Anna Blake's Blog, page 7

The Arrogance of Training Animals Silly Tricks.

Do you follow the Iditarod, too? Northern breeds are such athletes with their instincts on full display. These half-wild dogs are perfect. They get to run with their pack. Then they stop and all lie down to rest. They eat better than most of our dogs. And then, with very little steering, they run some more. It’s a beautiful thing to see dogs get to do the thing their instinct compels them to do.

Like equine endurance events, this race has required stops and safety procedures. Mushers take brilliant care of their dogs. At the end of the race, the winning musher and his lead dog both look fried and zealous for the camera. They are a matching set. These same dogs would make lousy couch potatoes. You need a greyhound for that.

(I recommend reading Winterdance by Gary Paulsen. It details the massive learning curve and passion required. You laugh and gasp for air, and eventually, it all makes sense, a primer for obsession. But only to a special kind of dog person. Or maybe someone with horses.)

The photo above is Walter, my first rescue Corgi, lure coursing. He would have made a lousy sled dog with his many physical shortcomings, but lure coursing was his passion. He translated his herding instinct into chasing plastic bags, and sight hounds beware, he rocked. And everyone lets their dogs bark all they want. No one yells to hush them. It was a flawless day. The guys handling the runs chuckled at Walter at first, but he ran hard. By the end of the day, they made a point of telling us they respected Walter. We beamed.

One of my current dogs is an Olympic-caliber barker, Preacher Man. Not really a sport, I guess. In his dotage, he is practically deaf and prefers to live under my desk. He finally sleeps better. Jack, the Terrier, bounces waist-high and never quite trusts his luck. He’s a good dog in his own mind and that’s close enough. My other dog, Mister, was recently in training for a public appearance. I wanted to take him to a Barnes and Noble book event with me because I get nervous if there aren’t animals around. Maybe people would stop and buy a copy of Undomesticated Women, him being more attractive than an author attempting PR.

Besides, Mister is mad that we’ve been home all winter. He has been sidelined from agility, where he is quick and intuitive but flatly refuses a sit/stay. I think he does it on principle. Sometimes, I take him along to the feed store but many dogs there are bigger than him. Mister does not fraternize with large dogs. He expects me to remember that.

Mister is a Literary dog. He sleeps in while I write and walks me when I need a break. He doesn’t join me when I’m training horses but waits in the air conditioning for me to return, dirty and exhausted, to rub his belly. Because it’s all about him. When I get into bed, barely able to keep my eyes open, he likes a nice twenty-minute game of tug. Mister has traveled over 20,000 miles with me and I have never missed his dinnertime. It’s a different kind of Iditarod, one he is uniquely qualified for.

But a Barnes & Noble bookstore? Their rules would probably be hard for me to follow. Four hours of people walking by? Could I do two things at once; be there for Mister and promote my book? I could bring his crate, but people always want to touch everything and he doesn’t enjoy strangers patting his head. He squints his eyes when people lean over him and stick out a fist. He’s right, it’s rude.

It should be his decision. This is when he breaks into a growly version of What Was I Made For with Preach signing the high parts.

Mister let me know he has better things to do than be my shill and I should suck it up and go to the book event alone. As usual, he’s unimpressed with my tiny would-be fame. He was right. It was a long day in a crowded store with too much talking. He would have hated it.

Do you ever consider how much of what we train is about making animals do things they don’t want to do? Some training is necessary, but how much is human arrogance? In a world where there are search and rescue dogs, it’s depressing when we teach dogs to do unnatural or awkward things and then boast of our domination. We make them parody humans and let children tease them. We correct their natural skills and ask them to do silly tricks. We expect them to surrender their instincts to live inside and amuse us. What if we got the whole thing backward?

I wonder if all those “cute” social media posts aren’t just us showing off a bit. I wonder because I recognize the things I used to make my dogs do so I could show off.

I grew out of it. I’ve given up training party tricks and instead, I want dogs to be dogs. I’d rather they please themselves. I say bring on the Corgis and Terriers and Northern dogs who demand we come into their world instead of us dressing them up in little suits in ours.

It comes from living with rescues who don’t entirely trust humans. They need more listening and less obedience. After all, the Calming Signals language I teach horse people began in the dog world. I know Jack isn’t smiling. He pulls his lips into a sneer when he’s nervous. Preacher Man barks when people talk because he’s heard enough. He rolls belly up but not because he has an itch. And Mister, my only dog able to cope in public, doesn’t thrive on human interaction any more than I do. We’re introverts. A matching set.

Cue our personal Iditarod. Next week, Mister and I leave for clinic work in Texas and he can’t wait. Last time we got to Barn Hunt some rats in tubes. Can you imagine? He barks and watches me load the road trip necessities. Sometimes he breaks out and runs to the trailer door. It’s a luxurious crate with more amenities than those silly wire ones. His has a double dog bed covered with travel toys. And there will be whole days in the truck when I drive and scratch his ears nonstop. Mister is a narcissist with a fantasy of being an only dog. And I am his driver.

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Available Now! Undomesticated Women, Anectdotal Evidence from the Road, is my new travel memoir. Ride along on a 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.

…

 

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 Arrogance of Training Animals Silly Tricks. appeared first on Anna Blake.

Allowing Horses the Time to be Curious

I saw a video this week that I can’t get out of my head. It lacked the drama of the usual train wrecks played for humor on social media. It was as slow and quiet as a PBS documentary. It was almost like we were peeping at the horse from a thousand yards. He felt that safe.

I’m old enough to remember the days when the only opportunity to get a video of your horse was at a show if there was a photographer to hire. Technology, especially digital photography, is a miracle. Instant replays aren’t always flattering, but they help us catch up on what we missed while we were distracted. Besides, we learn in hindsight, just like horses.

The video was posted in one of the classes I teach at The Barn School. I give homework and the participants post videos each week. This was a recording of a massive draft horse cross. He’s got feathers not quite long enough to hide his huge hooves, every inch of him is round, and his face isn’t exactly chiseled. Don’t get me wrong, he is a devilishly handsome horse, intelligent and quietly thoughtful. He’s just someone you would never confuse with an Arabian. It was windy and miserable outside, so his owner decided to let him sniff his way down the barn aisle. Call it enrichment. Call it true liberty work.

He checked the hay cart while he pondered the situation for a moment, giving a small calming signal. Was he really loose? Then he sniffed things on the ground, sinking his nose into corners while stretching his back. Almost timid, he carefully moved a box fan a few inches with his muzzle. He was delicate. Things on the wall caught his eye, and he gently ran his nose over them, in no hurry. Then he licked and chewed and thought about things some more, but with extremely polite introspection.

The video continued, but I was stuck, reminded of all the times when I was younger and would not let my horse smell anything. Leading was serious business and horses were to be constantly under control. We were taught that horses had to pay attention, and it was a sign of disrespect if they didn’t lead like… well, a brain-dead zombie. We impatiently snapped the rope, so horses would not lollygag because it was all about the rules. Besides, their behavior was a reflection of us. Then, we had the audacity to call it a partnership because we loved them.

If a horse did reach for a scrap of hay on the ground, we hurried to correct them before they did anything worse. We thought we were helpful. What if he nudged an empty bucket, and the world came apart at the horror? So, we raced up and grabbed the horse, which likely spooked them enough to tip over the bucket. Proud that we’d saved the day, but all we’d done was correct the poor horse for being curious.  We micromanage horses because we don’t trust them. It has to be soul-killing, like yelling at a child if they reach for a toy.

It matters because curiosity is the opposite of fear.

Now, think of the foals you’ve seen. With wobbly knees and twitching noses, they are wildly curious about their environment, fascinated with cats and water and grass. They are learning at light speed. Not born helpless like us, they hit the ground bucking and cantering. Under the watchful eye of the mares, foals gamble and cavort, racing back when they get a fright. The mares don’t coddle them, and soon the foals are off again, braver this time. Left to their play, their curiosity turns into silly teenage bravado and eventually, bold mature confidence. Curiosity indicates mental health.

But horses who live in pens are different. We halter and control them in the first week, pulling on their faces or pushing them off balance to lead them. Too often youngsters are started with fear-based training methods, becoming shut down by our micromanaging and over-correcting. We still love them and are doing the very best we know how, but we end up squelching their curiosity because it’s inconvenient for us. Thinking we have to train a horse to focus when their senses are already sharper than ours. Thinking we have to teach them about the world when we only dumb them down. The only thing of value we could give horses is confidence. But if we correct them before they make a mistake, we’re training them to not think. The other words for that are learned helplessness.

I’m not saying don’t work with youngsters, just lighten up a bit. The old campaigners need it even more. Horses are inquisitive by nature, and the best training engages a horse’s mind as well as their body. We should focus on possibility instead of resistance. Mental health instead of blind obedience.

I’ve been lucky. My first horses were impervious to my perfectionist tendencies. Unwilling to bow to my fussiness and deaf to my self-important dreams. I had to grow up early in my horse life. Inconceivably, I listened, trying to figure out what I did wrong, and became interested in watching them figure things out for themselves. I certainly wasn’t perfect, but eventually I kept my hands quiet, and those same horses began offering me more than I asked for. Their answers were usually better than mine. I stopped thinking I had to train their answer and instead, I trusted their intelligence. Training became less of a perp walk and there were even moments of brilliance. Soon, I couldn’t tell who was training who, but it was something closer to a partnership.

So, I watched that “dull” video a few times, enjoying the gelding thinking for himself and finding his confidence. People tell me I’m patient with horses but that’s not it at all. I’m fascinated, spellbound by minute changes in their body, and breathing with every calming signal. Mostly, I’m curious about what they’ll do next.

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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 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 Allowing Horses the Time to be Curious appeared first on Anna Blake.

Unusual Behavior Isn’t a Training Issue.

It’s time for my annual announcement. Your horse doesn’t have a training problem. It isn’t a brain tumor, and he hasn’t gotten into the duck chow. It’s late winteritis or spring fever. Both are bad, their symptoms are unpredictable. One day, the pond is defrosting and I think I have survived the longest meanest winter I can remember. The next day, the wind is whipping through my scalp at thirty miles per hour and it’s sixteen degrees.

On the blustery days, the inmates stand in the shelter and grumble. They have started to shed, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I don’t brush them. Two days later, another storm threat. The temperature is just high enough that they all get wet before it freezes to snow. I hope the loose hair on top of the old hair insulates better. I feed twice the usual hay so they have something to poop on in the barn. Glad I have not foolishly taken the tank heaters out, I grumble into the house.

Against the odds, dull sunrises turn electric pink and yellow. The gray horses leave snow angels in the mud holes. I don’t groom the mud off either. It works better for the additional snow that will come, whether in the forecast or not. Nothing is greening yet, but a robin shows up. Naturally, I think he’s lost his way.

Every night there is a screeching yapfest between the baby coyotes by the pond and the house dogs who feel like something should be done. If they are awake, they leap to their feet, screaming as they skid around the corner of the washer, and crash out the backdoor onto the porch. Once outside, they become immediately silent and sniff the air. Close enough. They bark inside the porch for a respectable time if it’s too cold or windy. (Shh. They don’t think I know.) They come back into my studio, sheepish and deflated, and curl up in their beds. They don’t wonder if their ancestors are embarrassed.

When the cold snap breaks, the horses stretch out in the sun. Exhausted by the weather, no one stands watch over the herd. They all plop down and nap for so long that I wonder. The next moment, the horses are bucking and bolting and breaking out of their pens. Well, it’s Edgar Rice Burro who opens the gates. It takes a donkey for the technical parts. But off they go, tearing up the dead ground in search of spring grass, the elixir of gods. They sweat through their stinky winter coats and smell like a boys’ locker room. The odor is soon cured by another mud bath that cakes hard enough that it won’t come out before the hair does.

These days are remarkable to me because horses are peaceful creatures. One gelding likes to make faces at the mare. It’s a harmless hobby. The herd is older now, retired, and enjoying a quiet life. Many of us think our horses are bored, and without constant human interaction and training, horses lose their will to live. It’s more likely that horses would lose their spark from over-training and micromanaging. Instead, days roll by, bending to the weather. Friends stand close, watching life on the pond, tracking the coyotes with their eyes, safe behind our fence. We are rich in ordinary days.

Most country dwellers have habits that make us unwelcome in town. Mine is a soft spot for long ears. Counting rescues and rehabs, there have been ten donkeys and mules here over the years. My pack of barky dogs is nothing compared to Edgar Rice Burro, who is the Enrico Caruso of the donkey world. He extends his nose out to open his throat and his voice pulses from deep in his prodigious belly. Edgar begins by heaving air in and out of his lungs in a moaning yodel, followed by a fart with each exhale. Then the tenor honking begins like a crosscut saw being heaved back and forth. As the last bray sneaks out, there is a slight break in his voice, like country singers have. It’s operatic. It scares children. The Corgis are humbled.

On this day, it was the Corgis who gave warning. Not the everyday bark when the stray cats saunter past their yard to eat free kibble in the barn. A different bark than the day the pregnant deer came up to their fence to mock them. Preacher Man and Mister howled for so long, I got curious. Between hearing aids and glasses, if I didn’t have dogs, I’d be oblivious.

Outside, I saw the horses standing near the barn, looking north. Not unusual. I walked out further and heard baritone barking; the two Rottweilers who recently moved into the property adjoining ours. I like Rotties, one was wagging and the other showing teeth and growling like a monster, as they jumped up and down. Two sides of the same anxiety, they were nervous. No wonder. Edgar had his big old head stuck through the fence panels, ears flat and lunging at them. It made quite a rattle.

When I first moved here, dog packs ran loose chasing horses, attacking dogs, and killing goats. I negotiated with neighbors, but after the first thousand dollars of vet bills, no help. The sheriff said to shoot the dogs who came on the property; lousy advice that would start a range war like in the old Westerns. Instead, I re-fenced the farm and bought a load of fence panels from a Christmas tree lot after the holiday. Enough to line my pens. I was glad. The Rotties had already curled the thick top row of fencing down, awkwardly hopping without hope of scaling the panels.

A week later I heard their yelps with my own deaf ears while mucking. Edgar was facing the Rottweilers. The owner was coming across the field to get them, and I introduced myself. Edgar caterwauled at the horrified man, scabs on his cheek from wrestling with his horse, and a drop of fresh blood on his nose. The man must be a townie; he was a bit intimidated. I told him I hoped his dogs wouldn’t get hurt. It’s a rough neighborhood.

Then Edgar and I waddled back to the herd. Edgar is eighty in human years. He had a rough winter with some chronic health issues and isn’t as spry as he used to be. He found a sunny spot and gingerly dropped to the ground. Edgar doesn’t like goats particularly, but it’s spring and they’re part of the job.

…

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.

…

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

…

 

The post Unusual Behavior Isn’t a Training Issue. appeared first on Anna Blake.

Interior Design: Do It for Your Horse

Imagine your brain is a room. Stand in the middle and slowly turn to take it in. Would it be a cathedral with beautiful stained glass? Maybe bookshelves all around and an oversized bathtub in the middle. Sleek and contemporary or antiques and overstuffed sofas. Would it have a balcony over your horse pasture? Is your mind filled with rainbow emotions, bold in primary colors? Is it all a sophisticated off-white with tan accents that hide dirt well? Have you curated your favorite art or is it simple and stark? Or is it more like the junk drawer by the fridge?

Pause. Take a moment and see the interior of your brain. All the creativity and love. All the scars and dark corners. Please, for just a moment, take honest stock. This is obviously another of my long-winded analogies, but patience, please.

When discussing equine welfare, we list their requirements as the Three Fs: Forage, Freedom, and Friends. We are better at providing more feeding opportunities than we used to be. No more two flakes morning and night. I hope horses have adequate turnout, not that all of us can have two hundred acres of irrigated pasture. I hope our horses live in the most natural way possible and that we only use stalls to store hay.

Most of us fall short in one area or another. It’s a negotiation, a question of finances, location, and reality. When I boarded my horses, I drove forty-five minutes each way, making the drive seven days a week. I lived close to where I worked, reasoning that I’d traded a barn commute for a work commute. Or at least, that’s how I justified it. Boarding two horses equaled a mortgage payment. So, I thought of that farm as my personal country club, as if I could afford one. Keeping them there, I felt rich in the things I valued.

And I tried to mitigate the lack. I required an indoor arena and hacking opportunities so we could stay active year-round. (More justification for the cost.) One farm had a beautiful outdoor arena with split rail fencing, shrubs and trees around it, and a wide view of the front range of the Rockies. Some days, I’d begin my ride with a walk on the rail and it was so entrancing to feel the stride of my horse, while looking to the western horizon, I’d get lost in daydreams for an hour. My young horse didn’t share this experience. There were squirrels and monsters in the bushes. He had to be constantly on guard.

Once I moved to my farm on the flat windy plains of Colorado, I understood the horse’s view more deeply. My arena was open with very light fencing and no dark corners or shrubs for predators to hide in. My horses behaved as if we were working on a clean sheet of white paper. There were challenges, but all were in plain sight. Once I began training professionally and clients hauled in, their horses settled easily. It must have seemed safe to them, except if they had a run-in with my sand-colored cat who used one corner of the arena as a litter box.

Most of us have learned to see through our horse’s eyes to some degree. It starts by being afraid of what they might spook at. That usually ends up with the human being spookier than the horse, and constantly looking for disaster takes the fun out of riding. Ironically, that’s when our view most matches our horse’s. Eventually, the horses grow older, or we get exhausted and become less defensive. Seeing their side becomes easier. Horses cheer us on. If we never evolved past that, it would be fine.

Some of us want a more profound relationship with our horses, whether it be advanced training, more adventures, or a process of rehabbing, which kind of ends up all being the same thing.

Now imagine your horse’s brain as a room. Make some jokes if you want, but then settle in. Consider the Three Fs again, because they are the foundation of wellbeing. The horse’s lifestyle impacts training success more than your love for them or anything else.

Consider their breed. Are they stoic, hiding their fear? Does their age and maturity level show in the decor of the room? Do they rage with hormones? If so, the color reflects that. Is their room an obstacle course or a few miles of beach sand? A hack in dark woods or a wide, sunny meadow. Now be honest, again. Knowing that horses are prey animals, that all unknown things are life-and-death danger until proven safe, what does your horse’s brain room look like? Are the ghosts of harsh training around every corner, have past experiences left painful marks? Are the mirrors covered in black because insecurity has stolen their confidence?

Sadly, as much as we might want to tidy up our horse’s brain room for them, we can’t. No more than we can perform miracle cures for sick children or starving masses. “Thoughts and prayers” are probably better than nothing. They just aren’t much better. Action is called for, and for once, it isn’t a task that requires a trust fund.

You’ve heard it a million times. If we want a different behavior from our horses, we must change first. If you have chosen the path of Affirmative Training, that means understanding we need to make ourselves less like predators and more of a safe haven.

Horses read our undisciplined minds at a distance. We are transparent to them, but we could pause at the door and tidy up our minds better. After all, it’s the only brain we can control. We already do some rearranging when we’re at work or around kids. We let the place go a bit when we’re sick. Too often we show the worst side of ourselves to the ones we love and save good behavior for strangers. Lousy habit.

It will take some focus and self-control, but maybe it’s time to do some redecorating. Replace the dark clouds with blue sky, drag some monsters out, and unclutter the place. And create an open, affirmative space, where a horse could graze without fear and feel accepted, just as they are. It’s the listening space we give horses when we slow down, breathe, and let go of our shortcomings.

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Relaxed and Forward Training by Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you 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 Interior Design: Do It for Your Horse appeared first on Anna Blake.

An Affirmation of a Life Shared with Animals.

It’s springtime in the Rockies. The time change was last weekend, so I’m waking up at three am now, but there’s more light in the evening. I can see tiny bits of green if I bend over for a close look. Earlier this week we were out in shirtsleeves and now we’re halfway through a thirty-six-hour snowstorm. The horses are exhausted. It’s a dangerous time of year to be a horse, especially an older one.

On Tuesday, I had a carcinoma removed from my nose. It took a few injections into that fleshy part of the bridge of my nose. Bad joke, I’ve already had so many pre-cancerous growths burned off, that you can practically see bone. But this time, they carved a bit out and tested it to see if they got it all. They didn’t, so more shots and deeper this time. I peeked in a mirror and saw a pea-sized hole. Better to scare children, I think. The second dig got it all, so they pulled the skin tight and put eight stitches up the center of my nose. It’s sore, it feels broken.

My first broken nose was courtesy of a Suffolk ram when I was seven. What? Your dad didn’t make you show sheep at the county fair? You didn’t get dragged around the arena, people in the stands shrieking with laughter. Because the ram kicked out with each stride to free himself while you were too stubborn to let go? That was over sixty years ago, and it’s strange how little I’ve changed.

Of course, I wear hats and sunscreen now. They tell me the damage was done when we were kids. Boys wore caps, but no one worried about a little girl’s skin on a Midwest farm back then. It was a good day if I had a shirt on. Looking at the bruised and swollen mess in the mirror, it’s still a good trade for those summer days, hiding out with the barn cats, and running with the farm dogs. The unforgettable feel of the sun-warm flanks of a horse under my bare legs, the view from their backs, and inevitably, the view from the ground up at them. Let this fresh scar remind me of my wild luck. I knew the life I wanted, always powered by horses, always told I’d have to get serious one day. Now I’m a gray mare and I think I’ve been serious every day.

A swollen purple nose would be enough, but it seems the older we get, the more the universe likes to play games with the stouthearted. On my surgery day, I woke up with a start of a cold. By evening, just as the injections were wearing off, I started sneezing and sniveling. Is it a headache killing me or has my nose swollen shut? There were so many symptoms to choose from. I was congested but I couldn’t touch my nose, much less blow it, so it constantly dripped while I dabbed a tissue like a maiden aunt. And I was mouth-breathing and drooling a bit. There was a crusty white lace drooping down my chin. If I were the sort of woman who got by on good looks, I’d be in trouble. But back in the days before sunscreen, I traded society’s judgment for the good opinion of my horses and dogs. They tell me I’m a goddess. Even now.

Does this essay seem self-indulgent? It is, and I’m sentimental tonight; it’s the fourteenth anniversary of my first blog. This is what I’ve done every Thursday night since 2010, so I could publish every Friday morning, in sickness and in health. No matter how my nose felt. I’ve posted from dozens of different states and quite a few foreign countries. Wild luck, stubbornness, and horses. Still, an intoxicating combination.

I’ve been training horses for so long now that many of my clients no longer ride. Some are nursing their last horse, and some have retired from horses entirely. I thought we’d all still be here. Other new clients come, of course, and life goes on. I know it will end as it started—me and horses.

Horses aren’t a romantic job. Too much loss, too little rest. Some horses have been difficult beyond reason, some would never be okay. Some horses are hard to love, but to do the best work with horses, love is necessary to sustain the ridiculous amount of patience required. Nothing less would survive. Rescue rehabs, client horses, personal horses; each life a gamble of resilience and loss. Work never ends, money never stretches far enough, and some of my joints are downright noisy. Worst of all, every horse story ends the same way.

Horses are heartbreakers. That knowledge is as constant as bucking bales and mucking pens. Several times today, between Nyquil naps, I shuffled out to the barn, careful of icy spots. The chill felt good on my nose as I filled hay bags and raked wet manure into mushy piles. When my fingertips started to ache, I came in to warm up. The horses are subdued by the cold. I’ve thrown so much hay that no one wants to eat. I know it’ll be gone by morning.

The water tanks are full. I take a last look, gingerly wiping my nose on my glove. Is the goat too quiet? He has a peg leg from sleeping with horses when he was little. So I drag an extra bag of shavings and spread it out for him in his special corner. If you have ever opened a bag of shavings, you know it’s a graceless task. I finish his little nest and look at the goat, who ignores me, expecting no less.

There is something about howling storms, trudging in snow deeper than my boots out to a dark barn. The pull is even stronger. Horses are as they have always been, but I’ve changed. When I was little, they were my magical escape. This kind of selfishness doesn’t last long. Horses are fragile and soon their wellbeing takes more time than our daydreams. We pay in a hundred ways for each shared breath, each view of them grazing. I’m not saying that a life of service to a few horses, an elderly donkey, and a goat with a limp makes me special. It’s what we all do, give or take a few chickens. No one considers their animals a mere hobby.

Caring for animals in any weather is a sweet habit. Like yoga or meditation, horse care can be a spiritual practice. To take less and give more. The work that we do is our prayer. It’s a small toehold against the world’s problems. It isn’t all we can do, but it’s a start. We can tidy up a corner of life whether we made the mess or not. And nod to others doing the same. Let tired muscles be our amen.

This storm will pass, as they all do. My grateful nose will heal, and I’ll post my blog and go out to do chores. It’ll take extra time if I’m lucky. Later, tucked in bed with the dogs already asleep, I’ll hold a wish for my horses and for yours. For old dogs and one-eared cats. Good night to the world that needs our care more than ever.

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Relaxed and Forward Training by Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you 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.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post An Affirmation of a Life Shared with Animals. appeared first on Anna Blake.

Nube: What If This Isn’t Wrong?

My first ex-husband used to tease me about my frantic love of shortcuts. I was always up early, on the run, impatient as a kindergarten class five minutes before recess. My multitasking skills were nothing short of genius, I thought. I did the work of a dozen in half the time. When my plans derailed, as they often did, he had a name for my shortcuts: alternate routes. We joke I should wear a big flashing yellow warning sign.

On one of my shortcuts, I was irretrievably lost, my car broke down with no pay phone in sight, and swearing was no help at all. There was simply no way to be where I needed to be, and I had to admit I was powerless over my addiction to moving at light speed. I had to give in. Not to mention, I had too much time to think while I was walking for help, but the most wonderful thing happened. A question came to me, “What if this isn’t wrong?” I noticed how good it felt to just let go. Once the anxiety was gone, I found the airy freedom that comes with acceptance. 

I’m not claiming I invented the concept, just that this is what it took me to finally notice. Horse people are notorious for not giving in to anything. Bull-headed is our middle name. We drop into 4-wheel granny gear and move like a tank. It could seem prideful, I guess, but it’s just who we all are. We make our lives by hand out of found objects. Praying with mud in our hair, as tough as mules, never quitting till the last breath. So no, the thought that giving in might have a high side never crossed my mind.

Looking for the high side is a survival skill, nothing less. We resist change, but what if we have to give up something to make room for something better? The idea took root. If change was inevitable, I would not continue being its victim. I would find the dull, rusty silver lining. 

Nube (nu-bay) and I had mostly recovered from his collapse while cantering. I’d talked to vets again, done more tests, and taken on research on my own. One sunset evening, I climbed on Nube’s back for a stroll. He seemed glad to be back in the arena, but a few minutes later, another collapse. Just to his knees this time, but that same instant fall. He had no more warning than I did. Nube landed without tipping to the side and I could step off. I hope I never see that look on a horse’s face again. Furrowed brows, eyes sunken, his ears lateral in confusion. I might have had the same face.

His body was changing. He had always been a juicy meatball of a horse, but now he was lanky. His muscles seemed to shrink; he was turning into a Thoroughbred body type. Still handsome, but I feared that the miracle prescription Chinese herbs had stopped working and none of the new tests had any answers to the collapses. He used calming signals to communicate that the ulcers had resurfaced for the umpteenth time, and the hidden problem persisted.

Nube was clingy, he was probably in pain. Eventually, the traveling specialist vet returned to Colorado, and we drove to see him. As Nube stood for the exam, I asked the vet questions he didn’t have answers for. He was choosing his words carefully, in that terrifying way that you know bad news is coming. He quietly admitted that he was out of ideas and so I groveled, needing more, I kept pushing, but not so much that he’d shut down. I felt pathetic and disgusting. I didn’t cry. That would make it worse for the vet. So, I begged.

Then the vet said he had a horse with similar symptoms. How did I not know this? He kept his eyes low, packing up instruments. I couldn’t tell his sadness from mine. A well-bred Quarter Horse, he said, and if he wanted to ride the horse, he needed to keep him on full-time Gastrogard.

Forever, I asked. He nodded.

We finished, Nube obligingly stepped onto the trailer, and we headed for home. We’d had bad luck with Gastrogard in three separate months of use. Nube had strong rebound effects and understanding how omeprazole works, I couldn’t imagine it would be good for long-term use. At a thousand dollars a month, I’d need a second job. I could do that, but it still would not touch whatever was going on under the ulcers.

And now my last best help had cut us loose. Even though I could barely afford his rates, I didn’t know if I could afford to stop. But if I didn’t stop soon, I’d put the farm and all the rest of the herd at risk. Was my responsibility to one animal bigger than the whole herd? Would having all the money in the world make him well?

Nube’s heart was the sun, but the rest of him was a ball of twine. It just wasn’t natural for a horse to struggle to this extreme. Could it be an internal defect he was born with? Was he undiagnosable? And saddest thought, what if this isn’t wrong? 

I searched for the high side of this heartbreaking moment. Loss is such a large part of life that I knew the impasse. Sometimes the only resolution to a fight that has gone on too long with no end in sight is to just stop fighting. To let peace rise from the debris of failed hope.

There’s a thing I do when I see roadkill or animals not within my puny sphere of control. The times that I can’t help. I had to let Nube be God’s horse. I couldn’t let him suffer, only a lab rat for things we don’t know, and I couldn’t let my heart hurt all the time. So, I had to let go. Nube was retired at seven years old. Not that retiring was a bad thing. He still had friends and sunny days. There was quality hay and fresh water and donkeys to wrestle. 

The first few months were hard, his symptoms didn’t lessen. Then I tried the worst thing. I made my mind dead to him, meaning I let all my thoughts leave. I became blank around him. Not filled with ideas or regret, not happy or sad. I let go of my emotion, and his body became softer. In a couple of years, the herd elder, my Grandfather Horse, passed. Nube quietly stepped into that role of wisdom, long before his years. What if this isn’t wrong?

Nube got over us quicker than I did. I buried myself in my work. Learning is solace, I studied and continued to write about Calming Signals and Affirmative Training. I received more and more invitations to give clinics in far-off places. If I had been riding Nube, I don’t know if I would have been willing to be gone so much. Along the way, I met many horses who told us they had issues that seemed to be undiagnosable. More riders searched for answers when there were none to be found. It was territory I understood.

In efforts to help my horse, I had massed a wealth of unwanted knowledge. Much of it was health-related, and as good trainers do, I had become a decent amateur vet. Recognizing our limited control, I taught gentler training methods instead of relying on fear-based ones. Better listening skills, learning to recognize subtle messages. My sadness never fully left me, but I’d become helpful to others. What if this isn’t wrong?

(Twelfth in an ongoing series, Nube’s Story.)

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Relaxed and Forward Training by Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you 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.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post Nube: What If This Isn’t Wrong? appeared first on Anna Blake.

The Joy of Imperfection

We are sick to death of the violence against horses. It isn’t just the damage caused by rollkur in reining and dressage, or racing youngsters until their legs break, or the tragic mess rodeo has become, or the horses being tossed to auction for the crime of being old or lame. My personal thorn in the eye is the general acceptance of fear-based training in horses too young to be ridden. The numbers are astronomical, way higher than the abuse stories that hit the news. How did terrifying youngsters become so common that we barely notice it? Researchers inform us that they found the fabled “dominance hierarchy” in only one genus. Want to guess who?

The thing I hear most often from critics is that affirmative training will get people hurt. As if we need a lion tamer’s whip and chair to be with horses. What silliness. Peace happens when one side stops fighting. Is it possible that they’ve never tried it?

We don’t hear the criticism because we have some understanding of stress messages, what we call Calming Signals. We see the horse’s emotions, their fear and panic, perhaps more clearly than others. It’s like the glass is broken and now we can perceive the cruelty, but it causes sharp slivers in our eyes. It practically blinds us and still, we can’t unsee it.

The awareness of abuse leaves a mark on us. It gives their cruelty a second shadow life in our home barns when we allow ourselves to be colored by the misdeeds of others. We scrutinize ourselves more closely than railbirds ever would. There is an extra layer of pressure to be perfect, as if we have a chance of sliding into wickedness if we blink an eye. Thoughts of that violence linger in the air when working with our own horses. With the best intentions, we question our confidence.

So afraid of damaging our horses, we walk on eggshells and second-guess ourselves. We are so careful to go slow that horses wonder if we are too dim to partner with. Sometimes we don’t dare to experiment or ask them advanced questions for fear of being misunderstood by our horses. We censor ourselves, practically disabled by the cruelty of others, even though we are kind. And then we loudly proclaim our tiny misdeeds twice as often as our successes. 

I shouldn’t have to say this. We are not the bad guys. Please stop acting guilty. It makes the horses nervous.

For all the methods we would never use, shouldn’t there be a clean, easy, and somewhat straight path to training correctly? Maybe a One-Step Process to Kind Training for the Horse of Your Dreams, just $19.99? That illusion of an easy method was the sales pitch for harsh training, remember?

In horse training, there isn’t one clear path. There is no one-size-fits-all. It isn’t just that every horse is unique and every human one of a kind… it’s that every pairing adds up to twice as much rarity. A different meaning to the idea of oneness. Each horse and human twosome are just that wildly exceptional. 

But we don’t trust ourselves. It feels almost normal to not want to make a move before we know it’s right, but are we gasping for air in a corset of our own perfectionism? Girls, let out your gut and breathe some fresh air in. Howl at the moon, muck in your pajamas, ride at dawn, but for crying out loud, do not let the haters win. Do you have a dark secret that in your past you were cruel because someone told you to? Lay that burden down. We all did the same. We weren’t perfect when we started with horses and aren’t perfect now. That’s the good news. Imperfection is part of being unique, it’s the crack that lets possibility in. 

Forgive yourself, so your horse can be free of your past mistakes. Please stop apologizing. It makes horses nervous.

In this light, let your horse be imperfect. More than that, celebrate it. Tell them they’re good when they get nervous, to remind them who they are. Be emotionally consistent because a partner should be dependable. Like us, most horses have experienced the bad side of horse training, but we can build new habits. We can be consistent in our affirmation of horses on all days. We can become trustworthy. Horses understand what we want and if we accept that some days, they can’t do it, our connection grows stronger. They begin to trust that we can listen as well as ask. 

The alternative to needing to be perfect is acceptance. Of course, there are going to be ups and downs, brilliance and lameness. If your horse can have bad days now and then, he can rise above on other days and show you something you didn’t know. We can keep our awareness sharp without being critical, we can just say yes and not let the past damage the future. By celebrating all these things, our horses can grow from uncertain youngsters to steady confident adults, and if we are very lucky, on to the golden days of an old campaigner. Partners for life. Could anything be sweeter?

We take ourselves so seriously. Rising above the fray is over-rated. Horses don’t judge us, only caring about their safety. They are more resilient and spontaneous. This is the trade. Learn the important things from your horse. Take a nap after breakfast. Roll in the dirt, stay out in the rain. And stop fussing with your hair. Trade perfection for the peace of barn quiet, the joy of spontaneity, and the chance to see the world through another’s eyes. Let winning mean that we don’t quit. It won’t be pretty every moment, but it doesn’t have to be. Laugh it off and flounder on. 

Perfection is not real. Invariably, we hit bumps and blind curves, and so much is beyond our control. Some things will have to change to make way for the new things we can’t yet imagine. We can clutch the past and simmer in resentment and self-loathing, or we can smile and flounder on through what life gives us. Floundering on means progress forward. Floundering on means we accept all the parts of ourselves without condition. Perfect in our imperfection. Just like a horse, alive in each moment.

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Relaxed and Forward Training by Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you appreciate what I write, 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.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

…

Available Now! Undomesticated Women, Anectdotal Evidence from the Road, is my new travel memoir. Ride along with us 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 The Joy of Imperfection appeared first on Anna Blake.

Are We Over-training Our Horses?

My Grandfather Horse was so good with latches he could have broken out of Alcatraz and made it back to Colorado, but he wasn’t special. We all brag about how intelligent our horses are when they react to the sound of our car driving up the driveway. They’re geniuses when they know it’s dinnertime, or when they nicker to us as we walk into the barn. Science has proven that horses recognize humans from years in their past and other studies show horses recognize the emotions on our faces. Don’t these things sound a bit self-serving, even egotistical? As if it’s the horse’s highest calling to be our lap dogs.

I’ve known horses who were good problem solvers, and good communicators. Horses with an amazing sense of survival. Ones who are quick learners and try hard to get it right when we ask them. But then we also joke about a horse intentionally getting our clothes dirty, and how smart they are to beg for treats. We acknowledge their intelligence in our insults and praise for them. But in the quiet moments, beyond peer pressure and the daily grind of horse care, every moment we stand next to a horse, we’re in awe of their presence, totally aware of their intelligence.

Why would we think they are smart everywhere but when we “train” them?

We do repetition after repetition as if a horse’s memory is not at least as good as our own. We drill the same obstacle a hundred times, until the horse is dull and tired. So worried our horse will act up in front of the vet or farrier, we micromanage their heads, fingers gripping the clip of the lead rope, because we don’t trust him to stand on his own. Soon we aren’t sure if we have agitated the horse more than calmed him. Do we value our horse’s manners more than their expressions of anxiety?

How often do we pop the lead rope on a horse’s chin and correct him for sniffing things when he’s walking down the barn aisle, not noticing that we’re slowly killing his curiosity? What about the times we pull on his face without noticing, only to shut him down and wind up with more problems? How often do we race up close to scratch a horse where he’s scratching himself as if he’s incapable of doing it himself? Sometimes in our attempt to help horses, we end up micromanaging them instead.

Micromanaging is a lack of trust, but we do it with love.

That’s why conversations about training are so complicated. No one reading this is an abuser. You’re here because you love horses. We aren’t the ones cracking whips and gouging horses in the ribs with spurs. But are we acknowledging their intelligence or dumbing them down? Do we go too far, using baby talk while taking the same baby steps year after year, all the time demeaning their intelligence? Do our horses secretly think we’re slow learners?

There’s a problem with repetitively teaching horses things they already know how to do. It can be soul-killing. We end up in the silent dark Valley of Learned Helplessness. A horse can become disinterested, unmotivated, and generally apathetic. Becoming so shut down that it feels like he’s lost the will to live. Other names for this kind of horse are kid-safe, pushbutton, or dead broke.

I wonder if we take training too seriously. If we don’t make it more about flattering ourselves and less about the horse’s mental state. Too harsh? I’m almost sorry. It’s just that I keep meeting horses who would tell us they have had too much training already. Too much pushing, too much correction, and too much noise. Things that created their problems in the first place. What they genuinely need is to recuperate from training. For all our talk about wanting to partner with horses, we have a hard time allowing the horse to have his say.

Sometimes it has to be their turn, but what does that look like? Less training, more curiosity.

Wild or feral horses are intensely curious, and endlessly engaged with their environment. We are used to seeing playfulness in our “domestic” youngsters, but less so as they get older. Less so when living in stalls, when separated from herd life, and even less in aged horses. We expect to see some changes with maturity, but clients in The Barn School are working with elders who are rediscovering nosiness and snooping again. Curiosity is an antidote for those horses shut down by fear-based training. It’s transformational when they are listened to and find their voices. It’s never too late.

The challenging part for us is to put our hypervigilant training skills into “training” curiosity. It’s hard because it looks like inaction. As we allow choice and autonomy, the horse leads us along while they investigate. It goes against what most of us learned about training. Picking a fight is much easier. We have to trust they will want to work with us. Doing less takes remarkable patience.

Here’s a List of Fourteen Ways to Engage a Horse’s Curiosity (and not over-train):

Stop at the gate. Breathe. No, really do it. Take three deep breaths, put a smile on your face as if it’s a job interview, and leave your mental trash on the ground around your feet. Put only your best self forward.Notice your body language. Is it different while training versus when you’re mucking? Stick to the mucking persona; horses like it better.Do you change if you’re being watched? Of course, so video yourself constantly. It helps with self-awareness and works like a lesson in listening when watched later.Rather than claiming all the space is yours, acknowledge the horse’s primal need for space (non-collision.) Exhale an apology, step back, and notice his eye soften.Speak less with your hands and voice and more with your body. Seem less confusing or aggressive to horses.Care less about what you want and more about your horse’s mental welfare. Because kindness makes training happen quicker.Become less demanding and more understanding. Adopt an affirmative listening attitude.Be less dominating and more of a partner. Allow your horse curiosity and choice.Build trust rather than sowing doubt. If the horse didn’t do as you hoped, call it good. Ask a better question next time.Hang out less and intrigue a horse more. Be kindly ambitious. Focus and have a plan, not that you care.Forget complacency and be more interesting than grass. Lift your energy.Give more and take less. Let it be about the horse.Respect your horse’s intelligence. Not as a joke, but like penance for those who didn’t see it before.Did you notice the list to engage a horse is all about you? Do you like yourself more already? Perfect. The horses will, too.

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This is our last week posting on Facebook. If you appreciate what I write, please Subscribe to this blog. Or join us at The Barn School.

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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.

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

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.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post Are We Over-training Our Horses? appeared first on Anna Blake.

The Gap Between Wanting a Horse and Having the Horse You Want

Sometimes it happens behind a trailer. The horse needs a moment, but the human is in a hurry. Horses and humans famously define “hurry” differently. The human tries one approach, and the horse is almost ready to get in, but since the human doesn’t read Calming Signals, they give up and try something else. Then the horse has to start over, too. With each successive change in approach, the method escalates, and the horse can’t settle and think. We can’t give in and convince ourselves that harsh methods are needed.

Now there are ropes and whips and we feel as cornered as the horse. The dream of a quick fix encouraged us to change our approach when really, it’s last time to appear unreliable or inconsistent. Finally, both sides (because now the horse and the human are on different sides) are confused, frustrated, emotional, and most of all, unhappy. Everyone has a trailer issue now. Maybe they didn’t the time before, but both sides doubt each other now.

Sometimes it’s a client who is not happy with how her horse is doing in lessons. Between lessons, she reads online tips about quick solutions to riding challenges and methods to make horses stop doing it wrong. She wants the ride she has in her head and neither her horse nor her trainer cooperate. Each week she tries something she just saw in a video that was edited to perfection. She tries it once, maybe twice, and it doesn’t work. And she isn’t practicing what she’s learning in her lessons. It’s taking too long, the horse seems a bit dazed, so she fires that trainer, and looks for another who will get the job done. A trainer who cares more about the result than the horse, and things are in such a mess that it feels like a better fit at first. Except her horse has to start over, too, and now the horse is reeling. 

(Wait, I have to interrupt myself here. I constantly hear stories about horrible trainers. Everyone has a disastrous experience and I want to say, “You know I’m a trainer, right?” I’ll be the first to admit there are some monsters impersonating trainers, violent and cruel to horses. And some trainers don’t have the education to do the job. It takes more study than you’d think. But I get defensive for myself and so many trainers who get fired for seeming to go too slow. Some of us change, and speed up to please our clients, who still aren’t pleased with us. Others of us soldier on, knowing our job is to help the client understand, as well as their horse. Patience, Grasshopper, isn’t the answer they want.) 

Back to the unhappy human who now has a horse that has lost trust in humans and lost confidence in himself, but is still trying. It’s crazy how much horses are willing to cooperate. They are herd thinkers, they want to get along, but now the horse is confused and frightened, trying to do the right thing but he can’t find it. He is at war with himself, too. Somewhere along the way, he developed some health issues, maybe ulcers or a sore back. Add a bad saddle fit and perhaps poor farrier work. As much as the horse was trying to express his discomfort, the visible thing was the horse not behaving.

Meanwhile, the disgruntled human really wants to figure it out. The horse just needs a tune-up after all. Certainly not as involved as installing a new engine. Even though she tried everything before going to a trainer in the first place. She loves her horse, as if loving horses was a solution.

They are at a crossroads. The human must get rid of the horse or start over. And the horse doesn’t care which, his life is a mess, and he knows it. Luckily, even desperation has a high side, it’s a time of opportunity. In other good news, humans overthink and over-dramatize, so hopefully, we get to this place quickly. It feels broken, but we’ve just lost our rhythm, and maybe some empathy.

When we flip-flop between techniques, it’s like reading the first ten pages of a book, only to give up and start another. We never know how anything ends and our horses are dragged along. It’s common sense that horses don’t have push buttons and aren’t machines in need of a tune-up. We should also know horses have a set of emotions nowhere near as simple as a gas engine, and ignoring those is how we all got here. 

One day, if luck holds, a stray thought grazes its way across the human’s mind. It’s a process of elimination, really, the only thing untried. Blaming the horse or the trainer didn’t help. What if it’s our fault? Once we get over ourselves, it’s good news. Humans can change. What if our love for horses made us blind, like a giddy teenager love? Maybe it’s time to get past the romance and into a genuine relationship. It’s how we become miracles to our horses. We give up trying to scare or cajole them into doing what we want.

Call it work, or call it training, but really, it’s building new habits. And the human goes first. Yes, the human has to change if the impasse is to be resolved. We let go of being the predator and become a safe place. So, we start over, back to the fundamentals. It’s humbling to offer more than we get back. Think of it as loyalty to give the horse the time he needs. Consider leading by example. “Train” yourself to breathe. Breathing is a way of resolving anxiety, the horse’s and our own. It’s opening the door to progress.

Once we stop looking for pass/fail signs, like whether a horse will load in the trailer, and shift to seeing nebulous traits like trust and confidence, we’re on the right track. It doesn’t mean the trailer anxiety is over, it just means we are capable of listening rather than throwing a tantrum. Take some pride in that. It’s not easy to break a tradition so accepted. Listening is the bridge to where both horse and human want to be, but the bridge needs to be strong enough to hold his weight. Now, stay the course! Horses don’t believe us at first, and it feels just like going too slow. 

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Don’t lose us as we move away from Facebook. If you appreciate what I write, please Subscribe to this blog. Or join us at The Barn School.

…

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.

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

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.

Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.

The post The Gap Between Wanting a Horse and Having the Horse You Want appeared first on Anna Blake.

Nube. More Dark Clouds and Questions With No Answers

The worst thing about remembering a horse in the past is that maybe there are options now that your horse only missed by a few years. For all that we don’t know about horses, for all the worry and grasping at symptoms, eventually it will be revealed. The stray symptoms, the unusual events, the chronic fear of not knowing will eventually tie itself up in a bow and become clear. There will be an answer, even if it’s too late. Or at some point, it hurts so much for both of you that it ceases to matter why. It just needs to stop.

I had scraped every square inch of what anyone knew. Vets, bodyworkers, specialist vets, farriers, and an eclectic equine dentist. I read all I could find online and spent every dollar and most of the credit limit on a card. Acupuncture, chiropractic, yet more specialists. There were so many varied explanations of what we don’t know that I became an expert on the topic. I know a lot about what we don’t know. It’s served me well with clients, it’s made me a better clinician. Maybe there are two kinds of trainers; those who tell you to sell your horse and get another, and those who work with the horses that got sold off. I am the latter, and we aren’t the rich ones.

It didn’t help that I knew Nube (nu-bay) probably had other conditions underneath the ulcers. I could make some very educated guesses now, not that it matters. It would all sound like excuses. I hear the same defensiveness in my clients, and I want to reassure them they did the very best possible for their horse. Words that hit the ground and roll like a tin can. Other horses manage to right themselves somehow and I feel I’ve failed Nube. I know miracles happen every day. Then a horrible space of dead air, waiting, aching, and trying to hope.

So, I tidied up my desperation and went to a lecture by Dr. Temple Grandin. The woman is a giant in a dozen ways. The auditorium was full and on that day, she was speaking about autism, not animals at all. She didn’t have a script, just a question session, as is her unique way. I asked her if horses could have autism. She stared at me a little too long. Maybe she was processing an answer, but she didn’t say a word. Then she took another question. This one was about depression in those with autism and partway through her answer, she looked back at me again.

Nube and I continued to ride lightly, as recommended. Now we were working with a new vet specialist who traveled through several states with his brand of acupuncture and chiropractic. We drove over an hour to see him at an elite show barn north of us. He’d given us some prescription Chinese herbs. Maybe I trusted him a little more because he was a cowboy from Louisiana with a great accent. His work went against type, it must have really hooked him. I imagined his father gave him the kind of looks mine gave me. Maybe the herbs would work.

I was riding at a trainer/friend’s barn. We’d finished, but one of my clients there had a question. I asked my friend to take Nube back to the barn, and I’d be right there. When I arrived, she had a quizzical look and Nube was eating some of her hay. She said they had stopped for a second, and Nube collapsed. He stumbled, I asked. No, he dropped to the ground in an instant. He got back to his feet a moment later. It was so odd that I had trouble visualizing it. Back to the internet with a new behavior that might be a symptom or a fluke. Weirdly, horses collapse for lots of reasons.

Two weeks later, on a warm afternoon with no wind, Nube and I were in our home arena. We had the music cranked up, we’d done some groundwork, a weird mimic game we played. Then a twenty-minute mounted warm-up with lots of transitions. He was perky and mentally engaged. Sometimes offering something better than I asked. Then, as we were cantering a large circle at the end of the arena, just as we returned to the rail, he collapsed again.

It happened so suddenly, so absolutely. Like a gunshot. I flew out of the arena, landed hard on my back, and skidded a few feet further, thanking my helmet. Nube had it worse. He must have somehow caught a leg in the arena fencing. There were grinding, crashing sounds as he tore out two posts and dragged a ten-foot gate into the arena before he broke free. I’m the sort who thinks arena fencing should give when something live hits it hard. Better to break the fence.

When I could get to my feet, I staggered into the arena. Nube was at the far end, his head low and he held his rear leg off the ground. I clucked once. It’s how I say hello. Was he okay? He lifted his head and tried to canter toward me. He moved like an eggbeater across the arena, faltered to a stop, and pressed his head to my shoulder. He was quivering. There was a large abrasion ran up the inside of his left leg, blood dripping, but it didn’t look like anything was broken. I took a deep breath for him, as deep as my ribs permitted. And the exhale came out of him.

It wasn’t pretty, the two of us making our way back to the barn. A cold hose for Nube and a dose of bute. I briefly considered some for myself.

This is what I do know. In one moment, we were cantering, his stride had a high and long roll. A canter with hang time, that instant when gravity releases you and the rhythm is all that holds you. Weightless between the one, and the two-three in the count of a canter. One, levitate, two-three. Our equine waltz starts in one pelvic bone and rolls out to my head and toes. It pulls the blood from my brain and sweet air swells in my chest. Surrendered to the sway, I let him canter me. The sand arena becomes a beach open to the horizon. He tosses me up and catches me again and again, his strength effortless. His canter is as buoyant and free as the cloud he was named for. There was a feeling that he surrounded me, that I didn’t ride on him, but within him.

And then he disappeared. He simply ceased.

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(This is the eleventh post in a series, Nube’s Story.)

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