Anna Blake's Blog, page 3

Horsewomen and the Reverse Banana Peel Approach

Do you ever just stop in your tracks, look at your (insert your choice: horse, dog, child) and go blank? It’s like the music stopped halfway through the dance. It’s so quiet you could hear a clock ticking. You’re not sure what you were doing, but you have a feeling it was important. Of course, you have. It happens when the usual thing didn’t work. Now you’ve both lost your place, a little spooked. Your horse’s poll braces. Your dog yawns nervously. 

Sometimes you wish a quick whack would fix it, but you have a problem with that because you know that violence comes from a place of weakness, not strength. It’s a slogan, sure, but it’s also the blunt truth. Most of all, you are not that person.

You are a horsewoman, you are no fool, so being a doormat isn’t an option either, thankfully. Things still need to get done. Newbies might look around for someone to ask, but I really hope you take a breath. They say “Necessity is the mother of invention.” Slow down a moment and think. What is it women have that makes us good problem solvers?

I got this message from my wise animal friend and ex-dogcatcher, Sandy: “I was making my smoothie this morning. I happened to open the banana from THE OTHER END!! Yes, the butt of the banana. Call it what you will, but it was the easiest banana I’ve ever opened. I thought back to all those years of struggling to open a banana in the car, at a horse show, on a boat, in the dark, (do not ask) and the list goes on… Because if you didn’t have something sharp, getting that sucker to peel, usually left the stem-end of the nanner in a bruised and soggy mess. Using your teeth to open it resulted in the entire nanner tasting like sh*t. Right???

“OUT OF THE BOX SHE GOES!!  …and the moral of the nanner parable?? Use the other end of your brain when the first end needs a sharp stick and you’re fresh out of sharp things. Should be the mantra for all “trainers of horses” and people and dogs.

I agree with her. What I love about her discovery is that it just happened. There wasn’t a master plan, there was no divine intervention. No google searches were involved. It was only in hindsight that she noticed she didn’t have that taste in her mouth. She used the other end of her brain before she could overthink it. Best of all, she gave herself a big cheer and shared it. We don’t brag enough and we should. There’s no shame in getting it right.

We have to adapt to the animal, not the other way around. It’s why not all techniques work on all horses. Knowing the right way to do everything isn’t an asset. Book learning is good for understanding, but being able to recite a training manual word-for-word isn’t what the real world needs. Being willing to go in the back door of the banana, or the session with your horse, might be the right less-is-more answer, as nebulous as that sounds.

The path most traveled for horse training has never been that great for horses and it may have left a nasty taste in your mouth, too. I say it all the time. Horses don’t naturally give to pressure. Release trains release and resistance trains resistance. When resistance accumulates, horses don’t trust us. Dogs don’t sleep with their heads on our feet. And the same unsettled feeling invades us. The more resistance we hold, the less we trust ourselves. The more we lose faith in ourselves.

Being mothers of invention, creativity is our natural state. It seeps through the cracks in the floor and sneaks up our ankles. It lounges in our coffee dregs when we’re only half awake. It stares at us in the shower. We have to make space to notice creativity, clear out the inner critics and let go of the past mishaps. We have to loosen our grip on needing perfection to make room for our natural perfection. Because being on the nebulous open ground is where we want to be.

People always say that their horse did the thing they cued just when they gave up or least expected it. That the dog invented a game that it took them a while to pick up on. It happens our guard was down. When we weren’t asking, or impatient, or trying too hard. We must allow ourselves to be in a nebulous place with no obvious answer. It means we hold our tongues, keep our hands to ourselves, and don’t furrow our brows until our eyes are rat-like. 

Humans are a bit uncomfortable with what seems like nebulous murk. Right up to the moment where we find out that’s where our horse’s mind is grazing. Where our dog’s curiosity is dozing. And where children are daydreaming. That nebulous place is where things become unstuck and possibility exists. 

You are smart enough to ask for help if you need it, but don’t be too quick. Trust yourself because you are not cruel. A moment of confusion will not seriously damage your horse. Instead of thinking others have all the answers, give yourself time to try things. Don’t be hampered by worry that you’ll do the wrong thing. If it doesn’t work, your horse won’t care. It isn’t like you hit him with a two-by-four. You just ask a question, not that you care. Take a breath and listen, not that you care. Let your horse ponder things with you. Let him participate in the discovery. 

Any technique works if we alleviate the animal’s anxiety, but none works if we ignore their concerns. When we listen to calming signals, we can release the animal’s anxiety when it’s small. But our anxiety has to settle first. Building trust is a quiet job. Listening with intuition might feel like dead air, but let that be okay. What if we are the ones horses have been waiting for? The ones who bring comfort and safety. The ones who laugh it off and try again.

Contrary to popular belief, training horses was never meant to be a rodeo. Know that you are a modern day pioneer queen with an undomesticated streak and a proud history. Think Belle Starr, Annie Oakley, and Calamity Jane all wrapped up in one. You have earned the right to confidence. We’re better at this than we think we are. And we’re just who every pony wishes for on Christmas.

 

Follow SandraKay on Substack.  You won’t be disappointed.

An audio version of this essay is available to those who subscribe on my Substack.  

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Relaxed and Forward Training with Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you or your horse appreciate my writing, please subscribe to this blog, share it with friends, and join me at The Barn School. Find more on Substack where I post The Gray Mare Podcast and on Blusky.

The Barn School is our social and educational site, with member sharing and our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com for archived blogs, signed books, subscribe to this blog, or ask Anna a question about the art and science of working with horses.

Want more? Become a sustaining member, a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online group and support the best bunch of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Ride for a new brand, find our Relaxed & Forward and Undomesticated Women swag at Zazzle.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post Horsewomen and the Reverse Banana Peel Approach appeared first on Anna Blake.

How To Become a Horse Whisperer

In fifth grade, they pulled us out of class for hearing tests. They clamped skinny black headphones on us and told us to raise our hands when we heard sounds. Then I sat there waiting to hear for a long time. Long enough that I knew I wasn’t hearing. And I wasn’t the kid who failed tests, so I was miserable. They informed my parents that one of my ears wasn’t doing its job. I had two ear surgeries before I graduated from high school. It was probably more than my parents could afford, but there was no improvement, so we gave up.

Let the games begin. Could I not hear, or did I just not want to listen? My hearing loss was like a get-out-of-jail-free card. I could innocently lie, “Oh, no. I didn’t hear,” when the truth was I didn’t listen to things I didn’t want to hear. My loss was in the lower range, so it was men I didn’t listen to. Anecdotal evidence supports this. Other times, I would be so mad that I had to repeat “what” every other minute that I could spit. Could that person not remember? Was making me repeat myself a game? I decided if they wanted me to hear them, it was their problem. I had nagged enough.

But having a bad ear had its good points. It was easy to escape into my imagination with less distraction. If I put my good ear on the pillow, I could sleep through a plane crashing into my bedroom. And I developed an adorable tilt to my head, trying to put my good ear forward, and looked a bit like the RCA Victor dog.

Best of all, having a hearing loss trained me to listen more creatively. Soon, I could listen with my eyes. It was a serious skill since most of my friends had four legs.

Definitions: Hearing is a passive act of noticing sound. Think background chatter, wind, or traffic. Listening is an active process of paying attention to sound, intending to understand. Hearing is something we can do while asleep, but listening requires conscious effort and focus.

I aged, had decades of ear infections, and got more cantankerous. I was sixty when a physician’s assistant asked me if I’d ever considered hearing aids. A few seconds passed. I did the RCA Victor dog thing. It’s amazing what you can get used to compensating for. Besides, it was just the one ear. Long story short: Now they use a soundproof booth with hand buzzers like Jeopardy. Afterward, we had this awkward Who’s-on-First rigmarole as I disagreed with the audiologist about which was my bad ear -until I finally listened.

So, I ended up with hearing aids in both bad ears and now I belong to the Society of Horsewomen with Ear Trumpets (SHET is the acronym). Did you think I’d ever get to the part about horses?

I was talking to a friend, another SHET member, who said her hearing loss was an asset with horses. She said it aloud. I agreed, but I didn’t think to mention it at clinics. But it’s our superpower. Because we couldn’t hear, we had to learn to listen. I think it’s the thing I do that people mistake for horse whispering.

My friend is wonderful with horses, and working with her is particularly enjoyable because her focus on a horse is laser sharp. Now that I thought about it, we had some similar fundamentals. To begin, we are quiet in our bodies. Energetic, but peacefully so. We naturally settle when trying to listen. Horses like that.

Partly it was easier to focus on the horse because we were less distracted by background noise. Our habit of filtering out random clatter while listening for what we wanted to hear almost put us and our horses in a soundproof booth. Easier to pay attention to nuance and stay in the conversation. We got good at making perceptive choices, which is the same thing as focus.

Listening is an art form. A skill we used for school and all parts of life. It was just more interesting with horses.

Of course, there is a downside. It’s dangerous to be around horses when you have a hearing loss. We never had the luxury of complacency. So, we learned to compensate. Our eyes got sharper, we recognized smaller movement, and learned to have quicker reflexes. Reading their movements meant understanding calming signals. Our communication became gentle shorthand compared to humans waving sticks and flags as if they were landing airplanes. Horses especially liked that. And more we had to focus, the better our focus became. Yes, a hearing loss around horses is a definite advantage.

Statistics tell us that long-term horse owners are more prone to injury than newcomers. They say it’s because we become complacent. But it’s not just the risk of injury. It’s that the quality of our communication with our horses becomes dumbed down and mundane. We get bored and become lazy. Horses get bored and bad things happen.

Everyone wants to listen to horses better. We just aren’t sure how to do it. This is the missing link. When our senses aren’t keeping time, we get distracted, startled, emotional. We lose track of the conversation and blame the horse for not paying attention. But horses have nothing to distract them from their senses. Using every sense is survival for them. It was us that lost our place. And using a stronger bit or spurs isn’t the solution.

So yes, I’m gonna suggest that you get yourself a set of noise cancelling ear plugs and pretend. You’ll have to use common sense and stay aware, but that’s a good thing. And when you’ve done that for a while, find a safe place and close your eyes, too. Walk at your horse’s shoulder and sense what’s around you. Or use peripheral vision as if it’s your primary method. Close your eyes and feel your balance in the saddle as your horse does. Take nothing for granted, not for a second. Become alive in all your senses. Be more like a horse.

Horses give us at least a dozen calming signals before doing something guaranteed to get our attention. The point of listening better early, when their anxiety is small, is so we can ease it away before it grows to a point of exploding. But it isn’t fair. In a way, humans all have a hearing problem. We have limited senses in comparison, so we must learn to make better use of the ones we have. We need to get out of our heads and into our bodies. To think less and sense more. Or as Ram Dass would say- Be. Here. Now.

We are both sentient species experiencing the same environment using our senses. But humans over-talk our hands and legs, when our senses are the true conduit for communication and partnership with horses. That’s it. And now you can become a horse whisperer, too.

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An audio version of this essay is available to those who subscribe on Substack.  

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Relaxed and Forward Training with Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you or your horse appreciate my writing, please share, subscribe to this blog, or join me at The Barn School. Find me on Substack where I post The Gray Mare Podcast and on Blusky.

The Barn School is our social and educational site, with member sharing and our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com for archived blogs, signed books, subscribe to this blog, or ask Anna a question about the art and science of working with horses.

Want more? Become a sustaining member, a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online group and support the best bunch of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Ride for a new brand, find our Relaxed & Forward and Undomesticated Women swag at Zazzle.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post How To Become a Horse Whisperer appeared first on Anna Blake.

A Problem with the Word “Connection”

I feel it in my bones like a rusty joint before a rainstorm. An itch that flopping around in a dirt bath might not cure. Alas, I feel a rant coming on. Sometimes I just need to vent a little so that I’m fit company for horses again. You may notice I’m not apologizing. 

A friend and I are preparing for a presentation called Horse-keeping as a Spiritual Practice. It’s a topic she and I have talked about for years and are looking forward to sharing with folks at The Barn School. We will talk about the deep regard we have for horses.

The problem is, I don’t like the word most commonly used: “connection.” I looked it up in Oxford’s Dictionary to see if I could get on the good side of it. They said connection is a relationship in which a person, thing, or idea is linked or associated with something else. A person and a something? Surely not the word for horses. The second definition says a supplier of narcotics. Racy for the Oxford Dictionary, but probably closer to the truth. 

When I think about the images humans choose to show their human-horse “connection” it’s a close-up of their foreheads touching, eyes closed. I think we are supposed to be awestruck that the person has an enviable, nearly mystical, “connection” with the horse. Shaking my head, I want to shout, you’re not listening! It might flatter you, but that isn’t what closed eyes mean for a horse.

A partially closed eye can be a sign of relaxation if they are safely out of reach of humans, but it’s something else entirely if they are close to us. If you understand their body language or Calming Signals, closed eyes are avoidance, a way for horses to pull inside themselves. It’s a way of shutting down. Not what you want to hear?

Would you believe behaviorists? They say horses close their eyes when we get close because it’s a natural protective reflex. It’s triggered by the proximity of something to their sensitive eyes, which might cause irritation or damage. Essentially, they’re shielding their eyes from something that’s dangerous or just too close. Different words, but the same thing. The horse doesn’t feel safe.

It’s okay if you don’t believe in Calming Signals or behavioral science. But if you’re looking at that picture and thinking that it’s a beautiful moment of sacred connection, you’re making up a story. Putting false emotions on the horse, just like the person in the photo. Am I being unkind by sticking up for the horse? How did our feelings get more important than our horses?

That’s easy to answer. We grew up this way. Human exceptionalism is the concept of human supremacy. It’s the idea that we are separate from, and superior to, nature. Our value is intrinsic. We can justifiably exploit lower life forms for our benefit. Many species’ survival depends on each other; the circle of life maintains a delicate, not always pretty, balance. We’re just more arrogant than others.

Half of social media is the photos of terrified horses in pain and physical abuse. The other half is full of romantic images of fantasy “connections.” I worry humans are still missing horse’s true value. That we will be forever making up stories instead of listening to horses. We are moving toward being less cruel, but now we stifle their voices with sickly sweet affectations. As if we prefer horses to be more human, all dressed up for a date, rather than appreciating their true nature, never quite tame. Never belonging to anyone but themselves. The horses we fell in love with before we wanted to change them. 

I guess the thing I’m uncomfortable with is all the human posturing that goes on. What am I supposed to think? It’s like they’re circus performers, not that circuses are all that great. But people are standing on horse’s backs, laying next to them, and most of all, gripping their faces. It’s human ego, not about the horse at all. I’d be embarrassed to post photos like that.

I’m not saying I’ve never shown off or been ambitious. It’s that I wanted to show the horse off. My mare, who has a shrieking soprano voice of her own, wouldn’t tolerate less. She does as I ask because half the time, I do what she asks. That’s how partnership works. We breathe and get along, a quality that doesn’t make for dramatic, heart-wrenching images.

Understanding Calming Signals does kind of ruin people’s fun. Displaced emotions might have seemed like affection or playfulness. We have to be willing to see their side, things we don’t want to know. Once we do, it’s hard to unsee the anxiety and pain. Then it’s no more rodeos, no more horse races. And no more fairy tale romances with horses whose eyes are shut tight with dread. Blame me. I’ll be coming for Prince Charming next. Or am I already too late? 

Thinking about the horsepeople I respect, they weren’t much to watch. It was those who were there for the horse, not the photo op. It was how things looked when no one was looking. How did the human help the horse find their confidence? How did the horse’s eye change when they saw their human? That kind of subtle interaction with horses isn’t a secret. It’s just that horses have a hard time getting a Calming Signal in edge-wise when our emotions steal the moment.

The obvious problem with human exceptionalism is that it isn’t true. We aren’t as loyal as dogs, as confident as cats, or as smart as donkeys. We don’t trust that horses would have anything to do with us if we didn’t have a death grip on them, with fear or love. But don’t sell yourself short. It isn’t an all-or-nothing proposition. There is a sweet spot in the middle, between cruelty and mush. 

Nature has a way of revealing just what we were looking for as soon as we stop flapping about it. When we get over our false exceptionalism, words like “connection” only trivialize the new rapport. The previous training methods seem loud and disruptive. Horses volunteer things that go beyond any tricks we could train, any staged photos we could share. Words become flat because the universal language of the natural world is Calming Signals, more expressive than English. The less we control horses, the more the silence fills with the embodiment of concepts like trust and confidence. Oneness is the normal condition.

The change feels almost like a mystery. Something those in the herd knew all along, but we have to listen to understand. By avoiding the extremes of love or hate, we settle into calmness and safety. Like “yes” is the only word, and even that is a prayer.

Join us for Horse-keeping as a Spiritual Practice on Zoom, Saturday, December 14th at 1pm MST or catch the replay at The Barn School. Everyone is welcome.

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An audio version of this essay is available to those who subscribe on Substack.  

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Relaxed and Forward Training with Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you or your horse appreciate my writing, please share, subscribe to this blog, or join me at The Barn School. Find me on Substack where I post The Gray Mare Podcast and on Blusky.  

The Barn School is our social and educational site, with member sharing and our infamous Happy Hour. Everyone’s welcome.

Visit annablake.com for archived blogs, signed books, subscribe to this blog, or ask Anna a question about the art and science of working with horses.

Want more? Become a sustaining member, a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online group and support the best bunch of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.

Ride for a new brand, find our Relaxed & Forward and Undomesticated Women swag at Zazzle.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post A Problem with the Word “Connection” appeared first on Anna Blake.

Thanksgiving Traditions: Both Light or Dark, Please

 

Over the river and through the woods,
To grandmother’s house we go.
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
Through white and drifted snow…

It was a Thanksgiving song we learned in grade school. Do you remember?

I knew, from the moment I saw my farm, that they wrote that song about this stretch of land on the flat windy prairie of Colorado. Except I’m no one’s grandmother. Not even pretend. And there are no woods. We had a Dutch Elm epidemic and now there’s only one good size tree left on the farm. And okay, there’s no river, but there is a pond frozen over, the birds gone for winter. Somehow this land gives me the same craving as that old song. My dream of a farm, complete with fence repairs, daily muck, and endless lifting of hay bales and feedbags.

No one who lives on a farm thinks the life is romantic. I expect heavy work and financial challenges and sad days of loss. It’s just that farms balance on the edge of nature, where the wild and tame pass back and forth. The circle of life being always on plain view. Somebody is always being born and these days, it’s somebody wild; coyotes, or deer or varmints. And somebody is always getting sick or old, and dying. It might be one of mine. It might even be me, one of these years. If I know anything, death is as dependable as the wind. As ordinary as dirt. Farm life rolls with the circle.

I remember my childhood Thanksgiving days with awkward dread. My mother hated cooking, sadly smoking as she bent over the stove. Her food had the flavor of despair. The voices of football commentators covered up my father’s silence. My older siblings came and went and, as soon as they could, married, the acceptable excuse. The month before my eighteenth birthday, I moved away and my parents seemed better after we were gone.

For the next few years, stray dinner groups formed. The potluck offerings were thick and sweet, the celebrations always boisterous. There were fewer of us each year, as we made up with our families, moved off in pairs, or behaved like grown-ups when children were born. Being a stray became a sad label that felt like being a fraud. An imposter at the family holiday.

After a bittersweet drive home, wagging tails greeted me as we stumbled to the sofa for a dog pile. Years passed, sometimes I was married and other years single. Human love being conditional, I looked to those who were easier to please. They barked, nickered, brayed, and saw me better than I was.

My floundering stopped when I came over the river and through the woods to my farm. Here, I cook the bird. I set the rules, and all these years later, my traditions have become gloriously ingrown. Here goes:

One. I make stuffing in quantities to last the winter. It’s notable because my stuffing has all the major food groups, although bread is its least ingredient. I begin cooking by bribing myself with champagne. I would share my recipe, but it should be obvious that I don’t follow it. Then I top the stuffing with jellied cranberry sauce, still bearing the ribs of the can. By preference.

Second. I may cook better, but I enjoy it even less than my mother, so then I make a run for it. In the barn, chores are my excuse, but animals are the best part of every day here. On this holiday, I dawdle for hours. Thanking them properly takes a long time. Horses first and always, but donkeys, llamas, and goats, too.

I remember one Thanksgiving, a gaggle of four humans and six llamas took a constitutional down the road to digest our dinner. Llamas are the very best to walk with; quiet padded feet, not spooky, and ever curious. Gentle creatures without a bad word for anyone.

Third. I spend part of the day writing to you. I have posted an essay or poem every Friday morning since 2010. That means I write on Thursday, so it’s always part of Thanksgiving. I considered skipping this year since I am seventy. Since I shared my podcast already. But then around noon, I was mucking, scratching donkey ears, and getting randomly head-butted. Inspired, I started seeing pictures on the back of my eyelids. Nouns and verbs lined up behind my teeth. So, here I sit, clicking the keys, with dogs snoring underfoot. Writing is a tradition, too.

Fourth. This one is no fun, but if you love your animals, you take an appraising look around the barn. Because as inevitable as death is, a warm fall day is a kinder time to let them go than a terrifying and painful ground blizzard at midnight. And we are becoming a doddering herd. Are Edgar Rice Burro’s fetlocks holding? Are the meds helping Arthur, the limping peg-leg pirate goat?

Last week, we said goodbye to Sebastian, the last of the originals from that first year on the farm. The last of our dear llamas. He was ancient, lame on three legs, nearly blind, and much too thin. He wore the constant pain of a used-up body. It isn’t a crime to be old, I tell myself as much as him. It’s a victory. And now I’ll be his beloved predator. With no apology, because death isn’t a villain. It brings the end of suffering. It’s his suffering I can’t abide.

Now, like every Thursday, I pause my writing, hit save, and head out for the night feed. It’s a frosty nineteen degrees. Bhim, the mini, squeals out a crystal-shattering whinny of welcome. I throw extra hay to the big horses. Let Edgar and Arthur eat inside out of the wind. And smile to see Sebastian’s empty pen. So glad to spare him these cold months. I like to imagine him bounding along with our friends. One day, I’ll find out about the afterlife, but for now, it’s enough he isn’t hurting.

You would think it would be sad, but somehow it’s the opposite. This is what I mean about the circle of life being always on plain view here. It feels like a truer life because I can’t cherry pick only good experiences. I can’t have horses without manure, and I can’t love one part of the circle and deny the other. It’s about finding peace in both.

So, set the Thanksgiving table long. Let it spread over infinite miles, soaring across decades to all the loved ones who played a part. Life takes all of us, the good bits and the burnt. On this special day, remember the ones who have walked on and then remember you have not. Say grace, clear blue gratitude, and then clean up your plate.

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Relaxed and Forward Training by Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you or your horse appreciate my writing, please share, subscribe to this blog, or join me at The Barn School. 

The Barn School, is a social and educational site, along with member sharing and our infamous Happy Hour. Anna teaches courses like Calming Signals and Affirmative Training. Everyone’s welcome.

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

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

Ride for a new brand, find our Relaxed & Forward and Undomesticated Women swag at Zazzle.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

 

Available Now! My new travel memoir is Undomesticated Women, Anecdotal Evidence from the Road. Ride along on a clinic tour through 30 states, 2 oceans, and 14k miles with me and my dog, Mister. It is an unapologetic celebration of sunsets, horses, RV parks, roadkill, diverse landscapes, and undomesticated women. Available now at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and signed copies from me.

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The post Thanksgiving Traditions: Both Light or Dark, Please appeared first on Anna Blake.

How the Farm Says Thank You. (Audio)

Happy Thanksgiving from Infinity Farm and The Gray Mare Podcast.

How the Farm Says Thank You, on Thanksgiving

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Relaxed and Forward Training by Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you or your horse appreciate my writing, please share, subscribe to this blog, or join me at The Barn School. 

The Barn School, is a social and educational site, along with member sharing and our infamous Happy Hour. Anna teaches courses like Calming Signals and Affirmative Training. Everyone’s welcome.

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

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

Ride for a new brand, find our Relaxed & Forward and Undomesticated Women swag at Zazzle.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

 

Available Now! My new travel memoir is Undomesticated Women, Anecdotal Evidence from the Road. Ride along on a clinic tour through 30 states, 2 oceans, and 14k miles with me and my dog, Mister. It is an unapologetic celebration of sunsets, horses, RV parks, roadkill, diverse landscapes, and undomesticated women. Available now at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and signed copies from me.

…

The post How the Farm Says Thank You. (Audio) appeared first on Anna Blake.

Calming Signals: Haunted by a Black Cat in a Pink Dress.

I was taking the trash out to the dumpster in the alley. As I reached the back gate, I saw something moving frantically. I couldn’t make it out. It was pink and black and flapping about in a dusty pothole. It was the kind of thing you aren’t sure you should walk toward. Then it stopped suddenly and when the dust settled, I could see two pointy black ears. Black legs splayed wide. I stood still. It was a short-haired cat, but what was that pink? Then the cat started flailing again. Think salmon out of water, she flipped herself in all directions. Did she have a bird? A rat? Rabies? She landed again, this time facing the other direction, legs stretched wide. 

Finally, I could make it out. The cat was wearing an old-fashioned doll’s dress. It had a fitted bodice and a full skirt. Buttons in back, that were near to popping, and little short puff sleeves. The kind of dress my mother made me wear when I was a kid, and even the memory made me feel claustrophobic. The cat sprang into the air again, twisting and flipping about, and I knew exactly what she was trying to do. 

I guessed the cat had escaped a tea party. She might have run for miles trying to get out of that dress. I took a step closer to see if I might free her, but she bolted into some bushes and was gone. She had clearly reached her limit with humans. 

It was decades before social media existed. Now pets have pages dedicated to their exploits. Each adventure has a new wardrobe. We are so used to seeing Wegman’s Weimaraners that a naked Weimaraner is a little embarrassing. Chickens wear sporty knitted hats. A cat in a pink dress wouldn’t stand out at all. I confess, I am as uncomfortable seeing pets in clothes now as I was then. But what was it about that pink dress? 

Better to ponder the big questions about animals. Where would civilization be without beasts of burden? Without dogs protecting the herd and camp? Without fiber for clothing. Food to sustain us. These days, we need animals less for survival, and use them for recreational activities and emotional support. For their unique non-judgmental company. 

There is no denying the beauty of a cat sleeping in the sun. The daily blessing of being met at the door with the dog’s tail wagging. Or the absolute miracle of a horse of our own. We secretly, or not so secretly, think animals are easier to get along with than our immediate family. We love them, and just being the recipient of our big, assertive emotion is a full-time job for many animals. 

I’ve spent decades training horses professionally, living with dogs and goats and llamas, also trained to do various things. (I’ve never trained a cat to do anything.) In my experience of learning animal behaviors and training theories, I’ve been guilty of oversimplifying. I labeled methods as cruel or kind, but the thing that both training practices have in common is that we are molding animals to suit us. The methods vary, but it’s us giving animals a job that serves us. Always about us.

Granted, we are the ones who pay the bills. And that might matter if animals were aware of it. They’re not.

Humans can be needy and if you pay attention to their calming signals, it makes our animal friends uncomfortable. Do we put too much of an emotional burden on our companion animals? We even say the rescue animal saved us in a clever, self-deprecating way, but what if it’s true? I worry we are a damaged species who use other animals as bandaids. I know I have.

I believe the emotional state of an animal during training is more important for success than any specific techniques used. Training is a negotiation between the animal’s instinct and our desire. Do we alter them to fit into our world or change ourselves to fit their reality? Do I value my animal by what I can train them to do for me? Or take pride in prioritizing the mental welfare of my animal above the tasks I am training. I can testify that the second method is slower.

And that brings me back to that silly pink dress. When you think about it, isn’t ignoring or negating another’s feelings when cruelty begins?

Humans want what we want. We grow up believing that we are the dominant species, and we rarely question it. Until we get a reactive rescue dog or a horse who had a rough start. Soon it’s obvious that the same handling that created these problems won’t be what heals them. We have to do better. 

Best training practices always say there is no place for emotion in training, but it’s not simple as seeing animals as more than cute. Wanting the animal’s acquiescence can be a sweet energy or a dark fervor. Aspiration can be a positive encouragement or a fear-based attack. But even now, it’s all about us. Our feelings about their behavior rather than their feelings about ours. Do we even consider respecting their emotions, or does our love make us blind?

Some of us are born thinking animals are magic. We begin innocently reaching to hold them. Dreaming of ponies. Trying to carry boneless cats, and chasing after dogs. Playing dress up and serving tea. 

There were years I fought my emotions like a lion tamer with a whip and a chair. I could see how overt love intimidated horses. Call it being a horse-crazy girl, but with the best intentions, my love deafened the conversation. It was the last thing I wanted.

Now I am a gray mare. Maybe emotional maturity just takes this long. Maybe understanding their calming signals has changed me beyond recognition. But it’s finally gotten easier to let the animal’s emotions come first. To listen without interruption. To keep my hands in my pockets.

Maybe I have become cold-hearted, but my own emotions have become a distraction, even a liability. They only cloud my perceptions. Horses, or any other animal frankly, have become more interesting than my feelings.

…

An audio version of this essay is available to those who subscribe on Substack.

Relaxed and Forward Training by Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you or your horse appreciate my writing, please share, subscribe to this blog, or join me at The Barn School. 

The Barn School, is a social and educational site, along with member sharing and our infamous Happy Hour. Anna teaches courses like Calming Signals and Affirmative Training. Everyone’s welcome.

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

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

Ride for a new brand, find our Relaxed & Forward and Undomesticated Women swag at Zazzle.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

 

Available Now! My new travel memoir is Undomesticated Women, Anecdotal Evidence from the Road. Ride along on a clinic tour through 30 states, 2 oceans, and 14k miles with me and my dog, Mister. It is an unapologetic celebration of sunsets, horses, RV parks, roadkill, diverse landscapes, and undomesticated women. Available now at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and signed copies from me.

…

 

 

The post Calming Signals: Haunted by a Black Cat in a Pink Dress. appeared first on Anna Blake.

Problem Solving and Hay In Our Bras.

It blurted out the end of my fingers before I knew it. “Eventually I learned how to keep hay out of my bra. Can’t imagine what took me so long.”  

I was writing last week’s essay and if I focus too much on what I’m trying to say, my fingers freeze up. So my writing style depends on a percentage of stream-of-consciousness blathering and I make sense of it later. Think of it as riding on a very loose rein because it ends up that writing and riding have a lot in common. Neither like to have their face pulled on.

Readers asked me for tips about hay and bras. I could tell you what my epiphany was in a few words, but it took me all these years, and a pandemic, to figure it out. I deserve to put you through a few paragraphs first.

Warning: I’m going to talk about breasts and that means size is bound to come up, too. It has nothing to do with what men think. Our breasts are only about us. Exhale. I’m about to brag about figuring something out that half of all horsewomen have known for years. Bear with me.

When I write an essay, I like to research something online. Like ropes tethering me to the topic, it’s how I start. Here goes. There were 255,200 breast augmentation surgeries performed in 2022. I couldn’t find statistics, but I doubt horsewomen had many of those surgeries. A small percentage of us have reconstruction surgery after a mastectomy, and best wishes for a full recovery. But breast augmentation is usually not something we do for cosmetic reasons. It might be for fear of getting hung up on a saddle horn. Or so that cantering feels like flying a jet rather than a B-52 with bombs under our wings. I apologize. On the other hand, I would know.

In that same year, 71,364 breast reduction procedures were performed. Also known as reduction mammoplasty, the surgery has seen a significant increase in popularity in recent years. My first reaction was wondering if Medicare paid for it.

Some of us ride without bras or any related concerns. Bless you. You’re excused.

The rest of us have been wrestling with an off-beat wave motion at odds with the rhythm of our horses, our own hips, and the rotation of the Earth. Since we don’t want to stay at the walk for the rest of our lives, we buy bras to ride in. They don’t have lace and the straps look like you could tow a trailer with them. They flatten down any joy a breast might accidentally feel. But just one bra doesn’t work because of the dreaded mono-bosom that makes your chest look like a dashboard in an old car. So then you wear one bra with actual cups and a sports bra over it, one size too small. Then adding another bra on top of the others, as required. And pray we don’t get taken to an emergency room conscious enough to hear the laughter.

Or we move on to one of those expensive sports bras that fit like a mammogram. Nothing moves, our squished breasts are as still as a pond at sunset. Sure, it’s impossible to breathe. A sneeze might mean broken ribs. But this was what some of us did. Every horse, every ride. Just like our helmets.

With so little blood getting to our brains, sometimes we didn’t problem solve well. It’s a poor excuse, but it’s mine. I am finally ready to reveal the mystery that took this many sticky scratchy years to figure it out. It came to me during Covid, when no one in their right mind had gotten fully dressed in months. One day, I noticed a lack of aggravation. In hindsight, the answer was obvious and elegant in its simplicity. Don’t wear the damned thing.

Anticlimactic, isn’t it? The solution was right under my nose all the time. But that was the exact problem. Aren’t we always pointing a finger at anything outside ourselves for the solution? Blame it on the other: fine hay leaves, the wrong neckline, stupid hay bags. When the solution was to change something within my control. Myself.

It’s an idea I first I learned with horses. I didn’t believe the ‘humans are gods’ rhetoric. I had no desire to dominate anyone. Partnership was the goal because even as a kid, I knew making the other wrong didn’t make me right. I had to drop defenses that made me rigid and stiff in the sit bones. It was still a bitter pill at first, but any horse will tell you it’s about learning to get along.

If the solution to every problem was me, then I could change and we’d have no problems. Step one was to stop being a martyr about hay in my bra or anything else that was poking me. Martyrdom has a high mortality rate. It took time, but I achieved every goal I had for my horses. And all I had to do was change everything about myself. I had to learn to slow down, listen, and prioritize my horse’s feelings above mine. I had to stop contradicting myself. Recite less is more until I understood. In short, I had to quit being me. We’ve all heard it a million times, but hearing it doesn’t change us. We do that the old-fashioned way.

Less about me, more about the horse. 

Problem solving is a popular topic in my clinics and classes. How do I fix my horse? How do I stop my horse from grazing, bolting, tossing his head? How can I make my horse behave more like a child or a dog? How do I change my horse’s fundamental instincts? How do I respond to calming signals? How do I make space for my horse to think? How can I let my horse have autonomy? How can I get out of the way of my horse being a horse?

See what I did there? The questions evolved. That’s part of it. We have to ask better questions. Now we are ready to start.

Outdated training methods demand we try to micromanage behavior of the other. Discipline the other. Make being the other harder, so it will give in. Bribe the other. Trick the other. Pretend what the other did was our idea and then get a longer whip or a stronger bit.

It was never about underwear. The day an animal complains about our appearance will never happen, but our grousing or swearing or emotional tantrums do impact them. We are only tripping over our egos. So, breathe. Say yes to change. Find yourself free of restriction, loose in mind and body. Find yourself in a dance of release, with a confident horse. Let yourselves be beautiful.

…

An audio version of this essay is available to those who subscribe on Substack.

Relaxed and Forward Training by Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you or your horse appreciate my writing, please share, subscribe to this blog, or join me at The Barn School. 

The Barn School, is a social and educational site, along with member sharing and our infamous Happy Hour. Anna teaches courses like Calming Signals and Affirmative Training. Everyone’s welcome.

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

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

Ride for a new brand, find our Relaxed & Forward and Undomesticated Women swag at Zazzle.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

 

Available Now! My new travel memoir is Undomesticated Women, Anecdotal Evidence from the Road. Ride along on a clinic tour through 30 states, 2 oceans, and 14k miles with me and my dog, Mister. It is an unapologetic celebration of sunsets, horses, RV parks, roadkill, diverse landscapes, and undomesticated women. Available now at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and signed copies from me.

…

…

 

 

 

 

 

The post Problem Solving and Hay In Our Bras. appeared first on Anna Blake.

The Pendulum of Change Doth Swing. I’ll Be In the Barn.

It started snowing the night before last and snowed all yesterday. The wind speed was higher than the temperature. That means snow drifts over a foot tall. Then it snowed all night (another five inches) and all today. But the real snow accumulation will be tomorrow. Am I boring you? Well, if you live in town, weather is small talk and if you have a 26-year-old llama in the barn, it isn’t. But I have plenty of feed and this snow isn’t a catastrophe. It’s just January snow in November.

The weather has changed in the half-century I’ve been in Colorado. I believe climate change is happening everywhere. You can think what you like. Climate change doesn’t need you to believe in it.

I was 45 when I bought this farm. Those first winters, I bragged about my bad-assery during storms here on the high prairie. I let people know when a hydrant froze, and I had to carry water for the horses. It made me sound tough. Now at 70, I don’t let the hose freeze. And I have more bad-assery than my whiny-martyred-self even imagined back then. Don’t feel sorry for me, I have wardrobe. I layer myself until I look like an inflatable lawn ornament, snap on a headlamp, and move like a sasquatch in my winter muck boots. Then I get to stay in the barn for as long as my fingers can stand it. I feed mush and fill hay bags.

My mare, Clara, has a cut. Brilliant red icicles dangle from her fetlock and she’s limping. I bend over and pull off a glove. No heat in the joint, the cut is clean and not too deep. The bleeding stopped long enough ago to freeze. I chip off the frozen blood and let nature do the rest of the healing. She’s keeping it well iced, so I warm my hands under Clara’s mane and stay out longer.

My appearance has changed since living here. I like things that make my eyes wrinkle but at over 7k feet, I wear glasses that change to darken the glare of sun and snow. My squint muscles get all the exercise they need going to the feed store. Eventually I learned how to keep hay out of my bra. Can’t imagine what took me so long.

You could say I’ve let myself go since they cut the cancer off my nose. I have a crevice of a scar running down the center that makes me look like Carl Malden. But I didn’t care what my nose looked like before; so no real change after all. Not that anyone in my barn judges me.

I want to make friends with my wattle, the hidden language of my scars, and the saggy bits of me that are migrating south. I’m always embarrassed for the women who fight age and gravity. We’re supposed to think they look young for their age, but the thought of them having been accidentally embalmed worries me. Besides, I wouldn’t want my body to look like I only wore it to church on Sundays.

I’m dawdling now, sweeping bits of hay, because it takes less time to do chores in a snowstorm. I can’t muck in this weather, but I feed more hay to keep the horses warm. The result should be a disgusting mess, but magically, it isn’t. Fresh snow covers the piles of manure not long after they drop. The pen looks pristine under the yard light. Sparkling perfection, and I let it be. The poop isn’t going anywhere without me. The sun will come out again. It always does, and I’ll get to spend a whole day cleaning up. Call it a vacation away from mucking, followed by a muck vacation. I am blessed with ready entertainment and low expectations.

I throw some extra hay and put out more kibble for the barn cat. He’s a ginger tom with a wide flat head. He walks through the pens like a mercenary, knowing I’m the enemy. I fill a container that probably holds half of his body weight, but the cat is a humanitarian. He eats his fill and leaves the rest for whoever wanders by. Wild creatures are more generous than those of us who live in captivity. A tomcat can’t cure world hunger, but he does his bit. I fear this tough guy shares with mice because they are fat and seem a bit disgruntled if I move their bales.

There is a special quiet in the barn on a snowy night. A silent night. It’s not just that the roads are all closed. The flakes are huge and heavy, compacting the snow already fallen. There will be ice tomorrow, but now the world feels padded and safe. The horses are stock-still conserving their heat. I wish they’d stay dry under the roof, but then it’s not like I’m hurrying into the house. We all know what we’re doing.

Sometime late tomorrow, the clouds will break. There will be some farting and tomfoolery. The herd will buck it out, but soon everyone will hit the ground and nap near each other. This cold beauty takes a toll.

Some days, it feels like pain will never stop, but it always does. Trust the pendulum of change doth swing on. This dark season will give way to fluorescent spring colors. For now, hunker down and let the storm blow itself out.

Some people will think they’re lucky, while others will believe the world is working against them. It’s only fear that makes us speak in hyperbole. If we catastrophize life, and allow ourselves to dwell in worry about the worst likely outcome, we are truly giving away our vote for the future.

Trust there is justice in the long game. Better to ride out the storms knowing labels, like good or bad, obscure the view. As for the things we can’t control, we can howl, cheer, or despair. Then buck it out.

I attend the Church of Mother Nature. We have prayer meetings daily in the barn. Any donkey will tell you that the simple work is a prayer to life. Grazing or mucking or taking a dirt bath is praise. The wind will carry our voices away. Nature will have the last word. Let her hold you through the storm.

…

An audio version of this essay is available to those who subscribe on Substack.

Relaxed and Forward Training by Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you or your horse appreciate my writing, please share, subscribe to this blog, or join me at The Barn School. 

The Barn School, is a social and educational site, along with member sharing and our infamous Happy Hour. Anna teaches courses like Calming Signals and Affirmative Training. Everyone’s welcome.

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

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

Ride for a new brand, find our Relaxed & Forward and Undomesticated Women swag at Zazzle.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

 

Available Now! My new travel memoir is Undomesticated Women, Anecdotal Evidence from the Road. Ride along on a clinic tour through 30 states, 2 oceans, and 14k miles with me and my dog, Mister. It is an unapologetic celebration of sunsets, horses, RV parks, roadkill, diverse landscapes, and undomesticated women. Available now at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and signed copies from me.

…

The post The Pendulum of Change Doth Swing. I’ll Be In the Barn. appeared first on Anna Blake.

Halloween: Twenty-Five Years on This Farm

It’s a special day here on Infinity Farm. I signed loan papers on this property on the last day of the month. Good for escrow. It was a full moon on Halloween, October 1999. It had been a rough few years, and I had lost so much that I thought I had nothing left to lose. Being the perfect time to start over, I packed my truck with cleaning products, tools, camping gear, and Spam and Hero, my cattle dogs. They were enjoying my midlife crisis in that way good dogs are always ready for a car ride.

I had that glassy-eyed look of someone who didn’t think they could ever purchase horse property, but just did. And by horse property, I mean a small acreage with a shed that I could convert to a barn. And a small house that had been hauled over from an Army base sometime in the 70s. I’d tear out the Pitbull runs first thing because I could see the farm’s potential.

I’d like to say in the years since then, I built a real barn and a nicer house. No. There’s been some updating, but it’s still a humble farm. The potential that I saw was that it could be a real home for me. A place I’d never known before. A few weeks later, I’d built enough fence and hung enough gates to bring the horses out. It was just us that Thanksgiving, but it’s a memory that I love to return to.

I like to think about what I know now that I didn’t know then. Because I approach overthinking like others do golf. It’s my hobby like others collect stamps. I like to sort through memories. I’ve done it my whole life, maybe because part of me still lives on a farm my family lost when I was nine. So that’s how I spent today, visiting with those who have gone on ahead instead of writing my usual Thursday night blog. And now, it’s late and my mind is still wandering.

But no apology. Call it celebrating the Day of the Dead (Día de los Muertos). It’s A Mexican holiday where people welcome back the souls of their deceased loved ones for a brief reunion that includes food, drink and celebration. On this anniversary, at this age, it’s become my favorite holiday. Since I’ve lived here longer than anywhere else, it’s natural that the farm feels haunted. It’s just that I like it this way.

I wish we all celebrated the Day of the Dead rather than Halloween. Instead of ghouls and monsters from every B-grade movie leaving kids fearing the dark, maybe we could make peace with change. Not that we wouldn’t dress up like pirates and princesses, but maybe we could share a memory instead of screaming at Hollywood zombies and ghosts. Is this where the fear of dead ones starts with us?

How did we become short-sighted victims of the love we feel for others? In Jewish teaching, the proper thing to say about someone’s passing is “May her memory be for blessing.” That fits me better. When I moved to this farm, it took a while to notice I’d stopped being afraid of the dark. Walking my prairie land, under a blanket of stars, became a solace. I hadn’t known ghosts were such good company.

Most all my birth family is gone now. Lots of my friends are retired, not just from work, but also from farm life. The ones like me, still throwing hay and wrestling feed bags, think about what the future holds. There will be no more colts or puppies for me. And the median age of the herd is high. One by one, they will walk on and join the others. But it’s no reason to be morose. I will say their names for the comfort it gives.

This holiday marks a change of season, and we’ve had our first snowfall. Leaves are down and a thin layer of ice adds sparkle to the fence panels. Pulling on boots and a hat, and heading out to the barn for the night feed was not a chore. I threw some extra hay for the generations of sweet memory there. No tears, just that precious feeling of being home.

 

There is a poem that sums it up for me, from my book Horse Prayers.

Walking the Dog

There was a message on my phone.
My dog was ready to come home,
they said. It was just her ashes,
they didn’t say. Never one to be

put on a shelf, we took one last
walk together around the farm, her
cremains, I guess, tucked under my
arm. She usually bounds ahead,

turning to make sure I’ll follow.
She usually stands close, lightly
touching my leg. She usually has a
wild rambunctious pride, and I cheer.

Where did she love best? The truck,
yes, she’d be sitting there waiting,
ready to load up. The gate to the
barn; we met there several times a

day. The pond to the west; she’d
splash and bring that wild scent to
bed at night. A prairie breeze kicks
and I can see her profile; nose

lifted, her coat blown back. She’s
facing down the wind. Shall I let
the wind have her now? I stroll
between memories, passing under

the barn tree, swings hanging in the
cool shade. Carrying the weight of
an old dog, nothing left but bones, is
heavier than I expected. Once more,

I wish her lightness from her used-up
body, as I go inside and put the plastic
urn on a shelf by a faded dog bed.
We’ll take another walk tomorrow.

…

An audio version of this essay is available to those who subscribe on Substack.

Relaxed and Forward Training by Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you or your horse appreciate my writing, please share, subscribe to this blog, or join me at The Barn School. 

The Barn School, is a social and educational site, along with member sharing and our infamous Happy Hour. Anna teaches courses like Calming Signals and Affirmative Training. Everyone’s welcome.

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

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

Ride for a new brand, find our Relaxed & Forward and Undomesticated Women swag at Zazzle.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post Halloween: Twenty-Five Years on This Farm appeared first on Anna Blake.

Can You Afford a Pet?

I never thought I’d say this. Me, of all people. But do you ever think we might need some balance about the dog and cat thing as the world seems to come apart? I know I’ll get in trouble for even suggesting it. World politics and the extreme suffering of those caught up in war or famine are hard for me to comprehend, so with apologies, I need to start on a smaller problem.

I’ve spent the last four months obsessing over two sets of statistics that are crashing and exploding in my brain daily. The first statistic is not as surprising. The ASPCA reports shelters euthanize approximately 920,000 dogs and cats each year. We should cheer, that number is down from approximately 2.6 million in 2011. But then this: According to federal statistics, veterinary prices have soared over 60 percent over the past decade. Please read this NYT article that explains it.

 Most problems boil down to politics and money. Just when we finally get the shelter numbers down a bit, the financial challenge of a kitten skyrockets. The benefits of pet ownership are infinite, but will the adoption numbers hold if vet care becomes prohibitive? Yes, I know there is pet insurance. Betting against your pet’s health might be smart, but it’s also another bill.

Most Americans have pets, but almost one third can’t afford their vet care. According to the Humane Society, there are at least 19 million pets living with U.S. families whose income level is below the poverty line. And there are millions more in working poor and middle-class families struggling with the cost of caring for their pets. Many organizations are working to aid those pet owners in keeping their pets, but some people don’t think poor people deserve to have a pet. Is it prejudice against the joy of puppy breath?

Aware of my privilege, I would never underestimate the importance of companion animals. Pets are as important for children as a library card. Who would I be without the dogs and cats that raised me? Looking back, those first few years on my own when I could afford pets the least was also when I needed them the most. I’ve long worried that horses will become fodder for the wealthy and girls like me will only gallop in our dreams. Now that worry has spread to small animals. 

The other change in this period is that we are more commonly calling pets family members. Mind you, we always loved them as family members. We just didn’t use these words. Previously, dogs wore fewer clothes, and almost never any sunglasses. Cat furniture was not a carpeted series of perches. The couch by the window was good enough, and it came with a scratching post on either end. Sorry if I sound cynical, but did we become a bit more dysfunctional by using the word family?

I’ve talked to so many friends who have had pets needing repetitive surgeries. Or who have extreme chronic conditions that made for a pet in pain, but also a crippling financial burden. Sometimes the vet was understanding. Sometimes the owner left feeling like a murderer for not signing up for procedures they couldn’t afford. Losing their pet felt even more monstrous by their financial reality. How could she do that to a family member? How can we shame someone at such a sad time?

I can’t forget a man I met years ago, who proudly stated he’s spent $160k on his Great Dane with brain cancer. The dog didn’t survive, but he said he didn’t regret a dime. He sounded defiant, but all the money in the world couldn’t make his dog right. His spending bought my healing as well. That was roughly the value of my farm, which I had nearly lost trying to find a cure for a young horse. Until one day, I looked around at the other horses, donkeys, llamas, goats, ducks, dogs, and cats who depended on me. It’s never too late to consider common sense, but it takes courage to say ‘no’ to hope.

Some say all lives are equal. I notice I’ve been swatting lots of flies lately. I don’t feel good about it, but I do it while thinking about those statistics. How many dogs could we save for the cost of that surgery? How many people? But is common sense even a possibility if it’s your pet who needs surgery? 

Can I even afford a cat? According to Petwise, a corporate veterinary practice, the cost averages between $15k and $45k over its life. Dogs are $20k-$55k. Maybe kids need pet funds just like college funds. Adults certainly do, even knowing it’s an investment we will lose. But do we want to live in a world run by people who never had a puppy? 

Sometimes I wonder if “The cure is worse than the disease.” Ironically, this unscientific quote is by Francis Bacon. In 1620, around the time that people first looked through microscopes, he was widely regarded as a pioneer of the scientific method. The quote makes me think he was as confounded by science as I am.

We fight our own aging as much as we fight the mortality of our pets. They may be family members, but we can’t change the fact they have brief lives. That means humans get passed from one pet to another. Is there a lesson we are missing?

I’m 70, and have gone to the doctor more this last year than I did in my twenties and thirties combined. I’m grateful for Medicare now that I’m old enough to qualify. Most of our healthcare dollar is spent after age 55 and the same is true for our older pets.

I’d pay anything if the treatment made my dog three years old again, but he is past his expiration date. Cleaning his teeth won’t make his hind end stop giving out. He doesn’t want to have more tests. He reminds me that every car ride nearly kills him. And that getting old isn’t a disease to be cured. My dog is snoring under my desk, keeping me honest. He won’t suffer needlessly or get high intensity end-of-life care. He is a dog and proud to be no more or less. Like me, he always had more love than money.

Mostly, I worry about the world to come. Not just the obvious environmental damage done by climate change. Or that wildlife populations have declined by 73% in the last 50 years. I worry we are losing ourselves to cures that ruin our quality of life. As costs go up, so does our need for their judgment-free companionship. What if sweet old dogs and cats are part of the solution?

…

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