Anna Blake's Blog, page 41
May 6, 2019
32. Blurring the Line Between Predator and Prey.
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Blurring the Line Between Predator and Prey.
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Photo & Poem: Birds and Horses
Fences mended with twine until there’s more time.
Scrubbed water tanks filled fresh, drank down
to half by noon. Shoveling muck into the cart, I
would be done by now, but for the meadowlark
aerials just above. But for the Canada geese
inspecting the tall weeds at the edge of the pond.
But for the horses rising from naps and the
shedding blade in my back pocket. Pause the
work to curry, revealing copper and silver and
chocolate strands to the light. Clumps of hair
come loose and float in the air, stick to my teeth,
roll with the breeze to be gathered by robins to
soften their twig nests. By swallows to weave them
with mud, drying as strong as cement to the barn
rafters. Chores should take longer in the spring.
Walking to the house lost in thought, having stood
witness to nature, the boots come off in the porch.
Understand the link: horses and birds are bound to one
another by bits of hay and dirt and horse hair, while
absentmindedly brushing the same from my clothes.
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Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
Want more? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more. Or go to annablake.com to subscribe for email delivery of this blog, see the Clinic Schedule, or ask a question.
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May 3, 2019
Calming Signals and Holding a Grudge
Sometimes your horse isn’t forward and it’s frustrating. Or he doesn’t like the trailer, and now neither do you. Maybe your horse gets cranky when you take him out alone when all you want is to take a walk. And by that, you mean he’s the one walking and doing it badly. And of course, you remember when he spooked and you came off. You didn’t get hurt badly, but it could have been worse. You keep a close eye for similar situations because your horse isn’t trustworthy now.
Maybe you’re just a tad bit jealous because someone else has a horse who behaves better than yours. And maybe that good horse belongs to someone who doesn’t deserve him. Or maybe that good horse was yours before he up and died.
Could you be holding a grudge? Don’t answer too quickly, it isn’t that you don’t love your horse. Maybe these are just training issues. Is a walk too much to ask for how expensive he is to keep? Are some instances the horse’s fault because he’s forgotten his training? Is there a sliding scale we can use to judge our grudge? Maybe from malevolence on his part to innocent common sense on our part?
A grudge is a feeling of resentment we hold in ourselves because of some real or imagined wrong done by another. It’s a default setting for humans, a kind of self-defense. And if you’ve been around horses long enough, you’ve heard of every possible thing happening at one time or another. Or maybe it’s just fun to pretend to complain or make a sarcastic joke, with no harm intended.
At the same time, we’ve been taught that horses read our fear, and “take advantage” of us. Everyone agrees that there is no place for anger around horses, but the problem is that once we’re angry we stop noticing ourselves at all. These are big emotions, once things have progressed that far, we’re already out of control.
I notice most of us are more passive aggressive. We’re as nervous about the big emotions as horses are, so we hold ourselves tight, afraid of doing wrong or making a mistake. We stare at horses hoping for a sign, acting like coyotes waiting for enlightenment, but end up making horses feel we’re stalking them for lunch. Horses always trust we’re communicating more honestly in our bodies than our words. Do we know the same?
Ever notice how absolutely simple it is to find fault in a horse but at the same time, how hard it is to have an awareness of our own feelings? To know what our own body is doing? It’s easier to believe that horses are psychic; that they have a mystical ability to read our inner hearts, that it is to believe that who we are is written all over our bodies in broad daylight. If it’s so obvious to horses, why does it seem so hidden from us?
Horses do have a few advantages over us. Their senses are keen, necessary for self-preservation. Each sense is more perceptive than ours. Even beyond that, we are so distracted by our thoughts that we’re constantly caught unaware in the moment. We rarely notice even then because we get a bit lazy about using our own senses. A brain capable of thinking about our thoughts is a huge distraction when it comes to living in the present moment, while daydreaming about feelings is a serious life-or-death fault for a prey animal. It’s the biggest difference between horses and humans.
Why does it matter? Horses communicate in calming signals. Body language can be as nuanced as a sonnet, as blunt as a scream. Some calming signals are meant to appease others, a way a horse says he means no threat. Other calming signals are displacement behaviors, believed to occur when an animal is in conflict about two incompatible desires. For instance, a curiosity about something but a reluctance to leave the herd to investigate. It’s a sign of stress, or at the least, the need for a moment to think. Sound familiar?
Back to us humans holding a grudge. Seen in terms of calming signals, it could be a displacement behavior. We love horses but don’t trust them. We want a behavior but doubt they will do it. We think we can train horses but don’t see them as reliable. And those contradictions are written all over us in ways that elude us. Human signals like a shallow breath or a slight tension in our shoulders are as plain as the side of a barn to a horse.
In other words, in the same way horses know it’s a halter we’re trying to hide behind our backs, they recognize the subtle internal things as well. They aren’t psychic, they’re designed to be more aware, especially if we are giving mixed messages.
Is holding a grudge a harsh term for having a memory? Or is it adjusted to match the difference in our awareness versus a horse’s? Want to hear some real common sense? How the grudge started is not the question. A better question is how do we move forward from where ever we are right now with our horses? It’s also common sense that if they can read all the negative emotions, then they can read positive affirmations as well.
Your horse is answering your current question honestly. Are you existing in the past, or can you let it go, stay safe, and act like it never happened? Is it fair to ask your horse to be more trust-worthy than you? If you’d like a better answer, first share the same moment with your horse and that’s the present. Improvement comes by evolving how we ask as well as what we ask, and that might boil down to how you feel about yourself. A small change in us creates a world of change for our horse.
What’s the opposite of holding a grudge? Forgiveness.
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Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
Want more? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna, and so much more. Or go to annablake.com to subscribe for email delivery of this blog, see the Clinic Schedule, or ask a question.
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April 29, 2019
Travelblog: Introverts Everywhere
Humans spend so much time trying to “make” horses do things. I’m a little more fascinated these days with what horses have me doing. I’m an introvert who travels to work with groups of humans who have horses. I’m not sure any of us remembers a time if felt like a choice. It was always my introvert plan to sit in my little studio and write to my heart’s desire in the scant waking hours I wasn’t in the barn. Writing isn’t exactly cutting-edge technology, but it’s a crazy world and here I am in New Zealand again. I’m having a fabulous time, seeing old friends, equine and human, and meeting new friends.
Giving horses free rein to take me where they want to go has been a wondrous journey of learning through the course of my life, but the literal journey has been just as amazing.
Still, being a Traveling-Introvert is complicated. My first existential dilemma happened at the Colorado Springs airport, about fifteen miles from home. There was a delay on the first leg of my twenty-two-hour trip to Auckland. The delay was bad luck, but the dilemma was a man at the gate wearing a t-shirt that said: “Do me a favor. Don’t talk.” Dang. It’s perfect introvert travel gear… but I certainly understand his point.
As if being a Traveling-Introvert wasn’t enough, I think too much. Horses have taught me the folly of that fruitless behavior around them, so I discipline myself and only think too much the rest of the time. I’m happily doddering around the nooks and crannies of my own mind. I’m visual, so it’s as if I’m paging through scrapbooks of everything I’ve ever seen, had a passing thought about, or dreamed of doing. Endlessly fascinating. Restorative. Time-consuming. Lollygagging around in thought is great for long flights.
Landing in Auckland, there’s a different customs agent but it’s as if I’m continuing the same conversation from the last trip. If you go to agricultural areas on a work visa, things must be declared. I’ve really straightened up since that first time when I brought my favorite ropes. Now the only questionable thing I have are boots. I bleach and scrub them before packing, but not good enough and the agent frowns. She says, “It’ll take time to clean them. Don’t bring these boots next time.” Then she looks suspiciously at some white hairs on a black sweatshirt in my suitcase. “Horse hair?” she asks. I stand in a stupor. There’s no telling how much dog hair is packed on my clothes.
Miraculously, I clear and drag everything into the bathroom because customs can drive an introvert to crave a stall and this is the kind airports have. It’s called the toilet here. Still, easier to breathe in a stall and when I’m almost myself again, my second existential dilemma. I’m not sure why suddenly no two faucets on the planet are the same or why, even with my advanced technological skills, I can’t figure out how to get hand soap out of the spout or start the water. So, I breathe some more because nothing I do with horses is challenging compared to this. Finally, with wet hands, I look from side to side, trying to remember the last thing I read about germs and hand drying. There are paper towels, but save the planet, it matters. But the blowers are loud and it’s a stressful process since I’m still recovering from trying to make water run. I scan the options again. How did hand washing ever become such a quandary, especially in bathrooms you’ll only use once so it’s one-time knowledge? Giving up, I dry my hands on my hair, making the spikey parts happy. Does that qualify as a travel beauty tip? As close as you’ll get.
It’s a miracle, I clear the terminal and I’m off. The first clinic was in Otaki, then on to facilities outside of Christchurch, Dunedin, Cambridge, and finally Whangarei. I won’t forget a moment. The horses are so varied, so interesting, so communicative: Arabians, Standardbreds, Warmbloods, Icelandic ponies and Friesians are just the start. Off-the-track rescue horses, purpose bred horses and station-breds, a driving pony, a mule, and the most outlandish, wonderful mares. What is it about the mares in New Zealand? And this trip, I got to meet some Kaimanawas, New Zealand’s wild (feral) horses. I gush about the horses, but the riders were amazing, too. They were smart, caring, dedicated students of the horse. And my highest compliment, they are open-minded. Horse people can be as “partisan” as any group and the things I teach break lots of old rules. Some riders were relatively new to horses but many were seasoned horsewomen. I was grateful to be among them.
That’s not all! There was a live band at a clinic pot luck, operatic donkeys in blankets, a plague of man-spreading on planes, sausage-eating river eels, gourmet bistros in airports the size of bus stations, magical birds everywhere, flawless flat whites, and just to prove it isn’t totally perfect here, rain, but even then we went into the barn aisle and had an amazing sharing time, followed by an inspired, screaming affirmation which I will not repeat here. (Warrior Queens, nothing less.) Beautiful beaches, friendly hotels, the Southern Cross sharing the night sky with an upside-down flipped-over moon.
There were a few writing workshops; more horse people write than you’d imagine. Each time a rich, varied and eloquent group surprised and inspired each other and especially me. A true privilege to be part of those heartfelt days, thanks to all those hearty souls.
Pro-tip: It took me a while to learn this but just in case your business requires as much daily computer work as mine does, when they say free wi-fi that means wi-fi not worth paying for. Lower your expectations. You’ll be fine now.
How does an introvert do it all? I created a character I play in public. The fancy word for it is a persona, I recommend getting one that doesn’t fit too tight. Mine is just like me, knows what I know, but has better words and an audible voice. She’s an extrovert who can remember every fifth name which is much better than me. She’s comfortable with large groups and she doesn’t swear or talk politics. Much. Then at night, I peel my persona off and leave it outside on the doormat. I don’t think I would be able to sleep if she was inside.
We like to think of introverts as people who are shy and quiet while extroverts are outgoing and talkative, but that isn’t quite right. There’s a bit of a spectrum of behaviors and it actually has more to do with what we do to restore ourselves at the end of the day… more about our time off than our time working. Introverts need quiet time to restore ourselves, we’re attracted to toilet stalls and quiet hotels. Extroverts- not so much.
Did I mention that Calming Signals are my equine specialty? Is reading people much different? In some ways, introverts are like stoic horses. Herd animals create a persona, how they want to look to others in the herd while hiding some feelings of anxiety or pain inside for reasons of safety and security. Any of this sound familiar?
I think the majority of us horse people are introverts. Okay, perhaps the beauty tip was a bridge too far, but aren’t we more alike than different?
Clinic participants tell me they feel a bit isolated in the horse world, that our training methods are not respected. What if the world was full of us but we didn’t mention it for fear of being weirder than we are already? It sounds like something an introvert might do.
So long, New Zealand. Thanks for making me and my dorky habits welcome. Thanks for sharing your horses, and now, let’s share our voices, too. Let’s do it for horses. It isn’t like we don’t feel awkward already.
P.S. Did I mention that sometimes they give me a driver?
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Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
Still want more? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna and so much more at annablake.com. Go there to subscribe to email delivery of the blog, see the Clinic Schedule, or ask me a question.
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Photo & Poem: Invisible Rope
Walking wide beyond my grasp,
only ask for his eye, now wait.
His forelock shelters a glimmer of
movement. He’ll take his time,
the slow arc of his neck only made
sweeter by the distance between us.
Proving the existence of things that
need no proof is an invisible rope.
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Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
Still want more? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna and so much more at annablake.com. Go there to subscribe to email delivery of the blog, see the Clinic Schedule, or ask me a question.
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April 26, 2019
Can You Feel Your Hand?
Can you feel your hand? How about your fingers? Literally, can you feel them if there isn’t a paper cut or a hangnail?
When I was just settled into riding lessons, back at the dawn of time when I was still riding a Wooly Mammoth, I had a problem with my right hand wandering when I was in the saddle. My left hand was there, just where I left it at the end of my left arm, but not the right. I’d been fighting to learn to keep my eyes up, so I had no idea. Eventually, my riding instructor insisted I look down and I was shocked. My right hand was like a stray dog. It wandered out sideways, it dropped down low. If it hadn’t been attached to my arm, I would have lost it entirely. It totally had a mind of its own, not that I’d noticed. How was I supposed to fix my feral hand if I didn’t know what it was doing?
My trainer found a stick, not more than twelve inches long, and asked me to ride holding it between my hands. For the next few months, I sweated and groaned and fought with my own body. The stick reminded me when I was riding with my hands rather than my seat and legs; reminded me when I was picking a fight that I didn’t know about. I was the joke of the barn, not that they were any better. I just took my trainers thoughts to heart, kept the stick, and didn’t care if I got teased. I wanted to be a good rider so badly, and the stick told me how I was doing when I didn’t have the wits to tell on my own.
I began to feel my hand from time to time, especially if my horse looked one direction and the opposite rein got tighter. When I felt the rein pressure in my hand, I pulled back. It was a reflex, the most normal thing for a human to do. We return pressure with pressure. then my horse pulled harder to avoid my death grip. Both of us had the most natural response, neither species gives to pressure. It’s not in the nature of a flight animal to enjoy containment or restriction and it’s not in our nature either. So, to sum this up, I was starting to notice my hand more often, but it was always when it was picking a fight. Better than not noticing but not by much. At least I’m breathing intermittently now.
(A properly adjusted neckring will do the same job as a stick, with some added benefits for the horse. I think neckrings are are a bit more sophisticated than a stick broken from a downed branch. I still ride with them, they are an aid to remind me to be conscious.)
It went against every instinct I had, but I learned to let my hands surrender to my horse. I released my hands to any pressure they felt, in other words, my hands followed my horse. If he looked to the side, my hand followed farther. In a second he came right back, straight again, without me asking. No need to be adversarial with the reins at all if I gave up the desire to micromanage his nose. If doing less gives you anxiety in the beginning, consider breathing. The most natural thing in the world happened; my horse relaxed, softened his poll, and put his head right where I wanted it in the first place.
Can you feel your wrists? Literally, right now. Are they straight and open, or do your wrists have a kink or bend in them? Tight wrists mean tight hands. Now, look at your wrists when your hands are in the rein position with thumbs up. Splay both hands to the outside. Notice how your hands feel. Not very soft, are they? How will your horse ever have a soft supple poll, without fear of his face being pulled on, if we can’t feel our own wrists?
How about your elbows? Can you feel them elastically loose? Your horse takes a hint about his neck from your elbows.
I could go on and on. Good contact with a horse should feel to them as if they are walking on a long rein, while we do not interfere with their balance. But before a rider can hope to do well with her hands, she must have total awareness of them. Most of us don’t have great body awareness, much less hand awareness and if we are aware of anything, it’s an intellectual idea of what we want and the stress of not getting it.
You probably know someone who moves fluidly with a carefree consciousness of their body. Kids who learn to ski at a young age are “naturals.” Kids who did serious coordinated athletics or dance grow up with more body awareness. The rest of us must teach ourselves, at a less flexible age, how to feel our bodies one joint at a time. Correcting ourselves before our horses, we must patient and forgiving when we get it wrong, and try again.
Eventually the moment comes, usually in the middle of a ride when both of you are warmed up and listening. You feel the smallest change in the tension of the rein, so slight it could be a breeze, but you answer with the same softness. It isn’t a correction, so much as a bare hint of a suggestion. In that instant your horse gives to your hand, fearless and peaceful, as light as a kind thought.
How does it happen that horses look perfect? How do riders balance that dressage fundamental: asking their horse to be both relaxed and forward, knowing that they may never sacrifice one for the other? That illusion that we call perfect simply isn’t. Horses are in constant motion, we can’t force them kindly into a frame. They must find that sweet spot on their own, but if we are consciously in control of our own bodies, we can hold a tiny constant conversation that’s so quiet that it appears to be invisible but this time it happens with our total awareness. It’s the calm commitment to not react, but rather chose a soft response goes against our instincts but we can only have the illusion of control on a horse if we can take total control of our own bodies.
One more question: can you feel your little toe on the stirrup?
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Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
Still want more? Join us at The Barn, our online training group with video sharing, audio blogs, live chats with Anna and so much more at annablake.com. Go there to subscribe to email delivery of the blog, see the Clinic Schedule, or ask me a question.
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April 23, 2019
Cheer up! It’s All Your Fault.
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