Anna Blake's Blog, page 4

The Art of Un-Training a Horse

 

 

The first video is of a Mustang, proud and breathtakingly beautiful. He’s a burnished smoky buckskin, with a massive neck and a straight face that shows more strength than refinement. He’s a horse’s horse. Standing in his pen, he is still, his lips tight and his eyes dark. The horse is waiting for the woman to ask something of him. Because humans always ask something of him. The woman is deliberately ignoring him. She fusses with a feed pan on the ground, moves some leaves with her foot, and studiously does anything but ask him for something. An eternity of minutes has passed and expectation hangs in the air.

Then the Mustang lowers his head so he can stretch his neck. He gives his ears a small shake and licks. Then the yawning begins. He is releasing anxiety. I describe this kind of release as letting go of dread, because it’s a hard word that offends us a little. It makes us more aware of how we present ourselves. Our body language is usually loud, sometimes with anger, more often with love. But always our presence rattles. Most of us hurry. We assume horses are dying to see us. Horses think we are all narcissists. That we’re bulls in a china shop.

The Mustang has never faced cruelty other than being rounded up. Like domestic horses, he freezes a bit when we come close. But on this day, the woman disappointed the Mustang’s expectations. She has let the air rest. She is engaged with the environment, not him. In simple terms, she’s playing hard to get, and he was totally engaged with her every move. And after the yawn fest, he moved closer to the woman. She has become interesting and mysterious to the Mustang, as he has always been to her. They are negotiating a new language.

This video, and others I’ll mention, are from an advanced class at The Barn School. The people are untraining their horses. It’s a necessary step for horses with history. This group is starting their horses over by clearing away emotional debris from the past. Without this step, retraining will not give us a reliable partner. It’s a method of earning trust and it takes time. But once we restore that confidence, the rest comes quick and easy. 

I worry social media has impacted the way we handle horses, putting us all in a weird competition. Can anyone explain to me the how laying down next to a horse benefits the horse? Or why do we believe that good horsemanship involves making a horse perform the most unnatural behaviors? It has to be more than showing off with our horses, doesn’t it? 

In the next video, it’s an old appaloosa with the sweetest eyes. He’s done everything, and done it very well, thank you. He was a lesson horse and there is no higher calling. Too old for that now, he landed on a farm in Minnesota with two donkeys, two young helmeted ‘wranglers’, and a woman who cares about this precious old gelding’s health. He has to have a syringe of medication twice daily. 

This unhappy event has to become an easy habit and that can’t happen if she forces him. So they walk to the same place, and she asks the same question. She waits for his answer, refusing to hurry him or pick a fight. Moments pass. The old gelding looks away. He isn’t saying no. It’s a calming signal, and she respects his need for time. When he’s ready, he returns his head, softens his lips and releases his jaw, accepting the medication. Respectfully negotiated every day, never taken for granted.

Are humans on a time schedule really the elite of the evolutionary ladder? Is harsh discipline the best teacher or an outdated tradition? Eventually, some of these good horses land in new homes with owners who try to do better. Others might want to start a young horse to escape the training issues adult horses can have. The problem with that is if we use the same harsh methods of training that are common in our culture, the horse will have the same kinds of issues.

We have to stop over-training and start negotiating. If we break horses, as we used to say, then we have dumbed them down to our level. Instead of being lifted by cooperation with them. We are the ones who lose. 

This last video begins with two horses grazing in a green pasture. The pair has just arrived in their new home. One is a younger Fjord gelding who came with a reputation of being a difficult horse. He is equal parts curious and fearful, and does not want to be touched. It’s complicated. The other is a honey-colored Fjord cross mare who is older and has seen plenty of the humans. She is stoic and holds a distance. She doesn’t move away, but she doesn’t engage either. Smart, she holds her own best council.

Then a woman of a certain age pushes a wheelbarrow into view. She uses that wheelbarrow to muck, but today, she pauses every few strides to toss things out, and then rolls on. They are odd bits of this and that, a ball, a patch of astroturf, boxes. The horses lift their heads from grazing and watch at her.

Then both horses follow in her wake, investigating the litter. The gelding seems to toss the ball, but he’s nibbling, testing with his teeth. It’s a calming signal, releasing his jaw. Others might think he’s playing, but there is something more important happening as well. He is regulating his uneven emotions. The mare follows last, conservatively stretching her neck as she sniffs one thing and then strolls to the next. She doesn’t trust the woman. It’s too soon for that, but she considers the moment. She is thoughtful.

Would the woman like to curry both new horses to a shine? What do you think?

But she knows it’s a selfish wish. That watching them will tell her more. And her reward for patience will be much sweeter when they can volunteer. For now, she breathes, moving in arcs and keeping her hands at her sides. Silence is a gift. In a while, she will trace the lap with the wheelbarrow again, picking up the objects she tossed out just earlier. Knowing that engaging their minds with curiosity will benefit each of them more. As different as these two horses are, they have some big emotions to make peace with. The woman has all the time the horses need. 

As a trainer, there are still times that I remember being told I was spoiling my horse. Implying that I babied them. The big word for that is anthropomorphism, meaning putting human traits on animals. The irony is that trainers who promote aggressive methods are the guilty ones, saying horses need to be shown who was boss. Domination is a uniquely human notion, and it doesn’t even fit us all that well.

It’s always been the nature of a horse to get along with others. They aren’t fighters. We think things would work better if humans switched to their side.

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An audio version of this essay is available to subscribers 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 The Art of Un-Training a Horse appeared first on Anna Blake.

Grumbling and Stumbling Toward Change

I’m coming up on the anniversary of moving to my farm twenty-five years ago. It coincides with my dysfunctional affair with technology. My first night here was a full-moon Halloween. I know this because I wrote important dates on my calendar. This means that at the end of one year, I hand-copied it all onto the next year’s calendar. I’m bad with dates, but I had Y2K spelled out on New Year’s Eve. Calendars have improved.

A few months earlier, a client came into my gallery to show me a drawing program on his computer. He thought it would be a great tool to describe potential designs to clients. What an insult. I was indignant. My Montblanc Meisterstuck LeGrand fountain pen with gold trim did me very well. Thank you.

Around the same time, a friend and I were writing screenplays together. He bought software for his computer, so we didn’t have to do all those crazy-making tabs manually. After using that writing program, my typewriter was like using charcoal on bark in front of a campfire. I couldn’t stand it. 

I stayed in limbo for a few more years. Then, I bravely purchased my first computer, a Gateway, as much for the cow print box as anything. I didn’t know computers, but I knew Holsteins. Mine lived in a cabinet the size of a refrigerator. For the first year, I spent twenty hours a week waiting on the helpline. It was a part-time job. It took that long to figure out that no matter the problem, their answer was always the same. Reboot, they said. Eventually, I learned to reboot it myself without calling first. It felt like I had achieved brilliance.

Technology exploded in equal parts convenience and a threat. Love and hate. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t want to learn it, but I wasn’t sure I could live without it. Perfect ambivalence. Other people had half a chance. They had kids, but I didn’t and I couldn’t be borrowing theirs forever. Besides, I was a horsewoman. I rode thousand-pound half-wild animals and would not get bucked off a computer. Well, not without a fight. 

Then my life came apart. People died. Friends stopped being friends. The building where I leased gallery space sold, and I got evicted. And my best old dog died. I lost so much in such a short time that I felt I had nothing left to lose. I just wanted to go home, but I didn’t have one to go back to. So, I bought a farm for my horses and left the city. It made as much sense as anything else.

Moving to my farm was a step back in time. Rustic would have been a flattering term, but I stayed busy. I built fence, learned to hang gates level, and tore down the old pit bull runs. At night, I howled at the moon. Work was slow. I used wheelbarrows and hand tools and could have filed horse’s hooves with my bare hands. I thought I was pretty tough. A real pioneer. But I had it switched. I’d grown up doing farm work, the pioneering I was doing was with technology. Sure, I was years behind, but I had an artist’s temperament. When dragging your feet, it’s important to have a plausible excuse.

The first month after the move, one of my horses came up lame, and the farrier told me it was White Line Disease. What? He said he’d never seen it in Colorado. A slight relief since I’d never heard of it. I pored over my horse books with no luck. I needed to know more so I could find out what went wrong and how I could avoid it in the future, but instead, I paced and worried about my other horse. Would he need a hoof re-sectioned, too?

I was only using my computer to write long lonely emails to faraway friends, thrilled that I didn’t have to wait for the mail. That was the big sell, the luxury of writing without a stamp. Since my long distance bill was the size of my mortgage, email was magic enough. 

It took a day more of pacing for me to recall a thing I’d heard of called “googling.” I could try that, but I didn’t know how to find it on my computer. And it wasn’t like I could google “googling.” I was stumped. You remember those days, right?

Eventually, I called the Gateway helpline and asked them. An hour of waiting on hold later, the chuckling tech guy told me where to find it, right under my nose all the time. I typed my search into my browser and then went to the kitchen to make tea. Because it took the time it took. When my answer finally came back, my tea had cooled. Dial-up was that slow but there was more pertinent information than a library would have had.

I purchased my first cell phone when I moved, too. I had to walk out to the front corner of the property to get reception, and it still dropped calls most of the time. What I remember about those days was constant learning exhaustion. Doing vaginal flushes on my llama, stacking hay, and watching my septic tank collapse was easy compared to making peace with these small machines. 

Why am I trying to amuse you with a story of struggling with a computer instead of a story of a rescue horse? Would your heart have swelled with concern and affection if the dysfunctional computer had been a stray dog? It’s not the same, you’re right. Machines aren’t alive. We resist progress if it doesn’t have a cute face.

But looking back over the same twenty-five years, has our horse world changed less? Vets now carry portable radiographs in their truck. Lifesaving drugs have been developed. Trainers like me use tablets as a learning tool for riders. A photo texted to your vet is invaluable, a video even better, and it all fits in a pocket. Saddle designs have evolved as we better understand anatomy with the help of technology. We can search an infinite online library and take courses on any topic. We can purchase what we need and get it quickly, even if we live in remote areas. From nutrition to bookkeeping, it’s all changed. I can sit at my computer and teach live lessons in New Zealand, but if someone told me this back then, I would’ve squinted sarcastically and asked Scotty to beam me up. Imagining my current life was impossible.

I don’t mean to preach. This reminiscing is meant to inspire me. I’m floundering to balance new technology with hard won common sense. Still working for an animal who deserves my best. I’ve come a long way, albeit kicking and screaming, and technology is like training horses. I’m the one who has to change. 

Technology speeds along, but humans are imperfect. It can be intimidating to learn new answers to old questions. Nothing flows at first and we hear internal voices that make us doubt ourselves. My father would scoff at this new-fangled world, but do we have that choice? Can we love animals and hate technology? Rather than fight it, maybe just a spoonful of change a day. We managed to get cat photos on our cell phones, after all.

Some things haven’t changed in all my years. I’m hard-headed. I’ll grumble and stumble. But then I’ll pick myself up and get back in the saddle, like we do. Change won’t be quick and it’s rarely graceful, but we can’t all be horses.

 

[An audio version is available to subscribing members on Substack.]

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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 or Substack. 

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

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 Grumbling and Stumbling Toward Change appeared first on Anna Blake.

The Long Ear Answer to Humans Doing Everything The Hard Way

“I am not sure why horse people are especially prone to doing things the most difficult way possible, but it’s a habit that dies hard,” she said. Agreed. I hope we’re the worst, but it is an addictive habit. Edgar Rice Burro thinks it’s just our normal condition. Actually, he puts it this way: you’re only human.

She’s a woman in one of my classes who posted two videos, one not following my advice and one following it. This woman has a great sense of humor and a chestnut Arabian mare, the former being a requirement for the latter. Her goal was to put a saddle pad on her new mare at liberty. Smart, mares will take a choice if you don’t give them one.

In the first video, the mare had some anxiety and walked off. It’s a fair response, not a refusal. She just needs a moment. When horses have anxiety, walking relieves that anxiety. Consider it a calming signal. Asking a flight animal to stand still is an open question if you are not willing to tie her to a post or punish her for being a horse.

My advice was to trade one calming signal for another. If she could ease her anxiety with a hay bag, would she be able to stand at liberty? Chewing releases the jaw and poll, also calming. The mare stood beautifully, engaged with her human and munching away. Demonstrating the miraculous power of stillness I embody while eating popcorn during a thrilling movie. Besides, working a horse on an empty stomach is asking for gastric upsets. An effortless win-win. Or is it too easy?

“What is the big deal about hanging a hay bag?” says Edgar. He is the voice of common sense on the farm. I always bring him in for the big existential questions. About now, his ears fall wide. He’s always right. When you think of it as stress eating replacing stress walking, it makes all kinds of sense. And it isn’t teasing with sugar or causing obesity. At best, it’s lunch a bit early.

Our farrier is grateful we hang hay bags. He wishes everyone would. And we avoid separation anxiety by, wait for it… Not separating them. Our Edgar is old and has weak fetlocks. Trims worry him and he likes his friends there snacking with him. And here I go, spoiling the entire herd, a stern voice in my head asserts. I don’t listen.

Our mare doesn’t believe in trimming four hooves. Three is plenty for her. But everyone has a reason. Youngsters are impatient. No horse loves a death grip on the lead rope. And some horses are owned by people who think it would ruin their horse to be comfortable for trimming. That having a horse is like keeping a good kid in detention after school, just in case, just for good measure.

Edgar has no patience for people who overwork anyone. He says it’s bad enough that humans do everything the hard way, but do we have to ask our animals to do the same?

I try to explain us to him. Maybe it’s our ego? We surely do love showing off. I suggest that sometimes things get harder because of indecision and overthinking. That yes-or-no game where we become disabled by poisonous self-talk. Edgar nods agreeably, giving me a knowing eye. He’s seen me do that. Other times it’s as if we need to prove our manhood, taught by people who were experts, or so we thought. As if kindness destroys horses.

And some say that doing hard things can help people become more resilient. That suffering makes us stronger. Personally, I think I’ve learned everything I need to by doing it the hard way. It gave me the opposite of confidence and a few scars.

“Little Ears,” Edgar says. He calls me that pet name sometimes. “You humans are so consumed with false fear and self-judgment. It’s written all over your bodies. Don’t humans know we have enough of our own stresses in life and could use a break when we’re with you?”

I nod at his wisdom. He can tell me this now because I’m less defensive of my inadequacies and easier to get along with. More likely to scratch an ear. I had to let go of my whining and worry around horses. I was miserable, no one was nickering, and something had to go. Either my horses or my inner railbird, always criticizing me and talking trash until I couldn’t utter a word of praise to my horses, and least of all, myself.

I had to stop bad-mouthing myself. It was a habit like biting nails. Instead, I pursed my lips and looked at the sky. I thought of something I did successfully. Some days, it was that I didn’t poke anyone in the eye. It was a negative success, but it still counted. Around animals, I taught myself to say “good” even if things were coming apart, to remind us of who we are. Slowly, a new habit took over.

Is there some point where we age out on doing it the hard way? Can we just award ourselves a get-out-of-jail-free card?

My grandmother, well into her eighties, got into trouble one day. An aunt dropped by when she and Grandpa were eating lunch, pizza from the freezer and homemade chokecherry wine. The horrible news burned through the family like a rumor of an unwed pregnancy. This German woman made her own sausage, for crying out loud. Now she was eating tasteless crumbles on a cardboard crust. And drinking in broad daylight. Was it time for a nursing home?

Humans really do jump to the worst conclusion. I cheered Grandma on. She was still a strict taskmaster, but a sip of wine was all the better for an afternoon nap. It’s not like she was doing secret scientific research for the government. For all the soups, roasts, and chocolate chip cookies that woman made, she deserved an easy lunch. Maybe they were celebrating something.

Casting stones at others to disguise our insecurities. Aspiring to be a perfectionist in an imperfect world. Feeling the silent criticism of others when it’s really our own voice. Trying to score karma points by suffering. These are unique traits in the animal world. Just us. Do we think it makes us better than dogs or donkeys or, God forbid, chestnut mares?

Edgar Rice Burro shakes out his poll, flipping his ears from side to side, as his prodigious lips follow the sway. He says, “But do they know they are at liberty and can walk it off? That we aren’t asking them to be perfect?”

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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 or Substack. 

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

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 The Long Ear Answer to Humans Doing Everything The Hard Way appeared first on Anna Blake.

Wild or Tame: Trust Actions Above Words

This is my neighborhood. That’s Pikes Peak peering over the horizon, exactly where it was when I bought the farm. It feels like everything else has changed. Now high-tension power poles are cutting an ugly swath across the land from the wind turbines twenty miles east of here. I’ve given up photo-shopping them out. The pond used to be filled with birds, but only a fraction still come. Can you see the deer reflected in the pond? They are new, too. Crowded here by urban sprawl. 

The thing I love best about living here is the invisible line between wild animals and tame ones. By invisible, I mean nonexistent.

This morning, I was up early mucking before breakfast. Three does and six fawns were moving single file from the pond across the pasture. Not newborn fawns, but not teenage size. I call the pasture a game preserve because the horses don’t use it, and shouldn’t we tithe back to nature? A huge hawk perched at the top of a nearby pine tree like a holiday angel. 

Then one fawn got hung up on the fence. Her body dangled from the fence, with a hind leg caught high enough that only her front hooves touched the ground. Was that thin hind leg broken? Fencing is always the killing danger for animals escaping fires. And urban growth has a wildfire quality. So many fences, so close together.

I hurried across the pasture, but as I got closer, I slow walked an arc, careful to stay in her vision. It’s what I teach people to do around horses. She had passed her hoof through two squares of the fence, above one wire and below. The compression of her leg was like a Chinese Finger Trap. There was no blood yet, but it got tighter when she pulled. I took some deep breaths, letting her hear me exhale and kept my hand soft. She was calm as I tried to work her leg free. I was thinking Chinese Finger Traps really do teach you everything you’d ever need to know about life.

Her leg wouldn’t move. I stepped away, and she screamed. Deer screams are haunting. Think Silence of the Lambs.

I started back for wire cutters, but the Dude Rancher was on his way out with them. He asked if I needed help, and I said no. The last thing any frightened animal, wild or tame wants is more humans around. We are predators, after all.

Again, approaching in a slow arc and audibly exhaling, I steadied her leg, and positioned the cutters. She was completely still. I cut one wire, and she pulled free, screaming and dragging her leg. By the time she caught up with the others, she was pogoing with her hind legs. I think she’ll be sore, but okay.

Pregnant deer mock my dog, Mister

On the way back to mucking, I smiled, thinking I’d handled a little fawn just like a thousand-pound horse. I didn’t talk because breath is more powerful and universal. I didn’t pet her or coo to her. What might soothe us would scare an animal more. My goal was to be the least intrusive human I could be. After a lifetime studying animals, it still comes back to simple breathing. 

Do I sound like I’m bragging? I wasn’t born this way. When I was young, I’d kiss a dog’s snout while looking at the whites of his eyes. I’d hug cats until they went limp as an octopus to escape me. With horses, I was even more disrespectful. I held that lead with a death grip as I cuddled and chattered, asking them questions they never answered. Like would-be animal behaviorist Gary Larson’s famous cartoon, “Blah, blah, blah, blah, Ginger…”

We try so hard to help animals, but in that process, overwhelm them. Some barns play classical music overnight. Research shows it doesn’t soothe horses, but instead stresses them as they must listen through the music to the outside noises. How many times do I hit the mute button so I can hear better? 

We teach riders to sing around horses if they are afraid, and it might relax the rider, but the horse knows they aren’t breathing. It’s hard to tell who makes who more nervous. And humans pick notoriously terrible songs. 

We hush the emotions of our dogs, constantly correcting them. Especially if their natural behavior is inconvenient. We yell at dogs for barking, but isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?

Animals don’t share our language. Not that they can’t learn words, but they use a universal body language called Calming Signals. As the theoretically more advanced species, shouldn’t I learn their language? Breathing is a universal calming cue, if only we’d go slow and remember.

My first step was to shut up. Not that I didn’t understand why my donkey brayed. And of course, I thanked my dog for barking. His hearing is better than mine. It wasn’t easy to muffle my blather, but the reward was immediate. Holding my words focused my mind. It was easier to hear what wasn’t said. It meant more honest communication because bodies don’t lie. My horse training skills took a giant leap, reactive horses settled, dogs liked me more. I liked myself more. Decades later, I even understand humans better. All to say, what if animals have been right all along?

After I finished chores, I tidied myself up. It was the anniversary of the day my dog Mister and I met on a hotel sofa three years ago. He is the Cardigan Corgi who traveled 23k miles with me in an RV. Mister would tell you I wrote a book about him called Undomesticated Women, but obviously he’s exaggerating.

Our date: Mister isn’t the outdoorsy type. I knew he’d want a truck ride, with my hand on his head and three air conditioner vents on him. I drove us to the farthest spa. This public dog bath works like a two-minute carwash, and Mister says the faster the better. And there are treats at nose level all the way to check out. But just as we got to the front door, an employee baby-talked to Mister and his belly hit the ground. High squeaky voices hurt my ears, too. I put a finger to my lips, the employee nodded, and after a breath, he stood up and bravely walked to the wash area, passing other dogs without a glance. I swear, wild or tame, human or animal, the power of breath.

Dried and fluffed to twice his normal girth, and having chosen a few treats, we paid and went back to the truck. But on the way out of the parking lot, we saw some shady trees over by an empty storefront. I’m not ashamed to say it. We parked. Mister finished his liver snack, and our silence deepened into a brief nap. On the way home, we stopped for a pup cup from Starbucks. It was a perfect day.

Why does quiet make humans so nervous? Is all silence awkward, in need of filling with chatter? See it from the animal’s side. To a terrified fawn or your heart’s companion, words are noise. Silence has room for understanding. Silence is peace. Isn’t that the sign of a true friend? 

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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 or Substack. 

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

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 Wild or Tame: Trust Actions Above Words appeared first on Anna Blake.

Nube: The Final Chapter

Over the next thirteen years of retirement, Nube napped with friends, ate well, and stood quietly for the farrier. I always knew some undiagnosable thing wasn’t right inside him, but there were more good days than bad. He didn’t worry, and neither did I. We both tried that, and it didn’t work.

Equine pros need photos for business promotion. It’s my least favorite thing. I have flinched in front of cameras enough to know I look better if a horse is in the shot. So, this tall, elegant Iberian became my Vanna White, my fancy spokesmodel. That’s him in my bio sheets and clinic promotions. That’s him on three of my book covers, including my first book, although the story featured a different horse. Each week, I post a meme on social media; a quote of mine superimposed on a photo of a gray horse with a black background. Those are all him. I suppose, in a way, Nube became my face.

Every horse story ends the same way. The date and time might be a surprise, but there is nothing unexpected about losing a horse. I’m not looking for sympathy or condolences, just to finish Nube’s story.

It was a brisk January day. I fed the hay mid-morning and planned to meet a friend for lunch. I took one more walk through the barn, even though I had been out 20 minutes before. Nube was on the ground drenched in sweat. I raced to the house and filled a syringe with bentonite pro-bios clay, although it didn’t look like colic. Colic wasn’t this painful.

No vets were available. Nube alternated between bolting, thrashing, and collapsing for the next four hours. Getting him into the trailer wasn’t an option. I desperately thought of extreme options, just to stop his pain. Finally, a vet I knew from working with a rescue years before agreed to come. Nube’s condition was beyond obvious, but she needed me to say it. So, I did.

She euthanized Nube quickly. I thanked her, overpaid her, and went back to my barn. The clay was there on his tongue. He hadn’t swallowed or even released his jaw in those hours. I’ve never seen a more brutal death.

All I could feel was relief that he was out of pain. The rest of my herd had watched with concern when he was alive but paid no attention to Nube now that he was still. It’s a bittersweet experience when the last thing I would ever want becomes the thing Nube needed the most.

I had an online class to teach an hour later, so I washed my face and put clean clothes on. The class went smoothly. Does that make me sound callous? Think of it as a commercial break. I needed a distraction and my sadness certainly wasn’t going anywhere.

After class, I called the dead animal removal woman and set a pickup time the next day. The herd got a little extra dinner. I stood around and prayed for us all, in the odd way I do. My heart ached, but it was only one afternoon in the amazing span of Nube’s twenty years. I would not let something as ordinary as death cast a shadow over his life.

They say the five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. They have never been a fit for me. After a day like this one, denial was impossible, and I could never be angry at Nube. Bargaining is the struggle to find meaning. I’ve been around long enough to know life unfolds the way it will and fighting it doesn’t work. Bargaining everything you own to find an available vet might be closer to the question.

Depression? I’ve had so much loss in my life that a low-level depression might be there, but if so, it’s married to acceptance. My memories are like a comfortable sofa. I half enjoy resting there, passing time with my loved ones and a box of tissues. But I’m pragmatic. I know there are chores to do.

One of my favorite parts of grieving is missing from that list. No significant loss is complete without some dark humor. Laughter is a human calming signal. It helps us breathe, and it clears the air. It’s a way to move when inertia suggests I don’t. And there is something so delightfully morbid about a bad joke at a touchy time.

It didn’t take long for the obvious to arise. Whose bright idea was it to have a spokesmodel? My entire ghost herd snorted and stomped their hooves just at the edge of my eye. It was the best joke any of them had played on me.

Photos of Nube were plastered everywhere. I wasn’t expecting to forget him, but this was gratuitous. Every other minute on my computer, doing my paperwork, planning courses at the Barn School, updating social media. “Not you again!” I’d cackle, foolishly underestimating what a big part of my work Nube had always been. And then I cried and laughed and cried. I sang the chorus of that great Dan Hicks favorite, How Can I Miss You If You Won’t Go Away and blew my nose until my eyes swelled shut. The only people who think you can get over losing a horse are people who have never had one, but that’s no reason to give sadness the upper hand. Loss is also as ordinary as death. And as graceless.

Nube died almost two years ago. A humble reminder that doing my best doesn’t mean I rule the day. Nube is still my face. Not just to the world, but in the mirror. He was kinder than me, more intelligent than me, and probably an all-around better human than me. I try to live up to his memory.

 

Someone else

 

We think we know the horse, but we never can.

Instead, we contrive a fantasy that we will to be true.

Or we give up and love without knowing them.

We go by feel. It starts with a hand on their neck,

fingers raking their mane, but soon we feel them

woven deep in our guts.

Stalking them like love prey, while marveling at their majesty.

We survey the landscape of their lives

from the frisky breath of a foal to that final cooling stillness.

 

My gelding is dead.

I want to be contained in the space he vacated,

to take in the air spent from his lungs.

 

Push my forehead against a fence post to feel its touch.

The air has an alcohol sting, freezing my lungs,

Stifling my gasp. Clench my arms tight because

there is no floor, no wall, no warm place to rest my hand.

 

My gelding was a mystery of his own. Never mine,

but there were perfect moments I stood at his shoulder.

Whole moments I was his equal.

 

Tomorrow, I become someone else.

.

…

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

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

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post Nube: The Final Chapter appeared first on Anna Blake.

Deconstructing Horse Aggression

When I got home after school, I walked in the front door, dropped my books, and walked out the back door to see my horse, King. I called him a strawberry roan because I was in love and he was a sorrel with a smattering of white hairs. That day, he wasn’t grazing, which was odd, so I went over to the shed that passed as a barn. King was inside, looking wild-eyed like he’d been in a bar fight. Hacked up garter snake bodies littered the dirt floor of his stall.

Later research informed me that garter snakes don’t build nests, but prefer to take over other animal’s dens. They like cool dark places, sometimes under rocks or building foundations. The very definition of a shed in an orchard in Washington state. And they hibernate in large groups. Right then, there were hundreds of little corpses. So many that even I could smell them. And there was my horse, looking anything but proud. He was terrified.

After I got him out and raked the mess out, I found an area of ground collapsed in a corner of the stall. Maybe the snakes all broke through from their den for some reptile spring frolic. Do snakes stampede? Did they scare King bad enough that he panicked and started an untrained piaffe, not stopping until the ground stopped slithering? Why didn’t he run out of the barn? Did the snakes block the door? How long did it take for this level of carnage? Was he in shell-shock now? The only thing I knew for sure was that it had been self-defense. Horses aren’t natural killers.

Horses are peaceful animals. They do not have a dominance hierarchy. Herd life is normally quiet and cooperative. They are vegetarians and will live together with many other kinds of animals. But even after generations of what we call domestication, their survival instinct is strong. Horses never give up the three main survival methods: flight, fight, and freeze. If there’s a threat and a horse has room, they’ll run. If they’re in a small space, or if they have experienced fear-based training, they might choose to shut down or freeze. But the third option, fight, is the least common, and probably the most misunderstood.

What has to happen to a horse for them to change their nature and act aggressively? How do they go from cooperative herd animals to pinning their ears and lunging at people or other horses? It feels like aggression, but are we reading it right?

The number one reason for what we recognize as aggressive behavior is pain. Horses that appear angry are frequently screaming for help. It might be gastric, lameness, or even something invisible, but don’t be fooled into thinking it’s a training issue, especially if that behavior is escalating. Call the vet. We should always think of pain first when a horse behaves in unnatural or unusual ways.

If we are certain the horse is sound, then look to the other horses sharing the space. Is your horse living with a bully? And no, bully isn’t a fair term if we don’t know the health of those other horses, but you get my drift. Horses can’t thrive under threat from others and it will impact their health and their temperament.

Then we must take each horse as an individual. Some horses prefer one friend rather than a herd. Some mares don’t associate with geldings. Sometimes horses age out of the group they have lived with for years, no longer feeling physically sound. Maybe they fear lying down in a group or cannot eat in peace. Just because horses have lived a certain way for years doesn’t mean it still works for them. All horses change over time, and a change in behavior is a request for help.

Once in a while, you might meet a horse who is so tense their body looks like metal. Rather than looking away or other common calming signals, they seem to hold ground with hard eyes. It’s so unlike most horses. A step closer and they aren’t welcoming. Maybe they air-bite or pin ears. These horses almost act as if they want to be hit, like they would rather start a fight rather than linger in fear or dread.

Back in the day, we were taught to oblige. Snap the rope, make them blindly back up, and scare them out of it. We might put them in the round pen, wave a flag or a whip, and try to chase it out of them. Exhaustion doesn’t resolve the problem. And now we’ve allowed ourselves to be baited into an unfair fight with an animal who isn’t behaving normally.

The FBI made animal abuse a felony in January, 2016. Not just a felony, but a Class-A Felony. That puts horse abuse on par with the same category as arson, rape, and murder. It had been a long time coming, but it wasn’t from a deep concern for puppies. They acknowledge this because animal abuse is closely tied with violence against women, children, elders, and indeed, our entire society. They consider it “entry-level” abuse.

I’m not saying we are all monsters, but I’m hoping horse owners will come to a similar conclusion about the day-to-day dominance they have been taught to exert over horses and other domestic animals. I say “taught” because when it’s always been that way, we no longer notice it. Fear-based methods are so interwoven into our culture that it seems as normal as spanking children. Currently, corporal punishment is permitted or not banned in public schools in 23 states. Even that is an improvement over previous generations. But humans are slow to change.

What I knew about King and the Great Garter Snake Murders back then is the same thing I know today. Horses still aren’t aggressive by nature.

Some horses and other animals learned aggression from us. Can we at least agree that they will not be “fixed” by more of the same treatment that created the problem in the first place? Aggression does not heal aggression.

And can we forgive ourselves because we learned it from those before us? We are the only species of animals with a dominance hierarchy, but we should never normalize that worn out trickle-down hypothesis. Let us be the ones to change it.

…

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

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

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post Deconstructing Horse Aggression appeared first on Anna Blake.

Recording the Arc of Your Horse’s Life

The foal’s name was Sunny, his registered name Sunbrite Sunset. This photo was taken just before we met. The rest is history. Our history.

Disclaimer: I’m not talking about death this time, but something much worse: technology. If you are just going to dismiss what I’m about to say because you think you are that one unique horse owner who hates technology, please spare me. We all hate technology. You have two options. You can hide in the barn and complain about tech taking over the world, or you can tame it for your purposes, like the capable person you are. I should also add that you are reading this on some sort of tech device, maybe your phone. And cell phones mean we’re off our leashes.

Have you considered keeping an online diary for your horse? Or a blog that you can keep private and only share if you want to? Think of it as a shoebox with all your precious things. I always suggest it in my writing workshops. (If you are thinking you are a lousy writer, please read the above paragraph, substituting the word “writing” for the word “technology.” And really, we have to stop this name calling.)

First chose some software. Do a quick search of free online diaries or blogs and let one catch your eye. Now for the fun part. Pick your favorite colors and a font you wouldn’t use in broad daylight. Give it a secret password. Drag and drop some photos. Think of this software as your hideout, your clubhouse, your barn inside the house. Make it personal, one for each horse or one that will stable the herd. Mine started as a love song to my farm.

Find your horse’s original bill of sale and the first photos. Round up vet bills along with any x-rays you have. Ask your vet for their digital records and import them. Then receipts from body workers and farriers and try to translate their writing into English. A health record that is all in one place could be a serious asset in the future. Make a list of blanket and hoof boot sizes. Supplements you like and those that didn’t work. Make a point of using the brand names because years from now, who can remember?

Add notes you have from clinics. Recently, I stumbled upon a notebook from a clinic in the early 90s and was surprised by the lasting impact it has had on me to this day. Writing is an aspect of learning. Gather it all up. Yes, the details of their lives are scattered all over, but winter is coming. You’ll have time.

This is my favorite part. Get a glass of wine or a bowl of peach cobbler and write about the first time you saw your horse. Close your eyes and return to the day. How did the air smell? How did you decide? What happened when you brought them home? Tell the origin story of your partnership.

You might think it’s too late to start if your horse isn’t a foal, but it’s never too late. Reminiscing is good. If you have a rescue horse, write about their mystery or the start you wish they had. Then write about the first time you had buyer’s regret, because that’s always part of it, if only for an instant. Include the health scares. Relate the stories of your horse’s great courage and your best adventures. Write about all the fears and thrills, and describe how your horse changed over the years.

Too much writing, you say? Try a free voice-to-text app. You can dictate while you drive to the feed store. Technology is your friend.

Still too much? Consider creating a shorthand timeline. It can be as simple as a list of numbers that corelates to your horse’s age. Youth, maturity, and elder time. You can write it in any order, fill in the blanks as you go, just enough fragments that you remember the days. Use the project as a way of marking time and celebrating achievements.

1 year (6.5 human years) Oh, precocious little one. How was the first hoof trim, the first trailer ride, the first everything? Did you take care your horse didn’t grow up too fast?4 years (20.5 human years) A patient age to start, when the horse is physically and mentally ready. These are the salad days, the greenest of green, and it’s all about gaining confidence. Did you check his gastric health? What goals will you two pursue?10 years (35.5 human years) This is the prime of a horse’s life. Celebrate the mature and capable years. Consider beginning joint maintenance.15 years (48 human years) The horses have moved into mid-life and it’s come too soon. Enjoy the view. They are still strong, but the unspoken truth is there.22 years (65.5 human years) You blinked and your horse is a senior. Like Indian Summer, the days take on rich colors.27 years (78 human years) Survival instinct means they are still capable of a short canter. We can supplement their feed to keep their weight. Special attention and precious days.30 years (85.5 human years) Such a life you’ve shared. Perhaps it’s time to check their quality of life against the winter ahead. You say thank you in every way you know how.

Write a book, keep a diary, or make a list, but stay current with your horse in every stage of their lives. Please don’t look away. It’s important to acknowledge the landmarks. First time experiences, their inevitable maturity, and the moments of natural decline. Tenderly knowing all horse stories end the same way.

Like taking a spoonful of poison a day, we have to let them age. Of course, it happens too quickly, so we learn to celebrate the days that came before. Sometimes, while talking to a group, I say the word “retire” and you’d think I’d suggested we grill some kittens. It’s as if retiring a horse was a failure, a disgrace, rather than an honor and a gift of gratitude. As if we have less value ourselves as we age. We should be proud of our experience, wisdom, and skill required to make a life worth loving.

Here’s to the last sunset together. No regret, not one moment wasted in the presence of a horse. Let them be eternal. Hoard their memory in words.

…

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

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

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post Recording the Arc of Your Horse’s Life appeared first on Anna Blake.

A Clinic in Wyoming With Mister

I’m giving a clinic in Wyoming while Mister is hunting varmints in the pasture. He’s relieved to say the varmints kept to themselves, but he was able to bag a grazing muzzle. He wants me to mount it and hang it on the wall.

My computer is broken, no essay today because I refuse to text the whole thing. So this is a first since 2010, just a note. Scratch your horses for me, take your dogs hunting, and see you all next week.

…

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

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

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post A Clinic in Wyoming With Mister appeared first on Anna Blake.

A Clinic in Wyoming while Mister is hunting varmints

I’m giving a clinic in Wyoming while Mister is hunting varmints in the pasture. He’s relieved to say the varmints kept to themselves, but he was able to bag a grazing muzzle. He wants me to mount it and hang it on the wall.

My computer is broken, no essay today because I refuse to text the whole thing. So this is a first since 2010, just a note. Scratch your horses for me, take your dogs hunting, and see you all next week.

The post A Clinic in Wyoming while Mister is hunting varmints appeared first on Anna Blake.

The Home Barn and Separation Anxiety

May I brag? I have that strange career where I travel a lot, see beautiful country as a routine part of my work. I never underestimate the importance of the land when working with horses. Horses depend on their local environment and so do we. The farm girl inside can’t look away, whether it’s the desert southwest or the verdant forests of the Southeast.

I have seen the corners of the world traveling by air, but that feels more like time travel. It’s still an unreal experience to sleep in a cramped seat, a stranger next to you, and wake up in a foreign country. It’s a road trip that’s reality. Every mile unfolds slowly, change is ever constant, and it takes the time it takes to arrive. Road trips are like training horses.
As a rule, I don’t see the tourist sights. No fancy dinners downtown or shopping in the art district. I visit barns. Some have miles of white fence and an indoor arena with stalls newer and cleaner than my house. Others are small, practical, and designed for horses more than people. Some farms have acres of green pastures, while others have shared dry lots, like my farm.

But the partnership with a horse includes the environment, whether it’s a gallop on the beach or climbing a mountain ravine. Whether riding in an indoor arena on good footing or strolling through your pasture. Our engagement with the environment matters because horses don’t separate themselves from parts of the environment. They take it all as their life. We make it paradise or not. Call it air quality.

Training is important to horses, but not nearly as important as the lifestyle of the barn. Friends, forage, and freedom, as the slogan says. But it’s so much more than that. It’s the barn culture. Is it a place of peace, as natural as we can make it and without the city drama of human life? Do we lose the things we seek for our horses by micromanaging their keep? I know I harp on calming signals, but one listen with the horses will tell you all you need to know about the farm.

So, we create a home barn. It’s a country club for introverts who don’t want to leave home. It could be private, or it might be shared with like-minded horsepeople, but a barn is a place with a culture of safety, putting horses first, and negotiating our desires second.

At clinics, the question of separation anxiety always comes up. Horses like home and herd. Humans want to go and do. We think that just being with us should be enough for a horse to leave what they know behind. Travel doesn’t mean the same thing, and as much as we wish, humans will never replace the herd. Never to be complacent, traveling with a horse is the truest test of trust. And separation anxiety means you’re getting it right at your home barn.

This month I’ve taken two trips around Colorado, my home state. I crossed the Rockies in three places, bounced down dirt roads and took miles of switchbacks. Driving through places I hadn’t seen in thirty years, I did not miss the speed of the freeway, not once. The tourists didn’t bother me because all the years of Affirmative Training have worked. I just see what I like and ignore the rest.

When people find out I live here, they get a dreamy look in their eyes, and I correct them. “No, not that Colorado.” I live on the flat, windy, treeless part. There is a beauty to the prairie, but it’s subtle. No rocky crags, no sparkling rivers. And as much as I love the mountains, I don’t want to live there.

Yet, there is something so very therapeutic about a walk in the woods. To sleep in a place as quiet as the stars. Even just driving alongside a river is enough to rinse the drama out of my ears. But most of us live near urban areas, and some version of the untamed land is not always available. But maybe that’s what we love about horses. They bring nature to us by being forever a bit wild.

We need to love their wild; not squash it. It’s a reminder of who we were before the cities took our world, too.

As much as I love travel, the best part of each trip is turning toward home. My voice wavers when I say the word. Pulled like a magnet to the place I fit. To the land that holds me and mine safe. You see, I’m a hypocrite. As much as I train others about separation anxiety, I’m the one who is barn sour.

…

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

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

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post The Home Barn and Separation Anxiety appeared first on Anna Blake.