Anna Blake's Blog, page 29

Horses and Common Sense.

Not long after I moved to the farm, a friend brought her two young kids out. We all walked the pens, petting and learning the names of llamas and goats. Were both boys younger than four? I saddled up my safest horse and climbed on. The horse was tall, and it was a hoist as my friend lifted the younger boy up in front of me. He squealed with glee, half clapping and half patting my horse with his fingers splayed wide. We walked for a few moments with him perched on the front of my dressage saddle. His small body rocked between my arms with each stride as I asked him questions. The boy’s answers were slow in returning. I figured he was talking to my horse, so I fell silent. Maybe we lost time, but the older boy got impatient, fair enough, and soon, his mom said a mom-thing about taking turns and it was time to get down.

My horse came to a stop and the little boy in front of me became stiff, his toes pointed out, his arms clenched to his sides. There was a pause, I couldn’t see his face but then the tears started. He gasped air in and howled loud screaming cries. Wondering if it would spook my horse, I still had to smile. We negotiated to go for one more lap, the boy sobbed the whole way. As his mom lifted him down, his little fingers clenched into fists filled with mane hair. More tears and he still didn’t let go. It was the best thank you ever.

The boy’s mom apologized, but I’ve always considered it good manners to cry if you’re grounded.

The boy has become a young man, starting life on his own. I don’t think he’s ridden since that day, but he’d feel a fear riding now that he didn’t before. He might flash bravado or he might laugh it off.  He’s also old enough to hide his feelings, but his legs would be tense, his hands would grab. He might not expect it, but it isn’t up to him. Fear is an involuntary reaction in our nervous system. Fear is our flight response.

Talk is cheap watching someone ride but things change when your own feet lose the ground. From the saddle, it’s obvious that horses aren’t controllable. That old campaigner may be more dependable than a green-broke youngster, but neither is bombproof.  In explaining how they came off their dependable horse, riders start by explaining that their horse did something he’d never done before. Horses are always doing something they have never done before. The environment is always changing. Horses are flight animals; domestication doesn’t change that.

Then, if that isn’t enough, we feel ashamed of our fears. We try to hide them by acting tough and being a bully. By shutting down and avoiding the subject. By name-calling ourselves for being weak or old or inept. As if beating ourselves up would ever make us strong. As if self-loathing would ever heal the problem. We try to distance ourselves from our nature, we make fun of ourselves because laughter is a human calming signal, a release of anxiety. We wouldn’t laugh along if we didn’t know the feeling. Some of us learn to like fear; the thrill of our heart racing during horror movies and the feeling of our stomachs flipping on a roller coaster. We even learn to like the dread looking ahead to the experience.

So, to recap, a thousand-pound flight animal ridden by another animal, also with a flight response. Nervous system to nervous system, both prone to spooking. Except we know it’s just a movie and the rollercoaster has a small sofa with a safety bar. Horses are real and they don’t have an ignition.

People are relieved to hear about someone else’s fear, citing the other person’s great honesty for admitting it. No matter how many fear stories we hear, we still think our own fear is a personal issue. Bluntness be praised; there is nothing unique about feeling fear. It’s the human condition. Fear is an involuntary response, as natural as flinching before a fall. It isn’t a character flaw, it’s part of our physical design. I hope that comes across as comforting and not fatalistic because fear is an early warning system. It’s a wake-up call for our common sense; fear gets our attention, and then gives us a choice. Shouldn’t we say thank you?

One more clarification: The problem isn’t that you’re afraid of horses. The problem is that you love them.

Some trainers yell at riders to not be afraid. Sometimes we yell at ourselves but it’s a cue a rider might take as easily as willing themselves to be somewhere else. Evasions don’t work. The more we try to ignore fear, the more it clings to us. We put a stoic face on. We throat breathe, afraid for others to see our weakness. Does that behavior sound familiar? Acting like a rescue horse isn’t limited either, is it?

What makes humans’ responses to fear different from horses’ is that people can process that fear, work it around in our frontal lobe, and deal with it in different ways. It isn’t that your riding heroes or equine professionals don’t feel fear; perhaps they respect it and find a way to include it in their process. What if you made friends with fear? Would it be a relief to just admit it? Meaning your heart rate comes down, your breathing goes deeper, goosebumps are relaxing. Relief is palpable and that feels good. Less time on the mental rat wheel and more time in the moment, where horses live.

Affirmative training listens to horse emotions and resolves anxiety when it is first realized. We don’t avoid the scary stuff, but we also don’t flood horses with it. We take a tiny corner and deal with that small piece. Success, and we chip off another piece, just big enough to hold. Release is the reward. Soon, the horse’s safe place is larger as confidence is built on the dust of his fears. Trust can find balance but he has to make a choice to stop worshipping fear. He needs help from us. He will become a safer horse when we become less fearful. It seems the term Affirmative training refers to people even more than horses. Inconceivably, common sense speaks up, some gibberish about fear looking like opportunity. We are not foolish; common sense is a leap of faith in the beginning; an affirmation we want to be true. So we switch churches; now we worship common sense. We still have no control, but at least we’re dancing instead of cowering.

Fear has power as long as it can hide in a shadow, as long as we can cover it with shame. Fear is a jealous lover, kidnapping us from our dreams, feeding on our stagnation until we no longer recognize our lives. It can feel overwhelming but a reminder: We have a real problem. We love horses.

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Most of us are self-quarantined due to the Covid19 pandemic. Some of us are separated from our horses, while others are home with theirs but using common sense about not riding while our medical systems are stretched helping those in dire need. Let common sense and compassion rule. Please stay safe for you and for your horses.

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Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

Want more? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more. Or go to annablake.com to schedule 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.

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: Soundness

Centering myself behind the horse as he walks away, bent

forward with my hands on my knees, staring his hips for

unevenness. Listening to his footfalls. Knowing he isn’t

quite right, I follow a few steps behind. He’s off but it

doesn’t show every stride. The gelding knows I’m watching

and the awareness changes his gait. He comes slower and

stops. Running my hand slowly down his leg, he pauses but

then offers his hoof, surrendering his first instinct to run.

It’s clean, no nails or sharp rocks. Returning his trust, I

gave his hoof back gently. He placed it carefully under his

shoulder, shifting most of his weight back on it, but not quite

all. There’s no heat in the leg, but he can rest a few days.

The lameness will show itself fully or his confident stride will

return. He arcs his neck to give me his eye, shining black

under a tangled gray forelock, for a long still moment as he

watched my movements; my effort to grow sound for him.

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more from this horse trainer who writes poetry? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more. Or go to annablake.com to schedule 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.

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Training Advice for Horses in the Spring

 

https://annablake.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/Arab-in-Spring.mp4

 

“Egads, stand back! It’s spring and all those flighty chestnut Arabians are reactive nut cases. Afraid of everything. Downright dangerous. Whoa, now. Settle down, big fella!”

Spring can be an unsettling time. Yes. I take blog requests and this is the big complaint. Really, year-round, but it’s especially fresh with post-hibernation hung-over indignation in the spring. We’ve been inside too much with lousy weather and now it’s getting warmer. We have big plans for the summer. It’s crucial that the work begins today, but all our horses want to do is graze. It’s disrespectful and outlandish rudeness. All they ever want to do is eat. Pulling away constantly. He started it, we pull back before we know it. We start with a little tug, but it looks like he is grazing faster now. How can that be? Now the horse doesn’t even lead? Frustrated, we jerk the lead rope. He strides a few frantic steps and his head slams to the ground. He is grazing just as hard but his ears are sour and he’s counter-bending away. How dare he? If we give the horse a choice, we’d never do anything but graze!

BTW, that’s Sweet Al in the video. He lives in Arizona. You don’t see grass like this very often.

For some over-important reason, humans took it to heart when we were told that every interaction is training. We think letting a horse graze once means that their work ethic will be destroyed forever. So, we drill the exact same training, day after day, because he’s in “training.” I mean if we didn’t repeat the cues for a walk, trot, and canter, what would horses do? But now it’s spring and that stupid horse can’t remember how to walk? Does he need a whip to keep walking? Does he need to go to boot camp for an attitude adjustment?

Horses stress eat. I’m sure that you would never empty a tub of ice cream after a fight or walk to the fridge for a snack twenty times an hour just because you’re locked inside. But when a horse grazes more frantically on the end of a lead rope, he’s anxious. Fear of what might happen makes him resistant. Sound familiar?

He gives a calming signal, a universal message that he is no threat; that we humans don’t have to be so aggressive. He might do it by looking away or closing his eyes partway. Or by stretching his neck low, meaning grazing. Be clear, if your horse thinks you are correcting him again, or in his eyes, being aggressive, he will graze more frantically. If you see it through his eyes, the more he suggests calming, the angrier you get. It’s a vicious circle. And the human is the vicious part.

That experience of constant correction makes a horse anxious. Some horses get stuck in the flight response, seeming to spook at everything they see when it’s humans they’ve lost trust in. Other horses shut down, pulling inside and almost pouting. To be corrected each stride is soul-killing. Instead, ask him to walk on. He can lift his own head. The problem, if you want to call it that, is that he isn’t walking, so why correct his head? Pulling on his face is a halt command, he’s already doing that. Instead, take a breath. Or five. Smile and say, “Walk on.” Become relaxed and forward yourself, he’ll take the cue.

Maybe it’s humans who go nuts in the spring. Or maybe you were raised by parents who believed in the “spare the rod, spoil the child” approach. It’s what you have been taught. Most of us are passive-aggressive, don’t pick a real fight but just quietly nagging and trying to micromanage every feeling our horse has. As well as our own, because it’s important to be good. Good behavior matters the most.

Your horse has a couple of things to say. First, you might consider getting an ohm, the rare white amphibians who live in underwater caves and can go up to 10 years without eating. Or a really big snake, like a boa, can go months without eating. They might accidentally eat your pet bunny or a small cat, but not often at all. Less grooming, and not rideable, but no more complaints about constant eating. Horses will be the first to remind you they are designed to eat small amounts throughout the day. Born to graze, even if they live in a dry lot. Eating is no less than survival for a horse and so-called domestication doesn’t change their instinct or their digestive system. Why is that so hard for humans to understand?

Horses have a profound memory, remembering both good and bad. One day doesn’t negate all the others. On days when the weather prohibits training, or during the weeks we take a vacation, a horse doesn’t promptly forget everything they know. It’s more likely that a horse will be challenged by what he remembers.

I take blog requests from horses, too, and this request is from every horse in the northern hemisphere. The request begins with “My human is dysfunctional and doesn’t even know it. She gets cranky about it.” It isn’t that we lack grace and can’t dance. Well, it isn’t just that. Horses are capable of subtle nuance because of their keen senses. We aren’t on a level playing field; we only pick up a fraction of what a horse does from the environment.

Can you smell the grass? Imagine what it might smell like if you had two olfactory systems and you were still being fed last year’s hay. Your horse wants you to know that grass this sweet doesn’t happen year-round. Just a couple of weeks in the spring. It’s been a long winter. Itchy and cold, and he can hear the grass screaming to be eaten. Okay, maybe grass doesn’t scream, but he can hear everything else. Birds are returning. Wild animals are mating. The earth softens and even the trees are coming back to life. The sun has turned warm. It’s a party, for crying out loud.

Want my professional training advice? Come on, do you really want to fight spring? Spring is literally a force of nature. Fighting spring is like fighting gravity. Instead, give your horse a spring break. Let him out to buck and fart without correction. Let him run for the horses we lost. Let him celebrate being alive in the green season, you have the rest of the year for training. Let him remind you that playing hooky didn’t make you stupid. And that being good all the time is an act.

Train less, feel more.

Let him graze while you tune up your own senses, as limited as they are by horse standards. Start easy, feel the sun on your skin. What do you smell? How does a blade of grass taste? What is the farthest thing you can hear? Even if you’re aware of how dull our senses are in comparison, paying attention puts you in the present moment with horses. Would we do better to trust our horses more? Learning to maintain awareness of his experience is where the negotiation can begin when it is time to train.

Now the hard part. Remembering that horses don’t judge perfection, but care about authenticity, try to see yourself through your horse’s perceptive eyes. How do you like what he sees?

…

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

Want more? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more. Or go to annablake.com to schedule 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.

 

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Photo & Poem: Body Voice

One horse flicks his ear, still grazing, another

pauses his jaw, his tail still amid flies. The

mare lifts her head, intelligent brow above

wide nostrils, while the elder gelding keeps

his neck low, courting smells wafting on the

breeze. A small movement in the distance,

awareness passes through the herd, their

breath in shallower waves to allow the earth

to give warning. Then the mare shakes out her

poll, her voice one of muscle and movement.

Grazing returns, each flank rising as tails go

soft, all before any mediocre human senses and

lumbering thoughts can articulate a message

for vocal cords. The herd has moved on,

resolved, their body to body eloquence not

encumbered by words, always empty and late.

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

Want more from this horse trainer who writes poetry? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more. Or go to annablake.com to schedule 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.

 

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Horsewoman, A Computer Can Smell Your Fear…

 

We are horsewomen. We muck 13,505 pounds of manure a year… per horse, and you know we don’t own just one. That doesn’t count stacking hay in small places or wire and twine fence repair. Do the math; we are amazons, we will not be trifled with. When my tech-person was talking about designing my website, she assured me it would be easy to navigate. I told her it wasn’t that we don’t understand technology; we hate it. A different challenge entirely.

My first close call with technology and horses was in the early 90s. Every year we chipped in to get our trainer a Christmas present. Someone suggested this expensive gadget where she could talk to riders through a radio mic and headset. I had never heard of such a thing, but the next year at championships, I was riding in the warm-up arena, crowded and intimidating, with her calm voice literally in my ear. She wasn’t waving from the rail or yelling over the hoards. Her voice was conversational as she gave us transitions that settled us down. It was like we were alone. When my ride was called, I handed the headset to her next client, and I rode a better test. But I’m a horsewoman, so I still didn’t like it. That was back before the revolution. I didn’t have a computer or a cell phone. Egads, Zuckerberg was ten years old.

This is now: my arena mic is weightless and immortal. I play music loud enough for the whole arena from a speaker that fits in my palm and charges overnight. I video parts of lessons on a tablet so my client can see her ride in real-time. I’ve had the thrill of giving a riding lesson in an arena that overlooks the inconceivably beautiful coast of New Zealand. And later today, (see photo) I will be sitting in my office in a snowstorm, giving a live lesson to a client starting her lovely young mare, also in New Zealand. She’ll be able to focus on her horse instead of struggling to hear me across the arena. From Colorado, she’ll hear my voice in her ear. Pigs fly.

Is a long-distance lesson difficult? You need a cell phone and someone to hold it. That’s it. Maybe the real challenge with technology is the terminology. Let me translate.

Old-timers had a word for horses that looked okay on the surface but weren’t. They called the horses counterfeit. Well, that was my first computer. Sour as a snake. It would spook, seize up hollow, and bolt any direction, like a deer in headlights. I’d flinch and yell, slamming keys and muttering curses that would embarrass a sailor. Danged thing bucked me off… and it hurt. I went to the emergency room, you know, the helpline, dozens of times. I’d wait on hold, stewing my grudge.

I reminded myself that I fought the typing class requirement for girls in my high school because I was not born to be a secretary. I hated this stupid contraption; I was a woman of substance. I rode an Appaloosa, for crying out loud, and I was just as stubborn. Some kid would finally pick up the line, make me read a few dozen tiny numbers hidden on the backside of the tower, heavy as a bale of hay. When I’d jumped a few oxers, he’d tell me to reboot the danged thing. What? Give it a boot? It wasn’t even paid off. A too many trips to this emergency room for computers, and I figured I was smart enough to reboot it myself.

A month later, I gave up the city life and moved to a little wreck of a farm with two horses, two cattle dogs, and a green-broke computer. Both horses pulled-up lame in no time. My new farrier told me my bay horse had an affliction I’d never heard of and you know this: some farriers know everything and some just act like it. I went to my bookshelf, bulging with thick books on all things equine. I couldn’t find a trace of what he talked about and I was ranting again: Isolated. Scared. My horse in pain. I would’ve called for help if I knew anybody in the county.

I did what any reasonable horsewoman would. I cracked a beer and went out to stare at my horse until he looked lame on all four. Then it came to me; Google was a year old by then. Computers can be like cats in haylofts. I finally found the darned page and typed in the obscure ailment. A dial-up minute later, a list of articles from universities and vets around the world appeared. It’s the moment you look at your mare and realize she was right all along.

I remind you, not only did I ride an Appaloosa, but my other horse was an Arabian. Not likely breeds, but we worked up the levels in Dressage. The finest achievements in the horse world matter to no one but you. Your horse doesn’t care. It took everything you had, but in the end, there is something to hold in your heart. A secret pride of not just surviving frustration and failures but rising to become a partner with a thousand-pound flight creature. Horses don’t change who they are, riders must make the change.

That was when I decided that no matter how many times that computer bucked me off, I was going to pull up my breeches and climb back on. I was going to ride that bloody computer up the levels.

Today, I’d call this horse-of-a-computer stoic. He isn’t lying; it’s just smarter for him to shut down in a panic. I was afraid of him, he could smell it on me, but he was just as scared of me.  I’d slouch down in front of him with a grim furrowed brow. I never did that with horses. I was patient and kind. Smart, even. I’d rehabbed rescue horses. I’d even trained donkeys, say amen, sister. This boxy thing would not get the best of me. Like a rank colt can become a trusted champion, technology has beeped and hummed into being my long-term partner.

It’s easy to blame a horse or a computer for our human failings. With either one, we get out just about what we invest. When I shared my first blog on Facebook, I hyperventilated and had to take a beer out to the barn again. That was 1200 posts ago. Then I schooled up a level; I learned new software and screwed up my fear/courage. Five books later, I have found a use for that typing class after all.

This isn’t a silly fairy tale, it’s our horsewoman heritage. We are tough and smart. We can accomplish anything we want, professional horse training or pretty much anything else your folks thought was a bull-headed idea. We don’t expect free barbeque, horsewomen earn what they have. And if you ride a happy Appaloosa, you’ve already persisted beyond things much more complicated than technology.

The world is pretty dark these days. Horsewomen could start to feel isolated, worried about loved ones, or how they’ll buy hay. Self-care matters. Our life is a prayer. Say thank you. Then hold your nose, reach out, and try something new. Lonely for introverted horsewomen like you? Join an online group, The Barn or another virtual place, but come in out of the cold. We’re stronger in a herd.

And you most certainly know what we do if a neighbor needs a hand. Should you feel a bit threatened, cock a hip and put a wry smile on your face. The world needs pioneers again. Horsewomen were born for this.

…

PS. It’s day #16 of self-quarantine, but I’m of-an-age, there’s yoga, so I persist. Tracey teaches breathing just like a horsewoman… online. Support your friends, support small business. Please, take precious care of each other.

…

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

Want more? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more. Or go to annablake.com to schedule 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.

 

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Photo and Poem: Spring Thaw

 

The air hung heavy, strangely moist for a

desert prairie. Dense fog as rare as raindrops.

The ice on the pond began to sweat; it’s been

frozen silent for months but slowly water eased

at the shore, the weathered gray ice giving way

to a fresh surface to mirror the sky, signaling birds

they are welcome back. The air filled with traffic;

honking geese stake out shore rest, the Mallards

quacking just behind. Meadowlark songs from

fence posts loud enough to wake the hibernating

grasses and make trees shiver down to their twigs.

Just when the fallow pasture seemed to have given

up hope and the monotony of winter had worn

tired ruts in the most stoic of hearts, improbable

but right on schedule, the pond screeched and

squawked back to life, newfangled and miraculous.

…

Anna Blake for Relaxed & Forward 

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

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Let Perfection Go. Try Consistency.

Here is a shortlist of the things horses don’t understand: Sarcasm. Exploitation. Shaming. Guilt. Drama.

These are human behaviors that come to life in the frontal cortex of our brains. It’s the place we make up stories about ourselves and others. Does some part of us relish drama? Does the idea of a scarlet letter still appeal if you are the one who gives them out? Is it possible to take advantage of our own weaknesses and then heap some guilt on top for good measure? Humans are complicated. We have minds able to create ideas out of thin air, too. Art, music, and science all exist because we have advanced self-aware thoughts. Along with depression, self-loathing, and chronic insecurity. Creative thoughts, in simple terms, are our gift and curse.

Here is a shortlist of what horses think: Am I safe?

Is it possible for us to narrow our thought this much? Could we focus on one question for long, without writing Black Beauty or devising a plan to be safe from the weather or compile a list of good “should” behaviors to follow: Work hard, go to church, save money, keep your expectations low. We learn the difference between right and wrong as babies, but it comes with judgment about who deserves the best toy and who gets cookies. We learn right and wrong without the maturity to perceive the difference between an action and the actor, what we do versus who we are. The result: guilty babies.

Meanwhile, horses have not evolved to have a human brain. They are not on a mission to dominate us or heal us, and no matter how much we love them, they have one abiding concern. Am I safe?

In the name of love, we have been taught to find fault, have been punished for our faults. Judged for behaviors that are beyond our understanding. A moment later, rewarded for parroting good behaviors. Babies are in full-time training. We let foals grow up some, but our babies must learn from the start to read our faces and know that they have pleased or disappointed their caretakers. Soon enough, babies gain “goodness” by putting dolls to bed without dinner or punishing the family dog.

Even now, horses are still horses. Wild by nature, domesticated by our will. But never able to give up their flight response.  Am I safe?

We are never capable of answering a horse’s primal need, not because of any shortcomings of our own. But we try to reason with horses. Explain to them that they are home forever; that we will never let them go hungry. Still, no matter how much we try to control their environment, they spook. They look away, incapable of taking our word for their safety. Horses will never substitute our placating chatter for their constant instinct to listen to the wind, to look to the distance for predators.

Naturally, we want to control horses. We set a plan for daily work, consistent hours of work. Some part of us wants to believe that we can make a horse focus on us. It would mean surrendering instinct, but we have techniques for that. We put horses into a version of boot camp, where habit and discipline are meant to reform their spirits to our will. Every day we demand correct answers.

Are we successful trainers or have we managed to push horses past their flight response, to shut them into a freeze response? Do we train our horses to play dead, calling it good behavior? How many of us have been trained to doubt our best instincts, too? To remember the worst about ourselves and diminish the best. How many of us still only speak our first language of judgment?

It’s the easiest thing in the world to find fault in our horses. Even easier to find fault in ourselves. We’re convinced that if we can beat others to it, we will manage to cling to some grain of rightness. As if self-betrayal was self-love. Does your mind circle in a rut of overthinking, self-doubt and confusion? Does thinking ever solve anything or does this chatter work like a low-grade infection, just making you weaker? It’s enough to make you think horses have it right all along. There is an argument that horses are too paranoid about their safety to worry about perfectionism, but that’s looking better by the minute.

Here is a shortlist of things beyond human control: What others think. The weather. How jeans fit. Horses.

Throw your arms in the air and yell in relief. You are powerless over lint. Over-ripe vegetables mock you. Your cat understands physics better than you.

Translate that to living with horses and it means your judgment and ego are on stall rest while you ask, “Are they safe?” Still, know that because the vet can’t find anything wrong with your horse, that doesn’t mean the horse is sound. Give up the idea that there is a technique out there that will make your horse behave. That a training aid will teach him anything. That there is a way to manipulate the environment for an outcome. With horses, the last thing you ever expect always happens. Most of all, horses will always be horses.

The sooner we understand, the better because it lands us right back where we started, in our overthinking brain where we can actually train something. We can train ourselves. Begin by telling all the voices to shut up. Great start.

It’s true that horses benefit from consistency, but it isn’t that we ride them in a pattern seven days a week. They are smart enough to get bored quicker than we do. Repetition of dull chatter is never the right answer, any more than learning to memorize passages at school taught us to reason or understand. An answer by rote is little help if the world explodes into chaos.

But we have an antidote to chaos. Better put, we ARE the antidote to chaos. The one thing utterly controllable is our choice of response. We can use our frontal cortex for good. Literally, we can affirm our horse. We can short circuit the doubt by choice. Did we forget the free choice part? Just because we see chaos doesn’t mean we have to clutch it to our bosoms. Our horse may be escalating into his flight response, for some reason real or not. We don’t have to go along. We don’t need to punish or ridicule him by rote. We can hold our ground and say something true. As he rears, we can slack the rope and say, “Good boy!” That should get everyone’s attention.

While onlookers are busy judging you, your horse can’t believe what he heard. Don’t we usually get punished for being afraid? Is she going to jerk the lead now? “Good boy, well done!” He’s frozen on the spot, he might explode but his eyes are on you now. Throw him a life-saving rope, a big ear-to-ear grin. Remind him who you are. Call out your best self and welcome him back, even before he can come. Be dependable. Act as if love is unconditional.

The consistency we hope for in our horses must begin with us. We set the tone. If we behave conditionally, thinking that teaching right from wrong will turn out a push-button horse, we need to take a peek from the horse’s point of view. If we act like a baby-talking, shoulder-leaning, smooching mush-ball one moment and a bi-polar ax-wielding mass murderer the next, well, that’s training. But if your horse can find you calm and steady in every moment, good. Let your answer to every disturbance remind him who he is… a good boy. Let the air be filled with affirmation, say yes.

Be the answer to his question: Am I safe?

…

It’s our blogaversary. Ten years of posting twice a week, imperfectly but consistently. Thanks to you for reading along and commenting.

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Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

Want more? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more. Or go to annablake.com to subscribe for email delivery of this blog, see the Clinic Schedule, or ask a question.

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: Two Women

I had the window seat on an early morning flight

to Tucson. In the row ahead were two women. I

could see through the slender gap between headrests

to the dark-haired woman on the aisle. She twisted

toward her companion, her eyes animated, so young.

Over the headrest, I could just see the crown of

other woman’s blond head move as she reached

a hand up to adjust her hair, a simple diamond

solitaire on her left hand. Their bright conversation

never lost its urgency until near the end of the

flight. Through the gap, I could see the dark-haired

woman lean in and close her eyes. The blond

woman’s hand appeared with a pair of tweezers

laid flat to the arch of the dark brow to slowly pull

a stray hair. An act of such intimacy that I felt

shamed for watching but could not look away.

Three or maybe four hairs were located but never

jerked. Only a slow-motion horizontal pull that seemed

painless, almost soothing, until finally, a light pinky

finger caress, the smallest unforgettable gesture.

…

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

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

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Riding a Princely Trot

Is your horse uncomfortable in the trot? He might toss his head or maybe his strides are short and choppy. Does he counter bend or feel like he can’t seem to find a rhythm? Maybe he trots that way at liberty out in the pasture but if not, you might have a problem with your trot.

Do you feel uncomfortable in the trot? Maybe your balance isn’t so good, and you use the reins to help? Maybe you’re a bit nervous and you have a death grip with your thighs that you won’t notice until the next day when your muscles remind you. If your arms are tense, maybe your hands pull while your legs kick. Maybe you are hunching forward, can’t breathe, but think too much about his position. Posting the trot might not be your favorite thing but sitting that trot is even worse. Is there sometimes a loud slapping sound? No, I’m sure I’m the only one who’s heard that horrific sound.

If your horse is having a hard time at the trot, the first thing we have to know is if he’s sound. Don’t just guess. Are your eyes good enough to tell? Walking on the pavement might give you an uneven sound. Does his back feel fluid? If your horse walks just fine but gets fussy the split second you go to the trot, that could be a sign of ulcers. The top half of the horse’s stomach has no mucosal lining, and when he goes to the trot his stomach acid will splash up painfully. All horses should have some hay while you’re tacking up. A normal size horse creates up to two liters of stomach acid in an hour and so he needs to go out there with something in his stomach.

If it’s you that’s having a hard time at the trot, then there are a couple of things to consider. Not that it’s any of my business but are you wearing the right bra? Some of us have a sort of secondary wave motion that goes at odds with the horse’s trot rhythm and things get bumpy. Athletic bras have really improved but they still give them the less-than-flattering name “high impact” which means something else in our world.  I recommend a good athletic bra although when they’re new you can’t breathe and about the time you can, that’s the cue to replace them. Or maybe a homemade layered bra system, a matronly full cup with a size-too-small cheapo sports bra over it. Allow extra time for this process; it isn’t pretty. Kidding aside, it’s important because if you feel self-conscious, you’ll be tense in the saddle. For all that isn’t in our control, this is manageable.

Saddle fit is crucial for both of you. If your saddle doesn’t put you in a good position on your horse, your body will be fighting to balance every stride. Some saddles lack structure in front giving the rider a tendency to tip forward while some are so high in the front that a rider tilts back. As if it isn’t hard enough to keep a fit for your horse up to date, there is your half, too. How’s your stirrup length. Many of us ride short but you might change holes and experiment to see. We get complacent about our saddles, so take nothing for granted. Hire a pro but at the very least, have someone take some video and get an external look.

Here is the answer to every other trot issue: He is not forward. Forward is a balance of relaxation and a ground-covering gait, with the kind of power that can only come in the absence of anxiety. It’s a simple pass/fail test; if the horse is pushing from behind, his back is lifted, and his poll is soft. His balance is good and he can turn with agility. We must allow them to move out, relaxed and strong.

Forward isn’t a measure of speed; a dead runaway isn’t forward; neither is a horse with a hollow back. If his poll is tense or he flips his head, then it’s possible the bit is creating tension that feels like driving with the parking brake on. You might think your horse wants to run off, but he may just need relief from heavy or complacent hands. Don’t trust him on a slack rein? Well, he doesn’t trust you with a bit.

I recommend the use of a neck ring every ride, as well as the bridle. Any stretch of rope about 7 feet long will do, or you could make one out of old reins or buy one online. When you’re holding the neck ring it should touch the base of his neck at his shoulder and be long enough that if you had an imaginary oblong box of Kleenex on your horse’s withers, your hands could be around it on either side. Neck rings should be loose when not held.

Crank up the music and begin walking on a long rein, holding the neck ring shorter so it’s the first contact the horse feels on his shoulder. No corrections. Feel the wrinkles of your shirt at your waist as you praise your horse for whatever walk he gives you. Now, focus on your body. Is your lower back tight, will your hip flexors open and be soft? Can your shoulders release? If your jaw is tense, so is your horse’s. Take some deep breaths, wait to feel the wrinkles start to change; it takes 20 minutes for the synovial fluid to get to your horse’s joints and yours as well. Warming up is the most crucial part of your ride.

A relaxed trot is directly related to the quality of the walk. When the horse is ready an inhale should be enough of a cue. Assume the first trot is not going to be the best trot. No corrections. Just transition in and out, and tell him, “Good boy,” and continue with short trots, no more than 20 meters, transitioning up without disturbing his head, and peacefully melting back down to the walk, maybe a half-halt and an exhale, the neck ring can work without pulling the reins. Post softly, not up and down, so much as back of the saddle to the front. Emphasize the upward part of the stride, soft on the sitting half. Think of nothing but rhythm. Notice I still haven’t mentioned head position? When a horse is forward, he’ll find the soft balance right for him, a few degrees ahead of the vertical.

After a good energetic ten to twenty minutes of trotting on the neck ring, you can consider picking up rein contact for a few moments but trust your horse to be the judge of whether your hands are good enough. Metal on bone, he’s the one who knows.

Meanwhile, I’m besotted with Tommy. He’s an older gelding in my online class, with plenty of baggage, both physical and mental. His rider has been affirmatively chipping away. He does better with exercise, relaxed time in the arena with a neck ring along with a leather halter with reins. His walk might be a little rickety at the beginning, but he warms into it. He’s been volunteering a trot: The stride starts in his hind and rolls over his back and all the way down his neck to his nose. He glides forward like a big old snake, his rider laughs as she feels his back lift, and the music plays on. Soon it’s time to stop, she slides down and Tommy gives a tiny lick; he has so little anxiety these days. His old body will be stiff again tomorrow but our hearts stay warm long after. Such a gift to let this good horse feel his strength without fussiness; allowing him to remember who he has always been.

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Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

Want more? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more. Or go to annablake.com to subscribe for email delivery of this blog, see the Clinic Schedule, or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses.

 

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Photo & Poem: Coyote Run

Ancient mountains send coarse

sand and sharp stone down, just

pebbles at a time, to leave us

unsteady on our feet, before

rolling past us, into dry washes

rough-cut across this red desert. On

the ebb of cool wind, the voices

of women, whispers as loud as

shouts, are carried on the tongues

of coyotes as the pack traverses

the path back up, running wild

on the ridge, releasing our words

to burn hot on the mountain, the

smoke rising in pink and gold clouds

languishing across the sky, above the

reach of those with mortal complaints.

…

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

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

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