Anna Blake's Blog, page 27

Things My Dogs Don’t Care About.

I’m the kind of person who has big dogs. I always have been, not that my dogs care. I have no excuse for my current condition. I was trying to remember the last time I picked out a dog. That’s the thing about making friends with rescuers. Dogs just arrive somehow. Sure, you said yes in the past, that’s how they got your contact information. After that first time, the dogs kinda show up wearing tags with your name and address on them. They have a certain glint in their eyes, and they need a safe place. Why repeat the rescue horror stories? They’re my dogs now. They don’t care.

In this photo, we’re in the conference room. We go there when we don’t want the Dude Rancher and his cats to hear us.

Back when I still thought I was a big dog person, I swore I’d never own a terrier. I just thought I was better suited to herding dogs. I’m not picking favorites; just saying they mirrored my idiosyncrasies and dysfunctions well. Perhaps I was being a bit over-controlling. Or maybe if you have dogs long enough, a terrier is inevitable. Lucky that didn’t happen here. Jack, on the right, managed to pass himself off to the rescue as a corgi-mix.

Preacher Man, on the left, has never missed a staff meeting once in the six and a half years he’s been here. You have to respect his commitment if not his level of consciousness. We have these meetings several times a day. Despite the long work hours, he was not promoted for merit. Attrition played a part. And he isn’t sleeping; just resting his eyes. Some of you who have known Preach for a while and are impressed that I’ve managed a photo when he isn’t yodeling his staccato bark, yipping and yapping the high lonesome notes, his shrieks ricocheting off the walls, audible in a thousand-mile radius. Preacher feels vindicated because I used to get lost all the time, often gone for weeks at a time, coming home smelling of strange horses and airport bars. But these last weeks of stay-at-home pandemic lockdown, he hasn’t let me out of his sight once. It’s a herding dog’s dream come true.

Preacher Man would be sounding the alarm now if he knew Jack was looking at me. Preach is the jealous type, so this counts as a very intimate moment for me and Jack. We’re cheating. That’s why his ears are folded up, but he isn’t air-licking yet, so we have another five seconds to gaze into each other’s eyes before he explodes, bouncing up and down in the air, and scaring Preacher into a panic-bark fit.  I sit back, not quite smiling, not exactly comfortable, but knowing it’ll be worse in a minute. Understanding calming signals means you can see the meltdown coming, like cows flying in a tornado. Don’t even try to outrun it.

On the top of the list of things my dogs don’t care about: Anything that happens past the mailbox. No pesky news about viruses or elections, which contribute to him being able to nap at least twelve hours a day. Horses are wrecks because they sleep less than three hours a day, says the dog who sleeps the sweet sleep of an over-fed predator. Preacher doesn’t vote, he thinks insomnia is a conspiracy theory, and most of all, he doesn’t care about horses. Especially yours. Image that.

The dogs don’t know that I’m supposed to be giving horse clinics instead of canceling flights. The suitcases should be lurking by the door instead of being stashed in the closet. They pride their herding skills for this improvement and then sleep some more. City dogs and farm dogs alike think their human not going to work looks like a job promotion. Dogs do not care about money. But in a short-sighted but well-meaning way.

The only problem horse people have with dogs is that they fall asleep when we drone on about our horses. Dogs sleep through our google searches for ulcer remedies. Dogs are no help with questions about calming signals and hoof care. Dogs are willing to help with training a canter depart, but they don’t do it the way that allows for a relaxed poll. We still care about working with our horses, not that the dogs care.

I’m giving lessons and teaching online courses now. How did I end up with a desk job? Luckily, horses like technology more than we do. They think social distancing and working in their home arena is wonderful. I can tell it works because the horses give me the usual messages, right through the camera. So, I try to corral the technology and then convince horse people it’s workable. I spend hours on lesson plans for online courses while Preacher sleeps under my office chair. I roll over him a few times an hour. He looks at me disparagingly, waiting for an apology. He will not move. He doesn’t care. Besides, attention is attention and he plans on staying between me and the luggage.

Go figure. I’ve become an equine executive in Zoom meetings. My computer screen looks like the old Hollywood Squares show; people comfortable in their homes, cats lounging in the background. Classes end up being international, which means among other things, someone is always sipping wine while talking about training issues. Meetings screech to a halt if anyone’s dog has something to say. I worry about my professionalism, whether the Dude Rancher will flush the toilet, or if people can hear my dog’s toenails clicking a play bow warning, just before they get the zoomies. Every day is Take Your Dog to Work Day now.

You could start to wonder, dare I say it, if maybe you’re spending a little too much time with your dogs? Or maybe you’re just lonely for something beyond your mailbox? Clinics and events are canceled; it’s time to try something new. The Barn School will offer a new range of courses on July 1st, open to the public. Dogs allowed.

In the meantime, you should join The Barn, our online group. There are benefits and discounts. The people there are just like you. We have too many horses, some un-rideable. We are old-timers and newbies. We train affirmatively with a profound concern for the horse’s mental and physical welfare. We speak the language of Calming Signals. Sometimes we dance all by ourselves in the horse pen. Naysayers and dogs might think we’re crazy. We’re proud to admit we care too much for horses. Joining us is giving yourself a circle of like-minded friends who share the passion for horses. Joining The Barn is actively creating a better world for horses.

And I know this for a fact. Your dog won’t care.

 

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Visit annablake.com to see our class schedule, online courses available on a revolving basis on Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and More. You can book 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. Join us in The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more.

The post Things My Dogs Don’t Care About. appeared first on Anna Blake.

Photo and Poem: Three-Quarter-Ton

 

Driving home from the feed store on a back

road, easing my foot from the gas pedal, the

three-quarter-ton truck coasts slower. Ahead,

a teenage girl riding a horse in shorts and a

helmet. The tomboy-girl twisted around but

dismissed me, only a gray-haired woman in a

farm truck. Would she want someone better to

see her, a boy or maybe a farmer with a roving

eye? Her bay gelding stood square, his neck

arched, as she searched the road. Steering wide,

remembering the warm feel of a dark horse on a

sunny afternoon; the breeze lifting his mane to

my bare knee. They won’t see you as I do, young

rider, your wild beauty will intimidate pedestrians.

Nodding to her as I pass, two wheels bump onto

the asphalt again, shifting the bags of feed in back.

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more from this horse trainer who writes poetry? Visit annablake.com to see all my published work, online courses, and training events. Look for a new offering of poems to be released this fall entitled Horse. Woman.

The post Photo and Poem: Three-Quarter-Ton appeared first on Anna Blake.

Long Dark Night of the Soul: Colic

Andante’s nickering. I’ve pulled the hay out of his run and swept the mats. He has a baritone voice, a make-out music, bad boy nicker. He drops a hip, under his breath, “Hay, b-baby.” No, he can’t have any for a while. I’d rather have a knife to my neck than see a horse with no hay in front of him, but in this case, I don’t feel a drop of guilt. Until he gives me something, he’ll have to wait. Grumbling for dinner is a happy chat compared to his moaning four hours ago.

I noticed him out of the corner of my eye this morning lying down in an odd place. A couple of hours later, I saw him yawning but he ate well all day. Nothing seemed wrong, but still, not quite right. The day before I’d taken a second lingering look at another gelding. Might be getting paranoid. Spring weather is a barometric free-for-all in Colorado. Blue sky but then minutes later, purple clouds, blustering wind, and lightning. Short sleeves one moment and hail the next. Add a twelve-hundred-pound horse with a delicate digestive system and anything could happen.

Andante is a Belgian-TB cross who hooked his owner when he was not quite a yearling. I guess you could say he was imported, arriving in a semi load of snotty “byproducts” from a PMU farm in Canada. They have boarded at my farm for almost twelve years now. No, he isn’t my horse. I just act like he is.

I do the afternoon chores, load up hay bags, soak alfalfa pellets. The mare gets her mush first, with her donkey and goat. Then the geldings tumble through the gate. Today, only two came in. I look and Andante is laying down. So unusual. After I coax him a moment, he gets up and walks just ahead of me into his run. I watch him take some hay, but the first glance out my window a few moments later and he’s down flat.

Each horse shows pain differently. Andante is the quiet type. He bends his hocks, folds his body, and sinks down with a thud. His head drops to the ground and his mouth opens just enough to see his bottom teeth. His flank is tight, and he moans. Fair enough, good boy. I call his owner and then the vet. Then a second vet, lucky that time. Meanwhile, Leslie called her mother to come watch her kids and she heads out. Now I wait. Andante is clear. He hurts. He knows I know.

Andante got up and down four more times, pawing in between but not thrashing on the ground. Just lying flat, much too still. He sometimes kicked hard at his belly. Good boy, I remind him. When Leslie arrived, he lifted his head bright with recognition, and then rested it down again. The kind of acknowledgment that sticks in your throat. I give her the timeline as she watches him, taking it all in.

Then she asks the question. It’s as much to herself as me. “Is he a surgery candidate?” We should all have an answer to that question ready before we need it. Details will vary, but with colic, a plan matters. Colic. The word chokes me silent. In hindsight, it might be called mild but, in the beginning, none of them are. This is serious. His health is good, he’s in wonderful condition. He’s bracing his torso, showing us every spasm of pain. We humans remain stoic. We put him above our fear and dread. It’s the one thing in our control. Staying calm lets him know he’s safe. Whichever way this goes, that’s our priority.

The vet arrives, and this part hasn’t really changed over the years I’ve known horses. Banamine for the pain, a rectal exam, a tube up his nose, and a bucket of “bathwater-warm” water. Andante is 17.2 hands. He doesn’t like strangers with needles. He also understands we’re trying to help. It isn’t an easy process and it takes the three of us asking small things. Then we wait again. Nobody makes that dramatic statement from every horse movie we’ve ever seen, “It’s up to him now,” but I tell Leslie that I don’t think today is the day. As he gets a bit more conscious, his flank stays soft. This part can be nerve-wracking. Will he need more meds? Will it resolve or get worse? And then, trumpets from heaven, a tiny fart. A few moments later, an honest fart. The vet suggests a brief trot. Andante and Leslie, both a little lighter on their feet, head to the arena, and he is happy to move. It is too soon to call the event over, so the vet leaves me armed with emergency meds for the night, just in case, and drives away.

His herd mates in the next pen yawn and lick. They’ve been watching and breathing with Andante. Releasing and blowing, there are no secrets in a herd. None of this has escaped the mare, two pens away and concerned every moment. Leslie stays to carry out the vet orders that she trot him five minutes an hour, for two more hours. It’s blog night, I come in to start writing. At ten p.m., I back out to check. Leslie was invisible tucked in the shadow of hay bales, her voice so tiny I can’t place her. We wonder about horses for the millionth time. There was an almost-full moon in the prairie sky, they call this month the Strawberry Moon and it’s a particularly sweet light. It was safe enough now to exhale our poison thoughts. It isn’t the first time she and I have stood this way, a line of defense for this good horse. As we have in the past, the day will come that we stand for him again, and we both feel dark nostalgia and tainted premonition. He has confirmed our greatest fear. He is mortal.

We all go to lunge, she gives him line as he trots around her. Happy to move, he tosses in a canter, flipping his mane for good measure. The ordinary magic of a horse in the moonlight and my ribs had to give way again for a small internal explosion; for this gallant horse who has grown past all expectation and the woman who has matched his stride. Bringing him back to his run, he nickered again, that totally irresistible voice that we will resist. He pushes at his gate. Rather than tease him, Leslie and I go our separate ways. I check him at midnight, and again at three a.m. He was laying on his elbow, ears up, resting. The Banamine would be nearly gone. Good signs but I assume nothing. Up at dawn, his pen vacuumed of all stray leaves of hay… and gift of horse gods, one small but glorious pile of manure. I doled out three insignificant handfuls of hay. He muttered at the stingy serving, not grateful in the least.

Andante is soaking in the morning sun, while we flounder between knowing the past and the future, profoundly blessed for this day, this horse, and all horses, at once dynamically powerful and ridiculously fragile.

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Visit annablake.com to see our class schedule, online courses available on a revolving basis on Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and More. You can book 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. Join us in The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more.

The post Long Dark Night of the Soul: Colic appeared first on Anna Blake.

Photo & Poem: Sage Under-hoof

An elder red mare and her rider babysat us as

we climbed in and out of ravines, my young horse

giddy on the trail, not running but not walking

either. Crossing a small pond in leaps, had he

ever seen so much unfenced land? His body froze

to the shallowest breath, watching a herd of deer

bound away. We came to a vast prairie, green and

the ground soft on his hooves. The mare grazed

as we trotted a large arc. Afraid to look up, my

eyes held to the wildflowers, Indian Paintbrush

and Larkspur. On cue, we caught the air. The

one, two, three waltz of a canter. Tense choppy

steps, my seat too loud in the saddle, my horse

wanted to bolt. Forcing my mind to stillness, willing

my body to soften, so the gelding’s neck could go long,

he answered by lengthening his stride and we found

a rhythm between our bodies. The arc returned us to

the beginning, lifting my eyes to patterns of color in

the trees and in the sky. Lost to time, just his spine

rocking mine, and the smell of sage crushed under-hoof.

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more from this horse trainer who writes poetry? Visit annablake.com to see all my published work, online courses, and training events. Look for a new offering of poems to be released this fall entitled Horse. Woman.

The post Photo & Poem: Sage Under-hoof appeared first on Anna Blake.

Why Training Techniques Don’t Work

 

It’s Sunday night and the clinic has ended, but there might be a horse or two that can’t seem to get into the trailer. That isn’t the crazy part. The owner is tired and muttering something about how happy the horse should be to get in the trailer and go home. That part is crazy; the horse has no idea where he is going, just like when he came to the clinic in the first place. The horse doesn’t know what she does, but he does know volumes of things about the clinic and trailer that she doesn’t. The question isn’t intelligence, it’s communication.

Instead, people tend to think everything is a training question. We think we can solve a horse’s problems with training, so we change out of our muck persona and into our training persona, which means without knowing it, we stand in a stiffer, more judgmental way. We might have been humming with the muck fork, but we’re serious as a heart attack now because we have a toolbox where we store techniques that we read about or saw a video on. The techniques were described in undeniable human logic and took years to collect. Maybe you spent a fortune on levels or colors or learning big words in a particular language. Maybe you fell in love with a trainer’s hat. Top hat or wide brim, now you have a few extra hats and a toolbox but many of the techniques contradict each other. Most likely, your baseball hat is twisted backward on your head and your tongue is sticking out the side of your lips. Human calming signal.

What do you have to do to make the technique work? Are you confused or too half-hearted to intimidate the horse? What do you do if your horse doesn’t follow that human logic and gives a different answer? Can you blame it on your own bad timing or lack of focus? Most of us are willing to blame ourselves and try again, harder this time. What if it isn’t you? If techniques worked, would we need a whole toolbox full of them? And for all the listening going on, we never seem to hear much from the horse, do we?

People tell me my training approach is too nebulous. It’s true. You won’t get more technique tools from me to drag around and pull out in a disaster. They wouldn’t work any better than the others because when our horses really need us, it’s too late to hope digging through the toolbox will work.

Training techniques don’t work because of simple math: one plus one equals whatever the horse thinks.

What do a horse trailer and training techniques have in common? They are conversation starters. Just a greeting, but the trailer might have an advantage. The horse can see it. What happens next is what matters: The negotiation between intelligent creatures who think very differently. We think the right technique means we get our way. Here’s where we get the cart before the horse. Horses will pick trust over a technique every time. The truth is that if we can build trust with the horse, then the technique might end up working.

What is the alternative? Say someone has a problem with their horse and contacts me. First, I pretend to be an amateur veterinarian. When a horse changes his behavior, it’s almost always a question of pain. If we know there’s a health or lameness issue and keep working, we break their trust. The horse thinks we don’t listen.

Next, I pretend to be an amateur therapist, starting with a narrative about the horse’s side of things. It isn’t a cute work of fiction. Horses don’t benefit from us romanticizing them or waxing on as if it took a special skill to love horses. Most of us never had a choice. We were born that way and surprisingly, that isn’t what we need therapy for. To the best of our ability, we must try to understand who horses are and how they think, both as a species and as individuals. Now there is a chance we can get past the appearance of behavior to what lies below: To see past the symptom to the cause.

Finally, I pretend to be an amateur negotiator. Negotiating doesn’t mean we win and they lose. It means both sides get some of what they want. It isn’t that a technique worked so much as now there is a tendency in communication. Begin with something you both agree on. It could be that both of you have trailer anxiety, but is that the best place to start? How about agreeing that your horse is a good boy? If the horse feels safe, he is more willing to participate. Get a few easy agreements on your side to start.

Horse training doesn’t mean that we say whoa and the world stops. Training is more like juggling mismatched objects, that spend more time flying in the air at different speeds than they do resting in your palm. Training is a fluid conversation of random parts. Sounds nebulous, right? That’s why it’s smarter business to sell human logic even if it doesn’t work.

Want to know the real reason techniques don’t work? Horses are individuals, but it’s more than that. Horses have a huge amygdala where their emotions live next door to their memory. They are geniuses are recognizing patterns that remind them of other things. It’s how a flight animal survives. It’s why a horse’s first trainer still has an impact even years after the horse has come to you. He cannot forget. Techniques don’t work because some horses require us to redefine patience in almost incomprehensible ways.

The path of a horse and a human is solitary. Even this complex world, it still comes down to you and your horse together in a moment. Unique in every aspect, each horse/human relationship is a living and breathing thing. Horses will trust our intention more than a hollow movement that we call technique. If the horse is afraid, every step forward is a life-or-death challenge. If we can prove ourselves to be worthy of a horse’s trust, there are no obstacles. Training is the art of letting go of an illusion of control and maintaining yourself as a safe place for the horse to come back to.

Techniques don’t work because some horses need us to prove we’re more reliable than their memory. In other words, horses are as concerned with our behavior as we are theirs. It’s a standoff until a leader steps up with a heart big enough to accept the other’s imperfections. Out beyond whips or treats, words or techniques, all the way past notions of right and wrong, is the solitary place where one horse and one human negotiate the gulf of intelligence between them.

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Visit annablake.com to see our class schedule, online courses available on a revolving basis on Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and More. You can book 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. Join us in The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more.

 

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Photo & Poem: Words

“You’re not wearing that, are you?” Voicing her anxiety

first, was my blouse revealing something more than

unconventional taste? Welcoming me back after a long

absence, “I suppose that’s real,” she moaned at my

unnatural hair, her frown lingering down to my sandals.

She repeated her lifelong fear that people would think

I didn’t have a mother. I answered by having no children

who might embarrass her. After I flew to her home to

drive her to the doctor, navigating her last days, her talk

turned to reading street signs. “Wilson Chiropractic,” she

announced in a cheery conversational tone. She was

small now, strapped in the passenger seat, her shoulder

angled so she could look away. “The Flower Box.” She

didn’t want to pull over. Just to decorate the air with

disjointed words, satisfied that each location was passed

by, then adding, “Mel’s Plumbing and Heating Repair.”

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more from this horse trainer who writes poetry? Visit annablake.com to see all my published work. Look for a new offering of poems to be released this fall entitled Horse. Woman.

The post Photo & Poem: Words appeared first on Anna Blake.

Deconstucting Fear with Affirmative Training

 

Something is off with your horse, but you can’t tell what. You might be leading him or you might be riding. It could be in a strange place or in your home arena. He isn’t being resistant, but it’s not right. Then he sees something and goes very still. You try to see what he’s looking at, but 20-20 vision isn’t good enough. His walk has less swing, just a little sticky. You write it off to sore muscles, not that you believe it. You just don’t know. There’s nothing to correct really. At best, he’s answering by rote.

But it nags at you. Your horse isn’t spooky or flighty. He feels lazy, so you kick and cluck. But nothing. It’s like you’re invisible. The kind of lost in the fog invisibility that leaves you feeling as lost as he seems. In the past, maybe you would have tried to scare him out of being afraid or punish him for ignoring you, only to find he got more distant. Maybe you sing and coo and scratch, trying to love him back to paying attention to you. But instead he looks past you.

Notice your thoughts. Are you scrolling through articles you’ve read or stories you’ve heard looking for a reason? Do you have a list of training techniques that you have tried or might try? Maybe you’ll try a bit of everything all at once, just hoping that something might work? Do you want to do a dissection of his emotions, seek a cause or someone to blame? Would that information help or are you looking more like your horse by the minute? Body quiet and mind racing? Notice your thoughts, so that you can untangle yourself from them.

How can you rebalance the conversation? You’ve both been shallow throat-breathing for a while. The tension is clear; your horse is fearful. You know if things keep heading in this direction, he’ll explode. Is it too late to deconstruct the fear? You can’t snap fingers and make him be calm, but could you give him a choice? Could he have time to process his environment without getting louder cues piled on top?

Look again. Your horse isn’t distracted, it’s the exact opposite. He’s hyper-focused, just not on you. How can you insert yourself in the conversation without becoming an adversary?

Start with what is within your control. Breathe in a full breath. It won’t be your best but then exhale through your mouth. Think of this breath as raising a white flag. Think of it as a sign the fighting is over, even if you don’t think you were fighting. Breathe again to let him know he’s perfect. Just exactly now.

Get to his side, look at him again but soften your eyes. Give him space to think. You have a long rope for a reason. If you are on his back, extend your arms in front, slack the reins by changing your arm length. Feel your little toes in the stirrups, brought back into the present moment, and a little bow-legged. Feel your knees and thighs soften lighter on his sides. Then, untangle your thoughts again. Give your frontal lobe a rest and tune in your senses.

Is he still frozen? Check your horse for calming signals. Exhale again. Did he blink? Did an ear almost flick? Can you see his lower lip vibrate even a tiny amount? Did he consider softening? Acknowledge that tiny sign; exhaling is your nervous system saying, “Good boy,” to his nervous system. If you see no calming signals, exhale anyway, to let him know you’re listening. Trust that he can hear you and now, untangle your expectations. Blow that exhale to soften your own shoulders. The deconstruction has begun. Smile with optimism.

Did his eyes furrow a bit? Did he tilt his head away a few degrees? It’s language but is it negative? Oops. Did you just judge his feelings? Again, exhale an affirmation. You’re listening and resetting your patience. One more step away from him, see that he softens with more space. In the saddle, empty your body of any small vestiges of tension. You do have control of your body, say, “Good girl.” to yourself and soften your sit bones. If you’re in the saddle, can you get more out of your horse’s space mentally? Retreat and give him a chance to notice.

Stay in your senses, did you see his poll lower a fraction of an inch? By breathing you’re saying yes. Inviting more, but in connection with his calming signal. Is the conversation working? Another horse might have given bigger signs by now. Untangle those thoughts before they trip you up. Stay focused on the subject at hand. Breathe again.

Listen to yourself. No thoughtless chatter, you want to connect your breath or words to his calming signals in a conversation that has give and take. Pause and give him a chance to answer. Recognize the thing that makes you nervous, the silence, as a welcoming space to a horse. Let the silence stand like a warm dry shelter out of the weather. Let him have that peace; it will draw your horse closer. Now you are beginning to look like the calm in the storm, even if you’re not in control of him. Hold steady. Let him do this himself.

Just when you think it isn’t working, half-heartedly breathing, quietly pondering your own doubt, your horse snorts loud enough to buckle your knees. Or he flings his head to the ground to rub his nose on his fetlock. That stretch looks like it would feel good, doesn’t it? “Very good boy.”

That idea of deconstructing your horse’s fear was attractive, wasn’t it? But let’s be honest. He was the one who did the work. You reminded him, with your own calming signals, that you were no threat. You did no more than practice the fine art of saying yes. Affirmative training is doing less. But the result is that your horse found his own way back and gained some confidence on the way. Your imperfect breath did more to help him than any training aid could by creating a safe place for him.

Stoic behavior is normal for a horse. That counterfeit feeling at the beginning isn’t a game of deception or your horse can playing tricks on you. It’s their common-sense effort to look normal in a stressful situation. He deserves acknowledgment from you. Does this all sound like hair-splitting minutiae? How’s your patience holding up?

If your horse goes too quiet and you’re at a loss, just say yes. Let it be that simple.

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Visit annablake.com to see our class schedule, online courses available on a revolving basis on Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and More. You can book 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. Join us in The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more.

Working with riders of any discipline and horses of any breed, Anna believes affirmative dressage training principals build a relaxed & forward foundation that crosses over all riding disciplines in the same way that the understanding Calming Signals benefits all equine communication.

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Photo & Poem: Sunset to Dark

Talking with her while I walk the farm, I say look

what you’ve done with the new grass. Earth sends a

breeze to finger the dandelion fluff balls, a few seeds

released. I wonder if she’s forgotten the elm tree, twigs

barren of leaves so late in the spring. The growling

sound of the four-wheeler is the new neighbor who

has no livestock, who has already burned a track in

the fragile prairie grass running laps, traffic roaring

to the pond’s edge, pushing the Canada goose pair

to my pasture. I ask my friend, does she know, have

they quit their nest? She lets out a slow breath, the

wind comes to a rest as the sun rolls over the horizon,

each of Earth’s colors leaping up to the clouds, then

lingering to mourn the day, reluctant to be swallowed

by the dark. I wonder how many bittersweet sunsets

are left for me now. And does she wonder the same.

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more from this horse trainer who writes poetry? Visit annablake.com to see our class schedule, online courses available on a revolving basis on Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and More. You can book 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. Join us in The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more.

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Affirmative Training and Corrections You Regret.

People tell me that when they’re with their horses, they aren’t always perfect. They sound apologetic, you’d think I wore a clergy collar. Whatever they say after that is drowned out by my ghost herd nickering and snorting, bucking and farting, and rolling around in the mud. The equine afterlife has perfectly placed mud baths between those meadows we hear about, and especially there, horses have a sense of humor. Okay, the ghost herd is all in my head, but the part about people feeling guilty when they miss the mark with their horses is true. We want to do our best for our horses. That’s an understatement.

On the other hand, we’re human. Compared to horses, we’re loud, awkward, easily distracted, and on a bad day, frustrated and prone to outbursts. We’d make lousy flight animals because we’re so busy in our own minds we miss most of what’s happening ten feet away.  Thankfully, we only have two legs; we have such bad rhythm that we’d kill ourselves cantering. We give conflicting cues and then tense up when we have anxiety. We have totally perfected the Human in Headlights look. After that, we spook and because we have hands, we start to think controlling a horse, either with love or force, is a good idea. My imaginary ghost herd gets quiet right about now, waiting to see if I’ll get this part right… There is no chance of controlling a horse when we have so little control of our own selves. Now the herd stretch out their necks and blow, going back to grazing again. One chit paid on my account.

What is our crime? It’s bad timing usually. We’re distracted, don’t watch spacing, and let ourselves get into a bad spot. Then we see potential danger and react with a bit of panic. We are caught unprepared and then must make a harsher ask than we wish we had. Most of us were taught to threaten with ropes and pull on faces. It was easy to learn aggression because those responses dovetailed with our instincts and falling back on the old ways is easy. We are intimidated by the horse’s fear, so we get aggressive as a lion-tamer waving a chair. We have sports to prove our “manhood” dominating fearful horses. It’s a cultural holdover from a time it was crazy to think horses had feelings.

The worst horsemanship is the use of constant threats; looking for a fault to correct and then making a habit of correcting everything you don’t like, until your horse thinks everything he does is wrong. His confidence is destroyed. If we’re honest, a good number of humans were trained that way, too. Correction has been our go-to language with horses. Some of us think if we are loving while we micromanage corrections, it’s different for the horse. As if being constantly nagged by a passive-aggressive person is substantially better than being intimidated by an angry person.

Yet, here we are, trying to do the very best for our horses. It’s an understatement because what we are really doing is working to change our predator instincts and that is nothing short of trying to change the world.

We are retraining ourselves to get ahead of the cycle of correcting what the horse has already done. It does no good to shut the gate after the horse has bolted. We break the cycle of correction by changing the conversation. Laying that old worn rant down and not holding a grudge. We’re shifting to seeing good behavior and making a habit of praising what you like and ignoring the rest because the thing we pay attention to grows. Less correction, more direction.

But the process of change isn’t always pretty. We will stumble. Does the horse in front of you hold a grudge about a mistake? This horse who you claim knows when you’re sad with almost mystical insight? This horse who mirrors your emotions before you acknowledge them to yourself? Give him his hard-earned due. Horses have known we are imperfect for centuries. They should get more credit for tolerance and perseverance than they do. And we could do that by returning the favor and behaving that same way.

Think of the horse as being on a continuum between a restive state and a flight/fear state. Curiosity and learning happen when he feels safe. Living with constant anxiety negatively impacts his mental and physical health. Always know that a loud cue will shut them down or frighten your horse. There will be consequences, some horses will shake it off and some will be left with a bruise. But the problem isn’t the overt cue now and then, horses will forgive a mistake out of the context of your relationship. It’s the overall intention that matters, the wave of affirmative tendency. Does your horse expect you to be perfect or does he long for consistency?

Give yourself a break. These changes may seem small: Teaching ourselves to respond rather than react. To pause and breathe to give the horse time to think and then show yourself the same kindness. In truth, these changes are profound and will challenge us to our core. What sounds simple is rarely easy. Both partners, our horses and ourselves, are more prone to try too hard than to give in. Most of all, know that energy is a choice. Wasting it on guilt demeans the journey. It’s closing the gate too late again. Affirmative training starts inside the trainer.

The purpose of having an imaginary ghost herd is to remind you that you’ve lacked grace in the past and you will lack grace again. Horses know that; we’re the ones who seem surprised. They keep us honest and then kick us out of our pacing thoughts and into the real world where change is hard, and consequences happen. Ghost herd are just other words for having a conscience. A reminder of what has gone before, they intend to be an inspiration for a better future.

It takes courage to even think we could change the world, much less take the huge strides we are with horses. We are standing against our born instinct and making a choice to use our energy in a proactive way. We are no less than warriors of breath and grace, not complacent to do as we have been told. We are imperfect enough to be tolerant, courageous enough to be kind, and tough enough to see it through. With soft hands, we are predators who wage peace.

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Next week: Deconstructing fear.

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Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward

Want more? Visit annablake.com to see our class schedule, online courses available on a revolving basis on Calming Signals, Affirmative Training, and More. You can book 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. Join us in The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more.

Working with riders of any discipline and horses of any breed, Anna believes affirmative dressage training principals build a relaxed & forward foundation that crosses over all riding disciplines in the same way that the understanding Calming Signals benefits all equine communication.

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Photo & Poem: No Gloves

The woman doesn’t make a good first impression.

Her hair is dry as straw under a ball cap from

Tractor Supply. Wearing a stiff barn coat and

men’s muck boots that make a hollow flap as

she walks with a limping rhythm, the full bucket

bumping her knee each stride. Her hand is thick,

nails dirty, her little finger frozen in a dainty curve

as if holding a porcelain teacup instead of twenty-

five pounds of alfalfa mush. She knows she should

wear gloves to ease the load, to protect from rusty

nails and rope burn. She knows better, but for the

moment the black bay mare nickers so deep and low

that her boots must stop their shuffle. No choice, the

woman’s hand reaches for the warm place under the

elder mare’s mane, raw fingers resting a moment on

smooth hair. Still majestic, if only in each other’s eye.

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Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more from this horse trainer who writes poetry? Visit annablake.com to see our class schedule, book a live consultation or lesson, subscribe for email delivery of this blog, see the Clinic Schedule or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses. Join us in The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more.

The post Photo & Poem: No Gloves appeared first on Anna Blake.