Mystery Revealed

The barrier outside Mathilda’s pen. The endpoint of all panic attacks.
Back in the summer [Salt Mines], I gave vague hints about a new exercise. All will now be explained. The goal is to hand-walk Rodney around the pasture, for companionship, leading to running/trotting around the pasture, for dual exercise, leading to long walks under saddle, for fitness, leading to galloping heedlessly, um, conditioning work. A simple walk around his own field shouldn’t be a problem, right? Pfft [Thing].

The plan was to walk him with a leadrope around his neck (the hint) rather than a halter over his head. When he stressed, I would slip the rope off, let him go, finish the lap on my own, & retry with the next lap. I wanted him to work – to the extent that a stroll around the field is work – but not feel pressured. Forcing him to behave just tightens the tension spiral. If he was upset, I would give him space, thereby diffusing the stress level. It worked a bit. He was going farther from the barn and often grazing where I left him rather than running back.

Unfortunately, the plan had two fatal flaws. The first was identified by Hubby immediately. Rodney needs successes. He needs to know that he has done the right thing and thereby develop confidence in making his own decisions. (So he can save my amateur a** when I freeze mid-course.) Achieving a lap around the field would be a lack of negative (panicking, running) rather than a defined positive (negotiating the cones well [Somewhat]). A subtle but telling distinction.

What I have come to realize is that I need successes also, perhaps more. Rodney is satisfied with the status quo. He could be a fat & happy lawn ornament for the rest of his days. I think he’d be even more content with a job and the spoiling that would follow, but he doesn’t know that. If change is to occur, I must be the one to instigate it. Therefore, I require positive reinforcement to motivate me to haul my sorry self off the couch and out to the barn.

I was able to approach the exercise with utmost calm and patience. Really, if you knew me, you’d hardly recognize me. As we walked, I could observe but not place value judgments on his behavior. Today, he is tense in this spot. Okay. Yesterday, he made twice that distance, or half. Noted. Then I would inevitably push the envelope and he would go tearing back to the barn.

This I could not accept with equanimity. I took it far too personally. Whatever his reasons, barn sour, panic, or lack of training, watching him fly back to the barn was depressing, deflating, & demoralizing. It would take me weeks of wallowing to work up the reserves of Zen-like patience to try again.

I still think my reasoning is sound. If I could have maintained a Budda-level of detachment from the results, he would have gradually desensitized to the idea. Or I would have accumulated data on the parameters of what he will do and what causes him stress. Either way, beneficial. But no, all we accumulated were small steps of progress and gloomy, hair-tearing days of failure.

Enough. Even I can see that I have over-thought this to a standstill.

What non-traditional (but safe & humane) training techniques have worked for you?
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

File under K for
kute.

EEEE-ouch!

After two years, we are still learning things about Rodney. The newest revelation: he does NOT like liniment. It’s ironic because we were trying to be nice.

Hubby did the same PT/lunging session as last weekend [Vewy, Vewy]. He ended with several runs through a triple cavaletti. Rodney bounced through perfectly the first time and then began whacking the poles as he sped up. At his point, you question whether to try for improvement and risk having it get worse or quit while you’re ahead. Well, we decided, it’s not like we can ruin his jumping career at this point. Hubby brought him in slowly and he hopped over all three as neat as you please. Yeah!

Between the humidity and horse stress, Rodney had gotten quite sweaty. We hosed him off. Hubby wanted to reward Rodney for a reasonably good day. After a jumping school, Previous Horse always got a washdown with warm water and liniment. What’s not to like about warm water?

Rodney danced about for the second half of his liniment bath, but he was still proud of himself for negotiating such difficult obstacles. We put it down to ‘tude. Usually we let him go at the wash area/water trough. When it’s obvious the bath is over he wanders off. Not so much today.

To his credit, he lowered his head and paused long enough to give me a chance to take off his halter. Unfortunately I moved too slowly. Whereupon he wheeled off and headed back to the barn at Mach 10, much to the dismay of Arthur who was headed in the same direction & suddenly found 1300 pounds of thundering hooves on his tail.

We retrieved him, bought him back, and hosed off the nasty gunk. Dunno if it’s the smell or the tingle but something about it blows his fuse.

Liniment. Who knew?
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Gratuitous Kitten Cat Pic

Back-up Barn Cat

Vox Clamantis in Deserto

End of the month commentary on blogging.

When I started this blog last December [We begin.], I negotiated with myself that I would blog every day for a one year. Two & a half months to go. Barring miracles, that means less than 100 posts. What would constitute a miracle?

MONEY
By money, I mean a book contract or a call from the New Yorker. A magazine wants to fund my around-the-world tour while I blog about equine hot spots? I’m willing to listen. Monetize my blog for a trickle of pennies that amount to the cost of a bag of feed every six months? No thanks. Not worth the trouble. If I’m going to sell out, I’ll sashay into five-star hotels wearing Manolo Blahniks, not stomp around a street corner waving a polyester boa.

FAME
Who wouldn’t love high hit numbers or double digit Likes & Shares? After the initial egoboo, where does it really get you? What I have enjoyed most is hearing other people’s stories. I’m pleased when the stories are happy. I’m flattered when folks are willing to share their sad stories to commiserate or to make a point. Responses of all sorts make me feel less as if I am yelling down a well.

I appreciate folks who take the time to comment, more than is perhaps healthy. But I know that the Internet is vast and that we all have demands on our time. I can recognize – intellectually at least – that only a small percentage of readers, followers, casual passersby would have the inclination to comment on a given post. So, a readership base big enough that a handful of people are moved to comment most days, that might be enough to keep me going without remuneration.

CONTENT
I would continue if I had a process to document, e.g. getting ready for my first CCI* classic format. That was the original intent of the blog way back when [How I Won]. I was going to be the next Thinking Horseman (an old Practical Horseman column) and record my return to eventing. If I had progress to get excited about, I’d probably keep yapping. I’ve certainly proven that I am enamored of hearing myself write*.

Barring any of the above, or a surprise move from left field, last post will be 12/21/12.

List of posts about blogging
New Page: Fellow Travelers

[*Stolen from Whedon. If you’re gonna steal snark, steal from the best.]
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic

Creature of the Night

Or at least creature of the late afternoon with flash.

Sam I Am

I’m in love. I think I’ve just met a Saddleseat schoolmaster. His name is Sam. I’m told that if his rider gets serious, he’s perfectly capable of putting on the flash, but with beginners is equally capable of imitating a doorstop. Guess which one I chose.

When I arrived at Stepping Stone Farm, I was presented with the following post & video on Horse Nation, about an event rider having a saddleseat lesson. Go ahead and read it. I’ll wait.

Weekend Adventure: I test drove a Saddlebred.

Pretty funny, yes? Put me in a small funk. I didn’t want a bottle rocket. If I had been told that my ride was “REAL hot” I would NOT have been unconcerned and “secretly thrilled.” Hyperventilating and headed down the driveway would have been a more likely reaction. My preferred ride at that point would have been a small, narcoleptic pony. Plus I worried that my post would be nowhere near as amusing. Ride better than me or write better than me, I’ll cope. Do both and I’ll start questioning my purpose on the planet.

Enter Sam. Perhaps body language is one reason for the Saddlebred’s hyper reputation among hunter/jumpers and others. Picture a horse with a high head, bulging eyes and ears so alert they almost touch. In a Thoroughbred this means lift-off is immanent. In a Saddlebred, it means hello.

I was less nervous that I had expected, right up until it was time to get on. Then I started wondering who thought this was a good idea. As I slid on, got my stirrups adjusted, and scooted around in this weird new saddle, Sam stood like a rock. If he had jigged or danced or even moved off, I might have dissolved into a small puddle right there.

My discomfort increased as we walked toward the ring. I could tell my body was still braced for the ever-increasing meltdowns I had to deal with the last time I rode regularly [Square One]. Sam gradually jollied me out of my nerves with his willingness to do as little work as I requested. Stand? Sure. Walk quietly? No problem. He was not at all lazy or deadheaded, just conservative. He displayed absolutely no tendency to hear voices or begin aerial acrobatics. When I failed to keep the engine running at the canter, he happily slowed right on down. At this point, I would laugh because he made his intentions so clear. At the end of the trot in the second direction, he suggested that if this was a walk/trot lesson, he was done now and would go to the middle of the ring, thank you very much. After the canter in the second direction, he was sure he was done.

Without further ado, my saddleseat lesson (although I must admit that in my mental movies Sam was far more animated and I was far more elegant):

Film Credits
video: Miranda Shope
editing: Hubby
instructor: Courtney Huguley
horse: Sultan’s Miracle Man courtesy of the Donovan Family

Thank you Sam.

Lesson Ho!

Saddleseat lesson set for today at 11:00 cst. We had to reschedule [Hiatus]. In my excitement, I forgot that lunch is served at 2. Miss M will not be denied.

This will be my second saddleseat lesson. I had one years ago in another state. Perhaps Previous Horse was laid up. Perhaps I had a wild hair. History does not record. I have no memory of how the actual ride went. One of the two things I do remember is that the lesson progressed exactly in the manner of a flat class. In. Turn left (or perhaps right). Walk-trot-walk-canter. Reverse. Repeat. Apparently those horses where ridden the same way every time out. Dunno if that is a saddleseat phenomenon or was specific to that barn.

The other part graven on my memory is that the trainer got on after I was done. I thought I had ridden with a modicum of verve. Hah. She cranked up the volume and when sailing around the ring displaying way more energy that I was willing to generate and control. Then she got off and explained the way I had ridden constituted level one. What she had done was level three. Horses showed at level five. Yowza.

Does anyone else have secret Walter Mitty fantasies when starting a new venture? That you will turn out to have previous unsuspected gifts that are uniquely suited to this new activity? No? Just me? Anyway, as I understand saddleseat, it’s all about showmanship & ring presence. Back when horses were transport, I can imagine folks gathering to show off their pimped out rides. It’s the red carpet & limo sector of riding.

I understand the importance of presentation in competition. The “show” in horse show. My ribbon collection includes blues from …
… an equitation flat class finessed on a runaway horse (Riding the Dark Horse, Horse Illustrated, January 2011).
… a First Level dressage test that I won after going off course. Twice.
… a Working Hunter Flat class with Previous Horse, who moved like a sewing machine. Okay, it was a local show but those other two horses took some beating. I was the only one who knew that the then-current fashion for hunters was to have the horse scoot along in faux-medium gaits. Shocked the trainer with that one.
I can be all about flash and dazzle. (Prior saddleseat experience conveniently forgotten.)

Off to dig up my britches, short boots, and yes, a helmet.
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic update: kittens continue to be cute; my recent photographs, less so. More GKP as available.

Be Vewy, Vewy Quiet …

… we’re hunting pwogwess.

Wodney, er Rodney, may not be a waste of pasture space for the rest of his days? It’s too early to break out the tack, but Hubby may have made progress on Rodney’s back. As one might expect, his back is turning out to be central to his whole way of going.

After much poking & prodding, I had reduced the original lump of scar adhesion [Daddy Dearest] to a much smaller knot [Other]. Unfortunately, this is a nasty, tight patch rather like the causative lump in the middle of a yarn snarl. Then again, I thought this back in March [Changes].

Over the weekend, Hubby used the stiffest of our fleet of currycombs (I’m a bit of a brush junkie) to get purchase on the skin and give it a hefty yank, almost getting himself bit in the process. Anyone who has had to break up scar tissue on themselves knows the kind of benevolent violence required. I estimate he managed to loosen 10 to 25% of what was there. A huge leap forward given the overall pace of improvement. I will spend the week keeping Rodney’s back warm & loose to prevent re-adhesion. Another PT session is scheduled for Saturday.

Most importantly, Rodney lunged differently with this change to his back. He still ran about & fussed & hopped, including at least one maneuver with quality hangtime. But he was calm part of the time. The truly significant aspect is that he was calm AFTER acting up. This is new for him. Usually, once he gets tense he keeps ratcheting up until we stop the exercise or the roof blows off. Plus, it was hard to tell if the acrobatics were due to tension, tiredness, training, or just plain Thoroughbred.

As always, the signs of changes are slight enough that it could be wishful thinking.

Later: Awash in positive vibes, I felt inspired to attempt one of his exercises [360o box]. He felt inspired to jump out of the box and run back to the barn. And thus does my tiny diamond chip of hope convert to a coal lump of despond. Sigh.
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Gratuitous Kitten Pic