around and around. Fifteen laps this time.
Whew!
As she aired up a little, I considered what had happened so far. This was a lot more pleasant ride than the other ones, even if it was all spent on the wrong lead.
We walked off, I put her in a trot, stopped my posting and clearly asked again.
And guess what?
My little pony picked up the correct lead.
I was so happy I nearly cried.
I stopped her after four or five strides, let her rest a good long while and praised her lavishly. I resisted the urge (and potential pitfall) of making her stay on the right lead for more than a few strides.
We walked out, she cooled off, and we quit for the day.
The gears were turning.
My next ride started off about the same, but it only took her two times of loping around and around the arena on the wrong lead before she figured it out. I only had her go a few strides on the correct lead before letting her rest. That way she knew the difference, and knew she could expect a reward if she did the right thing.
There was no yelling, no thumping, and no stress to this approach. There was no cranking of the reins, tight turns, loss of balance, or stiffening of her neck.
Even though she's still much more comfortable on her left lead, I never had much trouble getting her leads after that.
This was my first really huge "ah-HA!!" moment with Chev.
So thanks, mugwump, for helping me figure out my first cardinal rule of training.
Rule #1: Make the right thing easy, and the wrong thing hard.
Chev on the right lead canter. You can see the right lead originates from the left hind.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Hitting a wall means you at least see it, right?
I've kind of been hitting a wall with Chev lately.
My riding has been inconsistent at best. All summer I made the 80-mile round trip to ride at least 4 days a week. My car has a lot of miles on it. But my horse felt broke, light, soft, responsive. It really felt like we were getting somewhere.
I'm not able to ride as much now that it's winter and crummy outside. I'm lucky if I get one good ride in a week.
It's not that my horse is disobedient by nature. I don't even think it's that she doesn't want to work anymore, or that she forgets lessons. I think it's that her body just isn't conditioned to cues how it used to be.
You know, muscle memory? Mine's suffered a lot, too.
You know what else you lose when you don't ride much? Confidence.
I don't worry much about my horse being naughty. She's not ever naughty for the sake of misbehavior. She is not out to get me, even though I'm sometimes out to get her. I try to remember that whenever I feel frustrated with the way things are going. Even when she is difficult, she isn't bad. She isn't doing it "on purpose".
The kind of confidence I'm talking about is the assurance that you are giving the right cue, and that your horse knows what that means.
It's all building muscle memory.
And I've lost a lot of that over the last couple of months.
I did bring the hackamore out with me to the barn today, and we did a little riding in it, just playing around and getting comfortable with the opposite kind of pressure and the way it acts on the face. In hindsight, the best time to do all this would have been at the end of the ride, not the beginning. But that's something to store away for later.
We started on the line. She lunged for a few minutes in the smaller outdoor arena. She looked a little muscle sore from the other day but worked out of it quickly. After a few minutes she looked good. I was starting to feel hopeful that we would get somewhere today.
Played around in the hackamore and that was challenging for her. I switched to the snaffle after a few minutes and I immediately became aware of just how tuned in she is to it. And how reliant I am still on the reins for steering. Darn.
Unfortunately I had to ride in the large jumping outdoor since there was a lesson happening with four kiddos and four ponies all going crazy directions in the smaller arena we usually work in. The jumping arena was an obstacle course. All the jumps were blown down all over the place, and half the arena was still muddy and too slippery to ride in.
This translated into a pretty crummy space to ride.
We did our best to work around it, but today I had a freight train on my hands.
This is totally what I get for bragging about how awesome she works on a draped rein.
I hate riding with that much contact. It hurts. It hurts everyone. Chev wanted me to hold her up. She wanted to just lean on the contact and not have to think about balancing her own body. She was feeling a bit frantic from our harrowing ride the other day, she wanted to look at the school ponies, and she did not like the wind blowing in her face. She wanted to become a barrel racer.
You know that moment where you know people are watching you ride, and thinking to themselves, "Boy, that gal is having a tough time"?
That was totally happening to me.
After fifteen minutes of huffing and puffing around outside (both of us), and nearly getting blown off my horse, I decided it was a good idea to try the indoor arena again.
We walked up there.
And guess what?
She was a little nervous.
But she was so much better.
Only one poop pile this time instead of 10.
She shuffled her feet in the beginning.
But she listened. She caught on rapidly to the rules. She looked to me instead of the wind for clues.
After twenty minutes she was relaxing into a nice rising trot and staying at a walk whenever I asked. Granted, it was a damned energetic walk. But it was still a walk.
We did some trot pole exercises and tons of serpentines. We practiced unsticking her incredibly sticky right shoulder and ribcage. We stopped. We walked some more.
I dismounted after a great stop at the scary far end and she followed me quietly out of the arena.
So, that's progress.
By then the kiddos were done with their lesson and I wanted to work a little on our canter departs.
I also felt it would benefit her to just lope some big circles and get all the bunches out.
I have a pretty one-sided horse. I remember many years ago my instructors telling me every horse has a preferred lead, just as people are right- or left-handed. They even stick the preferred leg out in front of them when grazing or eating hay off the ground. You can teach them to be ambidextrous (and that is, indeed, the goal!) but they don't come out of the box that way.
My horse is in the majority. She is definitely "left handed".
Her left lead is balanced, cadenced, and lovely to ride. Which really means that the right side of her body is supple, relaxed, and strong, since it's the part that has to bend around for the left lead. The right hind is also where all the power for the left lead is created.
Her right lead is choppy, lopsided, and sort of feels like riding a different horse up front than behind. In her case this has to do with a lot of left side stiffness. She also has some sort of mysterious shoulder injury from when she was a 5 year old (vet and I guessed it was a spectacular wipe-out in the pasture, which she is wont to do), so her mobility is a little decreased on that side. At least, I can see it.
I put her in a big circle on her left lead.
My broke, draped-rein horse was suddenly back!
She felt great. Slow and happy.
I put her into her right lead, more challenging. She picked it right up and carried me along. It felt pretty good. She was elastic and bending through my leg.
We did a few big, swoopy loops, back to the left lead, rinse and repeat.
I kept expecting her to be tired, but she just seemed happy to stretch her muscles out.
I put her back into her right lead and disaster struck.
It's been a while since I've had one of those moments where I was sure I was coming off. You know what I'm talking about: time slows down incredibly, your mind thinks of what you could do, but your body is still too slow to do anything...
It was a major, catastrophic stumble. The edge of the far end of the arena just drops off about three feet before hitting the perimeter iron-cable fence. I had time to think about how much this was going to suck. I think I yelled out some expletive. And I cranked up on those reins.
I pulled my pony up off her stumbling knees and gave her some leverage to balance with. She threw a little buck out the back trying to get her feet organized, came out of it on the other lead, and off we went.
I was laughing at this point.
I eased her down and asked for the right lead again, which she took gracefully. We loped around a little bit, then we stopped, and we both aired up.
This is exactly why I never throw my reins entirely away. You never know when your horse might need a little help.
Not sure how I didn't just go over her head when she stumbled face first, but I think it was mostly being lucky enough to do the right things in the right order to save the situation. Total luck. She literally had one foot over the edge when we were able to regain balance and move on.
I was really proud of her, though. She could have come unglued. She's never tripped to her knees with a rider before. And given her past history, I think she handled it pretty damn calmly.
We both did, somehow.
We did a few more circles of canter, mostly so I could prove to her she really was great at it, and a good long walk cool-off.
So we ended on a great note today. I had my soft, giving, moderately-broke horse back.
She earned her sand roll and her carrots today.
My riding has been inconsistent at best. All summer I made the 80-mile round trip to ride at least 4 days a week. My car has a lot of miles on it. But my horse felt broke, light, soft, responsive. It really felt like we were getting somewhere.
I'm not able to ride as much now that it's winter and crummy outside. I'm lucky if I get one good ride in a week.
It's not that my horse is disobedient by nature. I don't even think it's that she doesn't want to work anymore, or that she forgets lessons. I think it's that her body just isn't conditioned to cues how it used to be.
You know, muscle memory? Mine's suffered a lot, too.
You know what else you lose when you don't ride much? Confidence.
I don't worry much about my horse being naughty. She's not ever naughty for the sake of misbehavior. She is not out to get me, even though I'm sometimes out to get her. I try to remember that whenever I feel frustrated with the way things are going. Even when she is difficult, she isn't bad. She isn't doing it "on purpose".
The kind of confidence I'm talking about is the assurance that you are giving the right cue, and that your horse knows what that means.
It's all building muscle memory.
And I've lost a lot of that over the last couple of months.
Sandy face.
I did bring the hackamore out with me to the barn today, and we did a little riding in it, just playing around and getting comfortable with the opposite kind of pressure and the way it acts on the face. In hindsight, the best time to do all this would have been at the end of the ride, not the beginning. But that's something to store away for later.
We started on the line. She lunged for a few minutes in the smaller outdoor arena. She looked a little muscle sore from the other day but worked out of it quickly. After a few minutes she looked good. I was starting to feel hopeful that we would get somewhere today.
Played around in the hackamore and that was challenging for her. I switched to the snaffle after a few minutes and I immediately became aware of just how tuned in she is to it. And how reliant I am still on the reins for steering. Darn.
Unfortunately I had to ride in the large jumping outdoor since there was a lesson happening with four kiddos and four ponies all going crazy directions in the smaller arena we usually work in. The jumping arena was an obstacle course. All the jumps were blown down all over the place, and half the arena was still muddy and too slippery to ride in.
This translated into a pretty crummy space to ride.
We did our best to work around it, but today I had a freight train on my hands.
This is totally what I get for bragging about how awesome she works on a draped rein.
I hate riding with that much contact. It hurts. It hurts everyone. Chev wanted me to hold her up. She wanted to just lean on the contact and not have to think about balancing her own body. She was feeling a bit frantic from our harrowing ride the other day, she wanted to look at the school ponies, and she did not like the wind blowing in her face. She wanted to become a barrel racer.
You know that moment where you know people are watching you ride, and thinking to themselves, "Boy, that gal is having a tough time"?
That was totally happening to me.
After fifteen minutes of huffing and puffing around outside (both of us), and nearly getting blown off my horse, I decided it was a good idea to try the indoor arena again.
We walked up there.
And guess what?
She was a little nervous.
But she was so much better.
Only one poop pile this time instead of 10.
She shuffled her feet in the beginning.
But she listened. She caught on rapidly to the rules. She looked to me instead of the wind for clues.
After twenty minutes she was relaxing into a nice rising trot and staying at a walk whenever I asked. Granted, it was a damned energetic walk. But it was still a walk.
We did some trot pole exercises and tons of serpentines. We practiced unsticking her incredibly sticky right shoulder and ribcage. We stopped. We walked some more.
I dismounted after a great stop at the scary far end and she followed me quietly out of the arena.
So, that's progress.
By then the kiddos were done with their lesson and I wanted to work a little on our canter departs.
I also felt it would benefit her to just lope some big circles and get all the bunches out.
I have a pretty one-sided horse. I remember many years ago my instructors telling me every horse has a preferred lead, just as people are right- or left-handed. They even stick the preferred leg out in front of them when grazing or eating hay off the ground. You can teach them to be ambidextrous (and that is, indeed, the goal!) but they don't come out of the box that way.
My horse is in the majority. She is definitely "left handed".
Her left lead is balanced, cadenced, and lovely to ride. Which really means that the right side of her body is supple, relaxed, and strong, since it's the part that has to bend around for the left lead. The right hind is also where all the power for the left lead is created.
Her right lead is choppy, lopsided, and sort of feels like riding a different horse up front than behind. In her case this has to do with a lot of left side stiffness. She also has some sort of mysterious shoulder injury from when she was a 5 year old (vet and I guessed it was a spectacular wipe-out in the pasture, which she is wont to do), so her mobility is a little decreased on that side. At least, I can see it.
I put her in a big circle on her left lead.
My broke, draped-rein horse was suddenly back!
She felt great. Slow and happy.
I put her into her right lead, more challenging. She picked it right up and carried me along. It felt pretty good. She was elastic and bending through my leg.
We did a few big, swoopy loops, back to the left lead, rinse and repeat.
I kept expecting her to be tired, but she just seemed happy to stretch her muscles out.
I put her back into her right lead and disaster struck.
It's been a while since I've had one of those moments where I was sure I was coming off. You know what I'm talking about: time slows down incredibly, your mind thinks of what you could do, but your body is still too slow to do anything...
It was a major, catastrophic stumble. The edge of the far end of the arena just drops off about three feet before hitting the perimeter iron-cable fence. I had time to think about how much this was going to suck. I think I yelled out some expletive. And I cranked up on those reins.
I pulled my pony up off her stumbling knees and gave her some leverage to balance with. She threw a little buck out the back trying to get her feet organized, came out of it on the other lead, and off we went.
I was laughing at this point.
I eased her down and asked for the right lead again, which she took gracefully. We loped around a little bit, then we stopped, and we both aired up.
This is exactly why I never throw my reins entirely away. You never know when your horse might need a little help.
Not sure how I didn't just go over her head when she stumbled face first, but I think it was mostly being lucky enough to do the right things in the right order to save the situation. Total luck. She literally had one foot over the edge when we were able to regain balance and move on.
I was really proud of her, though. She could have come unglued. She's never tripped to her knees with a rider before. And given her past history, I think she handled it pretty damn calmly.
We both did, somehow.
We did a few more circles of canter, mostly so I could prove to her she really was great at it, and a good long walk cool-off.
So we ended on a great note today. I had my soft, giving, moderately-broke horse back.
She earned her sand roll and her carrots today.
In other news: my horse is officially winter fat...somehow she looks like a welsh pony in this photo, and is wondering why I stood her up so awkwardly. That fence behind her is 6'.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Am I lazy?
There's something that I have been struggling with ever since I switched over to seriously riding "western". This carries over into my training of Chevy.
There is this nagging thought in the back of my mind that I have become a really lazy rider.
I come from the huntseat world originally, and I remember my legs literally shaking after my lessons as a kid when I would lay in my bed at night, trying to sleep.
My training sessions back then were all about training me. They were about strengthening my core, my legs, and my balance. My instructors would have us trot and post around without stirrups for ten minutes straight. We walked, trotted and cantered without them. I remember how my legs felt like they were on fire. Sometimes we trotted for 40 minutes without a break. And they were incredibly useful lessons.
And I paid dearly for what I learned with the pain in my muscles every time I went home.
I even resorted to rubbing liniment on my legs at one point.
But the rewards were great.
A lot of the horses I rode back then were difficult to ride. For the most part I liked the challenge after I had been in lessons long enough to feel confident about my abilities in the saddle. They were school horses, nearly all of them Arabians, since the barn owner had a fondness for them, and they all had their sticky spots and quirks. I was best with the high strung, flighty, over-sensitive types. But I learned the most from the slow, lacking-forward-movement types, since they were not so in sync with my personality and my instincts.
I remember back when I was a kid on lesson day, shaking with nervousness on the drive out to the barn. I chatted nervously at my mom, or stared out the car window trying not to think about what might happen to me today. I remember the butterflies in my stomach and the sweat on my palms every time I went to saddle my lesson horse.
Back then it seemed like I fell off nearly every ride.
If you've ridden Arabians, you know how quickly they can go from one spot to another.
Many of us call it "the Arabian teleport".
And unless you're really good at reading the signs before they're technically ready to bolt, you're either in for a crazy ride or about the hit the dirt.
I only rode twice a month back then, since riding lessons were expensive.
I expected to fall off every time.
But eventually, all of those exercises started to pay off. I could sit spooks, stay with a wild canter, calm a touchy horse and motivate a slow one.
At some point I stopped being so afraid.
It was because the lessons gave me the confidence to understand I was in control of the ride. I wasn't just at the mercy of my horse. I couldn't anticipate everything that would happen, but I could learn how to react and how to communicate what I wanted clearly.
And I started to think about how amazing it would be if someday I had a horse I wasn't afraid to get on and ride.
So that brings me back to my original point.
Has my training plan for Chev made me an essentially lazy rider?
One of my major goals for her was to stay in whatever gait I asked until I asked her to stop.
This sounds simple, but anyone who has ridden a horse knows it's a lofty goal. Horses are not like cars. They do not just naturally stay at 30 if you keep your foot on the gas.
In fact, in most every way they are exactly the opposite of a car.
Most horses require a lot of effort to get up into a canter, and then look for the first opportunity to either speed way up, drop out of it into the dreaded death trot, or shoulder-drop right back into the middle of the arena.
I wanted Chev to take the canter cue and keep chugging along with nothing more than very light contact along my calves. I wanted the feeling of being there, but only as a passive force. I wanted the reins to hang loose, and for her to want to stay that speed. I wanted her to hunt for my cue to stop, because that would be my invitation to her for a break to air up.
Basically, I wanted my horse, who I had the opportunity to train from the ground up, to be a pleasure to ride.
I wanted her to be simple and uncomplicated. I wanted her to be happy in her work. I wanted her to be soft, supple, willing, and forward no matter what stage of collection we were in. Essentially, I wanted my horse to do everything off the slightest cue.
I think since teaching her this, with largely good results, although we still have a lot to learn--I have completely lost the muscles in my legs.
So: am I expecting her to do all the work because I'm a really lazy rider?
I don't know.
I do know that after many years of riding school horses, I loathe the feeling of having to hold a horse up by the reins. So my horse rides on a loose rein and has nothing to brace against up front.
That doesn't mean she did this from the beginning. Oh, no. She is pretty heavy up front due to conformation and personal attitude, so there were a lot of exercises in the beginning about giving in to the pressure of the reins by lifting the base of her neck and relaxing her topline out and down. There were lots of shoulder-ins, lots of shoulder control exercises to lighten her front end. She still needs reminders now and then. But for the most part, she gets it, and I think on an average day I could ride most of the time with the reins between my index finger and my thumb.
I also loathe the feeling of the horse that requires a constant iron leg to keep up a gait. So my horse gets her cue and light support, and chugs along until I ask her to stop.
And I loathe the feeling of the horse who balks at every cue, or simply ignores the aids. So I have tried to make my cues to Chev clear, concise and 1-2-3 you're out, with (hopefully) minimal nit-picking.
I know most of the time I'm riding I don't break a sweat. I do still engage in quite a bit of "long trotting" (regular trotting for you English folks out there) for muscle strengthening (for both of us). And just to make sure she still remembers how to trot under saddle. I know I don't push either one of us as hard as a trainer would.
Most of the time Chev would love to just jog along. She was born to jog. She could stay at a slow, cadenced jog on a draped rein all day.
I also know I should be working on a lot more lateral exercises. I hate lateral work. So I know I'm just being lazy about that.
I wish I could afford lessons and knew of a good trainer around here, because I think lessons are so important to keep people like me on track and not just loping big circles and having a blast. I always wanted a horse I could just gear into the lope, enjoy the rolling feel of the three-beat gait, relax and smile without worrying about sudden teleportation, stopping, or careening into a white-knuckled gallop.
Is it so wrong to expect your horse to stay in a canter with little work on your part? I hope not, because I'm really enjoying it.
There is this nagging thought in the back of my mind that I have become a really lazy rider.
I come from the huntseat world originally, and I remember my legs literally shaking after my lessons as a kid when I would lay in my bed at night, trying to sleep.
My training sessions back then were all about training me. They were about strengthening my core, my legs, and my balance. My instructors would have us trot and post around without stirrups for ten minutes straight. We walked, trotted and cantered without them. I remember how my legs felt like they were on fire. Sometimes we trotted for 40 minutes without a break. And they were incredibly useful lessons.
And I paid dearly for what I learned with the pain in my muscles every time I went home.
I even resorted to rubbing liniment on my legs at one point.
But the rewards were great.
A lot of the horses I rode back then were difficult to ride. For the most part I liked the challenge after I had been in lessons long enough to feel confident about my abilities in the saddle. They were school horses, nearly all of them Arabians, since the barn owner had a fondness for them, and they all had their sticky spots and quirks. I was best with the high strung, flighty, over-sensitive types. But I learned the most from the slow, lacking-forward-movement types, since they were not so in sync with my personality and my instincts.
I remember back when I was a kid on lesson day, shaking with nervousness on the drive out to the barn. I chatted nervously at my mom, or stared out the car window trying not to think about what might happen to me today. I remember the butterflies in my stomach and the sweat on my palms every time I went to saddle my lesson horse.
Back then it seemed like I fell off nearly every ride.
If you've ridden Arabians, you know how quickly they can go from one spot to another.
Many of us call it "the Arabian teleport".
And unless you're really good at reading the signs before they're technically ready to bolt, you're either in for a crazy ride or about the hit the dirt.
I only rode twice a month back then, since riding lessons were expensive.
I expected to fall off every time.
But eventually, all of those exercises started to pay off. I could sit spooks, stay with a wild canter, calm a touchy horse and motivate a slow one.
At some point I stopped being so afraid.
It was because the lessons gave me the confidence to understand I was in control of the ride. I wasn't just at the mercy of my horse. I couldn't anticipate everything that would happen, but I could learn how to react and how to communicate what I wanted clearly.
And I started to think about how amazing it would be if someday I had a horse I wasn't afraid to get on and ride.
So that brings me back to my original point.
Has my training plan for Chev made me an essentially lazy rider?
One of my major goals for her was to stay in whatever gait I asked until I asked her to stop.
This sounds simple, but anyone who has ridden a horse knows it's a lofty goal. Horses are not like cars. They do not just naturally stay at 30 if you keep your foot on the gas.
In fact, in most every way they are exactly the opposite of a car.
Most horses require a lot of effort to get up into a canter, and then look for the first opportunity to either speed way up, drop out of it into the dreaded death trot, or shoulder-drop right back into the middle of the arena.
I wanted Chev to take the canter cue and keep chugging along with nothing more than very light contact along my calves. I wanted the feeling of being there, but only as a passive force. I wanted the reins to hang loose, and for her to want to stay that speed. I wanted her to hunt for my cue to stop, because that would be my invitation to her for a break to air up.
Basically, I wanted my horse, who I had the opportunity to train from the ground up, to be a pleasure to ride.
I wanted her to be simple and uncomplicated. I wanted her to be happy in her work. I wanted her to be soft, supple, willing, and forward no matter what stage of collection we were in. Essentially, I wanted my horse to do everything off the slightest cue.
I think since teaching her this, with largely good results, although we still have a lot to learn--I have completely lost the muscles in my legs.
So: am I expecting her to do all the work because I'm a really lazy rider?
I don't know.
I do know that after many years of riding school horses, I loathe the feeling of having to hold a horse up by the reins. So my horse rides on a loose rein and has nothing to brace against up front.
That doesn't mean she did this from the beginning. Oh, no. She is pretty heavy up front due to conformation and personal attitude, so there were a lot of exercises in the beginning about giving in to the pressure of the reins by lifting the base of her neck and relaxing her topline out and down. There were lots of shoulder-ins, lots of shoulder control exercises to lighten her front end. She still needs reminders now and then. But for the most part, she gets it, and I think on an average day I could ride most of the time with the reins between my index finger and my thumb.
I also loathe the feeling of the horse that requires a constant iron leg to keep up a gait. So my horse gets her cue and light support, and chugs along until I ask her to stop.
And I loathe the feeling of the horse who balks at every cue, or simply ignores the aids. So I have tried to make my cues to Chev clear, concise and 1-2-3 you're out, with (hopefully) minimal nit-picking.
I know most of the time I'm riding I don't break a sweat. I do still engage in quite a bit of "long trotting" (regular trotting for you English folks out there) for muscle strengthening (for both of us). And just to make sure she still remembers how to trot under saddle. I know I don't push either one of us as hard as a trainer would.
Most of the time Chev would love to just jog along. She was born to jog. She could stay at a slow, cadenced jog on a draped rein all day.
I also know I should be working on a lot more lateral exercises. I hate lateral work. So I know I'm just being lazy about that.
I wish I could afford lessons and knew of a good trainer around here, because I think lessons are so important to keep people like me on track and not just loping big circles and having a blast. I always wanted a horse I could just gear into the lope, enjoy the rolling feel of the three-beat gait, relax and smile without worrying about sudden teleportation, stopping, or careening into a white-knuckled gallop.
Is it so wrong to expect your horse to stay in a canter with little work on your part? I hope not, because I'm really enjoying it.
She has learned to lift at the base of her neck naturally.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Sustainable Dressage
There's another website I found years ago, when I was working on retraining my gelding, Ben.
It's written by a very insightful Swedish woman.
It's a pretty incredible resource, whether you ride Dressage or not.
Sustainable Dressage
My background is in basic Dressage and hunters, but the information is just as valid in my western training. A lot of it is "good common sense" (which can be altogether too uncommon).
Her explanations of bit mechanics are the best I've found. And many are complete with diagrams, for those of us who are visual learning types. In fact, it may be a great place to start: The Bridle & the Bit
Ride on in, and check it out!
It's written by a very insightful Swedish woman.
It's a pretty incredible resource, whether you ride Dressage or not.
Sustainable Dressage
My background is in basic Dressage and hunters, but the information is just as valid in my western training. A lot of it is "good common sense" (which can be altogether too uncommon).
Her explanations of bit mechanics are the best I've found. And many are complete with diagrams, for those of us who are visual learning types. In fact, it may be a great place to start: The Bridle & the Bit
Ride on in, and check it out!
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
A few words on feel
In the horse world, particularly the western world, we talk a lot about "feel". In the english world, we're likely to call it "timing" and "submission to the aids". I think these things are driving at the same basic concept.
Part of the education of the rider really begins with a simple revelation: No amount of hardware will control the horse.
Not big bits, not big spurs, not big whips.
Riding is not about forced control through device. It is about training a specific response to a specific aid.
If it was all about hardware and leverage, then I would never be able to ride in the thing above.
The horse has to be willing to listen to a series of programmed cues. There are a lot of ways to get there.
I was reading the blog of a fairly inexperienced horsewoman the other day, who nevertheless is really trying to learn, through a lot of well-known clinicians and a large amount of trial and error. She kept saying "the soft feel". As in, "Buddy didn't have the soft feel today".
It struck me that the language we use to talk about horses and training can expose a basic lack of understanding.
Lord knows I'm guilty of it.
But what really struck me here was the lady thought of "soft feel" as a definite "thing".
As in, "the" soft feel.
I tend to think of feel as a reaction.
Is that enough confusing subtlety for you?
At any rate, the feel of the horse tells you a lot about the training to the aids that he's had. A soft feel is a rapid, cheerful and willing response to a given aid.
The cue is given, and the horse responds with a light, willing reaction to that cue.
I remember riding a particularly sensitive little mare when I was young who was probably my first real introduction to the world of "feel".
All I had to do was think it, and darned if that little mare didn't do just what I was thinking.
If I thought "trot", she'd trot.
If I thought "canter", we'd be cantering.
I think this has something to do with the core of "soft feel". It's almost the feeling of doing nothing, and having the horse respond to that.
It's a lofty goal. I don't believe it's one that can be obtained through shortcuts.
The good stop is a great example of a horse operating on feel. No one likes to ride a runaway freight train. It's a terrifying feeling when a 1200 pound animal takes hold of the bit, takes off with you at full speed on the trail or straight at an arena wall.
Cramming a super duty bit in that horse's mouth won't do anything to stop it. At that point it would be like grabbing your emergency break when your car's at 80 to slow down.
All you have at that point is the training you have put into the horse on how to respond to your aids.
There is always some sort of pre-signal. Pre-signal has become somewhat of a buzz word in the western world lately because it helps to sell people very expensive bits. But the fact is, anything can have pre-signal. But that's entirely up to the rider, not to the bit. For example, when I want Chevy to slow down, I sit back and deep in the saddle. That's the first cue I give her. In a perfect world, she'd slide to a stop after that. But she's not quite there yet.
My next signal is to say "hhhho". I'm a ho-er, not a whoa-er. But it doesn't really matter what word you use. I guess you could use "easy". Or "yellow". Or "tiger". Whatever floats your boat. But be consistent about it.
This is usually all it takes to get a stop out of her. These are all "pre-signals" because they all take place before any action of the bit or hackamore is introduced. If I don't get a stop out of her with the body/voice pre-signals, we have to move on to...
Engagement of the bit or hackamore. Because I'd like my horse to stop of the slightest pressure, my first signal through the reins is small and light. This is the warning signal. At this point, she's had three chances to listen to subtle, non-offensive cues. If she refuses to listen, then the bit comes into play. But this doesn't happen much anymore.
Starting with soft cues is what develops "feel".
If the horse isn't ever given a soft cue to begin with, he'll just assume he's about to be yanked on and will prepare himself for it by stiffening up his neck and jaw.
Which will make him a hell of a lot harder to stop.
So this is why increasing the leverage of your bit setup will do more harm than good.
Also, your horse doesn't understand English. He only understands the words you've taught him. Chev has a very limited English vocabulary. As do most horses. She knows "hhho", "stand", "walk", "trot", "canter", and various clucks and kisses. Generally a cluck means speed up what you're doing, and a kiss means canter.
Your horse does not understand when you yell "WHAT DID I TELL YOU?! WHOA! WHOOAA! ARE YOU STUPID??? WHY AREN'T YOU LISTENING??!!!"
You are just terrifying Buddy.
And horses can't learn when they're terrified.
Quiet down and don't forget to do some of the listening, too.
Also, for Chevy the stop is a reward. It is a break from work. If I ask her to stop, and she stops but strides right off again without being asked, then she didn't really need a break. We lope off immediately and she gets a few laps to think about what a blessing the stop is. The second time she plants it and stays there. I make it her choice. But if she chooses not to listen, then she has to work.
Equally important is the rider's reaction to the horse's correct response to the given cue. The release of the aid (or "cue") needs to be immediate so the horse knows he is being rewarded for his good behavior. This makes the horse cheerful and quick in his response to the aids, because he knows he'll be rewarded as soon as he does what his owner is asking of him.
I guess that's all I've got on feel for now.
Not big bits, not big spurs, not big whips.
Riding is not about forced control through device. It is about training a specific response to a specific aid.
If it was all about hardware and leverage, then I would never be able to ride in the thing above.
The horse has to be willing to listen to a series of programmed cues. There are a lot of ways to get there.
I was reading the blog of a fairly inexperienced horsewoman the other day, who nevertheless is really trying to learn, through a lot of well-known clinicians and a large amount of trial and error. She kept saying "the soft feel". As in, "Buddy didn't have the soft feel today".
It struck me that the language we use to talk about horses and training can expose a basic lack of understanding.
Lord knows I'm guilty of it.
But what really struck me here was the lady thought of "soft feel" as a definite "thing".
As in, "the" soft feel.
I tend to think of feel as a reaction.
Is that enough confusing subtlety for you?
At any rate, the feel of the horse tells you a lot about the training to the aids that he's had. A soft feel is a rapid, cheerful and willing response to a given aid.
The cue is given, and the horse responds with a light, willing reaction to that cue.
I remember riding a particularly sensitive little mare when I was young who was probably my first real introduction to the world of "feel".
All I had to do was think it, and darned if that little mare didn't do just what I was thinking.
If I thought "trot", she'd trot.
If I thought "canter", we'd be cantering.
I think this has something to do with the core of "soft feel". It's almost the feeling of doing nothing, and having the horse respond to that.
It's a lofty goal. I don't believe it's one that can be obtained through shortcuts.
The good stop is a great example of a horse operating on feel. No one likes to ride a runaway freight train. It's a terrifying feeling when a 1200 pound animal takes hold of the bit, takes off with you at full speed on the trail or straight at an arena wall.
Cramming a super duty bit in that horse's mouth won't do anything to stop it. At that point it would be like grabbing your emergency break when your car's at 80 to slow down.
All you have at that point is the training you have put into the horse on how to respond to your aids.
There is always some sort of pre-signal. Pre-signal has become somewhat of a buzz word in the western world lately because it helps to sell people very expensive bits. But the fact is, anything can have pre-signal. But that's entirely up to the rider, not to the bit. For example, when I want Chevy to slow down, I sit back and deep in the saddle. That's the first cue I give her. In a perfect world, she'd slide to a stop after that. But she's not quite there yet.
My next signal is to say "hhhho". I'm a ho-er, not a whoa-er. But it doesn't really matter what word you use. I guess you could use "easy". Or "yellow". Or "tiger". Whatever floats your boat. But be consistent about it.
This is usually all it takes to get a stop out of her. These are all "pre-signals" because they all take place before any action of the bit or hackamore is introduced. If I don't get a stop out of her with the body/voice pre-signals, we have to move on to...
Engagement of the bit or hackamore. Because I'd like my horse to stop of the slightest pressure, my first signal through the reins is small and light. This is the warning signal. At this point, she's had three chances to listen to subtle, non-offensive cues. If she refuses to listen, then the bit comes into play. But this doesn't happen much anymore.
Starting with soft cues is what develops "feel".
If the horse isn't ever given a soft cue to begin with, he'll just assume he's about to be yanked on and will prepare himself for it by stiffening up his neck and jaw.
Which will make him a hell of a lot harder to stop.
So this is why increasing the leverage of your bit setup will do more harm than good.
Also, your horse doesn't understand English. He only understands the words you've taught him. Chev has a very limited English vocabulary. As do most horses. She knows "hhho", "stand", "walk", "trot", "canter", and various clucks and kisses. Generally a cluck means speed up what you're doing, and a kiss means canter.
Your horse does not understand when you yell "WHAT DID I TELL YOU?! WHOA! WHOOAA! ARE YOU STUPID??? WHY AREN'T YOU LISTENING??!!!"
You are just terrifying Buddy.
And horses can't learn when they're terrified.
Quiet down and don't forget to do some of the listening, too.
Also, for Chevy the stop is a reward. It is a break from work. If I ask her to stop, and she stops but strides right off again without being asked, then she didn't really need a break. We lope off immediately and she gets a few laps to think about what a blessing the stop is. The second time she plants it and stays there. I make it her choice. But if she chooses not to listen, then she has to work.
Equally important is the rider's reaction to the horse's correct response to the given cue. The release of the aid (or "cue") needs to be immediate so the horse knows he is being rewarded for his good behavior. This makes the horse cheerful and quick in his response to the aids, because he knows he'll be rewarded as soon as he does what his owner is asking of him.
I guess that's all I've got on feel for now.
Monday, January 16, 2012
My cardinal rules of training
These are the most basic rules for me in Chev's training, and some of them I didn't learn easily, though they are all simple:
1) Make the right thing easy, and the wrong thing hard. My number one rule.
2) Ask first with the cue you want responded to.
3) Request. Insist. Tell. In that order.
4) Work is not it's own reward. Rest is a reward.
5) Releases for correct responses need to be immediate.
The basic nature of the average horse is very good, and generally quite forgiving. Since I have the luxury of training only one horse, I'm able to tailor my training methods to her personality. So, I'd like that to be a caveat. I believe the above rules to be applicable to MOST horses.
Doubtless I'll amend them as our training continues.
1) Make the right thing easy, and the wrong thing hard. My number one rule.
2) Ask first with the cue you want responded to.
3) Request. Insist. Tell. In that order.
4) Work is not it's own reward. Rest is a reward.
5) Releases for correct responses need to be immediate.
The basic nature of the average horse is very good, and generally quite forgiving. Since I have the luxury of training only one horse, I'm able to tailor my training methods to her personality. So, I'd like that to be a caveat. I believe the above rules to be applicable to MOST horses.
Doubtless I'll amend them as our training continues.
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