Anna Blake's Blog, page 12

Calming Signals: What Are You Really Afraid Of?

What are you afraid of? Maybe this question. Take a breath and check your shoulders. Are they down where they belong? Move your jaw and tilt your head. Walk an arc. It’s OK, give yourself any calming signal you want. It’s how horses and humans self-soothe and return to the present. Now, can we have a conversation about fear that doesn’t frighten us?

Let’s call fear the thing that lives under the bed. At some point in our lives, we are too terrified to look because there are monsters. We just know it. Or later we don’t want to look because we know it needs to be cleaned out, but we’d rather put it off. Or we keep telling ourselves it’s boring, or that it doesn’t even exist, but that false bravado doesn’t mean we won’t panic about it later. Enough excuses?

The problem with fear is that it overwhelms us before we have a chance to think. How many times have you been startled by a movement, only to find out it’s the barn cat? If we can slow down that split second when we notice something under the bed and take a breath before we panic about it, things look different. That’s the instant we learn something we didn’t know, and things can change in our favor. We get more reasonable with each breath. Kitty, kitty…

I’ve had clients tell me that when they slowed things down, they realized they weren’t afraid of their horse, so much as afraid of how they were taught to train their horse. What an important distinction! They were told to be aggressive, to show the horse who is the boss. Isn’t that the voice we hear in our heads, the inner railbird? If we are more afraid of training methods than we are of horses, shouldn’t an alarm go off? Isn’t it common sense to stop? You should trust your intuition more.

We might be afraid of our trainer. Maybe what started as coaxing crossed a line and now, you’re intimidated. If that’s true, speak up for yourself. Give the trainer a chance to understand, maybe even learn something. If you don’t feel you can talk to your trainer about it, you need a new trainer. I’m not kidding. Fear-based training does not work any better on humans than it does on horses.

Some of us are afraid of criticism from our friends. We can’t make them change and trying to will make them defensive. We need to have horse friends because who else talks about horses enough? But we can certainly change how we hear our friends. And we can certainly send back an affirmative response. Friend: “You need a stronger bit.” You: “Thanks for your opinion. My horse thinks I need softer hands.” See? No blame. Not to mention less worry because now you’re trying to be clever and a sense of humor terrifies fear.

Most of us are afraid of getting hurt, but sometimes that fear is based on doing something that we know is dangerous. Those are totally reasonable concerns; see to your safety. Wear the helmet. Get an air vest. Your horse wouldn’t mind if you stopped doing the crazy-fast stuff entirely.

By far, what I hear most often from my clients is that they’re afraid they’ll harm their horse. I must exhale when I hear it. It’s my go-to calming signal for soothing horses and it works on me; it stops me from screaming ARE YOU NUTS? …Marginally composed, I continue in a more personal way… You are not cruel; you are not wicked in your heart. Horses are not built or destroyed in a day. That’s the inner railbird threatening you. Consider it good manners to tell them to sit down and shut up. Then kindly, get over yourself. You do not have diabolical powers. Donkeys laugh at you behind your back.

Are you anxious about being anxious? Maybe things have accumulated under the bed, and we haven’t looked at it for a really long time. Maybe a bunch of worries like your horse’s random lameness, work issues, the rising inflation rate, and general anxiety about the weather have all gotten balled together. Maybe we’ve been hoarding fear, anxiety, and insecurity like it’s the family fortune. And now it’s embarrassing, too. It isn’t a question of whether it’s real. It’s just been there so long that it feels normal. It’s taken up so much space that we’ve started to walk like coyotes. We’ve started stalking the things we love. It’s how we become acclimated, just a spoonful a day, to poisoning ourselves.

Maybe time to clean out under the bed? Excuses be damned, there is never a fun time to do it, but fear is taking up space where we could be keeping our best ideas where they’re handy to dream about.

Could it be as simple as a choice? Of course not. But a choice is how we begin to build a new habit. We choose to bring a small corner of fear into the light, and before we know it, we’re setting an extra place at the table and inviting them for dinner. Disarm fear, let it become a friend who gets us. Someone on our side. One day fear, feeling soft and mushy, has an idea. What if we suffer less? Would it be the end of the world if we focused on the things we love and ignored the rest?

Because did you notice what’s missing from this list? The thing people never tell me they’re afraid of?

Horses. We aren’t afraid of horses.

Some will correct me and tell me they’re timid, but that’s just their common sense talking. It’s a quality horsewomen have.

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Yes, I’m a turtle on a fence post. My identity has been stolen on Facebook and I’m unable to get to my business page or get help from FB. If you appreciate what I do, please subscribe below or come join us at The Barn School.

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[ Please don’t miss a week : Subscribe here ]

Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Become a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online training group with affirmative demonstration videos, audio blogs, daily quotes, free participation in “group lessons”, and live chats with Anna. Become part of the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Anna teaches ongoing courses like Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and more at The Barn School, as well as virtual clinics and our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation, subscribe for email delivery of this blog, or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post Calming Signals: What Are You Really Afraid Of? appeared first on Anna Blake.

Nube: We Cheat at Trailer Training

Nube was a beanpole of a yearling. If he and Ernest weren’t trying to get me bucked off a horse… if he wasn’t eating his body weight in hay every hour… if he wasn’t listening to the Grandfather Horse tell stories about me… if he wasn’t sleeping with donkeys… sometimes Nube came to work with me.

I did some of my training at a barn across a 20-acre pasture. On those days Dodger and I ponyed Nube up the hill, and the two of them waited while I trained. We came home to cheering masses. In our own minds.

Some days, I took him to work with me in the horse trailer. I’d lead him to the back of the trailer, give him a minute to think about it, and he self-loaded soon after. Humans shouldn’t be in metal boxes with horses because it makes the horse nervous. The space is too small. Nube was more challenged coming out of the trailer. He did a bit of a Spanish walk.

If it was a short day at another farm, sometimes he hung out next to the client’s horses, or sometimes by himself with a haybag. After an hour or two of lessons, I loaded him back up and brought him home to the cheering masses. Or maybe the braying asses.

Horse training is simply the collection of good experiences for the horse. Their willingness to be with us grows because good things happen.

Then one day it changed. While getting ready to step into the trailer, Nube bumped his foreleg on the back of the trailer. I could hear the clang of his shin bone hitting metal. We walked it off and then grazed for a while.

Dang, I’ll do anything to not pick a fight behind a horse trailer. I’ve met horses afraid of the ground behind a trailer way more than they ever feared the trailer itself. It might as well be a boxing ring for the number of fights that go on there. The back of a trailer is a place for patience and praise. It’s the worst place to pick a fight, and now my trailer had gone and done just that, severely punishing Nube for lifting his leg.

We went back to the trailer and Nube said no. Slowly, just one step at a time, until he could stand with his head near the trailer door. We exchanged calming signals, and there was no reason to get greedy. I put him back in the pen and told him he was a good boy. More than enough for one day.

I like to look at the latest trailers like you do. There are some beautiful rigs out there with living quarters nicer than my house and almost as big. There are horse boxes. It’s a kind of U-Haul truck of a horse trailer with a huge ramp. Looking inside a brand new one at a clinic, I watched the owner load her horse from a side ramp. Inside were two sets of horse stocks, side by side, and no more room than an old two-horse straight load. The tack area was lovely, and it had a small kitchen. Don’t we haul horses to get away from kitchens?

When I look at trailers, I try to see them as a horse would. The horse box looked safer than a trailer but also seemed dark. The best horse trailer is the one that fits your horse and they must be comfortable in it, in horse terms. They don’t care if it’s tricked out for humans.

I’m old school. Maybe I should be embarrassed. I own one of the cheapest trailers made. It’s a four-horse stock trailer, plain white, with slats in the walls so horses can see out. Make it tall and wide. It has a divider between the front and back and I use it as a two-horse trailer, so the horse is traveling loose in a stall like the big transports do. I’ve never met a horse that wouldn’t go into it.

But now Nube isn’t all that thrilled. He’s had an awful experience at the trailer. A week later, we tried again but he  hadn’t forgotten a thing. He was a smart young horse, and he learned fast. He took the trailer at its word.

When a task is hard, we cut it into smaller pieces, because we are the ones who have creative thought. I like to think I’m smarter than a horse trailer. That’s where the cheating came in. I moved my truck and trailer, backing to a slight incline on my land. I stopped so the back of my trailer was almost flush with the ground. I’ve known this cheat for so long, I can’t remember where I heard it first.

I brought Nube there and asked if he’d go on the trailer and he immediately walked in without hesitation. We did it twice. His anxiety coming out was better, too. I told him he was a good boy and put him up. In the next few months, we parked there when I wanted to load him. Wherever we went, I did the same. I found a little incline or shallow ditch, just a few inches. I made it easy to get in and out for Nube. I can’t erase that pain memory, but I won’t let it get worse.

He doesn’t need to be perfect all at once. We do so much damage correcting horses, making them wrong, insisting on perfection, and accepting nothing less. Especially with youngsters, the things we do now are the foundation of how they will relate to humans in the future. You are a predator or a partner, your choice. Let it be that simple.

Water the good you want to grow. Let the bad wilt away from neglect.

It wasn’t long until we had collected enough good experiences and confidence that we went back to loading as we always had. The entire experience faded away but our trust had grown in the process. Was it cheating? Should I have made him do it the hard way? Because that sounds like something a human would do.

What I didn’t know then, was that as he got older and his health began to come apart, the trailer would become a place of solace. Trailering is a common cause of Equine Gastric Ulcer Syndrome. Against the odds, when Nube felt gastric discomfort, getting into the trailer resolved it as soon as all four hooves were inside. No driving, it worked like crating a dog.

We just collect good memories. They’re all we want.

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I’m a turtle on a fence post. My identity has been stolen on Facebook and I’m unable to get to my business page or get help from FB. If you appreciate what I do, please Subscribe to this blog or come join us at The Barn School.

…

Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Become a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online training group with affirmative demonstration videos, audio blogs, daily quotes, free participation in “group lessons”, and live chats with Anna. Become part of the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Anna teaches ongoing courses like Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and more at The Barn School, as well as virtual clinics and our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation, subscribe for email delivery of this blog, or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post Nube: We Cheat at Trailer Training appeared first on Anna Blake.

1,354th Friday Morning and Not Bucked Off

 

No, I’m not dreaming of a career as a hand model. My hands have looked like an elderly mechanic’s since I was a Goldsmith in my 20s. Scars, big joints, and apparently, the drought here includes hand lotion. It’s just that they told me in the emergency room to keep an eye on my fingernails and if they turn purple, to let them know. The fiberglass splint goes all the way to my shoulder and is snug. My elbow is in limbo. I can’t see my fingers, so I took a picture.

I don’t want your sympathy; I want your right hand.

It seems I broke my wrist 8 hours ago and I’m sitting here waiting to hear when the pain meds at the pharmacy will be ready. Lacking those, I’ll use my words. Writing always helps.

First, know the horses are fine. No horse was even involved in this incident. Don’t ask. When people get hurt, they feel stupid enough without repeating the story. Enough said. The good news is that I asked the Dude Rancher to help me stand up and then take me to emergent care. None of us is good at asking for help, but excruciating pain makes me remarkably reasonable.

The break in my glasses was much worse than my wrist. I’m not complaining about the swollen eyebrow or green skin because it matches my eyes and it’s the closest thing to eye shadow I’ve had on in 40 years.

It will come as a surprise to no one that I knew how to read the X-ray. I’ve never seen one this bad for any of my horses, so that’s something. It’s a compound fracture visible in two directions but not as bad as Arthur, the goat’s x-ray after the Grandfather Horse parked on his leg. Naturally, my X-ray also showed a previously broken bone in my wrist. I have no idea when or how that happened but the doctor showed no surprise. It wasn’t his first rodeo, either.

I’ve got a few days to keep my arm elevated before going to the ortho to find out if I need surgery or if they can manipulate the bones back in place. Either option makes me wanna puke. I thought about asking the nurses today to pour a swig of whiskey down my gullet, stick a hunk of leather to put between my teeth, and snap the bone back on the spot, but the nurses didn’t look like the type.

Horsewomen are famous for gallows humor. We are witty as donkeys and then the next moment, sharing cookies with each other and cleaning sheaths while we chat.

Now what? I’d like to say I’m going to launch my new audiobook, but since being ghosted by Mark and exiled into cyberspace, I’m lost. Oh, the pain, the heartache, the long dull hours of hoping that it wasn’t true. He and I have been in a long-distance relationship since 2008. Yes, there is an age difference, but our affair wasn’t a secret. You knew our business. Well, you knew mine at least. Mark can be elusive.

I have been loyal when others, many others, have left him. For the last 1,353 Friday mornings, I have posted affirmative essays about horse training, reactive dogs, and women of a certain age. Standing against whiners, haters, and general buffoons, I’ve posted photos of pretty white horses, doing my best to offset the trash talk and unsavory photographs of beach vacations, fancy dinners, financial advisors, and other crazy notions. I have the stats and I have the words. Mark, wasn’t I good to you?

Back in February, a man half my age with dark hair and no horses in sight stole my identity on Facebook. How could anyone mistake him for me? That was when I got ghosted. No one there will talk to me.

About now, dear readers, some of you will claim the high moral ground and say that social media is the root of all evil in our culture. I don’t disagree. I also don’t know how to have a business small business without social media. So yes, I’ll beg.

But I don’t know if Mark and I will get back together again. I don’t know if I can trust him after he stole custody of all of you. Maybe it’s time to subscribe to this blog or to keep up with my writing, subscribe to my other blog. Then we can meet behind his back. Do I sound bitter? He’s keeping me from my friends, too. I’m searchin’ with a torch song,  Mark, for you.

So, what will I do while on stall rest? After many requests, Stable Relation is available in audiobook form at all online sellers. I should throw a party on my FB author page, but Mark took those keys as well. Hear one hand clapping with mocking sarcasm.

And since I’m done with the first draft, now is a good as good a time as any to tell you I’ll have a new book out later this year and it’s entitled Undomesticated Women, Anecdotal Evidence from the Road. I’ve switched my mouse to a lefty and I can keep editing while I’m on ice. Another reason to not feel sorry for me. This new book is a travel memoir of my 13k-mile road trip last year. Mister, my dog, says it’s really all about him.

This brings us to now. For every Thursday night for the last 1,353 Thursday nights, I have stayed up late writing an essay. I do it when I’m at home or when I’m on the road. Sometimes I’m in other countries and other times I’m in my studio with a snoring pack of unimpressed literary dogs. Tonight, my right arm is under an ice pack, but as long as I have a finger to peck with, I will not be silenced!

I might have gotten carried away with the soundtrack, but thank you for reading along all these years. I know it’s setting the bar pretty low, but you’re more loyal than Zuckerberg ever was. As much as I wish it was true, this isn’t the pain meds talking. I am wildly grateful to each of you. Maybe he was jealous, we’ve had some great times together. Thanks for lucky 13!

So, come hell or high water, it is the 1,354th consecutive Friday morning, and I may be jilted and horribly self-indulgent, but you know what happens when we get bucked off…

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[ Please don’t miss a week : Subscribe here  or come join us at The Barn School.

Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Become a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online training group with affirmative demonstration videos, audio blogs, daily quotes, free participation in “group lessons”, and live chats with Anna. Become part of the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Anna teaches ongoing courses like Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and more at The Barn School, as well as virtual clinics and our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation, subscribe for email delivery of this blog, or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

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The post 1,354th Friday Morning and Not Bucked Off appeared first on Anna Blake.

Worried About Everything? Protection From the Unexpected

“Want to go on a trail ride with me? The last time I was out, my friend’s horse slid into a ravine and broke her wrist. Bring a helmet, okay? Have you checked your girth lately? They wear out and mine is frayed but it’s fine. I know three horses who have died by lightning strikes, so let’s go early in the day before the weather rolls in. Let’s take your trailer because mine came unhooked and crashed into the ditch. And we should wear something bright. It’s deer hunting season and your buckskin mare is just the right color to get shot.”

Let me ask again. Want to go on a trail ride with me? Just say no. You don’t want to be out on the trail with someone who is a walking disaster encyclopedia. Immersing ourselves in disaster fantasies makes our horses nervous. Not to mention ourselves. Don’t go on the trail ride!

And I do personally know three horses who died by lightning strikes. There was nothing that could have saved them. Call it an act of nature, they were good horses and in a second, they were gone. Controlling the universe is futile. I live in a state with unpredictable weather. I turn my horses out where anything can happen. There is a new colony of Satan-worshipping gophers in the pasture but that isn’t the worst. Every single moment, we face the biggest threat of all. Everyone in the barn gets older by the year, and none of us is getting out of this alive. With all this, plus the stories we hear and all the articles that we read, with the sheer stress of knowing how fragile horses truly are, how do we stand it?

I have tips but I don’t think you need another top-ten list of death threats. I’m sure you’ve heard them all before. Most of us have been around for a while, that’s how we got on this merry-go-round, and by now we are pretty good at scaring ourselves. That might be the problem.

We survey the surroundings on any given day and imagine all the horrible, crippling disasters that can happen. We are smart, so then we do research. What we learn does not make it better, but while researching we found several new diseases and freak accidents to watch for. Now we know too much but expecting every unexpected thing is exhausting. It floods us quicker than horses because we overthink effortlessly with our pesky frontal lobe. We want everything to be right, so we question, correlate, compare, and ask for more opinions.

We try to soothe ourselves by being the best at knowing too much.

I’ll call it a human calming signal but it comes with the caveat that calming signals are usually signs of stress. But even over-education doesn’t work because knowledge isn’t the same as confidence. Now we are in a rut of belief in our own failure to know enough. And we are paralyzed there which ends up being a good thing. Remember Molly Ivins’ first rule of holes? When you’re in one stop digging.

Pause. Take a moment right now, stop reading, and inhale. Then say something genuinely nice to yourself. Thank you.

Knowledge is a wonderful thing unless it only makes us more anxious. Educate yourself but intelligence doesn’t calm your horse. Humility is fine and dandy, but not at the cost of your confidence. Kindness is a good idea, but not if you sacrifice your self-esteem. Being a lifelong student is honorable, but when do you finally give yourself a passing grade?

Here’s the million-dollar training tip: The best answer for any situation with a horse is to breathe.

I have said, written, and demonstrated it a million times. It even bores me to say it and most people nod in agreement, proud to proclaim that they don’t breathe enough. We all agree so really, is your mother stopping you? Pretty please, enough of the rut. If overthinking was going to work, it would have ten years ago. From the pile of clever quotes to paint on signs for the bathroom, just this:

Have you noticed that no matter how many times you confirm you’re bad at breathing, it still doesn’t improve? And now I’ve gone and nagged you, harping on the old breathing thing again. It’s as if we are looking for something harder, more expensive, or requiring an advanced degree. If it didn’t matter so much to your horse, I’d give up.

Instead, let’s try a different approach. Our words are so powerful but sometimes we chatter on and don’t even notice what we say, or that we are meditating on drama. Think about that invitation again. Maybe for now you don’t worry about breathing but instead, you teach yourself a mantra. It should be short and have small words. How about “I’m good at this.” Say it all the time. Say it when you don’t believe it because affirmations work. Then smile. It doesn’t have to be genuine, it is just a way to notice your face. If this mantra feels uncomfortable, all the more reason to say it.

So this is already an improvement. You’re saying something that you don’t quite believe and you are making a face. It’s a start and it distracts you from the worry rut. Your body starts to thank you right away. You can tell because something feels different, maybe your shoulder blades. You haven’t forgotten your knowledge and become stupid. You’re multitasking by knowing what you know while putting your brain in a more affirmative place. Say it again: “I’m good at this.”

It’s time to take your show on the road. Go to the barn and stand three or four feet from your horse’s face. Just do it, even if it means you’re on the other side of the fence. In a clear voice with half a smile, “I’m good at this.” while giving him room to think. Now your horse is looking at you in the way he looks at kids. He stretches his neck and shakes his poll about as much as you’re smiling. So you say it again. “I’m good at this.” This time he lets out a short blow. Still fully aware that the world is a scary place, you notice you’ve exhaled.

Oxygen is the fuel that makes everything else work. And your horse just taught you.

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I’m training a reactive horse to drive. We’ve been at it a while but it’s all on video. Follow us at Bhim’s Training Diary. Click here.

Yes, I’m a turtle on a fence post. My identity has been stolen on Facebook and you might have missed blogs. If you appreciate what I do, please subscribe to the blog here or come join us at The Barn School.

…

[ Please don’t miss a week : Subscribe here ]

Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Become a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online training group with affirmative demonstration videos, audio blogs, daily quotes, free participation in “group lessons”, and live chats with Anna. Become part of the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Anna teaches ongoing courses like Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and more at The Barn School, as well as virtual clinics and our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation, subscribe for email delivery of this blog, or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post Worried About Everything? Protection From the Unexpected appeared first on Anna Blake.

Nube: An Iberian Stall Toy for the Donkeys

Daryl, Daryl, and their other brother, Daryl.

In the first months after coming to our farm, it was a simple schedule for Nube:  wrestle, eat, sleep, repeat. The horses were kind, but it was mutually agreed they could do without Nube’s adolescent fart games. 

It was great news because fart games are the bread and butter of donkey life. I’d given the donkeys some great toys in the past but nothing this cool. Their very own Iberian Sport Horse. Wrestle, eat, sleep, repeat. 

They couldn’t leave him alone, or vice versa. It was hard to tell. Wrestle, eat, sleep, repeat. Nube napped in a dogpile of long ears. If horses could drool, he would have and when he woke up, he had grown. It must have been physically exhausting to have all those cells running wild inside and donkeys running wild on the outside. Wrestle, eat, sleep, repeat all over again, but a little taller.

Naturally, Nube turned into a donkey. What choice did he have? He became more independent, and curious, and best of all, he developed a wonderfully strong topline from playing tag with friends who were shorter than he was. It was all those hours hot-rodding around in a forward long stretchy trot with a smattering of donkey hair in his teeth. There’s no better work for developing a dressage horse.

When it came to the work that I did with Nube, it was more about what I didn’t do the first year. I didn’t work with him for more than ten minutes. I didn’t pull on his face. I didn’t tie him to a fence. I didn’t groom him every day. I didn’t ask him to leave his new friends. If I picked out one hoof, maybe two, I didn’t do more. I asked him for less than I needed so he could offer more if he wanted. I flatly refused to see anything as his fault. I said YES! because confidence must always be the top priority, not training. Besides, he cantered straight lines doing tempi changes out in the pasture, he didn’t need that explained.

Mostly we practiced calming signal conversations. Since he was two months old, it had been our only language with each other. Nube was the kind of brilliant youngster who learned fast and begged for more. If there had been one of those “gifted and talented” programs in the barn, he would have been at the head of the class. Another trainer might have pushed, mistaking his enthusiasm for maturity. I knew that would be a mistake, his confidence was a new habit and partly hollow bravado. He needed more time to trust himself. The faster young horses learn, the more tempting it is to do too much. No one wants to quit when things go well, I sure didn’t, but this colt mattered. No excuses. 

Horse training is simple, we collect good experiences for the horse.

It wasn’t about control or what I could make a horse do. If this was going to be a partnership, we had to practice the fine art of peaceful persistence from day one. We had a life ahead and this fundamental learning would be the bedrock of how he would feel about the world.

All trust is based in consistency. I chose to hold an affirmative demeanor while Nube and I were together. Emotional self-control around horses is a choice. We can be self-indulgent with our emotions, or we can be there for the horse. Patience is a choice as well. It isn’t easy but it is that simple.

It wasn’t that I had those skills with humans, but I could play the part of a person who was a little better while in Nube’s world. Nube came first. That’s what it would take for the kind of relationship I wanted with him.

I could obsess or scheme or worry all I wanted while in the house, but on his time it was the all-Nube channel, all the time. It was not about me.

From the start, Nube matched my stride more precisely than others horses I’d known. I don’t use whips or sticks or wands or any other creative name meant to disguise a weapon from the one holding it. What we did early on wasn’t liberty training and I deserve no credit. Horse herds instinctually move in synchrony, as schools of fish or flocks of birds move in unison, and unless humans have messed them up, it’s natural for horses. Moving is calming, I was a safe place, and matching strides was the most normal thing for him. 

Every breath brought him closer mentally. It’s the most effective cue possible, and anything more would be too much. Breathing was our connection when I visited him before he was weaned and something we did consciously as he died. Breathing is the most primal calming signal.

I always stopped sooner than either of us wanted to and left him hungry for more conversation, praise, and curiosity-engaging affirmative work. I didn’t give him a hand treat once over the next twenty years and he trotted to me if I was in eyesight.

We started with a mounting block early on. I want to train him that humans use them so that they can scratch horses better. It wouldn’t be long before he came at a trot and parallel parked in position, but in the beginning, I was a scratching post.

After a few minutes there, he did some walk/trot transitions off my breath, me in the center, and him on the rail. Then an inhale to a canter, and he’d arch his neck and lift his shoulders. His hind end engaged, he’d rise to a gallop on the long side. An exhale and he was walking again, still on the rail, while I hooted and cheered. Babies should get used to cheering crowds right from the start.

I called him from the rail and exhaled for a halt, still maybe fifteen feet away. I needed a minute to think. We’d done the usual stuff and I was desperately searching for a new idea. We might have both been thinking, “Now what?”

His ears were up, his focus was intense, and his energy hot, but I wouldn’t let him rush me. Enthusiasm is a runaway as much as fear. I needed time to think so I averted my eyes. I probably exhaled to slow things, and I might have glanced at his left knee for an instant.  I mean, just a flash.

That was when I saw the very start of movement in one hoof. As fluid as T’ai Chi, he filled his right front leg with more weight in slow motion, and his left fetlock softened and floated up. Deliberately, with his ears forward, he balanced to steadiness and lifted his hoof forward and up as high as his shoulder in a long arc as if offering his hoof to me. He stood that way, his eyebrows were curious and his eyes warm and round.

Was he giving me an answer to a question I hadn’t asked? Or maybe I had?

I thought do you think we over-cue much, Anna? 

Breath and intention were my cue for engagement. I was an accomplished rider, but I’d need better self-awareness to keep up with this horse before we even got in the saddle.

No worries though, I had a donkey-wrestling, fart-game-playing colt to bring me along.

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I’m training a reactive horse to drive. Follow us at Bhim’s Training Diary. Click here.

…

Like a turtle on a fence post! My Facebook identity has been stolen and I’m unable to get to my business pages or get help from FB. If you appreciate what I do, please subscribe below or come join us at The Barn School.

Please don’t miss a week : Subscribe here

…

Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Become a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online training group with affirmative demonstration videos, audio blogs, daily quotes, free participation in “group lessons”, and live chats with Anna. Become part of the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Anna teaches ongoing courses like Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and more at The Barn School, as well as virtual clinics and our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation, subscribe for email delivery of this blog, or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post Nube: An Iberian Stall Toy for the Donkeys appeared first on Anna Blake.

How to Measure the Heart of a Horse

Have you experienced this? Someone says something that is a throw-away comment, not meant to be anything, they toss it not intending any harm. I mean it, kind people having a thoughtful conversation, and one of them says the new horse is close to perfect and she likes him a lot, but she somehow does not get the feeling of presence, or maybe heart,  she felt with the horse that died a while back.  And now I am stuck in an echo chamber with a comment that ricocheted off the walls a few times and then landed with the pointy end in my eye. I can’t let go because it’s personal.

Disclaimer: I am an equine professional who has studied calming signal peculiarities to a degree that would drive a normal horse-crazy girl (if such a thing exists) nuts. I know what I know. I sometimes wish I didn’t. I’m no fun at rodeos and not a fan of playing pin the romantic tale on the donkey. I like who horses are naturally and want us to understand them for their unique selves. A horse’s experience shouldn’t be dependent on what they give us or how we feel about them.

This statement about one horse having a bigger heart is something we all have opinions about. We go so far as to call some of them Heart Horses. What does that make the others? How is a heart quantifiable? It isn’t like the quality of a trot or the height of a jump cleared. It isn’t crossing a finish line first, if any of us can stand to watch races anymore. Instead, it is a loss-fueled statement that puts the new horse in a diminished position. As if surviving a beloved horse’s death, especially one they never met, is easy in the first place.

We all have a soft spot for old horses and old dogs. Some of that is quantifiable, but in a way we don’t like to acknowledge. They are not as comfortable moving as they once were. They become more sedate when vision blurs and old joints creak. They hide their pain behind a stoic mask and become easier to control. Many of the calming signals for pain are mistaken for an agreeable temperament. We like them sweet.

Or did we change? Maybe by the time the horse gets older, we stop fighting with them and their heart grows softer, not having to defend itself. Yes, it took all of their life and a good chunk of ours to get there. Do our hearts grow larger after we die? I hope so.

Some horses are hard to love. Some are so fearful and anxious, that you might like them well enough at a distance but are relieved that they aren’t your horse. Maybe they have hurt their rider or have an undiagnosable condition that makes for unpredictable behavior. We feel sorry for them; we have both sympathy and empathy, which is like sending thoughts and prayers. It’s truly kind. Are these the horses with smaller hearts?

Is it the horses who frighten us that have less presence? Abused horses have less of that winning personality. Sometimes it’s the spooky horse with small eyes that is aggressively intimidating. They have a presence but not one we like. We want tall calm horses with long manes in pretty colors. We can be a little superficial that way.

I’ve known horses that have been used well in agreeable work, cared for impeccably but not “loved.” I don’t think horses miss what they don’t know. It doesn’t make their heart smaller. I’ve known horses who are loved to cloying distraction and micromanaged to the extreme. I think often it shrinks them; they pull inside themselves as if human love were a kind of domination.

What is it that pokes me so much about the size comment? If I have thoughts about the quality of a horse’s heart or the power of a horse’s presence, what are they?

Let me describe how indescribable I think a horse’s heart is. Hearts are fluid and vapor, boneless and strong. They shrink or grow, by the second or hour, eternally reacting to their environment. Horses are not creators, they respond to their surroundings, flight animals forever driven by a survival instinct beyond choice. Their hearts fluctuate, like the pupil of our eye, but horses find footing when their environment supports them. It’s why they try to trust us, or give up trusting us.

I think a horse’s heart is ethereal. Do you know the definition of that word? The Oxford dictionary says: “extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world.” We recognize horses in those words, don’t we?

But as they react to us, horses also take cues from us. They get numerous messages whether we are aware we sent them or not. They don’t use fussy words to define us but horses read intention with precision, messages that are small but obvious in our own calming signals. We can practically make them lame by staring at a leg, or we can be so accepting of them that we lay down our critical thoughts and they feel safe. On any given day, horses reflect their surroundings, through a lens of their experience and memory. And for all we think we know, horses remain a mystery to us. Are we sure the heart we are judging is even theirs?

Or, ignore all my rambling chatter and let the question be answered by simple math. On average, a horse’s heart weighs seven to nine pounds, compared to a human’s measly little half-pounder. Not that they judge.

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I’ve been getting a master class on courage from a reactive horse I’m working with. Ten weeks ago, his heart was obsidian. Today his heart flutters in the wind like a transparent silk scarf. What his heart will be tomorrow is unknown but I will be listening, open to his reactions to this ever-changing world. Follow his work at Bhim’s Training Diary. Click here.

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Yes, I’m a turtle on a fence post. My identity has been stolen on Facebook and I’m unable to get to my business page or get help from FB. If you appreciate what I do, please subscribe below or come join us at The Barn School.

…

[ Please don’t miss a week : Subscribe here ]

Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Become a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online training group with affirmative demonstration videos, audio blogs, daily quotes, free participation in “group lessons”, and live chats with Anna. Become part of the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Anna teaches ongoing courses like Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and more at The Barn School, as well as virtual clinics and our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation, subscribe for email delivery of this blog, or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post How to Measure the Heart of a Horse appeared first on Anna Blake.

“How do I stop my horse from doing this?”

“How do I stop my horse from doing this?” An oversimplified version of the most common question a horse trainer is asked. The question comes with a backstory, a theory, and a recitation of everything they have tried. The first resistance is small, we might think it’s a cute affectation even, but if we don’t listen, they will keep at us until we do. Unchecked, the horse becomes dangerous, our response gets more frustrated and now you and your horse don’t recognize each other.

Horses are stoic. Left to polite handling, they try to do what we ask. Even if it hurts, they try. Finally, some horses shut down while others will come apart, but the symptoms continue. Horses give us calming signals when we are too pushy or loud but if we are focused on training, we might miss their call for help. We think it’s a training issue because that’s what we focus on. The horse focuses on himself because he’s in pain.

We would see if the horse was limping, we would help if there was a wound. The last thing we want is for our horse to hurt, and maybe that’s why we don’t want to see it.

If your horse has a dramatic change in behavior, and blows up in an instant, for no reason you can find, it’s usually pain. Think of a shockingly intense pain like a pinched nerve or a bee sting.  But if it’s a slow change over time that has grown to be a big problem, that’s still probably pain. Think of a relentless dull chronic pain that wears you down like arthritis or headaches, not visible but very real.

Any decent trainer will say to check for physical issues first before embarking on a corrective training plan, but many conditions are nebulous in the beginning, some not diagnosable, so the vet says “Nothing I can find.” Do we believe the horse or the vet? Either way, it’s complicated, because the horse has a scary mix that’s part pain, part conflicting messages from us, and part anxiety. It will take some time to unravel.

The quick answer from a fear-based trainer is to make yourself big or loud or carry a weapon. Pain shows as aggression lots of times; it seems to almost make sense. You might come to an affirmative trainer like me, and ask for special dispensation to use a whip. You might say kind methods don’t work. And you’re right; training methods of any sort aren’t a resolution for pain.

It all seems nebulous and we want a simple answer. We hear the ancient threats, you can’t let him get away with that, ringing in our ears. So, we decide on a Scared Straight approach. We want to fix the problem.

Look what I found in an article with an even better title than mine, Doing What Doesn’t Work, by Jitinder Kohli: “Scared Straight programs don’t actually work. Far from reducing crime, research shows that participants in Scared Straight programs are about 7 percent more likely to commit crimes afterward than those who don’t participate. This finding is not even new—repeated studies carried out since the 1960s show that Scared Straight programs have no positive effect.”

Punishing a horse isn’t a cure and now we have a full-blown frightened, hurting horse with new bad habits. Finally, we believe him, even if we don’t understand him, and we have to find the right question for his answer. Horse Jeopardy should be a real game with the winner getting their vet bills paid.

What to do while the search is on? It’s a good time to remember that horses never forget anything. First, stop doing things that aren’t working. Please, just stop. Then share that relief when your horse blows. Give him some time off. Do the health checks and ask tough questions but let him rest. Don’t groom him, really let him be. As much as we want to help, give him time to soothe himself and let his memory cool. Consider it an apology.

Patience is the first step in changing a habit. I use the word habit because I’m trying to train myself to use that word instead of “problem.” A problem might have a quick fix, we can fill the water tank for instance. A habit is something we understand differently. A girl might bite her nails, it’s a behavior that we want to stop. If we force her, like whack-a-mole, the cause will pop up again in different behavior. We’re just fussing with symptoms instead of looking for the underlying issue and then forming new habits that will be ongoing. Habit is a better word because we expect it to take time to change and we calm down a bit. Going slower is always good.

Next, rephrase the question because the problem isn’t what your horse is doing. It’s why your horse is doing it. Horses don’t do anything without a reason. We tend to think they are “just being a horse” and they are. A horse who has the intelligence to show us they need help. We must think less about problem-solving and more about listening to the horse.

But what do you listen to? We need a common language with our horses, and it isn’t going to be English. Most of us think we know their language, but if we did, we wouldn’t be in this spot. Are we going by what we were taught way back when, old cowboy myths or superstitions? Then remember all of the breakthroughs we’ve had in even the last few years. It might be time to catch up on science and calming signals. Not romantic, but useful.

Where to start while you’re waiting for the physical answers? Take a video of being with your horse and see his side of the story. His side is what you are doing. But don’t just take the video, actually study it. We must be open to learning how we contribute to our horse’s situation. Maybe it’s a small habit we’re not even aware we’re doing. We’ve probably been taught to do it, or we do it innocently, not understanding what it means to a horse. It doesn’t matter why we did it, if it isn’t working, we need to change it so the horse can give us that different answer.

So, we are patient in finding out if there are physical issues and we are patient in changing our own habits to be more horse-worthy. We work to build a more vulnerable language with our horses because it’s never just one thing, one correction, or one easy fix. The answer is rarely where we thought we were headed. We’d do better to create our own habits of curiosity and perception because mysteries are constantly unfolding and usually a little out of control.

It was never as “simple” as training.

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[ Please don’t miss a week : Subscribe here ]

Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Become a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online training group with affirmative demonstration videos, audio blogs, daily quotes, free participation in “group lessons”, and live chats with Anna. Become part of the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Anna teaches ongoing courses like Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and more at The Barn School, as well as virtual clinics and our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation, subscribe for email delivery of this blog, or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post “How do I stop my horse from doing this?” appeared first on Anna Blake.

Letting Go of Shame and Blame. Do It for Your Horse.

Nope. Not me. I was allergic to this color, but Hannah dressed for success from the start.

How many times a week do I tell a client some version of “When we know better, we do better”? It’s a Maya Angelou quote, we all know it. It has no big words, we understand it. And yet we cling to the past. We smear shame, guilt, and remorse all over ourselves as if it’s fairy glitter. If horses were half as unforgiving as we are to ourselves, we’d all be dead.

Not to mention that when a mare needs to inject some sense into a silly gelding, she lays down a quick gnarly threat and then leaves it. The gelding remembers and the mare acts like it never happened. Why can’t we get over it?

I might be getting testy; I need a rant because all my empathetic soothing words fall on deaf ears. It’s like people want to think they’re a special case for being normal. It’s like we’re auditioning for a club that everyone is already in.

All good rants should begin with an extremely obvious example. Here’s mine:

Being frustrated about not knowing then what we are just learning now is like being mad at yourself for needing diapers as a baby.

Very clever, except the process of housebreaking children is quicker than learning about horses. Here is how you can tell; I started riding when I was about three or four. My parents had given up trying to stop me and were now using a tall mare as a babysitter. I was also sneaking behind the barn to pee, which passes for manners on a farm. Doing quick math, it’s been sixty-five years and I have been somewhat housebroken a majority of that time, but when it comes to horses, I am still learning more every day. And proud of it. Being trainable is a welcome skill.

The action of continuing to learn should, no, must be seen as a sacred duty. We continue to progress because it’s the best way to acknowledge those good horses who took care of us when we pulled on their faces and bounced in the saddle. Horses know that’s how riding starts. Why don’t we? It’s a show of gratitude to extend the life of a horse by taking the training they gave us on to our next horse. We are their legacy. It doesn’t look good when the legacy is whining with contrite self-loathing when we should be proud of what we’ve learned.

As we continue to learn, it doesn’t mean we throw out tradition, especially if it moves in alignment with new understanding, like what we are learning about brain science and autonomic nervous systems as they relate to affirmative training. Horses do not benefit from us living in the past. We would do better to use new understanding to forge better training methods that take the unique nature of horses further into consideration.

Start here: Research has shown that horses can identify emotions. The most-proven ones are anger and joy. Horses react to our emotions; it isn’t that they care how we feel but rather if they are in danger. A horse’s heart rate goes up when they sense anger, followed by them giving calming signals to let us know they aren’t a threat to us. They read our fear, not out of empathy but for their physical safety. When we are confused, they usually stop, confused by our confusion. Notice these emotions are simple and almost primal.

Do they understand feelings of shame and guilt? Empathy or sympathy? Does remorse feel good to them? How do they read these nebulous and conflicted emotions on our faces? As much as we want to languish in this swamp, horses are busy wondering if they are missing something that could threaten their safety. Maybe they identify it as random “human anxiety”, but horses can’t ignore it or understand it, so it lurks in a dark place and makes a horse wary. They don’t trust chronic passive anxiousness. Does regret feel like dread?

Does this remind you of all the misunderstood conversations where, in the name of being polite or kind, it only gets messier because we rehash the past, but no one wants to move ahead? Any horse will tell you change is hard. Also, inevitable.

We broadcast our failure to know what we didn’t know, but the truth is learning about horses is a process that takes a lifetime and if we think about it, that’s good news. We were all slow readers in the beginning. It was normal and we didn’t apologize for it. Why can’t we be that accepting of our learning curve with horses? Some of us feel loyal to our roots or have spent a fortune learning with the best intention, only to find the methods don’t always work or they’ve been outdated. The best training practices should improve. If you can let go of using the wall phone in the kitchen in favor of a cell phone, and not apologize, why is learning more and doing better a problem?

Flog yourself for past ignorance, chant mea culpa with every breath, but know a horse feels our emotions. Then they have to figure out what to do with them.

What if the thing holding us back is the frequent reciting of our past behaviors, prompted by old voices that no longer make sense? Could we tell the voices finally to just shut up? What if we gave up our worn-out apologies, spent drama, and low self-esteem? Instead, we could allow ourselves to be proud students of the horse.

Because if horses can feel our anger or fear, then they can certainly feel affirmative emotions like confidence and self-respect. Your horse would thank you.

Look at that photo again. What is it that fussy, opinionated Grace saw in Hannah? The mare was notoriously cranky with heavy-handed humans who thought they knew how to ride. Seeing that light interaction, I wonder if that’s the difference… that kids have no regret. Guilt is the very last thought in a kid’s mind if they get to be with a horse. They are too busy being in awe. Remember when it was all about the horse?

As a horse person of a certain age, we usually blame ourselves for carrying a little extra weight, too, even as we consider getting a pink tutu and matching helmet. Instead of adding one more pound of blame, drop the weight of regret. Shed old guilt this spring. Let it be less dead weight for both you and your horse to carry.

 

…

Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Become a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online training group with affirmative demonstration videos, audio blogs, daily quotes, free participation in “group lessons”, and live chats with Anna. Become part of the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Anna teaches ongoing courses like Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and more at The Barn School, as well as virtual clinics and our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation, subscribe for email delivery of this blog, or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post Letting Go of Shame and Blame. Do It for Your Horse. appeared first on Anna Blake.

Nube: When He Came Home

I was forty-nine years old with gray hair, calloused banged-up fingers, and chronic lameness in my left foot. He was two months old, brave, sensitive, and wildly athletic. He cantered at liberty throwing flying changes for the fun of it. I loved dressage, especially riding changes that skipped with energy and lightness. We were the perfect match.

It would be months before he was old enough to come home, so we had time to get to know each other. I took an afternoon every week to drive up to visit and he began to recognize me. The breeder did a slow, sweet weaning process, with short separations at first, then for the last few weeks, the colt had been out of sight of the mare and playing with others. No pleading calls, no pacing the fence line. During visits, I picked up the colt’s hooves to clean and he tugged my shoelaces loose. We played leading games, but mostly I stood by his shoulder and dreamed. His name was Donatello, but I knew that wouldn’t stick.

I’d been on my farm for three years by then. I moved there with two mature, advanced riding horses, two cattle dogs, and a couple of cats. Right away I got lonely, so I made the rational decision to get a couple of pregnant llamas, two pairs of goat twins, and a donkey who told me his name was Ernest. It isn’t like they all arrived on the same day. Besides, I didn’t move to the farm to read more.

I’d been pretending to be Jane Goodall. I wouldn’t admit it to her face or anything, but it’s how women like me play Superhero. No cape or tights, but we can be stealthy and have a special kind of vision that picks up nuance, remembers details, and translates behaviors into words. I believed I had discovered a new language in the remote wilderness just east of Colorado Springs. Maybe I spent too much time alone, but it seemed all the animals spoke it but me. Okay, to tell the truth, it was similar to the dog’s language but the horses were speaking it differently. By speaking, I mean using body language. By discovered, I mean it was always there but it was so quiet for so long that eventually, I heard it plain as day. By heard it, I mean I saw it.  So, I gave up talking to make the learning more intensive, like a kind of silent Berlitz course. It worked.

My horses, who I’d started as youngsters and thought I knew every ounce of, started telling (showing) me things. It was as if they’d been waiting for me, keeping faith that I might come around. For my part, they didn’t have problems and I wasn’t looking for solutions. Learning to ride up the dressage levels meant that I was quiet and had subtle cues. I’d changed for them and been glad to do it, but now that achievement demanded even more, the cues went even more nuanced and somehow they were getting even steadier and more confident. Not that there was anyone around to see us.

It was 2003. I wouldn’t start writing this training blog for seven more years. The language hadn’t been named yet (by someone else). I wouldn’t write about it for ten years. And I was bringing a new horse home!

Finally, the day came. I had everything ready, a small pen next to the big one, with fresh water and hay. I hooked up the trailer and loaded Dodger, who loved road trips, to come along as company for the colt on the way home. We got to the breeder’s farm in good time, it was a bright May morning, and I haltered the colt and led him to a stock trailer. Mine is a four-horse, that I use like two stalls so horses could move about. Dodger stood quietly in the front as I coaxed the colt. He looked back and then looked at Dodger. I clucked and after a few moments, he climbed in probably wanting to be with Dodger more than understanding what I asked. It was a smooth, even peaceful trip home, and soon we were pulling into our farm. The ride couldn’t have gone better.

The colt unloaded uneventfully and walked with me to his pen. His new barn family all came to meet him. No one nipped or spit, there was lots of sniffing and eye-blinking and the colt was curious. It was all a success. In an hour, some friends came to meet him. He’d eaten by then and he charmed everyone. In the afternoon, I put Ernest in with him and another visitor came. By then he’d pooped and drank. As we stood close praising him, he laid down right between us. It had been a very big day for this little horse, but we’d had no injuries or frantic drama.

I knew it was all going to be perfect. I threw hay for dinner and he pinned his ears at me.

When I went into the house, I called the breeder to let her know we were home safe and all the important “firsts” had been completed. She thanked me. I said she hadn’t told me he was food aggressive. She said he never had been. I believed her and didn’t think much of it at the time. I’ve replayed this conversation in my head hundreds of times since. I didn’t know what I didn’t know.

I named my Iberian Sport Horse Nube, which rhymes with eBay, and is the Spanish word for cloud. Our first task was to tidy up the dinner conversation. No whip, no threats, I was kind and subtle, I asked him to stand while I brought the hay in. I praised him for learning so quickly, and he seemed to want to do the right thing. He was light and sensitive. A half-sibling of his was on the Olympic development team and this young horse was in my barn. It was a miracle under the prairie moon. I exhaled, he exhaled, and all was well in the world.

We train what we think we train and then the horse learns what makes sense to him. That was when I taught Nube to hide his pain from me. Worst of all, I thought I was paying attention.

Nube didn’t have Olympic aspirations. He had been kidnapped, stolen from his family, put in a noisy steel box, and taken to another world. The ground smelled different, the hay tasted different, and the horses were different. It was the worst day ever and he was scared. He was little and alone. The geldings licked and chewed for him. Their lips vibrated as they blew out long breaths to remind him to soothe himself. The llamas cushed in a line along the fence, chewing cud they barfed up to sociably chew again, moving their jaws in rhythm. The donkey stood close to the colt’s side like an oracle of wisdom. Living with humans is always a challenge, the donkey exhaled with half-closed eyes and a cocked hip. No, the human didn’t hear him and then told him to not say it again. The donkey rubbed his muzzle on his knee to let the colt know it would be okay.

It might have been the Grandfather Horse who said, with quivering whiskers and soft lateral ears, to give it time. He believed that some humans had souls and might even be capable of communicating.

And because the colt had no choice, he swallowed his feelings, and like bitter rocks, they splashed in his raw stomach.

…

Research finds that 98% of foals develop ulcers within two weeks of weaning.       Read How We Met

…

[ Please don’t miss a week : Subscribe here ]

Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Become a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online training group with affirmative demonstration videos, audio blogs, daily quotes, free participation in “group lessons”, and live chats with Anna. Become part of the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Anna teaches ongoing courses like Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and more at The Barn School, as well as virtual clinics and our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation, subscribe for email delivery of this blog, or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

 

The post Nube: When He Came Home appeared first on Anna Blake.

When He Came Home

I was forty-nine years old with gray hair, calloused banged-up fingers, and chronic lameness in my left foot. He was two months old, brave, sensitive, and wildly athletic. He cantered at liberty throwing flying changes for the fun of it. I loved dressage, especially riding changes that skipped with energy and lightness. We were the perfect match.

It would be months before he was old enough to come home, so we had time to get to know each other. I took an afternoon every week to drive up to visit and he began to recognize me. The breeder did a slow, sweet weaning process, with short separations at first, then for the last few weeks, the colt had been out of sight of the mare and playing with others. No pleading calls, no pacing the fence line. During visits, I picked up the colt’s hooves to clean and he tugged my shoelaces loose. We played leading games, but mostly I stood by his shoulder and dreamed. His name was Donatello, but I knew that wouldn’t stick.

I’d been on my farm for three years by then. I moved there with two mature, advanced riding horses, two cattle dogs, and a couple of cats. Right away I got lonely, so I made the rational decision to get a couple of pregnant llamas, two pairs of goat twins, and a donkey who told me his name was Ernest. It isn’t like they all arrived on the same day. Besides, I didn’t move to the farm to read more.

I’d been pretending to be Jane Goodall. I wouldn’t admit it to her face or anything, but it’s how women like me play Superhero. No cape or tights, but we can be stealthy and have a special kind of vision that picks up nuance, remembers details, and translates behaviors into words. I believed I had discovered a new language in the remote wilderness just east of Colorado Springs. Maybe I spent too much time alone, but it seemed all the animals spoke it but me. Okay, to tell the truth, it was similar to the dog’s language but the horses were speaking it differently. By speaking, I mean using body language. By discovered, I mean it was always there but it was so quiet for so long that eventually, I heard it plain as day. By heard it, I mean I saw it.  So, I gave up talking to make the learning more intensive, like a kind of silent Berlitz course. It worked.

My horses, who I’d started as youngsters and thought I knew every ounce of, started telling (showing) me things. It was as if they’d been waiting for me, keeping faith that I might come around. For my part, they didn’t have problems and I wasn’t looking for solutions. Learning to ride up the dressage levels meant that I was quiet and had subtle cues. I’d changed for them and been glad to do it, but now that achievement demanded even more, the cues went even more nuanced and somehow they were getting even steadier and more confident. Not that there was anyone around to see us.

It was 2003. I wouldn’t start writing this training blog for seven more years. The language hadn’t been named yet (by someone else). I wouldn’t write about it for ten years. And I was bringing a new horse home!

Finally, the day came. I had everything ready, a small pen next to the big one, with fresh water and hay. I hooked up the trailer and loaded Dodger, who loved road trips, to come along as company for the colt on the way home. We got to the breeder’s farm in good time, it was a bright May morning, and I haltered the colt and led him to a stock trailer. Mine is a four-horse, that I use like two stalls so horses could move about. Dodger stood quietly in the front as I coaxed the colt. He looked back and then looked at Dodger. I clucked and after a few moments, he climbed in probably wanting to be with Dodger more than understanding what I asked. It was a smooth, even peaceful trip home, and soon we were pulling into our farm. The ride couldn’t have gone better.

The colt unloaded uneventfully and walked with me to his pen. His new barn family all came to meet him. No one nipped or spit, there was lots of sniffing and eye-blinking and the colt was curious. It was all a success. In an hour, some friends came to meet him. He’d eaten by then and he charmed everyone. In the afternoon, I put Ernest in with him and another visitor came. By then he’d pooped and drank. As we stood close praising him, he laid down right between us. It had been a very big day for this little horse, but we’d had no injuries or frantic drama.

I knew it was all going to be perfect. I threw hay for dinner and he pinned his ears at me.

When I went into the house, I called the breeder to let her know we were home safe and all the important “firsts” had been completed. She thanked me. I said she hadn’t told me he was food aggressive. She said he never had been. I believed her and didn’t think much of it at the time. I’ve replayed this conversation in my head hundreds of times since. I didn’t know what I didn’t know.

I named my Iberian Sport Horse Nube, which rhymes with eBay, and is the Spanish word for cloud. Our first task was to tidy up the dinner conversation. No whip, no threats, I was kind and subtle, I asked him to stand while I brought the hay in. I praised him for learning so quickly, and he seemed to want to do the right thing. He was light and sensitive. A half-sibling of his was on the Olympic development team and this young horse was in my barn. It was a miracle under the prairie moon. I exhaled, he exhaled, and all was well in the world.

We train what we think we train and then the horse learns what makes sense to him. That was when I taught Nube to hide his pain from me. Worst of all, I thought I was paying attention.

Nube didn’t have Olympic aspirations. He had been kidnapped, stolen from his family, put in a noisy steel box, and taken to another world. The ground smelled different, the hay tasted different, and the horses were different. It was the worst day ever and he was scared. He was little and alone. The geldings licked and chewed for him. Their lips vibrated as they blew out long breaths to remind him to soothe himself. The llamas cushed in a line along the fence, chewing cud they barfed up to sociably chew again, moving their jaws in rhythm. The donkey stood close to the colt’s side like an oracle of wisdom. Living with humans is always a challenge, the donkey exhaled with half-closed eyes and a cocked hip. No, the human didn’t hear him and then told him to not say it again. The donkey rubbed his muzzle on his knee to let the colt know it would be okay.

It might have been the Grandfather Horse who said, with quivering whiskers and soft lateral ears, to give it time. He believed that some humans had souls and might even be capable of communicating.

And because the colt had no choice, he swallowed his feelings, and like bitter rocks, they splashed in his raw stomach.

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Research finds that 98% of foals develop ulcers within two weeks of weaning.       Read How We Met

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Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

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