Anna Blake's Blog, page 31

Calming Signals: Yoga Mind/Equine Reality

The Dude Rancher and I practice yoga. We started years ago; he was having way too many headaches and my back was killing me. We each thought the other person was the problem, but we went to a Yin Yoga class at a local rec center. Our teacher, Tracey, explained in a soft voice that we should only do what we comfortably could. It was about listening to our bodies. The implicit message was don’t feel competitive, but no worries from us. We were class stand-outs. It would have taken five other students to add up to our cumulative age. No doubt that the others all had taken lots of classes because everyone had very cool yoga clothes. The Dude Rancher had gym shorts and I was wearing old breeches that had given up the last ghost of elastic. One of us can sit cross-legged and one of us can’t, but right from the beginning we both had world-class, and I mean this with great humility, Pentacle poses. We could lie spread-eagle on the ground with the best of them. Not that we cared.

Then Tracey gave us a riding lesson disguised as yoga, and in my sublime stillness, I was wagging and yipping inside; we had a shared language. I knew yoga and riding were practically the same thing; I’d practiced and taught T’ai Chi and never saw it as anything but dressage. It’s just that I felt welcome, like one of the herd.

To be clear, this wasn’t horse yoga, that’s something else and I feel the same way about it that I do goat yoga. With my three hundred pound goat. I’m not interested in how we feel around horses. It’s a no brainer that they make anything more pleasant; I’d like going to the dentist better if horses were grazing nearby. What I am most interested in is the horse’s side and how we can benefit them.

Yin Yoga is slow-paced with simple postures are held for longer periods. In a pose or asana, you arrange your body and breathe. Gravity does the work, very appealing to me since I did barn chores for eight horses and wrestled against gravity all day, but in a peaceful zen-like way. Yoga creates a great opportunity to notice, without judgment of course, that when you lay down, your shoulders might be curled round, elevated four inches off the ground. Again, without judgment, because it takes a while to figure out that they weren’t born that way. In the beginning, a simple twist might burn from your IT band, a part of your body you won’t ever ignore again, to your opposite ear. You focus on breathing while it feels like blood might be coming out of your eyeballs, behind their serenely closed lids of course. All this in the first five seconds and there were still another forty soul-killing seconds to hold, as Tracey explained that we should find a way to allow our body to do less. Less than lying on a yoga mat.

See, I make jokes about yoga. In our world, doing less is seen as lazy or embarrassing. I make it sound painful, because we don’t value things that don’t hurt. It isn’t real if we don’t feel the burn. Suffering is the currency most of us were raised with. Real exercise should make you feel like you’re in boot camp. A good massage should hurt or you didn’t get your money’s worth. If I was a real man, I’d run a marathon. Barefoot on burning coals.

I notice we do that in horse training. We injure and lame horses in the name of making them stronger. We push them through resistance, we think we can make their thousand-pound bodies obey and be perfect. Tense hands force their heads into correct positions, as if pulling on their mouths had anything to do with relaxing their back, so that their heads could naturally seek that same position. It’s as if we cared more about striking a pose than balance and movement. But we train with compassion, our horse culture says we’re sissies, boring to watch. Yada-yada. I’m sick of hearing it.

We practice a long slow, dare I say, Yoga-like warm-ups with horses. We ride body to body, with fluid softness. We know the most primal calming signal we can give a horse is our breathing and that it’s healing horses, moment-by-long-slow-moment, because we know horses do better at everything when not in anxiety or pain. Yay for affirmative training. It sounds obvious but if it was, would whips be the best selling item in tack stores?

Back in yoga, we’d moved to private lessons and it was the sweetest time of the week. The less we did, the more our physical issues healed. The headaches became infrequent, my back was flexible again. Eventually, we’d hold a pose for five minutes, an eternity, and when Tracey asked us to unwind, I’d passively resent her, as if she was asking me to leave the barn before I was ready.

I think good conditioning is as important for riders as horses. If you are looking at serious competition, it’s crucial. Most of my riders are all too aware of their physical limitations; bad knees or arthritic hands. We have come off a few times, we have a literal hitch in our giddy-up. We ride horses who had a rough start or are a bit long in the tooth. We strive to accept ourselves and our horses in all of our imperfect glory. Yoga is a forgiving fit for us, but the best benefit of yoga for horsepeople is beyond the physical.

The understanding and use of calming signals means keeping a quiet focus on the small nuances in the body language of our horses, to be answered with similar nuance in our bodies. Horses live in the eternal, environmental now and we cannot truly connect using our overthinking frontal lobe, but when we gain internal awareness of our own bodies, we gain equine fluency. A horse’s calming signal tells us that they are no threat to us and we can answer that most eloquently with a soft deep breath. Yoga is the gift of connecting us with our own bodies, letting a wave of oxygen deep into our bellies, then exhaling ease and peace to… well what we care about, our horses. When we put breath first, we speak their language and horses recognize it immediately. They begin to think we might be trustworthy.

Meanwhile, the Dude Rancher and I have evolved to something less than Yin Yoga. We now practice Restorative Yoga with bolsters under our knees or blocks supporting our various parts. Certainly it would look silly to someone watching but we’re past caring. Gravity is getting some help and we are doing even less. We wholeheartedly throw ourselves into the glorious release, the ebb and flow of breathing, and as recently as yesterday, you can count on at least one of us falling asleep. As we left, I told Tracey again how similar we teach our different things. How much horses flourish given an affirmative choice and that maybe “restorative” might describe our worn mantra, Less is More.

Tracey shared something her teacher, Gina Caputo says, “Simple is the new advanced.”  Boy howdy, does that sound like something a horse would say or what?

…

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: Secrets

She attended church with joyless obligation,

lip-syncing hymns that praised suffering, with

dentures that never quite fit, never a genuine

smile. A few cigarettes in the station wagon on the

way home, then she made Sunday dinner; chicken,

mashed potatoes with beige gravy, and army-green

beans. There was plenty, but she always chose the

back piece, sometimes a wing, picking the at the

meat between the bones with her fingers. Mostly,

she stood at the kitchen sink staring out the window

to the broken cornstalks that chopped the monotony

of winter fields, an ashtray on the sill. After the farm,

there was a smaller window that looked out on the

adjoining carport in the trailer park. My mother

was nervous about the judgment of neighbors. Was

anxious about her husband’s temper. Was fearful

that her daughter was not enough like her. She told

us she quit smoking and spent her last twenty-five

years sneaking out to the shed behind her mobile

home several times a day, so no one would know.

…

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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Photo & Poem: She Quit

She attended church with joyless obligation,

lip-syncing hymns that praised suffering, with

dentures that never quite fit, never a genuine

smile. A few cigarettes in the station wagon on the

way home, then she made Sunday dinner; chicken,

mashed potatoes with beige gravy, and army-green

beans. There was plenty, but she always chose the

back piece, sometimes a wing, picking the at the

meat between the bones with her fingers. Mostly,

she stood at the kitchen sink staring out the window

to the broken cornstalks that chopped the monotony

of winter fields, an ashtray on the sill. After the farm,

there was a smaller window that looked out on the

adjoining carport in the trailer park. My mother

was nervous about the judgment of neighbors. Was

anxious about her husband’s temper. Was fearful

that her daughter was not enough like her. She told

us she quit smoking and spent her last twenty-five

years sneaking out to the shed behind her mobile

home several times a day, so no one would know.

…

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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What the Nightmare Revealed

Everyone did what instinct dictated.

The beach was so peaceful. Deserted with not so much as a footprint when they arrived. People in the distance maybe but they felt alone. Just a bay mare and her rider standing in the water and their friend on the ground leading another horse. All was calm but in an instant, a dog attacked, grabbing onto the mare’s muzzle. Panic. The rider came off in the surf and chose to let go of her mare, hoping the mare would fend best that way, while she tried to catch the dog. Terror. The mare started to run away with the other horse, who was now loose, too. The dog still attacking the bay mare full-on while she was trying to escape, and the rider called to her. The mare stopped and faced her rider, 60 to 70 meters away at that stage. The mare stopped and the dog managed to grab her again on the chest.

Reader, take a breath. It’s going to be okay. The rider was able to catch the dog and tie it to the trailer. They rounded up the horses and found the dog’s owner, who was home with had no idea the dog had gotten out. The mare had some wounds that are being tended to. It could have been worse, but in that moment, it would’ve been hard to imagine how.

Afterward, the rider said, “I had a mare who trusted me enough to stop and turn towards me when I called to her to stop, while the dog was still attacking, allowing me to try and catch the dog. Unfortunately, I could not hold on to it. Whether I should have called her or just let her run I will never know. I felt very strongly yesterday that I broke her trust because I could not keep her safe. Unfortunately, this is just another part in our journey together. On the bright side, we still have each other and there is a lesson here somewhere.”

This is part of a recent experience posted in The Barn, being shared here with permission.  Other Barnies jumped up to support her. It’s one for all and all for one. But here is where I hijack the narrative to talk about learnable lessons because I am in awe. There were no failures. Didn’t everyone respond by instinct, high in their sympathetic nervous systems: Flight, fight, or freeze?

The dog was doing what his instinct told him to. The adrenaline was pumping. and he was all in. The more the horse spun and reacted, the more thrilling the chase. Water splashed, it was utter chaos, and he was hysterical, a family dog irresistibly thrown back to an ancestral life that his every cell suddenly remembered: Fight.

The rider had an “unplanned dismount,” sudden and frightening, into the water but came up to her feet remembering what she had learned. She thought fast and made tough decisions. She took the best actions she could, throwing herself to the defense of her good bay mare: Fight.

And some of you readers felt helpless, some wished you could look away. Some of you may have stopped reading, angry with me for writing about it. While reading the original post, I remembered seeing something similar happen to a pair of riders decades ago. I’m still haunted that I was unable to intervene. But here, now, you kept reading and perhaps your breath went shallow like mine did: Freeze.

The bay mare ran. It was her best escape and every muscle pushed. She was born to run, and she reacted quicker than the dog or the human. It’s her superpower. She knew this was how generations of wolves have killed generations of horses. Primal fear. She may be domesticated, but her instinct never will be. The dog was relentless, and the beach was open. She bolted away with the other horse: Flight.

Then she hears her name and stops. Against every instinct, she stops.

The narrative matters. I won’t turn this into a fairy tale because the real story is too important. It isn’t that I don’t feel sympathy. It was a harrowing experience for all of them, stressful to even read about.  I hope this mare heals well from this nightmare attack, but I refuse to feel sorry for her. I am too much in awe. Besides, horses are bored by our pity, it reads sour to their senses. I have met this mare; she left an indelible mark. She had a raw dignity within her stoic demeanor. She was always more than her story.

Of course, the mare had a history, it would be easy to rehash that sad tale all over again and feel sorry for her circumstances before she came to her rider. At what point do we let go of the old stories that hold us back? Are we ever too old to be bigger in our potential than the sum of the past? Let it go, she is no victim. Let her’s be a hero’s tale.

Is this a love story? If you tell it from our side, it’s always a love story. We act like our love for horses is a rare unexplainable affliction, when in truth, it’s the accepted rule. We aren’t remotely special to love horses and this bay mare’s rider is at the front of that line. I’ve seen her eyes looking at her mare. If love was all it took to heal horses, this mare would have no prehistory, I would be out of work, and we would all still be admiring the sky at the beach. No, this pair had been working hard to build something way more valuable to the mare. Confidence is equine gold. What this horse and rider managed was something that dwarfs our all-encompassing passion for horses.

The mare stopped because she trusted her rider. How many of us could pass the wolf test?

Dear Rider, can you control the universe? Never. Not for a sunny moment on a peaceful beach. But second-guessing is for railbirds. You did everything right, and even if you don’t believe it yet, act that way for your mare. Did you break her trust? Betray her because you could not keep her safe? That’s your big squishy heart speaking; a committed rider willing to blame herself for things beyond her control. Know that you were both perfect. It is not in the nature of a horse to wait for us to save them. If your mare holds a grudge, it will most likely be against dogs. You’ll both work on that, but your mare saw you fight him. Trust her intelligence.

An update: The rider is doctoring the mare’s body wounds but those on to her muzzle? The mare doesn’t want her halter. She isn’t betraying their relationship, it’s just real-time common sense. Her muzzle has always been the most sensitive spot on her body, she literally can’t see that area, and it hurts. Good bay mares always have an opinion. That’s normal. The rider is still hopelessly in love, not that it stops the mare from flinging her head all over to avoid the medication. They are a little bruised right now, but on this eventful day, it’s undeniable how far they have come, not for what went wrong but for all that was revealed.  And so, they persist.

…

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: Second Cup

Second cup of coffee while waiting for

light, a second cup while waiting to head

out. The horses have thick coats and long

hair on their legs. They will still have hay

from the late feed, they need nothing.

This is their time. Wait. Let them have

the night. Boots over heavy socks, the

last sip cold in the cup. Just a bit longer,

until the sun cracks the sky to a lavender

blue, long pink clouds stretch from the

east to the west. With my jacket collar

up, fingers deep into my gloves, the chain

on the metal yard gate rattles and clangs

behind me, as an owl on broad wings silently

coasts across my field, going to rest in the

elm by the pond. Night surrendered for day.

…

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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Cantankary: If Not Now, When?

Expecting New Year’s resolutions from me? Nope, I’m not the type. I am so thrilled to have survived another year that I’m holding on for all I’m worth. Not giving up anything. Running like the devil is on my tail. I even get windburn when I’m typing at the computer. That’s when it happened.

Just my annual check-up. Don’t you hate it when women of a certain age talk about their health issues? Me, too, even to a physician’s assistant. It’s an off year for the pelvic, so it starts on a high note. I need a mammogram which reminds me of my biggest fantasy fear; that I sneeze. You’re welcome.  I don’t lie about my foot; it’s undeniably creepy and she pokes at it like a cadaver in a lab. We talk about my chronic thing which, predictably, remains chronic.

Did I mention I turned sixty-five last fall? It’s my first Medicare appointment so they gave me a blood draw, a couple of shots for old people, and an eye test with my glasses on, which I failed because I had to cover one eye but when put my hand under my glasses, I poked myself. The nurse walks the distance from the eyechart down the hallway to me to demonstrate that I can just cup my hand over my glasses.

I got lost on the way back to the exam room, but that could easily have been my recent vision impairment and not my age. Now I wait, gathering whatever flimsy shreds of dignity have dropped down around my ankles like so much worn cotton underwear. That’s it. I should have told them I was a poet.

And that’s when the PA came into the room and handed me a lime green DNR order for my fridge. Do Not Resuscitate. A living will is the kind term, and I should have had one of these with me at all times in my twenties. I have put DNR orders up on my parent’s fridge twice. It is a rite of passage, my first DNR. It is a reminder that I am not special. I will become prey to the most common and ordinary thing in the world, I will die.

Alert the media, call out the national guard, I will not get younger and my hair will not get thicker, although I am growing a decent beard.  “Are you retired?” the Physician Assistant asked.  I told her no and that I worked outside. She was not a hard sell. Not that I don’t know what lotion is, but I could still file a hoof with my bare hands. The PA doesn’t weigh that much more than a bale of hay, now I consider my options.

“What do you do?” she said.

Perhaps I will need to consider laying down my dream of dancing the lead in Swan Lake. On a draft horse in a tutu, (the horse, not me.) Clearly my sense of humor is aging like a fine bottle of fruity pink wine, no worries there. Still, when I’m out mucking in the herd, I have a habit of looking around, reckoning ages, and knowing animals never die in chronological order, any more than we do. It’s crucial to have a real plan for their care, I do work in a dangerous job, even if I’m on Medicare.  I look for signs of mortality, they call it anticipatory grieving. It won’t happen, but I cheerfully hope they all die before me.

I mourn my animals and yours with respect and honor. It can’t be overstated. They deserve our tears. At the same time, I can’t help but notice they do this whole death and dying thing so much better than we do. Xenophon, who was one of the first to write about compassionate training around 400BC, said, “Excess of grief for the dead is madness; for it is an injury to the living, and the dead know it not.” I bet horses taught him that, too.

Cry it out, you must mourn those you love, human or horse, forever. Mourning is exactly as common as death and death is as common as dirt. I don’t think mourning was ever meant to be calling, but rather a call to action. How do we honor their lives?

Is there some goal you’ve been talking about doing forever? Do you bring it out on sad days to remind yourself it’s one more thing you have failed at? Do you take every opportunity to look in the mirror through swollen eyelids, with food at the corner of your mouth, and make excuses why aren’t you writing, learning to fly, galloping across Siberia? Do you still want that dream or has it become a bad habit; a dead fish you use to beat yourself over the head with? Does it work as an excuse to season other dreams with despair, maybe a way that you die a little every day? Because none of the rest of us care, we’re too obsessed with ourselves, and you could lose a hundred ugly pounds by tossing that rotting mess tied around your neck. Hooray, a new lease on life!

Are you testy about letting go? Is your dream not rotting but just resting? Are you waiting for permission from the universe? That’s what wrinkles and a sagging belly are for; the less-than-polite reminder that the clock is ticking and you aren’t dead yet. Dreams are great but living them is much better. It will not be easier next year, you will never know everything, and yes, you will stumble. Again, as ordinary as dirt. If you want to learn to swim, you must get in the pool. You’ve lived long enough to know that nothing of any value ever comes cheaply. Is it time to pay up on that dream? It’s just a fact; people younger than us die every day. If not now, when?

Sometimes all this positive just-do-it attitude is painful, even demeaning. Sometimes it just isn’t physically possible or financially doable. The dream is there but the timing is wrong. Or you’ve aged-out of the possibility. Don’t go weepy about it. Do something you can be proud of. You can still write hate mail to the BLM, to The Jockey Club. Not satisfying enough? Hang out at the courthouse and glare at those who deserve it. Take knitting if you can get the needles past security. We’re very scary when knitting.

Maybe we renegotiate the deal. Okay, if dancing the swan part is out, what can we have? I’m cranky that the coquettish ingenues get all the good roles. What are my post-Cinderella options? Wait! Aren’t we just right for being Fairy Godmothers? How sweet would it be to launch a young woman with my dreams on her way? Wasn’t that always part of the dream, that someone appreciated what we did and maybe gave a leg-up?

With an old donkey as my mentor, I plan to continue aging cantankerously. I am going to die, but not just yet. I still have a few thousand horses to meet because I am really starting to figure them out. But it’s time to pay it forward and bring horse-crazy girls along to the barn. They are our legacy. I think I’ll take to wearing a cone-shaped hat with a musty lavender veil just in case.

…

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: Horsewoman

There were always horses, some light and

some dark. The woman met them in passing

or they stayed forever, some were proud and

some stayed hidden deep within. After the

gelding stumbled and fell, trapping the woman’s

leg, breaking her loose from her fairytale

romance, the woman and the horse were set

on equal footing. She feared for her mortality

as the horse always had his own. Negotiation

began, internal parts of one were exchanged

with the other, melding counter to instinct, until

essential ground yielded to trust. The woman

careful to keep kindly stoic, so coming and going

was gentle for the horses, a loose hold that granted

freedom beyond their confined lives. The horses

answered by teaching the woman a body-voice

that other horses would recognize, granting entry

to an ancient herd running unbound across time,

beyond breed or name or nature. Knowing themselves

only by who each became in service to the other.

 

…

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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The Future for Horse-Keepers: Isolation or World Change?

It’s what we do: We keep horses. Sometimes a foal too young to be ridden, so we show patience and keep them. Sometimes it’s adult horses with flawless training and good minds, and while we practice the art of riding, we keep them. Too often we get horses who have been damaged by harsh handling, so we work hard to regain their trust but whether that works or not, we keep them. For all their beauty, horses are also fragile and when they become un-rideable, we do the right thing, we keep them. Even when we sell horses, we end up bringing others home and we keep them. It goes without saying that when our horses grow old, we give them the warmest corner and we keep them. And when the day comes, young or old, that we know their pain is great and will not heal, we call the vet and stand as strong heartbroken witnesses to their lives passing to light, and in our most special place, we keep them.

Who are we? To the chagrin of those around us, we were born loving horses. We’ve arranged our lives into a horse-shaped world. We tend to be introverts drawn to the barn in worn jeans and boots. We’ll get anything our horses need but we don’t use sunscreen as much as we should. We’re hooked without choice and even after our hair’s gone gray, we’re teased about our silly horsey phase. We smile back but it isn’t really a joke. We struggle with the same peer pressure we felt not fitting in during high school. We had the wrong clothes or the wrong hair or the wrong general awkwardness. Meaning everyone was awkward, but some of us were made to feel even worse about it. Now we’re adults and we fit in about as much as we ever did.

Sometimes we are talked down to by vets and farriers. Sometimes we are diminished for our concerns, as if we’re foolish horse-crazy kids, even if we have kept horses for longer than those professionals have been alive. Even if we are professionals ourselves. Even if we have research to back us up because educating ourselves is another one of our annoying traits.

Now think about these general characteristics as if we were a breed of horse. How would we be described? As a spooky Arabian or a strong smart endurance horse? As a hyper-sensitive flighty Thoroughbred or a brilliant agile athlete? Get my drift?

Over 90% of horse-keepers are women. For the handful of men who read this blog, I appreciate you’re faced with the same challenges and I have empathy, but just for today, I want to speak to women. I’ve been asked about my vision of the future and I profoundly believe that the future of horses is up to women, the 90%’ers. We buy horses. We hire trainers, farriers, and vets. We pay membership fees, organize clinics and are the majority of competitors. We’re global; we import tack, clinicians, and more horses. Our money is the foundation of the equine industry.  It isn’t even close and that buys us the right to our opinion.

But here is the paradox. In my travels, I meet riders doing brilliant work, but many of the women at clinics share the same story. Most feel isolated, many of us feel judged. Our methods are questioned. Our confidence tested by railbirds. Our minds haunted by old-school voices telling us to doubt ourselves, insisting we’re ruining our horses with kindness. It feels like we’re training on the fringe, hiding out with our horses because we don’t like the violent training methods we commonly see. We’re shy to share successes for fear we’d be bragging, so many times we pretend we know less than we do. We wear humility as a disguise when we are too introverted to speak up for horses. Worst of all, we listen to the nastiest naysayers, all too often living between our ears.

I am not saying pretend to know more than you do. There are enough people doing that now. I do wish we’d all be students of the horse forever. Discerning students who build a deep understanding of the calming signals of horses with a bit of brain science thrown in. Then we just listen, horses will always tell the truth about the humans holding the reins.

On a semi-related topic, interest in STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) classes still drops off for girls at a certain age. It matters because many good-paying jobs are in those fields and not all little girls marry men with high paying tech jobs. Or even men who pay child support if it comes to that. That interest drop-off was just as true when I was a kid and the reasons haven’t changed: Girls suffer from peer pressure, having few good role models, and getting less parental support. Has much changed as we became adults?

Sometimes I think horse training should be added to the STEM list, not because we ever lost interest. It’s the exact opposite, but how else can we explain numbers that dominate the horse world but still leave us feeling isolated?

While ruminating on this over the summer, I saw a tee-shirt that said these words: ‘They whispered to the woman, “You cannot withstand the storm.” The woman whispered back, “I am the storm.”‘ I laughed when I read it, but it’s another one of those things not actually funny. Would I wear it? Did I have the courage to advertise my confidence? I can list twenty trainers who’re on the cutting edge of animal behavior and new training paradigms, not including me, and we joke about struggling with Impostor Syndrome. Also, not a bit funny.

Be it resolved: Horses need help in this world of harsh handling, destructive training methods, and rider/owner shaming. With over 90% ownership, who else can change the world for horses but us?  No brainer, the future must be women, and for the distance horses have brought us, we rise to return the favor.
Be it resolved: Positive role models unite! This week, my friend Bex Tasker and I are launching a group called Train & Sustain Collective where like-minded trainers come together to collaborate, consult, and create change in the world by making peace, sticking together, and seeing the core of what is important while not getting stuck on our methodological differences.
Be it resolved: More positive role models unite! Write your books because our words matter and our voices lift each other up. I’m collaborating on a publishing house to be announced this spring. Get editing. Your turn is here.
Be it resolved: We choose positive peer pressure. Let’s sing out in blunt, audible voices praising each other’s good efforts. Let it become a habit to make a friendly connection, speaking up even if you’re shy because affirmative training means saying yes to humans, too. Generously compliment every good thing because what we pay attention to grows.
 Be it resolved: As we stand for horses, so we do for ourselves. Be self-kind. Challenging as it might be, please quit selling yourself short. Take credit for your experience and what you know. Negative self-talk doesn’t make you more palatable. Commit to loving yourself as much as you love horses. Think of the change in the world if we even simply started by affirming our own highest and best.

Here’s why you should believe me: I’m a loudmouth party-pooper and you can trust me to avoid empty flattery. I travel far doing this work, which includes listening to honest comments about powerlessness and isolation, ironically stated to a group of like-minded people who live close together. The next group says the same with perfect regularity. I’m convinced there are more of us than we ever imagined but because we’re introverts, we don’t tell each other.

We fear the judgment of railbirds but why jump to the worst conclusion? What if it’s just false bravado covering their fear of change. Have compassion; they might feel a bit threatened or even envious of the relationship you have with your horse.

The changes that horses need will not be made by people like me. It’s all of you who are changing the world, making ripples every day in small barns in remote places. You can hear the rising wave of individuals impacting neighbors by their positive example. A tsunami will grow as we support each other because the Golden rule still shines. What if the friction you feel is change hitting its stride? I’m filled with optimism, inspired by all of you, stronger than you know. Horse-keepers are the storm!

How do we trust ourselves? Horses tell us we’re getting it right and I believe them.

…

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: Letting Him Lead

 

You were there the day he was born, all ears and

knees. You knew him when his hooves were still

soft and his eyes first saw light, but the forever

deal was struck long before then. You knew what

the colt did not, that it was you who was born for

him. The exquisite crimson cut as he took his first

steps away from you, never again as compliant as

the dream. Can you let him move into the world,

can you cheer his curiosity, can your calm sooth

his fear? Can your love give him the confidence to

stand alone because as much as you long to pull

that colt to your chest, your arms locked round his

shoulders, his eye is sweeter given without request,

his company most dear when offered freely, the trust

between you shining brightest when you stand as

equals, him given the choice to lead you into his life.

…

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

Want more from this horse trainer who writes poems? 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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Part One: The Future for Horses, a Different Narrative about Herd Dynamics

The first story I remember about herd dynamics was that stallions lived on the rise above the valley to watch for danger and protect the herd. The mares and foals grazed like idle, hapless creatures while the business of the herd went on between a dominant stallion and young stallions fought to take his place. Even now most photos of wild horses show stallions fighting; herd life is all about domination. At some point a set of eyes got past the boys brawling and noticed that the herd usually had a mare that others deferred to. She ran off trouble-making stallions and solved disputes. Then the mare narrative took on dramatic names: Alpha. Boss. Is Dominatrix too strong a term? The infamous reputation of a chestnut mare comes to mind, with her ears pinned flat, a serpent’s neck, and teeth-bared as she rears, pawing the air with razor hooves, alternating with double-barrel kicks behind. She was a mare cut of “stallion” cloth.

You could look at the very same herd and tell a different narrative. You could acknowledge that the horses spent most hours of the day peacefully grazing or standing head to tail, swishing flies. The herd attends births with curiosity; mares dote on their foals and geldings sometimes play the part of wise or silly uncles. That the whole herd watches out for each other, there are special friendships, and a near-invisible old mare with scars and experience who stands in the background. No stallions fight to the death, but there are some bitey-face games. On warm mornings, they like to nap together. No matter the size of the pen, they practically touch each other. Some days you think the old gelding is the herd leader but when the old chestnut mare dies, the herd mourns with particular heartbreaking anxiety. Each horse seems lost. In hindsight, you’re sure it was always her.

Is the herd dynamic one of fighting or cooperation? Is the question who is in charge or is the herd safe? An aggressive fight for control or some relaxed horses singing kumbaya? And my personal pet peeve: Where did we get the crazy notion that the horse who over-reacts with the most fear and insecurity is the alpha? Why don’t we value quiet confidence? The perspective we tell stories from, do research from, and build opinion from, come from beliefs so deeply woven that we believe them without question. We live in a patriarchal culture. Men generally control the narrative and women are so used to it; we think it’s normal.

Who picks the narrative matters because if you believe the first version, then the only “natural” response would be to dominate horses in training. Fighting is what equines understand. A strong leader would force respect, break the horse to obey, and the horse would be grateful to be subservient. Sure, some horses go nuts or are untrainable, but it’s their failing. Horses are naturally resistant and would only work if we forced them, so we pressure them until they submit. Sometimes the downside was the same horses could be hard to catch. So, the horses got chased until they shut down, were halter-broken, and this part still confuses me, somehow then the horses recognize or confuse the brutal human predator for a herd mate and end up being a trusting partner?

I keep thinking of that adage: If you’re a hammer, everything looks like a nail. Aren’t we the ones picking the fight? Why do we think aggression is the logical language?

Yes, I know there are exceptions: Men who train with compassion like Xenophon and the ancient Greeks who thought horses were like dancers. Women can certainly be abusive and cruel to horses. Still, over 90% of horse owners are women, yet the horse training profession is dominated by men. Yes, dominated. It has had a huge impact on how we train horses. The most common thing I hear from riders is that they aren’t comfortable with how they were taught but still hear the old voices telling them that they need to show the horse who’s boss. That they can’t let the horse win. That lily-livered riders ruin horses.

I was asked my opinion about the future of horses and horsemanship. I think things are shifting; that an entirely new paradigm is unfolding. I believe women are on the cutting edge of the future and horses will benefit immensely. I’ve never been more optimistic.

More of us look at our herds in our pastures and believe the second narrative is truer. That most of the time, horses share their lives in peace, that they willingly cooperate in the herd. We find that the less we attack them, the less we behave like predators, the more horses volunteer. It’s humans who need to be respectful of how horses think. It is literally possible to build trust through two-way communication with calming signals and our “body-voice.” How can any of us even sleep, it’s so exciting! The more willing horses are to be ridden and the more reliable they become. Trust thrives, fewer injuries for both, and relationship becomes more important than we ever imagined because we finally recognize it’s the foundation of their herd life. Leadership is feeling safe. Everybody wins.

The best part? Science has proven that horses are sentient and have emotions; they are more than mere tools. Research found that horses have an autonomic nervous system and we can choose to work in alignments with that knowledge for even better training results. Science backs affirmative training and positive reinforcement. There are still two narratives, but science is on our side. Jane Goodall, for all the taunting she got in the beginning, was right all along. I hope we carry that torch on and do her proud.

May I add a third narrative, equal time for a sarcastic and sappy narrative I wrote eight years ago as a valentine to an old gray gelding:

“A Horse/Human Creation Story. In the beginning, humans ate horses. Some Neanderthals still do. About 25,000 years passed and one day a human –I personally think it was a woman- heard a voice in her head that she didn’t recognize. It was a deep soft voice, like Barry White, only 5,956 years too soon. The human looked for the cause of the voice and saw a horse –I personally think it as a white horse. The human was a bit unsettled, so the horse took a deep breath and exhaled, and sure enough, the human mimicked it back. The horse thought there might be a chance that this frail human had a soul, so he offered his help. And that’s how humans domesticated the horse.”

This silly valentine feels truer to me every day. I wonder about the narrative of how horses came into our lives. I doubt there was some version of an ancient rodeo. Cowboys didn’t invent horse training. I think horses wandered into our camps. They befriended us, but our ego took the credit. Horses maintained their pride, their intelligence, and that made us look bad. And we are predators after all, more prone to fight than negotiate. Still, after centuries of humans showing horses that we are not smart or dependable, they continue to volunteer. I hate over-romanticizing horses but I will never believe that we domesticated them. I will be eternally grateful that horses continue the work of domesticating us.

…

Next week, Part Two: The Future of Horsemanship.

…

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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