Anna Blake's Blog, page 18

Brain Science and the Art of Play

It’s cold on the flat windy treeless prairie of Colorado. The next few months will be even colder but right now, we have no tolerance so forty degrees brings out the Elmer Fudd hat. By spring, we’ll be talking trash about a North Pole expedition because the horses are wooly enough and we’ve been wearing our Carhart sasquatch suits long enough that we think they make us look thin. Our fingers stick out of our gloves, hot-pink claws, but we’re too cheap to buy new ones because it’s almost spring. We brag about our winter riding bravado because having horses is hard in fifty ways and most of them hurt one way or another. We ride in the cold to prove we aren’t dead yet.

Here is where I do my best Dr. Phil impression: “It’s not aboout yew.” (It just sounds better in an accent.) Several studies confirm that riding horses below twenty-five degrees isn’t great on their lungs. Lollygag around at the walk if you must, but we should all, men and women, have figured out that proving our testosterone by fighting weather is ridiculous. Save it for feeding in ground blizzards. We act like missing a few rides for good reasons is a character flaw. As if horses could forget how to be ridden, when half the time, we’re trying to get the same horses to forget being ridden (badly) in the past. 

Infinity Farm is a humble place. I take pride in my little farm looking well kept. Unless it’s horse agility day when I want the place to look like I’m having a yard sale from the things I stole in a Dollar Store heist. The usual obstacles are there if you look closely and some from my own demented mind (involving llamas). My intention. between the rainbow whirlygigs and the empty wading pool that jiggles in the breeze, is to look like a kid’s birthday party run amok. 

It ends up that I couldn’t explain the idea that agility was a game. It wasn’t everyone; lots of pairs came and giggled their way through. One yearling ended up wearing a tarp like an opera cape and seemed proud to be overdressed. They both left with more confidence. Another yearling got drilled so hard at the bridge that human participants asked me to stop them. He was frightened and failing, getting worse with every try. His handlers’ ego wouldn’t let the baby quit and sometimes if you are in a hole, the win is to stop digging. Sigh. Most of us have been on both sides of a “training opportunity.”

Sometimes I’d see a horse trying hard and I’d distract his human by talking to them, so the pressure would be lighter and the horse could do the obstacle on its own. Humans distract easier than horses who we think are distracted. (Read that twice, please.) Too often I saw horses getting lead ropes snapped and too often, humans thinking that a pedestal was a life-or-death question. Maybe if people took horse agility up in winter, we’d be too cold to interfere. Rule number: You can’t wear gloves because keeping your hands in your pockets is a start.

Obstacles are not there to be conquered; we become predatory with desire. Blood practically drips from our incisors when we see a teeter. Horses would rather walk around it and why not? It’s safer and proves they are smarter than we are. The goal of obstacles should be to create curiosity. Not caring if the horse completes the obstacle, but rather, letting him have the mental experience of working it out. Yes, it’s slow and humans struggle to stay focused, but “It’s not aboout yew.“

Our goal, every time, should be to help our horses gain confidence but do you know how to train that? Forcing the obstacle does the opposite, hurrying him creates stress and engages his flight response. Better if we engage the horse’s curiosity, which is the horse behavior that reflects his brain creating new dendrites and releasing dopamine, science words for making a choice that doesn’t involve fear. Isn’t that the skill we want horses to have? He knows how to do everything but we need to learn to not interrupt horses when they’re thinking. 

Example: Abby brings Chico into the arena. There is a bucket in the middle, but Chico starts by nuzzling some shrubs, a calming signal. Of course, he sees the bucket, but he needs some time. When he’s ready, he goes to check it out, with Abby following. It’s her job to breathe and follow. He gets close, but then arcs away. Walking an arc is a calming signal and Abby follows, focused on staying out of his way, a few feet away. She’s doing a “leading from behind” exercise which she has finally figured out isn’t leading at all. Chico approaches the bucket again, and the second time is always better. Limes! Limes in the bucket! He tips it over with his nose. Yay, curiosity. By the way, he’s calmer under saddle these days, too. Not a coincidence. 

Our big challenge is to find some curiosity in ourselves. Instead of pushing him to achieve a hollow goal, we stand back and get curious about what the horse will volunteer. Because “It’s not aboout yew.“

We’re like adults at a kid’s birthday party, pulling the presents out of kid’s hands to open for them faster. We think it’s helping but we’re ruining the fun. Our instinct gets in the way, we start a fight without noticing until the horse’s resistance gets too big to ignore, and then, thinking we can’t let them win, we find a way to make them wrong. Stop digging.

The horse does the obstacle, not us.

Let’s try winter agility but only on the coldest days. You don’t need to go to the Dollar Store; you’ve got all those Amazon boxes. Let your horse break them down for you. Put some alfalfa inside, or some sugar-free treat and fold the flaps. Toss it in his pen and you stay outside keeping your hands warm. If he ignores the box, go in the house and eat some chocolate, which is better training advice than you’d think. Remember “It’s not aboout yew.“

When you think you can behave, stand a few feet off his hip and follow. Practice not interfering because if your horse notices your desire, it’ll slow things down. Practice being aware you have a goal without letting the stink of desire color the conversation. Be selflessly supportive, always ready with an exhale for a good effort. Learn to allow your horse to be curious. The time it takes for your horse to volunteer is in direct correlation to how many fights he’s had at obstacles previously. Out-waiting him, letting him soothe himself, and figure it out, changes a horse fundamentally.

Once curiosity is your primary language, you’re ready for complex obstacles: A horse trailer or wormer in a syringe.

…

Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Become a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online training group with training videos, interactive sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and join 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 Brain Science and the Art of Play appeared first on Anna Blake.

Relaxed & Forward in 2022. Now What?

The lockdown at the beginning of 2020, followed by months of quarantine, was a wonderful opportunity for a thoughtful assessment of my brilliant career choices. Said no one ever.

“Non-essential worker” became my new job title. I was like a mare pacing the fence line separated from the herd. I would have been pacing more, but I got bed-sick after flying home from a February clinic. I was lying on my back only mentally pacing, but it was no less frantic. I canceled a full year of clinic travel while taking note, as most horse owners do, that I had still not received notification of a trust fund.

Being a clinician is an intense job. I get to meet incredible horses around the world—perfect! And meet riders with universal passion and love who are changing the horse world for the better—truly glorious. It’s a cycle of “dancing as fast as I can” and barely catching my breath before the next flight but I also had opportunities I’d never dreamed of. Clinicians materialize at clinic sites, stir things up for two or three days, and are gone as quick as we came. I thrived on twelve-hour workdays and sprints to the airport.

Clinic participants appreciated getting out to learn with their horses and share the camaraderie of a group of like-minded horse people, but clinics have their downsides. Lots of us live in remote places without clinics close by. Not everyone hauls their horses. And then sometimes the horse who comes out of our trailer is one we don’t recognize. It’s stressful for horses to go to strange places. But I was put on pandemic stall rest.

For any gray mare, the idea of change is more inevitable than shocking. I pulled up my chins and launched an online school. Being a horse trainer became a desk job with spooky tech drama, but I rode it. I can train a canter zigzag, for crying out loud, new software won’t best me. Here’s a bit of now-obvious training information: It ends up that horses didn’t miss clinics at all. They like working from home. And since physical distancing is not the same as emotional distancing, the classes found that same sweet camaraderie that clinics had… only classes last longer. Zoom ends up being an intimate and effective tool for horse training. Who knew?

Months passed, I paced in my pasture. It took the first year to realize how exhausted I’d been as I rested my way back to health. I edited a friend’s book while I mourned her death -as well as three other friends, gone too soon. I daydreamed about turning a shipping container into a tiny house to write in. I tried to rescue and neuter a stray cat, only to end up with a surprise litter of kittens under my desk.

It was the women in The Barn School that inspired me the most. And these months later, real change has happened for so many of their horses. The online courses also encouraged me to think there must be better ways to hold clinics that are more supportive to horses while making learning opportunities more available to remote areas or smaller groups.

Now what? I’d be foolish to trust the pandemic was over and wind up quarantined somewhere. We need to get back to a “new normal” version of our lives, but at the same time, be safe. If anyone can figure out what safe means. In a way, it’s like starting over. I don’t know what my clients will be comfortable with now.

But I can only overthink the situation for so long. It’s time to mount up. What if I apply Affirmative Training to my work style? I don’t want to work less, I want to take more time. It’s a charm with horses, after all. I’ll go slower and say good girl to myself in a more sustainable way. I want the flexibility of not being at the mercy of non-refundable plane tickets. I want to enjoy the ride. There must be a way for a clinic to be less like a drive-by shooting and more, well, relaxed and forward.

The solution is to not fly. Sure, I’ll miss the airport bars, but now I can lollygag and take side trips. I admit, not a cutting-edge idea. I have friends who have gone the gypsy way for decades; insert their cackles and nodding laughter here.

I’ll pack my favorite horse gear, all too big for carry-on luggage, in my truck bed and we’ll head off down the highway. This suits me because I perpetually look like a tourist anyway. My dog Manning will come along, working as my Self-Care Specialist. It’ll be my job to stand tall in the morning sun and call out, “Wagons, Ho!” and Manning’s job to ask if it’s time for a lunch stop. He’ll walk me so my hips stay limber and remind me when we need a meeting (nap) in the little house. He’ll keep me tethered in space and time. You know how I get around new horses.

My first idea (and I am wild about it) is to take a sort of victory lap. But celebrating your victories, not mine. I need to visit the horses and people who inspired me in The Relaxed & Forward Barn School. I need to congratulate them in person and finally scratch their horses. More than that, I want to write about it: Your Stories. I can’t wait.

Along the way, I’ll be giving Concept Clinics, but I’ve redesigned the approach with the horses in mind. I’ve added Farm Visits, a day at your farm with a few friends for a lesson day, and Private Coaching days, again at your farm but just you and your horses. I’m hoping to reach some folks who prefer to not haul their horses. If you have a nonprofit with a herd, or group of horses to share consider a Calming Signals Educational Groundwork Clinic with one price for all participants and hands-on learning, a format that I love. I’ll hope to schedule speaking engagements with equestrian clubs as I travel and give a few writing workshops. And Barnies, members of our online group, get discounted prices.

I’m not romanticizing the challenge. I’ve driven thousands of miles giving lessons in Colorado and I swore I never do it again. Embarrassingly, my parents loved RVs and I swore I’d never set foot in another. Well, so much for never. We’ll do it Our Way, (the music rises to a crescendo.) Manning and I will start around spring thaw and we’ll go where we’re invited. Slower but no less enthusiastic, we’ll be drifters on the road, looking for horse training adventure and liver treats. It’ll be part clinic tour, part travelogue, part online teaching at The Barn School, part writing escape, and mostly a celebration of horses and dogs and people doing their best. You have stories to tell and I’ve missed you so much.

…

Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Become a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online training group with training videos, interactive sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and join 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 Relaxed & Forward in 2022. Now What? appeared first on Anna Blake.

Thanksgiving is for the Dogs.

Here are two of my dogs, Preacher Man and Manning, guarding the back door. You’ll notice they are facing the wrong way. It’s not about who might come in; it’s about making sure SHE doesn’t get out. “Herding dogs,” my other dog, Jack moans, “have a little too much space between the ears.” He is a terrier who keeps a tight pair of ears and thinks staying so close to the ground is for idiots. Bounce, Bounce.

It’s always my plan that there are more dogs than humans on Thanksgiving. Holidays go better if you keep things in a positive balance. It isn’t how much turkey you need per person; it’s how many dogs and the bare minimum is two. One of my favorite Thanksgivings, one friend came and we had seven dogs between us. It was perfect.

But last summer, a perfect stinky wobbly old dog passed away. I miss him, but Jack and Preacher seemed immediately relieved. I don’t think I’ve seen it that clearly before; the anxiety we all felt watching the old dog’s pain and confusion died with him. I can’t say it was quiet around here because Preacher Man hasn’t stopped barking since 2014, but I do confess there were days my mind wandered. I’m a woman of a certain age who does the math of my animal’s ages against my own.

Soon the message came that there was a dog in Texas. At some point, I stopped picking my own dogs. It’s not like I have no choice, but who says no? The dogs who come to me don’t need to pass a DNA test or do something to prove they’re the right dog. I swore I’d never have a terrier for instance. But the dogs stay and we find the rightness between us eventually.

This is how the Texas dog was described by Sandy, who is every dog’s hero, “He’s like part cat, part Arab, and part cardigan with a tiny bit of cattle dog tossed with the lovable heart of a lonely Labrador. You’ll love him.” Some of us are better at assessing dogs than others. 

The dog managed to catch a ride to Colorado and we met in a hotel room. He was shy and didn’t want me to touch him. I notice I don’t like strangers grabbing me either. Standing away, he almost looked familiar in the way that the right dog does. I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d known him before. But I sat on the couch and gave him time to recognize me, too. The freeze-dried liver treats helped but it didn’t take long.

The next day he came out to meet Preacher and Jack. They can be a bit overwhelming at first, but not like the sight of llamas and horses. And worst of all cats. No matter how much he barked at them, they just stared back. They mock him but the barking won Preacher over and now it’s all yipping and bitey-face. Manning held out a few hours before answering Jack’s play bow and the race hasn’t stopped since. Then, there’s the problem in the bathroom. It’s ridiculously small and with two dogs there already, he must tuck his snout and slip past them to sit in the shower. It’s a fundamental duty to protect humans in bathrooms and not something you’d trust another dog to do properly.

It isn’t that he’s perfect. Manning needs some confidence having grown up in a pandemic, so we go to the local brewpub and share a beer and some bison treats.  We have “date night” at an agility class with some sighthounds. They don’t mind lowering the jumps and he thinks they are strange and beautiful. He tears through tunnels and I howl, cheer, and try to keep up. The instructor has read Turid Rugaas’ book and we talk calming signals and her dog-version of affirmative training. I’m having a wildly good time being a student. Manning thinks, as all good dogs do, that humans talking to each other is boring, so he goes to my chair at the side and sits on his mat. He knows this will distract me from the silly human and get me there with a treat. Ends up I have a better recall than you’d think.

(Excuse me, that’s my shoe. What shoe? My crocs are sacred. Smells like manure and your feet! I’m serious, this is not okay. But it has a handle! )

Manning did a lot of shaking out when he first came, nose to tail. Some nervous itching. Calming signals, but not a lick. Licking is a calming signal, too, just not one of his. It was a big change and he’s a stoic dog. He wouldn’t want to appear desperate so he presses his body along my leg and keeps an eye on the door. He lays his big head in my lap, and I can feel the heavy warmth of every dog I’ve ever loved.

It isn’t that dogs live shorter lives and we always lose them. That’s the small picture when our hearts hurt. The big picture is that dogs are the ocean that we swim in. They give us a place to come home to; they walk us until we can rest. Dogs force us to laugh and cry, releasing our human calming signals feels safe with them. We love the individual dog because we can’t get our heads around the notion of an entire species capable of unconditional love. Horses can’t do it, and for all our bluster, humans don’t either. We’re so drawn to dogs because they understand every day that being part of a pack is what Thanksgiving is about.

We come together here to talk about horses. We’re the All-Horse Channel but for most of us, our first horse was a dog. They had the good grace to tolerate us when we whined about horses. We’re off living a fantasy because the truth about horses is that they will never be totally domesticated. We can’t sleep in a dogpile with horses. We long for a horse’s freedom, but dogs know we don’t really want that. When the horses return to the herd, we come home to dogs. As much as we don’t want to admit it, we each crave our own kind.  Dogs are caretakers. Humans think we’re tougher than we are and don’t like to take help when it’s offered, so dogs act a little silly so they don’t put us off by being smarter about this. We’re arrogant and throw words like rescue around because we like to act like we’re doing animals some big favor when any dog will tell you it’s the other way around. 

Manning is the next right dog. We’ll let it be that way. Thanksgiving is about gratitude for the abundance in our lives and dogs are the best at making a big deal out of very little. They are the living embodiment of loaves and fishes.

With a slightly weird dog leaning against my thigh, laying under my writing desk, sharing my beer, I can be more dog-like, which other humans will hopefully mistake for me being kinder. I’m trying to evolve. My heartfelt thanks to Sandy and Peggy for bringing him home. 

“And in this conditional world, it’s only dogs who believe in free love. Friendships naturally ebb and flow, the circle of life can’t be controlled or altered much, but dog love is eternal. Let there always be dogs.” -AB

 

 

…

 Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more? Join us in The Barn. Subscribe to our online training group with training videos, interactive sharing, audio blogs, live-chats with Anna, and the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Ongoing courses in Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, Fundamentals of Authentic Dressage, and Back in the Saddle: a Comeback Conversation, as well as virtual clinics, are taught at The Barn School, where I also host our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find over a thousand archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation or lesson, 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 Thanksgiving is for the Dogs. appeared first on Anna Blake.

Gray Mares, Time, and Priorities

Do you notice that it gets a little easier to be yourself every day?

Public speaking wasn’t the sort of thing I was born being good at. My first lesson: Everyone thinks it’s a good idea if the person making the presentation breathes from time to time. I listened to podcasts about public speaking, and I practiced pontificating in a clear loud voice while mucking and simultaneously breathing. Writing helps with speaking, too.

There I was in a large meeting room of a fancy hotel, standing behind a podium. At clinics, I build podiums out of muck barrels and coolers, but this was a store-bought wooden one. My shoes were clean, I had a microphone on my lapel, and it was a good day. Make eye contact with your audience, they tell you. I usually pick three people; left, right, and center. It was going well. There was some laughter when I was being intentionally humorous. Fifteen minutes in, a man who favored cowboy dressing walked down the center aisle and sat in the second row. He stretched his legs out, crossed his arms over his chest, and furrowed his brows at me. I smiled back. 

I was explaining Calming Signals and the man seemed to think I was an idiot and was not subtle about it. He glared, he fidgeted, he grimaced. I wondered if that approach worked on others, as I moved around my podium and walked out directly in front of his legs, positioned like cross rails in the center aisle. I gave him an unrestricted view of me, made eye contact, and showed him every tooth in my mouth, continuing with newfound vigor. He tisked, muttered, shook his head. Was he heckling me? I let my hands dance in the air, I stood square and looked left, right, and straight into his flinty little eyes. I felt shockingly mature as I remembered times in the past I had bit my tongue when dismissed by naysayers, only to stew, hash and broil about it for days after. You know what I mean. 

But now I was a woman of a certain age. I made a conscious choice to not get defensive, and let my voice ride out. There was applause at the end, but he was gone before I could thank him for coming. Genuinely. Things have entirely changed since middle school. I had no idea how much you could enjoy smiling at people who don’t like you. It felt like taking off your underwear at the end of a long hot day. 

It should be easier or come sooner in life. Is there something you’re holding your belly in about? Have you been clenching your jaw to quiet your words or pushing your hands deep in your pockets and looking away? Those are calming signals, too. With horses, calming signals are often expressed at the intersection of two conflicting thoughts. They might want to stay with the herd but be curious about going with their human. When we give them a minute to resolve their emotions, they will make a choice, and that action builds confidence.

It works for us like it does horses, but we have that complicated noodle of a frontal lobe and it gives us the ability to think too much. We weigh both sides and languish in worry and indecision. Then we take a break and worry what others will think. Returning to the first issue, we weigh the other thirty or forty sides to our dilemma because the pandemic makes all things murky and nebulous, and then we overthink some more. At some point, making any decision, right or wrong, would be a relief. Just being yourself would be enough if the path back were visible.

Why should a horse trainer mention these things? Because our painful indecision is illuminated by having a horse. That horse is a changing life, at the center of another life that is always changing. Maybe it’s time to retire your horse and you aren’t ready to stop riding. Maybe it’s time to ease away from riding but your horse is ready to run. You know women making a different decision and you linger, wishing her decision would work for you. Even if the issue is not horse-related, it comes up when we’re with them because horses are anxiety detectors. 

This is your annual reminder that the things out of your control are still out of your control. Maybe a better question is have the priorities changed? Your priorities are easy to know; after all the talking, it’s where you spend your time and money. Has that gotten tangled up? Are you holding ground that might be traded for something better? So many of us have fought so hard for what we have that we’re bound up in the fear of loss. Are our powerful defenses blocking the next good thing?  Maybe we swear off words like should, always, and never to make room for opportunity. Would release feel brand new?

Being a woman of a certain age can be a quirky and awkward time. For all that faces us, may our truest days be ahead. That’s what our horses would wish for us. Authenticity is better than a fantasy, if you ask them. Perhaps it’s time to let go of what isn’t ours and celebrate wanting what is within our grasp.

It’s time to update that personal serenity prayer. Mine includes doing the things that feel like getting out of my underwear at the end of a long, hot, but exceptionally good day. What about you?

…

 Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more? Join us in The Barn. Subscribe to our online training group with training videos, interactive sharing, audio blogs, live-chats with Anna, and the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Ongoing courses in Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, Fundamentals of Authentic Dressage, and Back in the Saddle: a Comeback Conversation, as well as virtual clinics, are taught at The Barn School, where I also host our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find over a thousand archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation or lesson, 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 Gray Mares, Time, and Priorities appeared first on Anna Blake.

Is Your Horse Distracted?

You want the horse to focus on the task and do it.

Let’s say your horse needs to stand still. He pauses, quiet for a few seconds almost before you notice, but he’s close and you can’t help but adjust his forelock. Like a horse even needs a forelock adjustment. Then he shifts to look away (a calming signal), so you pull his face toward you, so close he can’t see you. He looks away again and this time, you correct him just in case he might take a step. He didn’t take a step before but now you rattle the lead and he backs a step. So, you correct him again, you pull him forward, but he takes two steps. You poke him back again. This horse never stands still.

Let’s say there’s an obstacle. You bring your horse up to it and pause. Your horse drops his head to the ground (calming signal) and you jerk his head up because he isn’t looking where you think he should be. He is looking from a passive position, but now the horse knows he’s in trouble, so he shuts down a little. So, you pull his head forward but since horses don’t naturally give to pressure any more than we do, he pulls back. You swing your rope and pop him on his backside, and of course, he moves his backside away. Now the horse is head high and won’t face the obstacle. His eye is very still, but no matter what, he just won’t pay attention to the obstacle.

Let’s say you are asking your horse to transition up to either a trot or a canter. At the same time, you want him to bend but instead of using your leg at the girth, you pull the inside rein. That’s a whoa command so he slows. Then you kick him in a nagging repetitive way because he didn’t take the cue to go faster. He’s losing confidence and one side of his mouth hurts. He needs to escape, so he counter-bends (another calming signal) and pins his ears. You hold hard on the reins, frustrated and escalating now. And in the confusion of one cue to stop and one cue to go, he just does his best.

Is there a more frustrating, discombobulated, stubborn, tense, and just plain contradictory animal than a human?

It’s such a human thing to think someone else isn’t focused because the thing about a lack of focus, obviously, is that we don’t notice it’s us. If we have a discerning eye, we notice other people aren’t focused. When we finally notice it’s us, we make longwinded excuses for not being focused, but it doesn’t improve our focus. It just adds one more ingredient in the mess our lack of focus has stirred up. Wait, it gets worse. Then, we really focus hard on focusing and start to micromanage the horse, which is very similar to not focusing, if you ask him.

It’s enough to make you throw your hands up in the air and quit. Then, in that split second of silence, maybe you see your horse’s eye soften, or an ear turn toward you (calming signals) and you are drawn in, just like always. Because the rattle and bang didn’t work for you any more than it did for your horse. But your horse is right there, ready to give you another try.

It can seem like knowing horses and training them is a complicated thing. And it is, but here is the secret: You have to do it simply, and most of all, politely. We have to learn to not interrupt our horses when they are thinking.

Horses just think about one thing at a time. Humans are the ones who can multi-task, but is it an advantage? We chatter on, interrupt each other, forget what we were saying or doing. We have three or five things going at once, we can’t remember. The more productive we try to be, the less we get done. We contradict ourselves and then get frustrated if the horse answers the contradiction instead of the first thing we said, several contradictions before. Am I rude to be so blunt? Be glad I’m not a mare.

Horses try to teach us. They come near when we settle. We think it’s magic but no, they are drawn to us when we are less predatory, more peaceful. If the horse behaves differently when we muck out the pen or groom than when we train, hear your horse. He has common sense.

But cheer up. It isn’t our fault. Growing up, we got punished for lacking focus, too. When told we were daydreaming or distracted, (thinking about something more interesting than science or Shakespeare) it was a bad thing to be focused on the wrong subject. But when the lecture droned on, when the subject was dull, when we were drilled or worked too long, we got corrected, told to try hard and focus, as if we were a slow-witted horse. Focus felt like detention. and that left a stain on the idea of focus. Somewhere it got all twisted in our minds. Horses understand how that could happen.

You’ve heard it so much it feels like it’s tattooed on your forehead: Less is more. It means just do one thing at a time, don’t let other things distract you, and please don’t nag. It means when we do less, it gives the horse the space he needs to speak up and do more.

Focus doesn’t mean we try harder, instead we listen more. We aren’t more intense, we breathe more rhythmically. We don’t let ourselves worry about the next question, we stay on topic. We don’t ask-tell-make the horse, we pose a polite request. We respect the horse and give him time to answer. And somewhere in this process, we like ourselves better.

Let’s start again. It doesn’t matter what you are doing with the horse, because it isn’t what we train, but the quality of our conversation when we train them. Start by noticing the horse and acknowledging his utter perfection. Settle yourself. Listen for the answer he gives and learn from that. Let it inform your next question. Maintain politeness, release anxiety when it rises. Feel good about the process.

Your horse might not join in right away. He may have history in the way or he may need to build some trust. He may be waiting for an accelerating cue, braced for the “make” part of the request. You can’t do this part for him but trust him to work it out. Your horse wants to get along. While you are patient, expect the best.

Is there a more committed, enthusiastic, try-hard, well-intentioned, and just plain kind-hearted animal than a human? No. We can be pretty great.

…

 Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more? Join us in The Barn. Subscribe to our online training group with training videos, interactive sharing, audio blogs, live-chats with Anna, and the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Ongoing courses in Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, Fundamentals of Authentic Dressage, and Back in the Saddle: a Comeback Conversation, as well as virtual clinics, are taught at The Barn School, where I also host our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find over a thousand archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation or lesson, 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 Is Your Horse Distracted? appeared first on Anna Blake.

Why Don’t You Ride?

“Why don’t you ride?” It’s the question we dread. Sometimes the people who ask are neophytes who don’t understand that in the arc of a horse’s life, there are many phases, many unexpected turns that change our plans, and many mysteries that take years to unravel. Sometimes the people who ask are longtime horse owners with sympathy in their voices because they do understand. We exchange bittersweet smiles and ask, “How many horses do you have to own before you have one to ride, right?” I don’t know the answer, but I have three horses, none rideable.

Here is what the neophytes (and other railbird horse owners) don’t know. Most don’t understand calming signals and miss pain messages. Horses in pain are frequently mistaken for horses with training issues. Then the horses end up being punished for being in pain and they become even more anxious. Many saddles don’t fit and bad hoof care is common. A horse doesn’t have to show an overt limp to have a sore back or low-level lameness and not every rider is perceptive enough to feel it in the saddle. Do you know the biggest cause of chronic lameness in our horses? Putting them back to work too soon. So, rather than listening to the advice of amateurs, we err on the side of waiting longer than railbirds think we should. 

We’re likely to get complaints from those less educated if we have a young horse who we don’t start until four. Yes, that’s when his growth plates have closed in his legs, although those in his back are not finished until he’s eight. Others may bait us, but starting horses too young creates physical issues while giving a horse time to grow up is a better practice.

There are chronic health conditions like metabolic issues and gastric conditions, serious but not entirely visible to the untrained eye. A cynical railbird might deny, saying the ailment wasn’t around when we were kids. Back in the day, horses died of these ailments but we, some of us anyway, are hoping to keep horses alive, even if we can’t ride them. Some have inconsistent symptoms but you try everything possible. You can’t retire him and you can’t ride him. Limbo is the worst place. And sure, another horse owner might euthanize them, but we “don’t ride.” 

Not all horse owners are aware that by the time a horse is seventeen or eighteen, they are beginning to ease out of their prime. We hate it because it’s usually when we’re having our best rides but we begin to mitigate what we do. We start joint supplements and consider fewer extreme trails and riding with more gratitude. Others might think we’re babying them when we stop competing and slow down to keep our horse supple and sound. As much as we hate it, we begin to think about retirement dates because we are the sort who doesn’t ride a horse into the ground. “At some point, we need to stop valuing what they do for us and shift to being grateful for what they’ve done.” If you genuinely love horses, then you honor their age, young or past prime, and act accordingly. Not everyone has that compassion, so railbirds might heckle you. Trust horses to know the truth.

Those critical voices may feel defensive about their own horse practices but have a verbal bravado that can border on rude. It’s almost a rule that we should act tougher than we are, not one of our best traits. Humans have normalized harsh treatment of horses for so long that it’s become the status quo. You know better and that can be threatening. In this crazy world, when we get to a certain age, hallelujah, we do what we think is right. Yay, us. We become brave enough and strong enough to put the horse’s needs above our desire. We keep them, care for them, and try to tolerate those who understand less about horses and criticize us. 

Sometimes, we are the ones to make the decision to not ride but it is never our first choice. There are painful but good reasons: we need to focus on the kids or elder care. Maybe work is requiring more attention or we’re dealing with an illness or recovery from an injury. And as much as we do our best, our lives are not our own. Once we’re pulled away, it can be hard to get back.

Be clear though. We all share a dream that we are lifted high and carried weightlessly, the horse’s mane tickling our nose as the earth rushes beneath his hooves. We love riding. We always will. Half the time, we have a wild desire to ride while we’re literally riding. Stepping away is never the first choice. A neophyte will ask why we don’t ride because they don’t know better, but it still burns. 

The worst part about not riding is the judgment. There’s an unspoken hierarchy that says if you don’t ride it’s a kind of failure complete with blame and shame. You’re too old-you’re too fat-you’re too scared-blah-blah-blah. It’s as if all you’ve learned and the lengths you’ve gone to for your horse amount to nothing if you don’t get to ride. It’s as if aging, either you or your horse, is a mistake or fault. It isn’t true. NOT TRUE. But sometimes that railbird criticism is our own voice, we just want to ride even if we have a list of responsible reasons we can’t get another horse.

It’s rare when both horse and rider choose to stop at the same time. If the rider stops first, the horse is fine. They don’t care if we ride them. If the horse stops first or falls into nebulous health issues layered with unknowable answers, that’s hard. Sometimes there are other activities we can share with our horse: Ground driving, hiking, horse agility, grazing in the pasture and being grateful. It isn’t the same but we make do. We change the things we can. We can find other horses to ride or put our love into volunteering helping horses. 

A neophyte doesn’t understand the hole left when we must decide between our love for riding and our love for our horses. Unlike some horse owners who ship off lame horses, we keep ours. All of us are role models; we state our beliefs in our actions, paying back what horses have given us. It’s the right thing, but that doesn’t mean we stop loving to ride. It means we find a different kind of courage.

What to do if all the answers are no? Your horse is not rideable and you don’t want to ride other horses? I won’t trivialize those deep sad feelings. Any horse will tell you getting old is the most challenging ride of all.

I do know that one day we will all be past riding. I expect, just like always, we’ll cry if we can’t ride. It isn’t childish; it’s our passion. I like to think in the next world, there will be more justice and the horses will decide who gets to ride. 

…

 Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more? Join us in The Barn. Subscribe to our online training group with training videos, interactive sharing, audio blogs, live-chats with Anna, and the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Ongoing courses in Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, Fundamentals of Authentic Dressage, and Back in the Saddle: a Comeback Conversation, as well as virtual clinics, are taught at The Barn School, where I also host our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find over a thousand archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation or lesson, 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 Why Don’t You Ride? appeared first on Anna Blake.

Human Calming Signals: What Counterfeit Means

Back in the day, there was a word used when talking about a stoic horse that who seemed almost too good to be true. It appeared nothing was amiss; the horse worked well enough but something didn’t feel right, and with hindsight, the feelings were confirmed. These horses were called counterfeit. I don’t know that it’s a fair name. Aren’t all flight animals unpredictable in unusual situations? Still wild at their core?

Horses come by it honestly. That uncertain feeling during the process of working with a horse isn’t a game of deception. It’s their common-sense effort to buy time in a stressful situation. When there are two conflicting impulses (like curiosity about a human but not wanting to leave the herd) horses give calming signals. If we give them time to figure out the contradiction, and time for their nervous system to self-regulate rather than be rushed to an anxiety-based answer, horses feel safer. A horse who feels safe is more dependable.

What about us? We’re so busy trying to understand our horses, do we even notice our human calming signals? How many counterfeit habits do we have? Some of us howl with bravado because we’re insecure. Some of us habitually apologize assuming we’re wrong. If we do get it right, we minimize our skills. Perish the thought we might feel confident. No matter what shape our body is, we aren’t happy with it. We take everything personally, blaming ourselves. We laugh to release tension. We cry to release tension. If we have any common sense at all, we’re afraid of horses but we are self-critical about it.

We come by our contradictions honestly, too. We were raised to be polite and not offend. Don’t show anger, smile when we don’t mean it. Don’t be too friendly and don’t be too quiet. We acquiesce or we rebel. We have a work persona, family relations can be complicated, and then there’s who we are with friends. Our culture can make us feel like we take up too much space but are still insignificant. Some of us are driven to the dogs, literally. And some of us rush to the barn, the place where anxious people meet anxious horses.

All we want is to be with horses. We love them. And that’s the last simple thought we have.

Loving horses doesn’t mean we can care for them effectively or ride them safely. It doesn’t mean we don’t get hurt. If we are brave and ask for help, we’re hit with a tsunami of techniques, railbird advice, warnings about leadership, and the simple math that horses are ten times bigger than us. We’re told horses can read our fear, which is like being threatened to not be afraid, as if we can wish it away. Instead, we try to hide all our anxiety but like carrying a halter behind our backs, we fool no one. 

In short order, we have a list of things horses can read in us and if we are going to survive having horses in our lives, we need one more persona. Most of us are trying to find the sweet spot between being an evil dominator with whip and spurs and being a pink doormat that horses ignore. The sweet spot would be trust, but if horses read our fear, won’t they know we are counterfeit?

This is the sort of overthinking mental debate that can nearly disable us. It’s easier to think horses are magical healers who love our problems or invent stories about the horse’s past to justify current behavior. But the farrier still needs to come, horses still need to be handled. And anxiety is still simmering.

Stop already. First, it’s such a silly understatement to say horses read our fear. They read our body language, our human calming signals. They read all our fussy contradictions and much of that comes across as anxiety. They can tell if we are faking it. Jabbering “Good boy” when we are frustrated doesn’t fool them. Nervous laughter makes them, well, nervous. Sympathy or pity makes little sense to a horse, they understand clean simple emotions like fear, anger, or pleasure.

How do we untangle this layered human habit of being? How do we rise out of this emotional swamp to connect with a horse? We have to let it go. We need to strip away our failing defenses and breathe. We don’t need more techniques; we need more self-awareness so we quiet our internal noise. We do need to learn about horses, but then we lay down the lists and reminders and judgment. Just let the busyness rest. Focus on one intention. 

Breathe. It doesn’t need to be a special breath, you don’t have to pretend you’re enlightened or perfect or strong. Just inhale and exhale, creating a new habit. Breathing is a human calming signal. Breathing is the anxiety antidote for both humans and horses. Confess the worst to yourself, but breathe your way through. Crying, screaming, and howling all count as breathing, but rather than think you’re hiding it, let it out. Find the person you were meant to be, buried underneath all the expectations and perceived shortcomings. Breathing consciously is the smallest thing to do with the biggest rewards, for both of you.

Your horse doesn’t care if you’re afraid. He cares if you are trustworthy, so tell the truth. Find the honesty we were all born with before we started trying to please people. Think less about horse training and more about being present in the moment. Less about the holes your horse has and more about your own authenticity. Say what is true. Let your body act in accordance with your mind. Find a congruity in yourself and notice the change in your horse. Then notice that peaceful leadership can be a quality that draws horses rather than frightening them.

It’s a profound relief to just say what you mean. No longer biting your tongue, but rather finding your balance in saying what’s true without self-judgment. Breathe the way forward, one step at a time, trusting your horse will volunteer to join you. It isn’t that horses heal us. It’s that our love for horses inspires us to heal ourselves. We need to take credit for that because it’s honest and true. And because our confidence needs to be as reliable as we want our horses to be. Horses would benefit if we stop pretending to be less than we are. What if our honest self is what we’re really afraid of?

…

 Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more? Join us in The Barn. Subscribe to our online training group with training videos, interactive sharing, audio blogs, live-chats with Anna, and the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Ongoing courses in Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, Fundamentals of Authentic Dressage, and Back in the Saddle: a Comeback Conversation, as well as virtual clinics, are taught at The Barn School, where I also host our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find over a thousand archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation or lesson, 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 Human Calming Signals: What Counterfeit Means appeared first on Anna Blake.

Calming Signals. You Can’t Save ‘Em All. Cat Version.

I walk in my pasture. Women of a certain over-thinking age do well to put a few miles in a day. Here on the high prairie, it’s scrub weeds, intermittent wildflowers, and big black beetles. It’s a win to see birds or salamanders. The high desert land fascinates me but we’ve been in the “historic drought” range for a while. I never used to think pastures needed protecting. One night at dusk, I marched into the far corner of the pasture and lifted my eyes to see a small ginger cat on the wooden corner post. I stopped flat, as if it was a mountain lion. It was so young and its flank curved in where it should curve out.

If you are bilingual, if you speak calming signals as well as words, (you do) then you give an exhale, keep your hands to yourself, and look away. The ginger looked back with half-lidded eyes. It might have been napping. No hissing, probably not feral but it had been living rough. A second later, it flew off the fence and disappeared into the weeds. We’ve got some Nicholas-Cage-tough tomcats in the area and a Great Horned Owl on the pond that looks well-fed, but most small animals get eaten by hawks here on the open prairie. The ginger had a white bib and mittens equaling high visibility. I wasn’t sure I’d see it again.

“You can’t save ’em all.” My parents said it first, but many others over the years have frowned dispprovingly. It might be the most obvious warning ever. Right up there with “You’ll get wet in the rain.” My first “rescue” was a kitten I shoplifted. Naturally, I got caught. I’m sure I walked too fast toward the door of the pet store, clutching it to my chest and protectively rounding my shoulders. A man called me to pay for the kitten but I indignantly blurted that it was sick and started run-walking. I was in high school and knew better than to announce it to my mother but she recognized the guilty body posture. A tiny black kitten, too young to be weaned with snotty eyes and nose. It died later that night but fifty years later, I’m the same girl

I caught a glimpse of the ginger the next week on the corner post again, and with all the l skill I use catching fearful horses, I moved closer as passively as I could. Horses and cats have more in common than we think, but calming signals are a universal language. If I could make friends, I could get it neutered. Would I need a trap? A few days later, I got close enough for a quick touch, and I walked away before it fled. A few days after that, the ginger strode towards me on the path. It was worth a try, I turned toward my barn and it followed. It was a perilous choice; we’d have to pass my yard, guarded by short attack dogs who are ginger-colored and the only ones who recognize the true danger of cats. Humans are complacent and foolish, but the dogs are not so shallow. The Little Barking Men yapped and yodeled but I stayed between the cat and the dogs. Then it ran through the horse pens, into the barn where I keep a smorgasbord (as my people call it) of kibble and free-range mice. I filled the dish fresh while congratulating myself for being a genius wild cat tamer. Okay, this little ginger was probably snacking there before, but during a pandemic, it felt like I was working on world peace or fighting climate change or at least, had a new reason to hide in my barn. 

Cats and horses take the time they take. They don’t care if you think you are doing a good deed, they know better than you. So, I waited. I saw cat shadows every few days, I’d call during the night feed and wait in the dark, but I more hoped than saw her for the next couple of weeks. Eventually, the ginger came during daylight, not eating while I was there but I was wearing it down. I can be relentless. Then one day, all final defenses fell. Finally, she climbed on my lap and purred and I felt her spine sharp under my hand.

I am the cat whisperer! I am patient and a genius with animals. I can do it all, bandage goat injuries singlehandedly, do a vaginal flush on a llama, train horses, sleep with dogs. Not to mention, cheer, gloat, pat myself on the back, and just generally bask in the glory of my incredible animal magnetism. One of these days I’ll be able to look at this cat’s backside and know what sex it is, I am legend! Yay, me. (Like I say, pandemic brain.)

Then the ginger stepped off my lap and did a couple of rolls on the ground and I think, gosh, the cat is really not that thin, it has benefitted from the kibble. There is an actual belly where there was only gauntness before. Anna, you saint! You do-gooder! The cat is round now. Wait. Too round. It’s gained weight, but just in one place. And from this angle, no need to look at her backside to tell her sex. And I know just enough about pregnant cats to know their hormones make them extra friendly. Yay me. Cat whisperer.

“You can’t save ’em all.” After I left home, I wanted to work with animals and I got a job at a shelter. This was the seventies, a different time. My main job with euthanizing year-old mixed breed dogs. The management needed a woman working in intake because so many dogs were afraid of men. I also worked with the sick animals; if they were purebreds, we tried to save them. It was twisted and challenging but I love animals. I have no other excuse. 

Sometimes people brought mothers and litters of tiny kittens to the shelter. It was before anyone thought to foster cats, and we euthanized litters this young because we had no place to keep them. One day I begged a woman to keep hers for a few more weeks. We could adopt them all, I told her, would she please bring them back then? You know how that goes, right? The woman got mad, the assistant manager had to calm her down, and I got a good talking to and a threat that I could lose my job. The whole event felt like a pileup on glare ice. As if this was a job that anyone in their right mind would want. Trust me, you really don’t have to tell me I can’t save’em all. 

But I brought this ginger girl, not much more than a kitten herself, into my writing studio. She’d a private place away from my housecats and the cruel Little Barking Men. I fed her, bought a new cat bed which she hated. She sat on the windowsill looking outside longingly but soon her belly was too big to balance there. Then one afternoon while I was writing, I looked under my desk and she’d begun labor. I put a towel down and carefully moved her onto it, breathing with her, and typing on while she gave birth to four literary kittens, two gingers and two torties. Soon, they’ll be crawling on me like lice.

The Infinity Farm Home for Unwed Mothers is full. I can’t save ’em all. 

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more? Join us in The Barn. Subscribe to our online training group with training videos, interactive sharing, audio blogs, live-chats with Anna, and the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

At The Barn School, ongoing courses in Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, Fundamentals of Authentic Dressage, and Back in the Saddle: a Comeback Conversation, as well as virtual clinics, are taught. I also host our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find over a thousand archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation or lesson, 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. You Can’t Save ‘Em All. Cat Version. appeared first on Anna Blake.

How Horses Train Us

You are a horse trainer. It does not always give me joy to say so, but it’s true and other professional trainers agree. If you are holding the rope, you qualify whether you watch videos or not, take lessons or not, have already paid a trainer four times what you paid for the horse or not, read this essay or not. Most of us have a persona for mucking and grooming, and a whole other persona for training. Your horse wishes you didn’t but if the halter and rope are on (or saddle and bridle) and it all changes. We have leverage and the horse knows it. 

But we have a frontal lobe pontificating in a longwinded board meeting offering suggestions. Do this, do that, we think. Is someone watching? I want to be good at this. My horse has issues that must be fought corrected retrained. Our horses must not embarrass us behave. 

Maybe he wants to graze, which is horse calming signal language to tell us to soften our hold. To us, it’s rude and we have all been told if we don’t correct that, we will spoil our horses. Meanwhile, our horse thinks we didn’t hear him or we’re mad. He feels the session starting to spoil, but not the way we have been warned about.

We correct. We aren’t nasty, but short and sharp, we correct. Then we half-bait to see if he’s learned. The horse should know better than to do that, even if he’s nervous in a new place, even if it’s spring, even if he doesn’t want to leave the herd. Now we’re guarding the rope, ready for him to falter. We don’ want to get hurt, after all, not noticing that’s his primary concern, too. He continues to try to graze; it’s a calming signal. He is saying as clearly as he can that he is no threat. He knows he’s still in trouble and he doesn’t feel safe. 

We don’t praise him of course. The horse isn’t being good enough for praise. We think if we praise a bad horse we’ll train him to be bad. So the horse lingers in purgatory, uncertain in a cycle of punishment. Horses don’t praise us either, but we’re the bossy and impatient ones more evolved species with the frontal lobe. It’s our job but you have to wonder why we think praising bad behavior will profoundly train a horse when all the rope pulling doesn’t.

Finally, time for groundwork or the ride. It doesn’t matter to the horse whether we ride or do groundwork but we have all kinds of emotion opinion on which we do. Either way, we want control. We are still guarding the rope or reins, still thinking we can control him by acting like a coyote (?) dominator trainer who can hold a rope. We’ve corrected him a dozen times not that we notice. Our horse lightly suggests he needs more room by looking just an inch away, and after all, a counter bend is a calming signal. We know this one. Horses look away to tell us they are no threat and we don’t need to be so loud. The more we pull for bend the more he looks away. It isn’t about training, it’s about the horse’s anxiety.

Horse: I’m no threat to you.    Human: You know how to do this. 

Let’s flip the story. Let’s say it’s a different day and we’re exhausted, distracted horse trainers. We’ve worked a long day and didn’t sleep well last night. We decide on a trail ride because we don’t feel up to forcing behavior training. That should be the first clue, not that we notice. When horses tell us they don’t like arena work, what they mean is they don’t like who we are in the arena. We become repetitive, slow-thinking, micromanaging asshats riders with tight hands and no ears. Truly, horses think we’re a bit slow. Eventually, they become reluctant, shut down. Why would any horse go willingly to the principal’s office arena. It’s no fun there.

But okay, trail ride it is and both of you are glad there won’t be a fight. The horse’s poll relaxes and his neck is stretched out. Our bodies are soft, the reins long. He moves at a normal walk gait because his mouth doesn’t hurt, his sharp rope halter hasn’t been jerked. If we are in the saddle we might let him pick the way. If we read this blog and know the joy of leading from behind, we might let the horse take us for a walk. The horse daydreams about what would happen if humans rode on the trail like we were in the arena and rode in the arena like we were on the trail. Could humans confuse themselves enough to give up and just act like they do when mucking?

But the human is tired, the horse relaxes, the day is lovely, and we fall in love all over again because we’re too tired to pick a fight train.

Horse: See? You know how to do this.   Human: I’m no threat to you. 

Notice what happened there? It isn’t a coincidence. When we’re in that mucking persona, we negotiate. We breathe, our shoulders release, we just say yes. We can train affirmatively. Our horses would like to train us to be this way full time. They only have body language and we have the frontal lobe. We make a choice about who we are every moment but too often unconsciously.

Then the next time in the arena, the horse (huge amygdala, wonderful memory) knows that we can do better. We’ve shown them. They know that we are capable of being soft and pleasant and they know the ogre trainer lives in the arena. Some horses will shut down and quit trying, and some horses, the very best horses, will hold us to that elite mucker/trainer standard forevermore. 

Expecting us to communicate with lightness and perception, as horses do, is the finest gift horses give us. They think we can learn; that we’re trainable.

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more? Join us in The Barn. Subscribe to our online training group with training videos, interactive sharing, audio blogs, live-chats with Anna, and the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

At The Barn School, ongoing courses in Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, Fundamentals of Authentic Dressage, and Back in the Saddle: a Comeback Conversation, as well as virtual clinics, are taught. I also host our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

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

 

The post How Horses Train Us appeared first on Anna Blake.

What Does Having a Connection With a Horse Mean?

What does it mean to have a connection with a horse? You just know I’m going to be a loudmouth party-pooper on this topic. It’s like T-ball. The topic sits still, just begging me to wack the bejeebers out of it, because I am a killer of romance and anthropomorphism. If you are on the horse’s side, I think it’s required. 

There are words that we use without understanding because they flatter us. And since horses don’t talk, we make up the story. In the last year, it hit an all-time low with several published lists about how to tell if your horse is bonded or things to do to connect with a horse. The lists were wildly popular on Facebook but they had no research footnotes. They seem more akin to articles about how to get a boyfriend in Teen Angst magazine.

The behaviors listed are contradictory, superficial, and stupidly dangerous. Some claim you make a bond with a horse by feeding treats. It doesn’t consider metabolic disorders or gastric conditions. Some held the carrot and teased the horse until the horse’s face distorted into anxiety. Some horses become food aggressive but we smile and think it’s love and not prostitution.

One of the lists compared mutual grooming between horses to girls doing each other’s hair. Ironic when I think of the horror stories told about hair being “accidentally” ripped out, broken noses, and in the worst case, a series of plastic surgeries needed. As much as we wish it were mutual grooming, we aren’t horses. The horse becomes confused about boundaries because sometimes we noodle with them and other times, we punish them for crowding us. We want it both ways.

Then there is the pseudo-mystical exchange of breath. Who doesn’t thrill breathing in their spent air? But how do horses feel? Their muzzle is the most sensitive area on their body with millions of nerve endings. Some post photos of horses “smiling” (flehmen response) or making “funny faces” (calming signals) as if horses were emojis. Research says the visilli (whisker) sensitivity sends messages to the brain so keen that they are almost visual, which makes some sense since horses can’t see what they are eating or sensing below their muzzle. They sniff us because we’re in their blind spot, or we have contradictory smells, or food in our pockets, or because they are curious. They have their own reasons, but we should be listening to their calming signals, their emotional response to their environment, instead of humanizing horse behaviors. 

Still, we look for proof of a special bond. We try to evoke a response, even if it’s anxiety that we try to see as affection. We want them to acknowledge us, even if we have to bait them into it. We want horses to love us as much as we love them. Sorry. 

While we’re looking for validation, horses are simply horses. Forever flight animals, horses are ruled by their response to their environment. It doesn’t matter how many generations they’ve been living with humans, no matter how long you’ve owned that particular horse, they remain in fear for their survival. Horses are equally dangerous to dominating riders as they are people convinced their horses love them. Sorry again.

Why am I such a loudmouth party pooper about these silly articles? Because this kind of trivializing of horse training is insulting to horses and good horse owners, those who hold themselves to a higher standard. Whether rescue horses or well-bred competitors, we know reliable horses are trained with kind, confidence-building experiences. We understand horses cannot change their nature, but we can change ours. We can be more concerned with using our breath than feeling theirs. We remain slow and consistent, even when railbirds cluck and tsk. We inch our way toward something real. 

A bond is a promise of safety, a pact of honor, a treaty of trust. A bond has to count when it matters to the horse. Having a bond or connection with a horse means that we listen, putting his safety above our desire for selfies. A bond means that the horse isn’t perfect for the farrier but gets a little better each time. A connection shows when a horse lets us dress a wound, even when it hurts. Or trusts enough to load in a trailer when there is a fire and he’s afraid.

I’m not trying to make horse-crazy girls cry or ruin the carrot business. Of course, we all love horses, but love isn’t the goal; it’s the fuel. The important question is what does your horse need to feel safe?

I want to celebrate those who are in for the long haul because a bond can’t be bought with a carrot. I want to celebrate the horses who didn’t get a solid start but find their footing eventually with a human who leads them back to peace, earning every release the horse gives. It takes consistent, patient work over time to build a connection strong enough to support a horse. 

But if you still want evidence of your bond with your horses, I know a way.

It happens when someone comes to visit, usually adults and kids, wanting to meet the horses. I guide them through the pens, introducing the horses while Edgar Rice Burro quietly positions himself for scratches when the truth is that he is the herd sentinel. Seeing it’s safe, the horses stop eating and come over, stand still, drop their heads. I ask visitors to not touch their noses, but it’s irresistible and they do, pushing into the horse’s space and mugging them. My horse might close his eyes, pulling inside because the visitor is too close, but no horses shove or resource guard or make faces. A visitor might kiss a horse and think it’s a big achievement. The horses and I exchange glances, they mostly tolerate the intrusion with patience, although my mare will give me the side-eye. I move the visitors along when each horse gives me the sign, so slight the visitors don’t see it. Some horses volunteer nothing at all, still works in progress. 

Of course, the visitors fall in love. I smile at all they don’t know as they tell me about a special connection they had with one of the horses. I know that horse’s history. If the visitor could get a halter on, they couldn’t lead the horse away from the herd. There is no bond with the visitor, but still, I nod.

It’s taken me this long to find the words for the scenario. There is a bond there, but horses who are okay with strangers, whether visitors or veterinarians, have learned to trust. What the visitor is experiencing is a ripple effect of the bond the horse has with his owner. Kind and polite horses are a result of an owner who works daily to build a bond deeper than her love of horses. It’s a bond that allows the horse the freedom and confidence to choose our company. 

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more? Join us in The Barn. Subscribe to our online training group with training videos, interactive sharing, audio blogs, live-chats with Anna, and the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Ongoing courses in Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, Fundamentals of Authentic Dressage, and Back in the Saddle: a Comeback Conversation, as well as virtual clinics, are taught at The Barn School, where I also host our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com to find over a thousand archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation or lesson, 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 Does Having a Connection With a Horse Mean? appeared first on Anna Blake.