Anna Blake's Blog, page 13

What To Do When You’ve Tried Everything

“I tried everything,” my client says. This isn’t something that I hear once in a long while. It’s a time-honored tradition, consistently stated. Sometimes, there is a time deadline but mostly it happens on an ordinary day. My client says it, so I’ll know what they have been thorough before contacting me. It’s implied, almost like a dare, if I’m a good trainer, it’s my job to calm the client, blame the horse and give a quick trick to make the horse behave. But the horse isn’t wrong.

“I tried everything!” my client repeats.

“Yes,” I say. There is a quick slide show in my brain. I am silent because I know all the crazy methods we’ve been taught to tease, maneuver, or dominate a horse into doing what we want. Besides, my client has clearly identified the problem in three words and it doesn’t matter that it was done with the best of intentions. I will fail my client because none of the things I have to say will be pleasant to hear.

My client knows it’s a horrible mess but they are desperate to fix it. Now they have named the second problem. When the anxiety about the task becomes bigger than the task, horses get nervous and inch toward their sympathetic system. That means flight, fight, or freeze and none of those are the right answer.

When we start training with kind, cooperative methods, it always seems amazing that horses do as we ask so easily. But we don’t trust it because it’s simple and if it works once, it was a fluke. Even if Affirmative Training works generally, in a real emergency, we don’t think this kind of pussy-footed, breath-counting, bliss-ninny affirmative method would work. So, we are faithless to the method and yup, it doesn’t work. When we need it the most, rather than a strong committed focus, we give it a doubtful half-hearted attempt, knowing the attempt will fail before the horse answers. And see, we were right.

The horse’s side of the conversation is that we were acting a little unfaithful (coyote-like) so they go slow, painfully slow, because they’re conflicted. They don’t see a problem but it feels like something is wrong, the very definition of a calming signal. Unfaithful is the right word when we give a horse reason to doubt us. We let ourselves be distracted by overthinking, listening to railbirds, or making up stories in our minds. We think of everything but the horse.

The horse knows how to do the thing but loses confidence because his human has changed. The horse hasn’t said no, just that he needs time to process our doubt. If we can’t tell the difference between caution and refusal, we are primed to do something foolish. The horse has given some calming signals, all of which went over the human’s head because we are too busy being unfaithful to the process to notice. The horse had already begun to take the cue but we interrupted them with conflicting cues.

This is when we remember our tattoo. It’s the one we are all born with. The tattoo says “You can’t let your horse win.”

One minute feels like ten and patience evaporates. We give up on one technique after another because that’s what it means to lose faith in our horse. Soon after, we get stiff in our shoulders and hands. Our voice gets edgy and harsh. We swing ropes, pop whips, and jerk leads. We change because it seems to not be working but the horse only appears to not be learning. When push comes to shove, we feel justified to push and shove. By then, the horse has lost trust, we’re stuck, and domination doesn’t work either.

We are mad or frustrated or incredulous because we have done everything we could think of and the horse is refusing. And the horse is refusing because everything we do contradicts everything they do. The horse has tried but can’t find the right answer. Finally the horse and human can agree: Nothing works.

Nothing works because we’ve tried it all; being nice, teasing with treats, being harsh, using fancy training aids, crying, pleading, and yelling. We have flipped personalities so often our dog wouldn’t recognize us, and it’s left us dizzy and a bit disoriented. Nothing works because we’ve tried everything.

Nothing works because the horse is frozen and confounded and distrusting. They are afraid of us when we are spooky and unpredictable. If our horse was our therapist, they’d diagnose us with bipolar disorder or maybe a split personality disorder. But horses are not therapists. They are not human. They don’t want to be.

Consistency works. But that ship has left. Sorry.

Know this for the truth: Once instinct has taken over, the horse doesn’t worry about the human, not for a second, because the horse will put their own safety first every time. It’s a life-or-death equation to them. We fail them when we don’t understand that. And today we have gone too far.

To slow down and breathe in the heat of a battle is an act of courage that goes against the tattoo. That’s on us.

What do you do when you have tried everything? Just stop.

You were right about one thing. We do need to win the fight, but that’s easy. Just stop.

…

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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 What To Do When You’ve Tried Everything appeared first on Anna Blake.

Problem Solved: Space to Breathe.

I’m walking next to you and I’m talking loudly. I am so close that you feel the heat of my words on your skin. My right shoulder is pressed into yours and I have hold of your face. There’s a stick in my other hand. I am not walking evenly, one stride longer than the other because my body is slightly twisted. I am leaning toward your ear and you bend your neck away, but for every ounce of pressure from you, I answer with just one ounce more. We’re both moving at a stumbling walk. Sometimes my knee hits your forearm or trips over your hoof. I am sideways-leading, but you can’t move freely, clipping your steps to avoid my feet. I pull you to a stop. I pull hard enough that you must rebalance. Then you withdraw inside yourself even more, you partly close your eyes as I peer at you. You hate this, even if you like me.

You know that I don’t trust you. I worry you’ll do something bad. I try to correct any possible problem before it happens. Then I put my hand around the soft bone in your nose and pressure your muzzle to me. I wipe your hair out of your eyes and kiss your face and call you my partner because I want it to look like we are connected. I want it to be true.

You can’t breathe. You have a choice, but you don’t have a choice. You can either pretend this doesn’t bother you, press your lips tight with a brittle shell of tolerance and act meek about it. Or you can blow up. If you do that, I might punish you. But this is already punishment.

Or…

Without repeating or correcting, I will offer you the gift of space when you are reluctant in your task. I take a couple of steps away because you aren’t saying no, just that you need some breathing room to think. I give you time to answer because I respect your intellect as I respect my own.

I let you take me for a walk. You take me somewhere else. We each hold ourselves in balance, confident in our strength and autonomy. Gentle in our asking, yet quick to release the other. We move with synergy more than energy. Our footfalls soon match in a natural rhythm, but we don’t need to notice. On your back, my legs follow the sway of your ribs, my spine flexing with yours. With utter freedom, we choose to be together like murmuring starlings leaving a warm breeze in our wake. We breathe in the other’s acceptance until our lungs lift our hearts.

Giving you space* is an act of trust. I give you control over yourself and instead focus on my own awareness. I offer trust as generously as I welcome yours. We live by the law of reciprocity.

Let clean space between us slow down our communication and allow willingness to replace pressure. Leave the thoughts to rest in our heads and let the conversation be physically experienced. Eloquent body language, passed with easy intention through a sea of air to the other, because our real connection is best shown at a distance.

…

*literal definition of space is at least three to six feet from the horse’s head, either wide from their side or back toward their flank.

…

[ 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 Problem Solved: Space to Breathe. appeared first on Anna Blake.

Nube: How We Met

one year later…

I was forty- nine years old, and my upcoming birthday was hanging in the air like a pair of stretched-out waist-high cotton underwear. My Grandfather Horse was on stall rest with a career-ending injury, never to be rideable again. At least my other horse, Dodger, was sound and fifteen. I didn’t know I’d lose him in two years, but it wouldn’t have changed anything. As much as we plan the future with our horses, it is always a risk. The risk isn’t riding them; the risk is all that will happen to have them in your life. They change you in ways you cannot imagine until they are gone. We don’t find out the full scope of a horse until all we have is hindsight.

If we do it right and are lucky, horses don’t outlive us. I thought I had one more full horse life in me for sure. Maybe more but best to be conservative. If I found a youngster now, I could start him in four years, and about a decade or so beyond that, I’d have my next dressage horse. I had time, but more than that, I wanted to pay a debt forward. For my Grandfather Horse, and all the others, I owed so much and one of the best actions of gratitude I know is to bring the next horse along with all you’ve learned. This youngster would benefit from the ones who came before. In that way, I was their legacy. Horses live on inside the rider to the next horse. It isn’t mystical. Some of it is muscle memory and focus. Serious riders climb on as many horses as they can. We keep part of them with us, not just in our hearts but in our whole bodies. Our bodies carry them on long after they stop carrying us.

Most nights, I was up late by the light of my computer, looking at videos and considering a few different breeds, but mostly really enjoying our barn door being open, knowing that my herd of two horses and two donkeys would grow soon. I told a vet I knew I was looking, and she stopped on the spot. “I know the horse,” she said. It was an Andalusian x Appendix colt she’d seen recently. She gave me the breeder’s number and told me to go see him. She told the breeder about me as well and in a few days, I got a sale flyer and a DVD in the mail. The video included a stunning Grand Prix test with the tall lanky stallion as well as a clip of the colt trotting off ahead of his dam, slowing to a perfect passage, and then bounding on again. I might have watched it more than once.

I brought a friend with me to meet him because I’m not stupid. The breeders were kind, and we had a good conversation, but I don’t remember anything said by anyone. I’m sure I blathered some. We went to see the stallion first. Entering a door of an outbuilding, I thought it would be a barn aisle, but we were immediately inside his pen. I took a couple of steps to get to some open space and stopped. The stallion walked across the pen to me, his neck arched, and dropped his head lower to the height of my face. I can still see him there, I remember his shoulders and legs, I was dwarfed by him. His quizzical brow is alive with interest. The intelligence in his face was undeniable. He inhaled deeply, releasing his breath back out with slow deliberation. He had a calmness about him that wasn’t stoicism, his face was open and authentic. The stallion did not pander to me, nor did we share breath as I’d known. This was as if I was stripped and known by his breath. As if he took the measure of me more than the reverse.

I didn’t know that two years later, I would get one illuminated ride on him. I’m more fluent in calming signals now than I was those years ago, but my memory of the stallion has stayed clear. I’d never known a horse like him, and I haven’t since. He was a different caliber of creature with more presence and strength and something I can only call a kind of virtue.

We walked to another barn where the colt and his dam were. The stall was large and dark, but light streamed in through the half-door in a cozy way. I stepped inside, leaned against the wall opposite them, and paused. The colt was on the far side of his dam and looking shy. He was a blackish-brownish color that would shed to gray soon. I saw little more than small curious ears, and very questioning eyes as he peered at me over his mother’s back.

I do remember I had a thought standing there. It was a simple statement, but I didn’t mutter it aloud. Almost as a greeting you’d say to a stranger getting your bearings, I thought a picture that asked is that your mom? The colt rubbed his muzzle on his mother’s rump. It came back as quick as an answer but most likely a coincidence? We eyed each other and I thought another question to him. Can you say hello? He considered it, this thoughtful two-month-old colt, then stood tall and square over his hooves, bravely arched his tiny neck, and marched over to me just as the stallion had. I saw the same eyes.

After a few moments, I seem to recall the breeder led the mare to the arena and the colt trotted along, his hooves barely reaching the ground. I am sure there was kind conversation, the breeders were good people who loved their horses more than the business. I don’t remember what was said but I hope I thanked them. I said I’d think about my decision, but my mind was made up back in the stall. I wanted to be cool enough to wait to call when I got home, and I did have other things to consider. I hope I thanked them again.

My friend and I walked to our cars together and shared some thoughts. Then I pulled up my granny pants, got into my truck, and miraculously found my way home. Still in a bit of a daze an hour later, I called back offering full price and asking about time payments. He was the only horse I looked at.

I had no doubts about him. All the questions were about me. Could I rise to meet this horse? Would I be able to train him in such a way that he could shine his best? Would every horse I’d ever known meet me in this one beautiful chance?

 

[ Consider subscribing so you 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: How We Met appeared first on Anna Blake.

How We Met

one year later…

I was forty- nine years old, and my upcoming birthday was hanging in the air like a pair of stretched-out waist-high cotton underwear. My Grandfather Horse was on stall rest with a career-ending injury, never to be rideable again. At least my other horse, Dodger, was sound and fifteen. I didn’t know I’d lose him in two years, but it wouldn’t have changed anything. As much as we plan the future with our horses, it is always a risk. The risk isn’t riding them; the risk is all that will happen to have them in your life. They change you in ways you cannot imagine until they are gone. We don’t find out the full scope of a horse until all we have is hindsight.

If we do it right and are lucky, horses don’t outlive us. I thought I had one more full horse life in me for sure. Maybe more but best to be conservative. If I found a youngster now, I could start him in four years, and about a decade or so beyond that, I’d have my next dressage horse. I had time, but more than that, I wanted to pay a debt forward. For my Grandfather Horse, and all the others, I owed so much and one of the best actions of gratitude I know is to bring the next horse along with all you’ve learned. This youngster would benefit from the ones who came before. In that way, I was their legacy. Horses live on inside the rider to the next horse. It isn’t mystical. Some of it is muscle memory and focus. Serious riders climb on as many horses as they can. We keep part of them with us, not just in our hearts but in our whole bodies. Our bodies carry them on long after they stop carrying us.

Most nights, I was up late by the light of my computer, looking at videos and considering a few different breeds, but mostly really enjoying our barn door being open, knowing that my herd of two horses and two donkeys would grow soon. I told a vet I knew I was looking, and she stopped on the spot. “I know the horse,” she said. It was an Andalusian x Appendix colt she’d seen recently. She gave me the breeder’s number and told me to go see him. She told the breeder about me as well and in a few days, I got a sale flyer and a DVD in the mail. The video included a stunning Grand Prix test with the tall lanky stallion as well as a clip of the colt trotting off ahead of his dam, slowing to a perfect passage, and then bounding on again. I might have watched it more than once.

I brought a friend with me to meet him because I’m not stupid. The breeders were kind, and we had a good conversation, but I don’t remember anything said by anyone. I’m sure I blathered some. We went to see the stallion first. Entering a door of an outbuilding, I thought it would be a barn aisle, but we were immediately inside his pen. I took a couple of steps to get to some open space and stopped. The stallion walked across the pen to me, his neck arched, and dropped his head lower to the height of my face. I can still see him there, I remember his shoulders and legs, I was dwarfed by him. His quizzical brow is alive with interest. The intelligence in his face was undeniable. He inhaled deeply, releasing his breath back out with slow deliberation. He had a calmness about him that wasn’t stoicism, his face was open and authentic. The stallion did not pander to me, nor did we share breath as I’d known. This was as if I was stripped and known by his breath. As if he took the measure of me more than the reverse.

I didn’t know that two years later, I would get one illuminated ride on him. I’m more fluent in calming signals now than I was those years ago, but my memory of the stallion has stayed clear. I’d never known a horse like him, and I haven’t since. He was a different caliber of creature with more presence and strength and something I can only call a kind of virtue.

We walked to another barn where the colt and his dam were. The stall was large and dark, but light streamed in through the half-door in a cozy way. I stepped inside, leaned against the wall opposite them, and paused. The colt was on the far side of his dam and looking shy. He was a blackish-brownish color that would shed to gray soon. I saw little more than small curious ears, and very questioning eyes as he peered at me over his mother’s back.

I do remember I had a thought standing there. It was a simple statement, but I didn’t mutter it aloud. Almost as a greeting you’d say to a stranger getting your bearings, I thought a picture that asked is that your mom? The colt rubbed his muzzle on his mother’s rump. It came back as quick as an answer but most likely a coincidence? We eyed each other and I thought another question to him. Can you say hello? He considered it, this thoughtful two-month-old colt, then stood tall and square over his hooves, bravely arched his tiny neck, and marched over to me just as the stallion had. I saw the same eyes.

After a few moments, I seem to recall the breeder led the mare to the arena and the colt trotted along, his hooves barely reaching the ground. I am sure there was kind conversation, the breeders were good people who loved their horses more than the business. I don’t remember what was said but I hope I thanked them. I said I’d think about my decision, but my mind was made up back in the stall. I wanted to be cool enough to wait to call when I got home, and I did have other things to consider. I hope I thanked them again.

My friend and I walked to our cars together and shared some thoughts. Then I pulled up my granny pants, got into my truck, and miraculously found my way home. Still in a bit of a daze an hour later, I called back offering full price and asking about time payments. He was the only horse I looked at.

I had no doubts about him. All the questions were about me. Could I rise to meet this horse? Would I be able to train him in such a way that he could shine his best? Would every horse I’d ever known meet me in this one beautiful chance?

 

[ Consider subscribing so you 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 We Met appeared first on Anna Blake.

Affirmative Training: The Opposite of Dominance Isn’t What You’d Think

Sitting in a horse pen is the easiest thing in the world. I might even like to cook if I could do it in a horse pen. I am dead certain a root canal would be better out there. We all love the sound of hay being chewed and we even like the sound of poop being pooped. The soundtrack for this besotted love we all feel toward horses might be Olivia Newton-John singing Hopelessly Devoted to You.  And if you are in your right mind, you’re considering putting thick black eyeliner on right now. Not that you disagree at all.

The worst thing about pen sitting is that it isn’t the same thing as working with horses. We can get a false sense of relationship while sunning ourselves among the muck with the herd. A horse smelling our shampoo isn’t true love. Horses nickering to us means it’s time to eat.

The romance of pen sitting is all fine and dandy until your horse gets injured or the farrier comes out or you think it would be a good idea to trailer train your horse, even if just for emergencies. Call it the “If I die tomorrow” plan. Horses need to have a solid set of fundamental skills to get by if we are not there. We don’t want to wake up dead and think our horses might not be able to pass simple tests. We want other people to want our horses if it comes to that.

We can never assume that because we tolerate, or even train questionable behaviors, others will appreciate them. For all the mares I’ve met who rushed at me with their hind ends first, as their owners laugh and scratch their backsides, I have to think how that could go the wrong way in practically any other situation. Unless the mare ran into horse trailers backward maybe.

Let’s get real. Aren’t we all tired of railbirds looking at horse people who use Affirmative Training methods as if we’re idiots who need someone else to manhandle our horses? The truth is as much as we love horses, we equally resent fear-based training methods used to dominate them, and have since they were taught to us as kids. We might not have known there was a choice back then, but we do now. Changing old habits is a process but horses keep encouraging us onward, surprising us with their willingness, and we’re learning to believe them.

The dictionary will tell you that the opposite of domination is submission. Here is a short list of other antonyms: 
powerlessness, surrender, weakness, inferiority, subordination, and modesty(?).

That’s what the dictionary says but it’s nasty. Horses would hate us as doormats. And who would want that kind of control over a horse, as if it were even possible? Sadly, fear does work to some degree because horses are not natural fighters and can be intimidated. So much of how we work with horses has to do with how we see them. Are they nothing more than beasts of burden? 

The opposite of dominance is trust.

It’s allowing the idea the horse is intelligent and capable of making the decision to work with us by choice, without fear or bribery. Sometimes the horse might even have a better idea. It starts by being vulnerable, listening to them, and then being confident enough in your horse to be patient. There’s nothing easy about that. Define the leader as the first one who trusts.

Affirmative Training is not the downfall of horsemanship. It doesn’t mean that we stand around until the sun sets and we all miss dinner. It means we train with the same peace in our minds as when we’re mucking their pen. It means we train with the same compassion we use when bandaging a wound. Because we understand that each interaction we have with horses defines our relationship and to be worthy of their trust, we must be the same person, regardless of the role we play at the moment.

The engine behind Affirmative Training is peaceful persistence. We plan ahead. We don’t take no for an answer but instead of correcting the horse, we take the answer we get, praise the horse for being engaged, and then ask a better question. If we are haltering, for instance, it means we calmly stay on task and don’t get distracted by the horse looking away or a silly tangle in the mane. We stay in the conversation, knowing that breathing is a training aid stronger than sticks and spurs.

Staying affirmative is about giving up the need to control every instant because the horse might even have a better answer. We give up throwing a tantrum if we don’t get what we want on our schedule. We chose to slow down when the horse is confused or just needs a moment to think, because whether competing or just sunning ourselves in the pen with the herd, we treasure every moment and we’re good at what we do. When we hear harsh old voices warning us about being foolish, we smile broadly to make the railbirds nervous, while inside we acknowledge we have more respect for horses than threats.

“Does it seem odd that in early training we need to desensitize horses to us? We need their kind of silence more than they need our noise.”

It’s a quote from last week’s blog and most people seemed to take it to mean the kind of peace we feel lounging in horse pens. I also meant it as training advice. If we want horses to understand us, we have to communicate more as they do. We have to be better at listening than giving orders.

Earlier this week I saw a photo of someone kneeling in front of their horse. Kneeling, as in prayerfully. Is that a creepy kind of relationship we’d even want?

While I was trying to discern if it was meant to be a weird new cult or intentionally funny, a common dilemma for me, my evil twin let out a howling cackle, knowing it would make for a great story at the next barn party. As if there weren’t times any of us would have taken a knee to pray to our horse, the barn cat, or anyone else who would listen, for a decent flying change or for the wind to stop before the farrier arrives. We need to lighten up and not be so deadly serious …in our love or our training.

It’s easy to be at the extremes of any continuum. Being too mushy or too harsh. The place of art and nuance is the center ground, finding equality while working with a horse. A true partnership happens when both halves are open to suggestions from someone they trust.

[If you follow this blog on social media, consider subscribing so you 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 hosting 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 Affirmative Training: The Opposite of Dominance Isn’t What You’d Think appeared first on Anna Blake.

Calming Signals: Adjusting the Volume of Quiet

It’s been quiet here. Winter is good for that and we haven’t had a day above freezing in a while. Fewer people are out driving and no tractors or lawnmowers are chewing things up. It’s too cold for the dogs to supervise from the yard. They are literary dogs anyway, much happier sleeping on dog beds in my studio.

Out in the barn, it’s just the equines and me. Edgar Rice Burro is getting quieter with age. He used to let out a yodel every time he saw me at a window in the house. Now he waits until I’m close by and makes a honking gasping sound but even that sputters out when I look at him. One of the geldings has a nicker like a movie star moan, deep and smooth. You miss it if you aren’t watching him do it. This isn’t a silent place. You can hear hooves shifting weight and horses blowing exhales of breath. I can be here without the need to apologize.

During my first year on the farm, I had to learn to like the quiet. It didn’t come naturally, even after years of being self-employed and working alone. The farm had a different quiet. I was practically afraid of the dark, so I walked the pasture at night to prove it was safe. I got hooked on the stars and moon. Hooked on the small sounds that were hidden when my overactive imagination was chattering at full volume.

I had an advantage. Riding had taught me to listen more and talk less. I wanted to shut out external distractions and focus on my horse’s movement under saddle. I wanted the relationship of being spine to spine with my horse. It was an escape from the rattle of life. The bubble I made for my horse’s safety and confidence might have been more for me all along.

Being on the farm was like a Berlitz course in a language of silence, not an hour long but subversive. It was when I began to notice a different, more eloquent kind of body language than I’d known. It seemed to exist in all animals and I didn’t know how I’d missed it before. Without the distraction of human mutterings, I got into a deeper conversation. It began to take over my training methods and not just with the horses.

I surely didn’t invent anything and it wasn’t a miracle. It was ordinary language. Someone recommended a dog training book about Calming Signals by Turid Rugaas and I found out there was a name for what had become my primary language on the farm. Listening turned silence into brilliant color and rich emotion, but the price of admission was to be quiet.

It’s human nature to be loud. We announce our arrivals and exits, we bang things around because we have the right to. We resent the restriction if someone is sleeping, it’s inconvenient to pay attention to our behavior. It’s more than the excuse of living in the city or working in busy places. Some of us are nervous if it’s too quiet. We are so overstimulated by normal life that we can’t let the air rest. Maybe we’re afraid of what our thoughts might say if we gave ourselves time to listen. So we keep up a dull roar of activity and chatter just in case, just by habit. We don’t notice until it stops.

So, some of us train our horses to be loud in their bodies, needy in their hearts, to join us in looking for what we’re missing. We want them to fill a place inside of us. It’s okay. Humans have always used animals for this and they have the solution but we still don’t get it.  Maybe we know someone who we are so comfortable with that we don’t need words. Horses invented that. Or was it dogs? No matter, but why is it so hard to learn? Why don’t we return the favor?

When I boarded horses and trained on my farm, Saturday mornings boomed with laughter and trucks and trailers coming and going. It was fun, people stayed and shared lunch. I truly loved it but as soon as people left, there was a collective sigh from the horses. I’d throw hay and do chores. The comforting sound of chewing, the hum of life, was soothing for all of us. No one was holding their breath and walking on eggshells but no one was calling out or slamming car doors either. It was a natural quiet filled with small ordinary sounds of life that seemed to add to the peace somehow.

I’ve been telling people all this time that we have to listen to calming signal gestures, and if the horse is stoic, we have to adjust their volume up. To hear a quiet message louder than it was sent because it is every bit as true. But that isn’t right. The stoic horses only seem hard to hear because we are used to our own screaming. We are in their world, we should turn ourselves down. That’s the message from reactive horses, too. When we stop being physically loud, they settle.

We’ve heard it a million times. Less is more. We know that horses respond better to smaller cues and that the reward most valuable to a horse is release. Boy howdy, do we hate to think that’s true. We want to give more, have more, do more. It’s true love after all. We still don’t believe that release, letting a horse be, can be a reward at all. It feels anti-human.

Humans are intellectually advanced, but we are also the easiest animals to read. Horses are right to be cautious. We announce our arrival by barging into their homes with loud voices and dominating hands grabbing for them. We love them in messy demonstrative ways. We do semaphore with snapping whips and swinging ropes and call it leadership. When they go quiet, we make more noise.

“And some of us try it their way. We listen to their calming signals. When they avert their eyes and look away, they’re telling us that we can be less aggressive; that they mean us no harm. Listen to them. Take the cue, breathe slower, and turn your body noise down. Then wait. Ask for nothing. Give nothing. Be still and breathe with empty hands. You are enough just as you are.”

The quote is by me, years ago. I am aware of the irony of being a woman who wants her voice to be heard while trying to sell the idea of quiet virtues. How very human of me. Just to suggest again, what if the herd has had it right all along?

Does it seem odd that in early training we need to desensitize horses to us? We need their kind of silence more than they need our noise.

…

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: Adjusting the Volume of Quiet appeared first on Anna Blake.

Cleaning Out the Toolbox

If it weren’t for manure frozen into the ice, we’d have no traction at all and it’s only the eleventh week of January. It’s been dark with below-freezing temperatures outside for so long that I can’t remember. I’m standing in front of the fridge, seriously considering cleaning it out. I can see a jar of pickles that are a pale watery gray color. Do they qualify as toxic condiment waste? It’s a testament to my extreme aversion to kitchen activities that rather than getting a chisel and paint stripper, the required tools, an idea for this week’s blog appeared. It was on the bottom shelf behind the peppers and beer.

When I started with horses, we used to talk about having a toolbox. It was where we kept training ideas that we picked up along the road. Things that made sense or were said by someone we respected. We would hi-grade ideas we heard or read about and keep the good ones. Later, out of context, some worked but mainly we collected and still more got piled on top. Each time we added potential training ideas we felt better educated. A toolbox was a veritable dictionary of advice that might be helpful as we worked with horses. Or at least we could debate on either side of the argument because we’d collected all the contradictions, too. We wanted to be well prepared and probably bought the tack to go along.

By this time, our toolbox is bigger than the barn and we couldn’t find what we were looking for if there was a Percheron tied to it. By this time, we’ve learned that a dozen methods only make it hard to pick one, and jumping back and forth between approaches seems to confuse our horses even more than it does us. It might be time to check some expiration dates, get rid of the things that might be poisonous, and make it easier to see what does work. 

Where to begin? Some horse owners value time-honored tradition but we know so much more than we did a century ago. 

Consider technology. We can text a photo of an injury to a vet and consult. We can see a digital x-ray on our vet’s computer a moment after it was taken. We each have a vast library resource on all equine topics on our computers. We have better testing and diagnosing skills. For all the horses struggling with pain who were sent to trainers to “straighten out” and if that didn’t cure the problem, were disposed of, we can do better now. We need fewer training tools because we have the technology for better health care.

We do a better job with nutrition through research. We know more about EGUS and have found a more natural feeding regime than the “two flakes, twice-a-day” tradition. We can test hay and get better answers for metabolic horses. We can feed in a more natural way, keeping their digestive system working in a way closer to how it was designed. Not only can we diagnose issues sooner, be we have better treatments available. When I was first treating horses for ulcers, we bought ranitidine over the counter at drugstores. We have know-more-do-better opportunities. Horses who are fed properly are more likely to be good riding partners, we can toss a few more training aids away if we let our horses eat when we tack up. 

We have some great joint supplements and better pain medications, (not counting the illegal drugs used on competition horses and track horses,) that keep horses more comfortable. Saddles have better designs and are lighter with better fits. Improved hoof care includes better trims and fewer shoes, and if needed, boots support sore hooves. Girths and bridles are padded and ergonomic, all supporting freedom from simple pain and restrictions from poor-fitting tack. Horses are more willing to move forward and more comfortable under saddle, so a few more gadgets can be eliminated from the toolbox along with some training methods for “lazy” horses.  

Some of the biggest changes have come in the area of brain research. We know more about how horses perceive their environment and respond. Horses are literally hardwired to respond to fear; it’s a survival instinct. Understanding how different horses are from us means we can relate better to them. The short version: Horses can’t disrespect us because that’s an executive function taking place in the frontal lobe and horses don’t have one (comparable to ours.) If we aren’t listening to old voices about making horses respect us, that toolbox gets a bunch lighter.

Animal behavior studies have proven that horses live cooperatively in herds and that long-held story about herd hierarchy just isn’t true. The myth of horses needing a strong leader is debunked repeatedly in several large studies. Foundations shift, and we get a bit defensive.

More research into the horse’s autonomic nervous system lets us better understand their sympathetic nervous system responses. Simplified, when a horse is afraid, he can’t learn but if the horse is in their parasympathetic system and we give them time to think, good things happen. In other words, fear-based training has been proven ineffective. This one is more personal, most of us were brought up training with ideas of domination, so this means changing old habits. It’s another know-more-do-better chance and more tools are excused from the box.

Personally, the awareness of Calming Signals, not just listening but understanding what horses are saying with their body language has been the biggest change. Once we learn to recognize pain, both physical and emotional, and we are able to work with work the horse affirmatively rather than merely trying to control their behavior, the elusive idea of true partnership truly begins. We do less and get so much more in return. The toolbox seems almost empty now, but for a breath of fresh air.

The question is do we want to memorize techniques or better understand horses? How can we translate the words from a research paper into a training activity that supports the horse? We have to evolve methods of training to incorporate this new knowledge.

It is our job to listen better as too many “training issues” are actually not about training at all. We must evolve training methods to meet our new knowledge to do better for horses. Human logic is not the same as horse logic, we have to see it from their side without anthropomorphizing or falling for a sales pitch for a training method we wish was true. Calming signals have provided that link; it’s the horse’s literal voice, not the voice we make up. It isn’t about English or Western riding, it’s about us wading through cultural romanticism and evolving to help the horse, regardless of tack. 

Some riders (me) value tradition. That could be a trainer born a hundred years ago (Oliviera, Dorrance) or a trainer born almost 2500 years ago (Xenophon). If they were still here, what would they say? Would their training methods be the same or would their learning have continued and their methods evolved to improve the lives of horses?

We don’t like change any more than horses do, and it’s work to change habits. Should we push ourselves to continue to learn? Or is tradition sacred?

With true respect for those who have pushed the line of understanding forward, both horses and humans, and lived by the know-more-do-better rule, is it time to consider what traditions we have outgrown and which should stay?

…

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 Cleaning Out the Toolbox appeared first on Anna Blake.

Calming Signals: Repeat after me, “Not that I care…”

Because they’re doing construction down the road. His previous owner says he once spooked at a llama. The wind is blowing. There are strange sounds in the woods. The neighbor is mowing their lawn. There are kids playing just outside the arena. Motorcycles might go by. Dogs are barking behind the fence. The farrier was over there forging a shoe. It’s almost the Fourth of July. There are grocery bags blown against the fence. Horses die in lightning strikes, you know.

I swear, people are spookier than horses. Never mind that by the time we see or hear something, it’s been on the horse’s radar for a while, with little concern. We do like to look for problems. We react whether the horse does or not. And we’re smart to be aware of our surroundings.

Because we’re not entirely confident the horse is okay. Does he look off to you? That doesn’t touch all the possible health issues. EHV or DSLD or EGUS or DSP or IBD or EMS or dozens more and we learn three new ailments every week. No one knows the number of undiagnosable maladies and brain disorders possible. With global warming, there are more insect-borne diseases like WNV. For all their strength, horses are remarkably fragile. We must be vigilant because horses drop dead all the time.

If we get past all that, it’s time to do something of vital importance. We might be doctoring a wound, cleaning out hooves, or syringing wormer. It is all vital and must be done properly. And of course, there are training issues. Everything is of vital importance.

Our half of the equation: We know we might get hurt and fault ourselves for not being young and stupid. We want to be acknowledged for doing a good job but are self-critical instead. We know we’re being judged. Even if no one is in sight, that judgment is still immediate and cruel. We stare at our horse, a bright young prospect or a crippled old rescue, wishing we’d done a better job grooming them while worrying about the horrible things that might have happened to them in the past.

Best to not bring up the topic of the expense of horses, since most of us aren’t trust fund babies.

We just love horses. We are kind; we anticipate their needs. We study and listen to experts who contradict other experts and try to sort it out. We are half-drown in our own compassion for horses. Every detail matters and we insist on doing our absolute best every instant. Horses are a grand passion that we thrive on. Seeing our horse nibbling at some hay is enough to bring tears to our eyes. We know that horses feel our emotions and we love that about them, too. Even as we flood them.

People explain how much they love their horses and I listen. Theirs is a love mythical proportion, they explain because they are certain this thing they feel is unique. As if horse love is a rare thing that sets them apart from others. As if their heart horses, as we call them in quiet reverence, are a rare and exotic breed. As if horses have not ruled every day of my life.

It’s hard to not take ourselves too seriously, but love isn’t the question. What if we thought more about how horses receive it? Some of us had parents who criticized us constantly because of love. Feared for us because of love. Smothered us because of love.

Love is complicated, says anyone who has tried to hug a mare who thinks you’re a sap. She’s right. We do burn a little hot. A trainer I know calls it Aggressive Love. The mare has her own natural anxiety and now she’s giving you the side eye.

Your horse stands by as you worry there is something in the woods. Your anxiety piles on top of his natural anxiety; now he wonders what you are concerned about, too. The medication needs to be taken so we approach with a bit more anxiety that feels edgy to the horse. Our hands get stronger, we go faster for his own good. Bullied for love.

As a trainer, I’m lucky. My clients are never cruel. No one wants to dominate horses, we train affirmatively. We are more prone to dominate with love. As I listen to all our excuses about wind and other externals, I see calming signals horses give to us because we love hard. We stalk like wolves, we grab like mountain lions. Always with the best of intentions.

And horses read our intentions in our body language. Can they sense if our anxiety is about them or the weather? Are they resisting what we ask or how we ask? Is our kindness served with a dollop of anxiety on top?

There are two non-negotiables. Horses will always be horses. We will always love hard. I hope this never changes. And I hope most of all that my love isn’t a burden for my horse.

I could quiet my emotions, not that I care... Can I have that thrushy hoof, not that I care… Let’s go for a canter depart, not that I care... And those railbirds can sit and squawk, not that I care...

Sometimes horses mistake concern for doubt, as a child might when hearing adults talk about war. We hold our breath wondering about a friend’s horse with EPM and our horse goes quiet in his eye. We see a storm coming and think about colic. Any reasonable owner would, but our horse looks away. Horses seek safety and sometimes that means protecting them from our good intentions. As much as we want to control all the things out of our control, including our horses, we are doomed to fail. But we can monitor our thoughts around horses.

Not that I care… allows me to exhale a bit of anxiety. I will dull the edge of my love and open the door to the positive possibility that is also ours to claim. Because I do care more than a horse can bear.

…

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: Repeat after me, “Not that I care…” appeared first on Anna Blake.

Calming Signals: Repeat afer me, “Not that I care…”

Because they’re doing construction down the road. His previous owner says he once spooked at a llama. The wind is blowing. There are strange sounds in the woods. The neighbor is mowing their lawn. There are kids playing just outside the arena. Motorcycles might go by. Dogs are barking behind the fence. The farrier was over there forging a shoe. It’s almost the Fourth of July. There are grocery bags blown against the fence. Horses die in lightning strikes, you know.

I swear, people are spookier than horses. Never mind that by the time we see or hear something, it’s been on the horse’s radar for a while, with little concern. We do like to look for problems. We react whether the horse does or not. And we’re smart to be aware of our surroundings.

Because we’re not entirely confident the horse is okay. Does he look off to you? That doesn’t touch all the possible health issues. EHV or DSLD or EGUS or DSP or IBD or EMS or dozens more and we learn three new ailments every week. No one knows the number of undiagnosable maladies and brain disorders possible. With global warming, there are more insect-borne diseases like WNV. For all their strength, horses are remarkably fragile. We must be vigilant because horses drop dead all the time.

If we get past all that, it’s time to do something of vital importance. We might be doctoring a wound, cleaning out hooves, or syringing wormer. It is all vital and must be done properly. And of course, there are training issues. Everything is of vital importance.

Our half of the equation: We know we might get hurt and fault ourselves for not being young and stupid. We want to be acknowledged for doing a good job but are self-critical instead. We know we’re being judged. Even if no one is in sight, that judgment is still immediate and cruel. We stare at our horse, a bright young prospect or a crippled old rescue, wishing we’d done a better job grooming them while worrying about the horrible things that might have happened to them in the past.

Best to not bring up the topic of the expense of horses, since most of us aren’t trust fund babies.

We just love horses. We are kind; we anticipate their needs. We study and listen to experts who contradict other experts and try to sort it out. We are half-drown in our own compassion for horses. Every detail matters and we insist on doing our absolute best every instant. Horses are a grand passion that we thrive on. Seeing our horse nibbling at some hay is enough to bring tears to our eyes. We know that horses feel our emotions and we love that about them, too. Even as we flood them.

People explain how much they love their horses and I listen. Theirs is a love mythical proportion, they explain because they are certain this thing they feel is unique. As if horse love is a rare thing that sets them apart from others. As if their heart horses, as we call them in quiet reverence, are a rare and exotic breed. As if horses have not ruled every day of my life.

It’s hard to not take ourselves too seriously, but love isn’t the question. What if we thought more about how horses receive it? Some of us had parents who criticized us constantly because of love. Feared for us because of love. Smothered us because of love.

Love is complicated, says anyone who has tried to hug a mare who thinks you’re a sap. She’s right. We do burn a little hot. A trainer I know calls it Aggressive Love. The mare has her own natural anxiety and now she’s giving you the side eye.

Your horse stands by as you worry there is something in the woods. Your anxiety piles on top of his natural anxiety; now he wonders what you are concerned about, too. The medication needs to be taken so we approach with a bit more anxiety that feels edgy to the horse. Our hands get stronger, we go faster for his own good. Bullied for love.

As a trainer, I’m lucky. My clients are never cruel. No one wants to dominate horses, we train affirmatively. We are more prone to dominate with love. As I listen to all our excuses about wind and other externals, I see calming signals horses give to us because we love hard. We stalk like wolves, we grab like mountain lions. Always with the best of intentions.

And horses read our intentions in our body language. Can they sense if our anxiety is about them or the weather? Are they resisting what we ask or how we ask? Is our kindness served with a dollop of anxiety on top?

There are two non-negotiables. Horses will always be horses. We will always love hard. I hope this never changes. And I hope most of all that my love isn’t a burden for my horse.

I could quiet my emotions, not that I care... Can I have that thrushy hoof, not that I care… Let’s go for a canter depart, not that I care... And those railbirds can sit and squawk, not that I care...

Sometimes horses mistake concern for doubt, as a child might when hearing adults talk about war. We hold our breath wondering about a friend’s horse with EPM and our horse goes quiet in his eye. We see a storm coming and think about colic. Any reasonable owner would, but our horse looks away. Horses seek safety and sometimes that means protecting them from our good intentions. As much as we want to control all the things out of our control, including our horses, we are doomed to fail. But we can monitor our thoughts around horses.

Not that I care… allows me to exhale a bit of anxiety. I will dull the edge of my love and open the door to the positive possibility that is also ours to claim. Because I do care more than a horse can bear.

…

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: Repeat afer me, “Not that I care…” appeared first on Anna Blake.

The Thing About Dimensionally Succinct Horses

I’ve written “The Thing About” essays on Mares, Geldings, and Donkeys to dispel untrue myths and sing their praises. These essays were all better received than this one will be. Loudmouth Party-pooper warning… I’m humorless about diminutive horses. Refusing to use their common moniker, I get my attitude from them.

This pinto gelding prefers to be called simply a horse. It’s what he is, he has all the equine parts including intelligence and sensitivity. Take another look. One of these horses is shuffling along and the other is pushing long strides to keep up. One has the confidence of a leader, and one has, well, a very forward stride. We are the ones missing the big picture.

So, what is my cranky problem then? The most traumatized and abused horses that I’ve worked with have all been under 10 hands tall. Much of my career has been focused on rehabbing horses in trouble, but the most damaged of that lot were all condensed in size. Are taller horses abused less often? Hard to believe. Do riding horses come around easier? That can’t be right.

The difference that I see is the quantity of fear they hold. It’s as if the fewer pounds a horse weighs, the more terror they are able to carry.

Some of them come to me after someone has tried to straighten them out, only to give up and leave the troubled horse with more troubles. Soon someone else tries to intimidate good behavior from the frightened soul. Ponies get the reputation of being ornery, belligerent, and bad-tempered when that more closely describes the person punishing them instead of training them. 

Vertically limited horses also have a reputation for biting, usually after being teased endlessly. Then we slap them back, and it’s game on, tit for tat, except that the less-tall horse didn’t start it. We think they’re stubborn, and they think we are rude. We’d rather wrestle than train. Rather dominate them to show them who’s boss and eventually, they get fearful enough to fight back. Is violence the only thing we know?

I see it in my barn. My previous vet was willing to listen to advice about a tense draft/cross gelding but seeing the same fear in a body not much bigger than his own, he felt fine manhandling the horse to get the job done. When I mentioned it, the vet denied it. Did he think harsh handling was defined by the height of the victim, like having to be a certain height to go on an amusement park ride? He wouldn’t kick a dog, he is a good vet. Is our behavior unrecognizable to ourselves?

All horses have an innate sense of survival. Trusting humans takes a leap of faith and if that is destroyed by an oversized aggressive predator who ignores their calming signals, horses will hold on to their fear in a deeper way. It takes audacity to survive, coping with life-or-death anxiety every moment. The more exhausted they are, the more frantic they become. We don’t recognize their strength in fighting adversity because we don’t see ourselves in their eyes.

I rant on: These independent and strong creatures are belittled with irreverent humor and given insulting names that we would not consider if the horse was a different breed. Do we tease them with food because we mistake anxiety for cuteness? Are they children’s toys to be kicked and jerked as they resist painful bits? Or mascots intended to be silly caricatures of horses, the animal we claim to love above others. Are they too insignificant to train? Are we just too arrogant to take them seriously and get professional help when needed? Or do trainers think they are less worthy of help? We don’t take these condensed horses nearly as seriously as they take us. 

I ask myself these questions during the week it took to remove a halter that’s grown into a compact molly mule’s face. Her spirit is fierce. Or the days spent coaxing the Lilliputian donkey into letting me pick up his slipper hooves so when the farrier came, it wouldn’t be as terrifying. He didn’t believe me. Or in the hours beyond counting that I have spent holding a halter and breathing, as a dark-eyed, frozen horse of modest dimensions prepared to bolt if I took a step closer. I will grow old marveling at their tenacity.

I want to blame someone for their unfair treatment, but the usual suspects don’t fit. Dressage trainers wouldn’t be able to find them behind their warmbloods. Cowboys avoid anything smaller than a Quarter horse. Driving competitors who prefer horses with a low center of gravity treat their teams like athletes and heroes. It’s unfair to blame kids, they learn by example. That pretty much leaves the Ninety-three Percenters. That’s us, women own 93% of the horses in the US.

Ouch. I don’t want to believe it’s true. Most women have felt undervalued and marginalized in our lives. We’ve been considered too emotional to be capable of important work. Our talent and intelligence are doubted while our amazing bodies are judged not beautiful enough. Blonde jokes were invented for us. We are right to be fearful of stronger tormentors and at the same time, we hate to be underestimated. We are not mean people and we don’t have bad intentions. If anyone is capable of understanding these horses, it should be us.

Is it a dysfunctional trickle-down effect? Maybe just human nature to bully those smaller than we are. If so, I don’t think we get kicked or bit nearly as much as we deserve.

It’s late and I’m just in from the night walk-thru. The dogs have barked more tonight and the snow from three weeks ago has turned into layers of treacherous re-frozen glare ice. Something is out there, heard but unseen. My mare is nervous and can’t settle on her hay but our rehab, our dimensionally succinct horse stands between her and the dark. He is stalwart and resolute. Fearless of all things not human.

These equines are concentrated, more horse-per-square-inch than an 18 hand giant, and they punch above their weight in a fight. Maybe it’s their courage we envy. Rise to your full height. They want something more valuable from us than a measly hand treat. They want respect. They see themselves as nothing less noble than a horse.

…

Here’s the information about joining us at Bhim’s Training Diary. Click 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 The Thing About Dimensionally Succinct Horses appeared first on Anna Blake.