In Case You Missed It...

I posted a new Acey training update today at the new TBW site. Come on over, and remember to update your subscription services, links, and feeds. :)



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The Big Easy

I study a great deal on the subject of horse training, and I've a good memory for words. The result is a mental collection of phrases that guide me every time I work with a horse.

"Where you release is what you teach." (Jeff Spencer)

"If there's a problem with the horse, look to the trainer." (Robert Painter)

"Emotional control is crafting cues around the horse's own flight mechanism." (Charles Wilhelm)

Lately, the mantra that has surfaced most often is one of my own: "If it isn't easy, it isn't time."

This concept is applicable to almost all horse training situations, but is was tiny, fiery Acey who really drove the message home.


Alternating Current came to me straight from Quien Sabe, completely untouched but nearly mature. She's seven now. Plenty old enough to be not only under saddle, but out on the endurance trail. She would be, too, except that I made a mistake.

I should have known better. From the earliest stages of gentling, Acey has proven the kind of horse that reacts to new situations with intense emotion. Only through patient, persistent, steady progression was I able to touch her face, halter her, lead her, pick up her feet.

When I first mounted Acey in Summer 2009, she responded with the strongest "freeze" reaction I'd ever experienced. Days passed before she attempted to take a step, and then it was sideways, backwards, any direction but forward.

Eventually, I got Acey to move out. Fine. We spent a couple days walking around the round corral, reversing, circling, and learning to pivot...and then things went wrong.

With most horses, I ask for a trot very early on. They tend to accept this with a moment's confusion, a lightbulb moment, a hesitant attempt, then success.

Not Acey. In her characteristic fashion, she reacted to my new request with emotion. Her head went up and her back stiffened. And I (fool!) kept asking. In fact, in a classic "training FAIL," I asked more vigorously. I tapped her sides with my heels (new to her) and even flicked her rump with the rein (also new).

She panicked. Bolted. Bucked. After a couple rounds of the corral with no sign of stopping, I initiated a less-than-graceful dismount before she could manage to do it for me.

And then I spent the evening licking mental wounds that hurt much more than the bruises I incurred.

And then I spent months making it up to her.

You see, I'd asked for something that was too hard. I should have recognized Acey's obvious signals that she wasn't prepared to attempt a trot. Had I waited another few days, another week, maybe more...until it was easy...then it would have been time.

The second time around, I remembered. I led Acey back through all her groundwork, and didn't so much as put a foot in the stirrup until I was sure she was prepared to stand quietly when I did so, despite her bad memory of that last, fateful ride. Then I spent days getting on and off, never asking her to move.

Eventually, when she felt relaxed and balanced beneath me, I requested a pivot. She obliged. We backed a little, sidepassed some. A few days later, she moved forward -- just a few steps, and we wrapped up the session there.

The weeks since have seen extraordinary progress. We've walked over and among obsticles in the round corral, practiced bending, and reinforced one of my favorite commands: whoa. We've even left the round corral for a couple rides along the road, which she has handled with admirable quiet and enthusiasm.

Have I asked for a trot? A few times. Have I gotten it? A few steps. Have I requsted more? No. Because it isn't easy yet.

Any decent trainer knows to break concepts into bite-sized chunks. But this goes a step further: You don't introduce the next chunk simply because it's the next puzzle piece that's supposed to fit. You wait until it comes naturally.

The day will come when Acey offers to trot. It will feel almost as though we've done it a hundred times before. It will be simple, not scary. Fun instead of forced. We'll wonder why we ever worried.

It will be easy, because it will be time.
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Sweat Stains

I must apologize for my long absence. The stressful situation to which I've alluded in previous posts continues, and it seems that more often than not lately, I arrive home with no energy left to draft a post worth reading.

I'd be lying if I said the same stress hasn't affected my training; it has. More than once, I've given up my weeknight training plans in favor of a few hours' escape through cooking or a book. Horse training takes a great deal of emotional intensity, and I often feel I have little left to give.

And yet, I have kept on. It's well past time I updated you on my 2010 plans for the equine residents of In the Night Farm. Mind you, I've learned my lesson about setting hard and fast goals when it comes to training and endurance conditioning. Something is bound to go wrong, and having expectations too high only makes the fall too painful.

These, then, are ideals. I'll work toward them and get as far as I can, and take the pitfalls in stride. Stay tuned for updates on each of the following horses:

Inara -- As part of her purchase price, Inara is to go to her new owner with basic groundwork complete. She'll catch, lead, lunge, pick up feet, deworm, and trailer load.

Alternating Current (aka Acey) -- It's time to start this fiery, little mare under saddle. It would be fantastic to have her ready for her first LD by the end of the season, but I'll settle for getting well into a foundation of long, slow distance work in preparation for next year.

Ripple Effect -- Can you believe she's four this year? Yes, it's time to start her under saddle, too. A significant part of the project will be getting her comfortable with leaving the other horses and facing the great, wide world.

Sandstorm -- You haven't seen enough of this fantastic mare. The tallest Barb in my herd, she's an astonishing mover with a sweet but cautious personality and potential I'm just beginning to tap. I'd like to finish gentling her (she's another that arrived at In the Night Farm completely untouched) and get plenty of groundwork done so I can start riding her next year.

Consolation -- Endurance, of course! We had a setback in mid-June that has taken us out of conditioning for a while (details in an upcoming post), but it's about time to hit the trail again. Hooray!

Crackerjack -- See "Ripple Effect." These half-siblings were born just a few days apart, but CJ isn't quite as physically mature as his lookalike sister. Still, it won't hurt to proceed with his groundwork as soon as I'm done with Inara to free up a time slot. Maybe, by the end of the season, it'll be time to step aboard.

I must say, it's nice to come in after a long day in the round corral, pour a tall glass of iced tea, and look out over so many sweat-stained equine backs. I know just how they feel. We're working hard, the ponies and I. We'll get there.
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By the way, I'm still encountering spam problems despite having enabled the word verification feature for comments. Sadly, this has forced me to take the next step -- comment moderation. So, you'll notice a delay between commenting and seeing your comment posted. I'll try going back to just word verification after a while, when the Chinese-character blighter decides to give it a rest.
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Building on a Balk

If there's one equine behavior I see more horsepeople get upset about than any other, it's balking. A weekend studded with balky behavior from both Consolation and Acey reminded me why: It's frustrating. A horse is a big animal. When you can't move it's feet, you have a big problem.

You also tend to look like an idiot to passers-by, a fact which I suspect is responsible for much of the spurring, lashing, and equine-intelligence-insulting that tends to occur in balking episodes. I'll tell you this: Whips and spurs may make you look tough -- but power without heart is a wrecking ball on any relationship.

It seems to me that horses generally balk for one of two reasons: 1) fear, or 2) disrespect. With some horses, it can be difficult to know which cause you're dealing with. Maybe it's a combination of the two. Fortunately, fear and disrespect are more closely related than they appear, and the same principles apply in training through any balk.

Consider:

If my horse balks out of fear, she's telling me she isn't confident in my leadership. My job, then, is to build her confidence through consistency and reliability (that is, not allowing her to be hurt. So much for whips and spurs).

If my horse balks out of disrespect, she's telling me I haven't fully established leadership. My job is to earn her respect through consistency and reliability. (How much do you respect someone who beats on you? So much for whips and spurs.)

See the connection? Regardless of the cause, balking behavior -- frustrating though it may be -- isn't the horses fault. Nothing ever is.

So, what's involved in working through a balk? Like every other training issue, it's not a matter of forcing the horse to do anything. Rather, it's as simple as setting up a choice and sticking with it, no matter what, as long as it takes for the horse to make the right decision.

Take Consolation, for example. Yesterday afternoon, I wanted to ride her across a wide, paved bridge over an irrigation canal. She objected to the idea. So, I gave her two options: move forward across the bridge, or we'll stand here and practice lateral flexion (in the form of bending her nose to my knee). Although Consolation already has a clear understanding of lateral flexion, it's not her favorite lesson. On the other hand, she really didn't want to cross that bridge.

Here's how it looked: We approached the bridge. She balked. I asked her to go forward. She refused. I bent her once in each direction, waiting for the "give" as usual, then asked her to go forward. She refused. I bent her twice in each direction, then asked her to go forward. She took a few steps and was rewarded with a slack rein and quiet seat. Then, she balked again...

Lather, rinse, repeat. Calm. Consistent. Clear. Eventually, we made it over the bridge and went merrily on our way.

There's an important point: I believe that, in the case of balking, it's generally best not to press the issue. Get past the obstacle and move on. If you keep hammering away at it, making the horse cross that bridge again and again, what motivation has she to "unstick" next time? That's no way to earn trust or respect.

On the other hand, you can't leave the game at halftime. Earlier today, Acey and I headed out for a handwalk in a blustery wind, giving her the opportunity to deal with stressful weather while keeping her mind on me. We weren't a quarter mile from the herd when she decided she'd rather be with her buddies.

She balked. I asked her to walk on. She backed up. "Okay," I told her. "If that's your choice..." I asked her to back several more strides up the hill (a conveniently difficult thing for a horse to do), then requested forward motion again. She refused. I backed her about twice as far, asked her to come forward...

You get the point. It took a good 20 uphill-backs, with several stretches of tentative forward motion in between, but finally Acey sighed, licked her lips, and walked freely on down the road.

We weren't done yet. As we hiked along, the wind blew in an steely mass of clouds. Naturally, Acey wanted to be back in her paddock. A mile or so out, as the scent of rain grew strong upon the wind, she began balking again. I'd have liked to head for home, too -- but not at the price of leaving my horse unsure of who was directing this show and whether I could guide her safely through the storm.

We went immediately back to the same choice as before: Come forward (easy) or go backward (hard). Both of us were soaked through before she decided that continuing our walk didn't sound so bad, after all -- but it was worth every chilly raindrop. By the time we turned around and headed home, Acey was walking quietly and respectfully at my side.

I can't help feeling that both mares and I have added a few bricks to the fortress of our partnership. Whips and spurs might have gotten us along the road, you see, but they'd have knocked the castle down.

Will my mares balk again? Of course they will. In fact, Consolation provided an encore in the same location today. I gave her the same choice, and she made the right decision in less than a quarter the time.

I'd bet my favorite boots that by the end of the week, she'll be crossing that bridge with no hesitation at all.

Let the passers-by laugh, then.


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On the Road Again

One of my favorite ways to prepare a horse for its first rides out of the round corral is to do a lot of in-hand roadwork, first walking, then driving, then trotting. The benefits are both physical and mental -- and not just for the horse.

Our lovely model for this post is Alternating Current, aka Acey, a 2004 Barb mare by Marawooti. I started her under saddle late last summer, but she hasn't been ridden on the trail yet. By the end of this year, my goal is to have her not only well started, but fit for her first LD.

Speaking of fitness, a bit of roadwork is just what I need to revive my own muscles after too many hours spent in front of my computer. It's also perfect for reintroducing Acey's bare hooves to gravel after a winter spent on packed soil and mud.

Most of my Barbs, including Acey, were raised running loose on a 500-acre ranch, never touched by human hands until they were several years old. They come equipped with independent minds and a strong sense of self-preservation.

I like to know, before I'm on their backs, that they understand that trotting out in the big world does not mean it's time to return to their wilder days. In-hand roadwork simultaneously builds Acey's dependence on me for leadership and her confidence in leaving the herd and exploring new territory.


Besides, it's fun! Energy is welcome...


...but control issues are not. Here, Acey and I are engaged in a little reminder about respecting my space. I always prefer to have this kind of conversation from the ground, if I have the choice. The horses aren't the only ones who believe in self-preservation!


If you haven't taken your horse for a jog lately, give it a shot. Sweat a little. Review groundwork. Bond with your horse. And, don't forget to look at the expressions of passing drivers.

Bonus points for every passerby who says, 1) "Wouldn't it be easier to get on and ride?" or 2) "That's a mighty big dog you got there!"

Double bonus points if you take your horse for a morning trot, then come back in for a steaming bowl of my Pumpkin Baked Oatmeal. Ahhh, workout food.
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Related Posts
Breaking Free: Training the Herdbound Horse
The Horse I Lead: Starting Horses Under Saddle
Driver's Ed: Training Horses to Ground Drive
Where To, Ma'am? First Trail Ride on a Green Horse
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Shot in the Dark: Ambition

Some people say, "There's nothing I really want to do." And they don't. Other people begin wistfully, "I've always wanted to..." They fill in the blank, then gaze hopelessly into nothing. Still other people announce, "I'm going to..." They fill in the blank, then take a tiny step toward their goal -- then another, and another -- and at the end of life, they say, "I did."

Which kind of person are you? Which do you want to be? Is ambition intrinsic and immutable, or can it be acquired? Is it blessing or curse?

Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity.

We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand
-- and melting like a snowflake.

~ Marie Beyon Ray

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Related Posts
Applied Physics
Shot in the Dark: Achievement

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You Better Watch Out...

I spent a few minutes this morning preparing the horses for Santa's arrival. Acey was a bit suspicious...


...but Ripple took it in stride.


I think I'll send her out to greet the reindeer. Santa might be inspired to leave extra presents for the ponies!

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The Deworming Dance

Yesterday was deworming day at In the Night Farm. One by one, I pulled horses from their paddocks for a little grooming, followed by a shot of pyrantel pamoate.

Acey is my only horse who objects to this ritual. I think it's the sensation of the tube in her mouth she hates, more than the actual paste. Either way, her eyes turn glossy and her chin tucks when she sees the tube coming. That, however, is the extent of her protest.

Not so long ago, deworming Acey was more of a project. Before she was gentled, I dewormed her by mixing the paste with a mash of beet pulp and oats. That worked well, but once she understood basic in-hand work, it was time to administer the dewormer properly.

The first time I tried, Acey raced backward in an effort to escape. Pulling on her would have done no good; in fact, it would have made her feel even more desperate to evade me. So I went with her -- and when she wanted to stop, I asked her to keep backing.

I asked calmly, just as though we were in the middle of a lesson on giving to pressure rather than attempting routine health maintenance. My goal was not to punish, but to show her that she had a choice: Stay and be dewormed in peace, or escape by working hard.

You want to practice backing up? What a good idea! Let's back up...more...keep going...good girl! Now, how about that dewormer?

I raised the tube. She backed away.

No? Okay, we can back some more. Let's go clear around the corral this time...good...very nice...ready to stop? How 'bout that dewormer?

Acey was blowing by now. Backing, even calmly, is hard work. I approached with the tube again. She eyed it and stepped back.

Really? Huh. Well, we can practice backing some more, if you insist. Let's go around twice this time...keep going...goodness, it's a long way...whew!

This time, when I slipped the tube between her lips, Acey didn't move. I dosed her, then scratched her withers while she swallowed.

There, wasn't that easier? Good girl!

Had Acey's deworming issue been more severe -- particularly if it had been result of a long and dismal course of oral medications -- I would have dosed her with something tasty, like applesauce or molasses, several times throughout a series of training sessions before administering the dewormer.

In Acey's case, however, that ten-minute lesson conveyed the message that will save us both a lifetime of headaches. Six weeks later, she backed only once -- quite a bit further than she'd planned -- before accepting her ivermectin. Six weeks after that, I watched the thought cross her mind, then vanish in the wake of a wise decision.

* * *

I wrote the above post an hour ago, and it's been bothering me ever since. Why? Because at deworming time, Acey's eyes still glaze over with the rainbow sheen that signals stress and resistance. I'm going to buy some applesauce for her, after all.

Also, the above method is one I would probably avoid using with a horse that has a tendency to rear. Backing can be frustrating for a horse, and the act of backing "gathers" him into his hindquarters, which makes rearing -- an extremely dangerous behavior -- all too easy. Turning a horse like this in tight circles instead of backing would accomplish the same objective; circling would also be a good alternative for a horse that isn't yet trained to back politely.
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And the Winner Is...

Kessira!

Congrat- ulations on your new Halter Bosal Combo from Crazy Ropes by Debbie! I hope you and Fritha enjoy it as much as Acey and I enjoy ours.

Thanks so much to all who entered The Best of the Barb Wire contest. I was warm-fuzzied and humbled by all your kind comments, which went far beyond the simple "why you selected this post" for which I asked in the rules. I didn't expect that, and it means more to me than I can say that what I post here has actually mattered to you. I'll do my best to keep it up!

And, thanks again to Debbie Hanson for sponsoring this contest. Be sure to stop by the Crazy Ropes website to check out Debbie's rope tack, which is very reasonably priced and custom made to fit your horse and even your color scheme.

Finally, remember to check out the new Best of the Barb Wire section of the sidebar to enjoy your fellow readers' selections (and a personal favorite that I sneaked in)!
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Why Ride Bitless?

Thanks to all who have submitted their nominations for The Best of the Barb Wire Contest. One week remains in which to enter in the drawing for a free, custom Indian bosal (modeled at left by the lovely Acey) from Crazy Ropes. Click here to find out how!
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Typing all these reminders about the contest has gotten me thinking. Why do I ride bitless?

In answering the question, I started a post that soon sounded like every other anti-bitting manifesto under the sun. In that draft, I talked about how bits operate on the pain principle:

Bits operate on a pain principle, that is, the horse does as he's told in order to avoid pain in his mouth. Many bits are willfully designed to operate in precisely this fashion, and even so-called "mild" bits will cause pain in the hands of an unskilled, insensitive, or careless rider.

I talked about how training and safety:

Many people operate under the assumption that, in most cases, a bit is necessary to ensure rider safety. "Why on earth don't you use a bit?" they ask me, agog.

My favorite reply: "Why on earth do you use one?"

The answer usually includes a reference to the hardness of the ground (often in combination with the rider's inability to bounce), or else the danger of a bolting horse. "Of course I'd like to ride without a bit," they say, "but I just can't risk it."

I beg to differ. You don't need a bit to control your horse from the ground, do you? No? Then why should you need one to control your horse from the saddle?

No really, why?

It seems to me that a horse that runs through a bitless bridle doesn't have a tack problem -- he has a training problem. Many people agree with me as far as that goes. "But what if he spooks?" they say. "I have to be able to stop him."

When it comes down to it, though, a truly panicked horse isn't going to stop, no matter what you've put on his face. Bolting horses run blindly into traffic, through barbed wire fences, off cliffs. They run until they feel safe.

Guess what's not going to make a horse feel safe: Pain. Guess what tight reins against a bit cause: Pain. A bit isn't going to stop a bolt, and it might make things worse.

I talked about the value of other aids:

Although most people assume we "steer" a horse by directing his head, not unlike a front wheel drive vehicle, this assumption represents a fundamental misunderstanding of equine physiology. Horses are not built to pull themselves around. Their engines are in their hindquarters, and it is from there that everything from starting to stopping to collection to turning originates.

My riding improved dramatically when I made this connection. I began talking to my horse's hindquarters instead of his head, guiding him with seat and leg, using reins not to point him in the right direction, but simply to block him from moving in the wrong direction. The result was improved impulsion and responsiveness, and almost complete release of my horse's head. These days, except when practicing single-rein-stops, I use the reins only minimally.

I considered the issue of compliance vs. force:

The bitless philosophy is related to natural horsemanship. It assumes that if we build partnerships with our horses and establish ourselves as trustworthy leaders in these partnerships, then our horses will choose to obey.

Bitless riding is not for the insensitive, nor the impatient. It is for those who care to win their horses’ hearts. To have a horse’s heart is to have his mind; to have his mind is to have his body; to have his body is to have control – not by conquest, but by companionship.

The power of “yes” is in the possibility of “no.”

I even acknowledged that I don’t believe all bits are torture devices cast by the devil in the pit of hell:

I disagree with those who contend that all horses suffer mental and/or physical anguish when bitted. I have seen too many horses reach eagerly for their bits and mouth them contentedly to believe that bits are inherently cruel.

A rider who has light, quiet hands and is skilled in the use of other aids can achieve remarkable feats in partnership with his bitted horse. I am insufficiently schooled in dressage to give an educated opinion regarding whether high level movements can be achieved without use of a bit. I suspect they can, though accomplishing this presumably requires a very skilled handler.

I believe all the above, but the truest answer to the question of why I ride bitless is also the simplest. It was in the draft. Did you catch it? I didn't either, at first. I had to think for a while before I realized that the reason I don't use a bit is simply that I don't need one.

Even on Aaruba’s fractious days, when he teeters on the edge of explosiveness; even when Consolation and I struggle for dominance; even astride Acey who is so green we haven’t trotted yet; even during the various shies and bolts that come with hours on the trail, I have never wished for a bit. I simply don't need one.

Aaruba got me started on the concept. Having ridden with bits my entire life, I’d planned to start him in a full-cheek snaffle, then switch to a copper D-ring and stay there. I soon discovered, however, that the trainer who started Aaruba had not only forced a saddle on him by locking him in a cattle squeeze, but had hurried the bitting process so that Aaruba was terrified of the thing.

I spent hours spreading a snaffle with molasses, teaching Aaruba to lower his head and accept the sensation of metal sliding over his tongue, desensitizing him to the passage of the headstall over his eyes and ears. Although I rode him in a snaffle for many weeks and he never jerked his head away, I sensed his tension every time that bridle appeared. And so, I sought an option that would relieve his stress.

Despite being annoyed by his infomercial of a website, I ordered Dr. Cook’s Bitless Bridle. It took a few weeks for Aaruba to relax about being bridled, but finally he began to trust that nothing was going in his mouth. I experienced no difference in his responsiveness under saddle, certainly no loss of control. If anything, Aaruba listened better because he was more at ease.

When we began endurance conditioning last spring, I discovered the benefits package that comes with bitless riding. I needed only one piece of headgear for an entire session, from catching to cooling out. My horse could eat on the trail (Dr. Cook’s Bitless Bridle wasn’t good for this due to its tight noseband, but I have since switched to a Crazy Ropes Indian bosal and won’t go back). I never needed to lead my horse by the reins. I never bruised my horse's mouth when he tripped and yanked the rein.

Looking back over the hundreds of miles I've ridden this year, I can’t think of an experience for which I would rather have had a bit in my horse’s mouth.

So, why do I ride bitless?

Why not?
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Related Posts

Tack Test: Indian Bosal

Call Me Crazy: A Word about Natural Horsemanship

Twenty Minutes in Photos: Trust-Based Training at Work

Shall We Dance?: Bonding through Liberty Work

Heart in My Hands: Gentling the Unhandled Horse
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Weekend Workouts

I spent my weekend entertaining the local farm workers.

Idaho's sugar beet harvest is in full swing. Our country roads roar with loaded trucks. The fields are dotted with migrant workers, tractors, and bizarre machinery that chatters and clangs from dawn 'til dusk. Fallen produce litters the roadsides. It all adds up to a very ...um... confidence-building environment for green horses.

Saturday morning, I took Acey out in hand. She looked impossibly cute in my Stonewall saddle and Indian bosal, her wee bay ears flickering amid a great billow of forelock. We walked and trotted along the road, returning waves and smiles from the Mexican workers. A pair of women paused to ask whether I was trying to make the horse tired. I explained that I was mentally preparing Acey to be ridden out in the great, wide world. Jogging away with my little mare, I called back, "But it's certainly tiring me out!"

After riding Acey in the round corral and taking a quick lunch break, I saddled Consolation for the first ride that appears in her new endurance conditioning log (see sidebar). Our fourth mile saw us trotting along the same field. The workers waved again, grinning.

Two hours later, Aaruba and I flashed by on the last of thirteen miles, during which we averaged a blazing (for us) 10 mph. The workers had reached the far side of the field by then, but I swear I heard them laugh and holler. I just shook my head and cantered on. Yes, it's me -- the crazy lady, passing yet again with a taller, greyer, faster horse.

On Sunday, we repeated the drill, except that Aaruba and I swapped our sweaty workout for an hour's hack along the irrigation canal, enjoying a ravishing sunset and periodic stops to mow down clumps of autumn grass.

Exhausted I may be, but I'll never get tired of this.

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Triple-Header Days

It has finally happened. I now have not one, not two, but three horses to ride. Acey has replaced Consolation as the green bean of the group, and Aaruba has graduated to downright safe and pleasurable.

You might recall that, back in late June, I took my first ride on Acey. Though calm, she was less than confident about moving forward under saddle, and I determined to do more ground work -- particularly driving -- with her before mounting again. As it turned out, Aaruba's conditioning, Consolation's training, and life in general got in the way. Twelve weeks passed before I spent any more significant time with Acey. Finally, with Owyhee Canyonlands completed and the ride season over (waaah!), the time was ripe to try again.

After a quick review of such prerequisites as giving to halter pressure and accepting ropes dangling around her hind legs, Acey and I spent several days "plowing" the round corral, until she moved forward freely and turned and backed with ease. Then, I mounted up and asked her to move off. Voila! Confident forward motion.

I usually disagree with old-time fiddler and horse trainer Frankie McWhorter's training techniques, but he had a point when he said that ten days of ground driving equate to thirty days under saddle. To read about how I introduce ground driving, click here. You might also be interested in Susan Catt's description of a different ground driving method; see her September 7, 2008 post at The Pony Expression.

Consolation is moving right along...sort of. We've conquered her obsession with returning home and are now focused on adding up miles and experiences. This is a bit frustrating at times because Consolation likes to pick her way cautiously along. Given her way, we'd poke down the road at 2 mph, investigating every stone and twig for concealed artillery. She's not spooky, exactly, just careful. I try to view this as a nice change from Aaruba's emotion- charged speed games, but truth be told, it's a bit frustrating. There's nothing worse than having to push a horse down the trail.

What's the solution? I'm not sure yet. I think, however, that I'm dealing with a combined lack of confidence and a poorly installed "hustle" button. Miles under a firm but empathetic rider should cure the former; I've begun remedial training to cure the latter. This is an easy problem to fix, requiring only clear signals and consistency. Consolation has plenty of "go" both physically and mentally; I just need to train her to engage it.

The "hustle" command works like this: think, look, seat (if mounted), voice (click), leg (if mounted), more leg, tap hindquarters with dressage whip. Consolation is no dummy. Yesterday, it took all of one tap with the dressage whip (startled the cobwebs right out of her brain, that did!) to get her listening for a "hustle" click.

By the way, I'm calling this the "hustle" command because I'm asking for more speed within a gait, not an upward transition. Interestingly, Consolation has gait changes down pat, including the pre-cue I've found useful for gauging Aaruba's energy level on endurance rides. Before chirping, "trot!", I almost always ask my horse, "ready?" If the horse wants to trot, I'll get a trot in answer to my pre-cue question. If not, I get it on the "trot!" command, but I know my horse isn't enthused about the idea and respond appropriately.

Speaking of Aaruba: He enjoyed a two-week vacation to celebrate the end of ride season, but I think he liked our first trip back on the conditioning trail even more. Here he is, cooling out in the round corral after Monday's 9-mile jog.

Note that I took him out in Consolation's Indian bosal from Crazy Ropes. Though it's a bit small for him, he went beautifully in it. Once my sponsorship saddle arrives from Stonewall Saddle Company, I'm going to order him his own Indian bosal, fancy-stitched in red to match the blinged-out saddle.

Bling? Me? I'm branching out, folks. Live a little!

Rider Up!: First Ride on a Green Horse

Now that summer has finally decided to show itself, things are taking off here at In the Night Farm. The garden is getting greener and the root cellar deeper, and some serious horse training is finally underway.

Consolation (2002 Barb mare) continues to do well under saddle. I rode her three miles along the road Monday, then brought her back for some trot work in the round corral. Until a horse is well started, I like to be sure coming home means more work rather than rest and feed.

Alternating Current (aka Acey, 2003 Barb mare) is coming along in Con- solation's wake. As you can see from these first-ride photos taken a couple weeks ago, she's a tiny thing. Luckily, I'm only 5'3",and I think we make a cute couple. As a bonus, there's not far to fall!

The bad news is that tack for a horse Acey's size is hard to come by. Sadly, my Stonewall endurance saddle is too wide for her, so I'm using my Wintec Aussie instead. The shortest girth I have is still a bit too long, so I suppose I'll be buying another of those--along with a pony-size bridle, breast collar, and other miscellanea--before long. Adding extra holes to my cob-size tack just isn't going to work this time.

Unfortunately, it seems most tack manufacturers assume that if you're riding a pony, you're 1) a little girl who loves rainbows and bling, and/or 2) doing children's hunter/jumper. Surely someone manufactures pony-sized trail or endurance tack, such as beta halter-bridles and high quality wool saddle pads. If you've found a source, please clue me in!







But I digress. Acey's sticking point during her first few rides was moving in a straight line. She'd disengage her hindquarters. She'd circle. But it took a few extra ground driving lessons -- and switching from the too-big-anyway bitless bridle to her (weanling size!) rope halter to get her going forward. That hurdle overcome, we'll move on to trotting later this week.

And so, we carry on, toiling upward in the night.

Weekend Warrior

A horse's memory is a prodigious thing. I've heard this trait likened to a scratch on a blackboard: Once it's there, you can make a lot of marks over it and minimize it's appearance, but you can't erase it.

The drawbacks of such a memory are obvious, but I must say it comes in handy sometimes -- for instance, when my training schedule has been trainwrecked by three weeks of unseasonably heavy winds and rain. I haven't stopped training entirely since mid-May, but deep mud and howling winds have forced me down to an appalling 2 or 3 lessons per horse, per week.

Fortunately for my sanity, the weekend dawned sunny and breezy. I started early with Sandstorm, reminding her of her new leading skills. She responded as though just an hour had passed since her last lesson, sweet and shy as ever she was.

From Sandstorm I moved on to ride Consolation in the round corral, then do pre-mounting work with Acey. After a quick lunch, I caught Ripple (long yearling Barb filly) for the first time in two months. She stood like an old plow horse while Travis trimmed her hooves, then aced a quick groundwork review.

And then, the real fun began. I saddled Aaruba and headed off for a 14 mile trot peppered with canters and one brief, frantic gallop when an Australian Shepherd burst from the bushes in hot pursuit. The dog loped along with us for five miles, ignoring my shouts to "go home." He was nearly hit by several cars before finally stopping to investigate some other dogs. (Please, please, even if you live in the country, be responsible and restrain your pets!)

Home again, I had just enough time to give CJ a liberty workout before keeling over from weariness, hunger, and gin & tonic deprivation.

Sunday morning, I started all over again. Despite the long disruption of my training schedule, Acey seemed ready for the big moment. [drumroll please] I climbed aboard. She hardly twitched an ear. [cease drums, cancel cymbal crash] I shifted around in the saddle, scratched her withers, and hopped off again. Thorough groundwork -- and that equine memory -- pays off once again.

The next triumph of the day came when I took Consolation, tacked up, for a walk down the road. She was so good that I decided to get on (yes, I had my helmet) and ride for a mile or so. Travis rolled his eyes when I rode into the driveway, grinning, to announce that now I can ride every day, even when Aaruba is resting. I've waited years for this!

Around 4:00, Aaruba and I left for another 17 mile jog. We tried a new route that involved crossing the freeway (on a little-traveled overpass) which he handled like a pro despite motorcycles and semis roaring beneath. In fact, the horse-eating trash can (cleverly disguised as just another trash can identical to the other fifty we passed) proved much more alarming.

Incidentally, I sometimes wish Aaruba's memory for places wasn't quite so keen. He dearly loves to explore and moves out with great enthusiasm every time we go somewhere new. We hardly walked a step of those 17 hilly miles, yet he arrived home still full of air and bounce. "The horse is fine," I told Travis, handing him the reins. "I'm pooped."

Here's hoping the weather finally has figured out it's June...

That's All, Folks!: Final Conditioning for Our First LD

Aaruba and I are done conditioning for his first LD, which will take place next Sunday. After his usual Monday and Tuesday off work, we'll go for a few short (4-6 mile) jogs to keep him sane and loose, but I won't make any attempt to whip him into better shape before the race. Doing so would be useless at best and damaging at worst.

As I understand it, equine bodies respond more slowly to conditioning efforts than human bodies do; that is, it takes about a week for the effects of a workout to impact a horse's performance, whereas humans demonstrate physiological change in just a few days. So, any last-ditch attempts at additional conditioning would be pointless and possibly counterproductive.

Thanks to a misunderstanding with Google Earth, my intended 15-mile Sunday ride turned into a 20-miler. My plan was to ride 6 miles to the BLM land access. Then, I'd follow a gravel road into BLM land, around a short loop, and back out for the 6 miles home. It was a nice plan. Too bad it didn't work.

By the time I'd driven a bucket of water out to the BLM land and hidden it behind a clump of sagebrush, tacked up, and decked Aaruba out with four Easyboot Bares, it was 11:00 and temperatures were climbing toward the 90 degree high for the day. Fortunately, Aaruba is mostly shed out for the season, but our average highs at this time of year are around 75 degrees, and this was to be only his third ride in any kind of heat.

All the same, it was apparent by the end of our second mile that Aaruba was in full-on rocketship mode (I've increased his feed lately, still working to get a few more pounds on him) and ready to roll. He trotted out strong and sure in his hoof boots, and it was nice not to have to worry about stray gravel when we crossed pavement.

Our first five miles were pretty flat, but as we approached the BLM land, we hit the hills. Aaruba trotted up happily and would have loved to trot down the other sides as well. He's a fantastic downhill horse, and his smoothness and balance will come in handy for making time at future races, but downhill trotting is too hard on his joints to be allowed in daily conditioning. So, despite his protests, I reined him in.

We stopped at our hidden water bucket half a mile up the BLM road, but Aaruba wasn't interested. Three minutes later, I was back aboard as he powered up a hill that went on...and on...and on. You know the kind of hill -- it makes you think you're nearly at the top, but when you get there, you find only a brief, slight downhill followed by another upgrade. Several times, I demanded that Aaruba walk a short stretch, but whenever I offered to let him trot again, he bounded along like the Energizer bunny.

Covered in dust and sweat, we passed a few hunters, families, and rednecks out for a day's target practice or varmint shooting. Basque shepherds, with their living-quarter trailers and Great Pyranees, stood among vast flocks. A gentleman with a strong, Eastern European accent that I couldn't identify slowed his Jeep to ask whether I'd seen a loose paint horse. The sun, now past its zenith, sizzled overhead.

Half an hour later, we were still climbing The Hill That Never Ends, with no sign of the loop I'd seen on Google Earth. I decided we'd crest one more hill, just to see what we could see. Guess what we found... Another hill!

So, we turned around. I was surprised to find that The Hill That Never Ends is also The Hill That's Uphill Both Ways. Okay, there was a bit more downgrade on the return trip, so I spent some time running at Aaruba's side. Despite the heat and hills, he was still all pricked ears, arched neck, and flagging tail.

Back at our hidden water bucket, he drank a few swallows and consented to crop a few mouthfuls of drying grass while circling impatiently at the end of his lead rope. He was already pulsed down to 60 when I checked him shortly after dismounting, and obviously wasn't keen to hang around, so after a 10-minute break, we carried on toward home. (I took these photos while hoping he'd settle down and drink more.)

Posting along, I tried to estimate our total distance. I knew we'd been trotting out more and faster than usual on a long ride, but those downhill walks and occasional uphill walk-breaks would have slowed us down. Maybe 18 miles?

We trotted most of the last mile toward home, then walked up the steep hill to our driveway and punched a total time of 3:16 including our 15 minutes of rest breaks. Aaruba's heart rate was at 78, so I gave him a big drink, untacked him, and hosed him down while waiting for it to drop. Thirteen minutes after stopping exercise, he'd pulsed down to 60.

Given the unseasonably hot weather and trot/climb toward home, I was satisfied with his recovery. However, the same pulse-down time at an actual LD would have disqualified us, as we'd be require to pulse down within 10 minutes (though not necessarily to 60 bpm). Of course, I'd have come in more slowly at an actual ride, but all the same, this experience of failing to pulse-down in time will serve as a good lesson for me.

Aaruba trotted out sound and passed his CRI at 60/58. However, upon removing his hind hoof boots, I found a miniscule rub at the back of one, hind heel bulb. It's an insignificant wound at this point, but certainly has the potential to become an issue. (I have hope that the rubbing can be eliminated by trimming the heel strap, which Easycare, Inc. declares will not damage the structural integrity of the boot.)

I checked his pulse once more -- still dropping -- then released him in the grassy compound to roll and graze while Travis and I drove out to collect our water bucket. We clocked the total ride distance at 19.75 miles. That makes for an overall average speed 6.1 mph. Take out the rest stops, and we averaged 6.7 mph. Not bad for nearly 20 miles on a hot day, with no real holds.

Unless the terrain is quite flat, we're unlikey to go quite that fast at next weekend's competition. We're just going for the experience, not to race, and I'll be happy with a 5-6 mph pace. I don't think I over-rode Aaruba yesterday, but this early in his conditioning, there's no need for him to go too far, too fast, too often. All the same, it's nice to know he can.

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And Miles to Go Before I Sleep

I spent the last day of my twenties exactly as I hope the spend the last day of my next decade, and the one after that, and the one after that...and, God willing, even more. I rode twenty miles, put the sixth ride on a green mare, and took an even greener mare for her first long walk across the countryside.

Aaruba and I covered our 20 miles in two sections. After the first, 12-mile loop, we stopped by In the Night Farm for a mock hold. Our first Limited Distance race is coming up on May 25, so I'm taking every opportunity to get him accustomed to spending time tied to the trailer, eating and drinking from strange vessels and staying tacked up when he'd rather have a nice roll.

He's also learning that coming home doesn't always mean we're done for the day. Aaruba protested only a little as we started our second loop, and he finished the last 8 miles in good form. His pulse was down to 56 bpm when I dis- mounted, even though our last quarter mile took us up a rather steep hill.

The afternoon was warm -- approaching hot! -- so I hosed him off while he grazed, then turned him loose in the sandy round corral for a roll. Hopefully, he'll have cleaned himself up before our next workout on Wednesday!

After a quick lunch, I headed back outside to work with Consolation and Acey. Consolation and I took a peaceful, 2-mile walk around the nearby fields, where she is rapidly becoming a horse I'm willing to ride.

Back in the round corral, I climbed aboard for her sixth ride. She's gaining confidence now, walking out better and learning to go forward, straight and steady. We even trotted...and wow, is she smooth! I'm looking forward to my first 20-miler on that mare.

After putting Consolation away, I talked my aching feet into another 2-mile walk, this time with Acey. It was, by far, the longest trip she's ever taken from the farm. I'm proud to say that she stuck right with me, calm and confident, her bay coat lovely in the evening sun.

Travis and I are taking today off for my birthday. I'm not sure what "day off" means, exactly, but it sounds nice when he describes it. We'll go to town and poke around garden nurseries and tack shops, maybe pick up another couple Aracaunas and a new toy for Wyrsa. A plate of Mexican food seems to be in order, and I stayed up late last night making Ruby Rapid Rhubarb in lieu of a cake.

Life is good.

________________
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Overcoming Fear: Handling Horses with Confidence

Few words are more powerful than those that come from the mouths of a people we respect. What might be a throwaway comment in the mind of the speaker twines itself around the mind of the listener, fortifying or degrading, often lingering for years.

When Travis and I were newly acquainted with the Barb horse, we spent a great deal of time at Quien Sabe Ranch, fountainhead of Robert Painter's efforts to preserve the ancient breed. One of the first things I learned there was how little I knew. My own childhood of lesson stables and country rides paled in comparison to Painter's seventy years among the horses. Not only did he have years on me, he also had countless hours of experience with unhandled horses.

Once recognized as the equine expert among my peers, I found myself utterly unprepared to work with the Painter herd. Oh, I knew how to tack up, pick hooves, sidepass and serpentine, apply splint boots and clip fetlocks. I understood cross-tie safety, stall mats, scratches, and colic symptoms. I could clean stalls, apply linament, post on the correct diagonal, and choose supplements...none of which did me any good amidst a herd of horses as yet untouched by human hands.

Compounding my uncertainty was the increased awareness of mortality that comes with age. Since the horse-keeping days of my youth, I'd suffered enough injuries to be relieved of the notion that "it won't happen to me." Barbs are not large horses, but they are possessed of an indefinable presence, an energy that is at once impressive and intimidating. I shocked myself -- a lifelong horse lover -- by reacting with fear.

Afraid of being stepped on or knocked over by the hot-blooded, unpredictable, nervous horses, I moved timidly in their presence. I stood with my feet well back from their hooves, touched their skins lightly so as not to startle them. Such treatment only served to make them more afraid, so progress was slow.

Most disheartening of all was Robert Painter's declaration that, "Very few people can start these horses."

What little confidence I had left all but dissolved in the wake of those words. After Travis and I left Quien Sabe, I lay awake many nights wondering how I, who had never worked with anything but truely "domestic" horses, could possibly gentle the seven precious, exquisitely sensitive, virtually wild Barbs in my pasture -- let alone train them for endurance competition.

There was nothing for it but to try. I read every website and book I could find about horse training. I attended equine expositions to compile the wisdom of various trainers. More than once, I left these expos in tears of despair. So many horses that couldn't touch my Barbs in quality, but whose training made them fit to present and promote! So I studied longer, harder, and meanwhile Travis and I struggled to scrape together enough cash for a round corral.

We also bought another horse -- a four year old Arabian named Aaruba Sunsette. The idea was to give me a practice horse, a gentled but unfinished project on which to hone my training skills before starting on the higher stakes Barbs that, Painter had convinced me, could be ruined by a single wrong move.

Unfortunately, my confidence was so low that I was anxious even around Aaruba. Though I knew he was accustomed to handling -- I'd seen his previous owner stand behind him and tug on his tail in a bizarre effort to catch him in a small space, an action that didn't seem to disturb Aaruba in the slightest -- fear still choked my efforts to train him. Young and emotional, he came with a thirty day start under saddle and a reputation for bolting when mounted. More than once, I primed myself for a training session with half a shot of vodka.

While I certainly don't recommend mixing alcohol with equestrian activities, I will admit those shots of liquid courage help set me on the road to recovery. They quieted my nerves sufficiently that I could quiet my horse.

You see, it never occurs to a horse that his handler's fear might be of the horse himself. As a prey animal, a horse's response to anxiety among his fellows is critical to survival. When I --the herd leader -- am afraid, I communicate to my horse that his anxiety is justified.

Attempts to conceal nervousness from a horse are rarely effective. Horses are too perceptive, too well attuned to the dilation of pupils and speeding of pulse, to be fooled by false confidence. Fortunately, I find that I can that I can trick my own body into releasing tension. Consciously relaxing my shoulders and sighing deeply goes a long way toward soothing my mind, which in turn soothes my horse. (These actions also work well when I'm not nervous, but my horse is.)

Vodka notwithstanding, the best tonic for handler anxiety is experience. After two years of spending several hours each day among my Barbs, I rarely worry anymore that a horse, even an ungentled one, will step on or into me. I now prefer to stand so close to them that their shoulders warm my chest as I rub their trembling necks, for I know this comforts them. I trust my instincts and have conditioned myself to remain calm regardless of my horse's emotional level.

Ironically, Aaruba has proven the most challenging member of my herd. He's flightier than the Barbs, less practical, more prone to losing focus in moments of stress. Indeed, the Barbs are positively easy to train by comparison.

To be fair, I believe Robert Painter based his discouraging pronouncement that "very few people can start these [Barbs]" on bad experiences with cowboy-style "trainers" who believe dominating a horse is more important that understanding it. It is true that Barbs generally have too much courage to allow themselves to be manhandled. Rather than submitting to rough handling, a Barb will fight back. Fairly treated, however, he will respond with uncommon loyalty and intelligence to match.

But what is so difficult about that? I've done my research, and it has paid off. I understand things now that I never needed to understand back in my days of working with domesticated horses. I've learned how horses think, learned to speak their language rather than waiting on their attempts to learn mine. I've learned that horses are the embodiment of their own emotions, all honesty and prey and will to survive.

Whether that makes me one of the "very few," I don't know. But, I can tell you this: In empathizing with my Barbs, I forget to worry about myself.

...and I can start these horses.

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Outing Stress: Communicating with Horses

Acey's training is at once ahead of and behind Consolation's. Consolation knows more because I've spent more time with her, but her personality is less inclined to trust and submit. Acey, though less experienced, is generally happy to follow me around and explore with new challenges.

Acey also possesses an obvious emotional barometer. All horses are honest, of course, but Acey waves her emotions like a flag. She tightens her chin at onset of the slightest tension, stretches her upper lip when scratched, calmly accepts new but carefully introduced stimuli...and doesn't hesitate to bolt from perceived danger.

This last tendency has resulted in a few incidents in which a panicky Acey pulled the lead from my hands and made a run for it. I really hate for this to happen, not least because I'd prefer a horse never learn that it is capable of escaping its handler. It also makes me quite sure that I need to do more work with Acey before taking her for walks around the fields where our first rides will occur -- hopefully by the end of June.

Problems like this make me glad that I keep careful notes regarding my training sessions. When training four to six horses at any given time, it's easy to forget (or mis-remember) exactly how much time I've spent on a particular lesson with a particular horse. I checked my notes from last year, and sure enough, Acey hasn't done nearly enough direction-change work on the lunge.

This simple exercise is well described in Charles Wilhelm's book Building Your Dream Horse. It involves moving the horse in a circle around the handler and frequently asking the horse to make inside turns to change direction. The benefits of the exercise are myriad:

1) The horse learns to give to pressure.

2) The horse learns to bend.

3) Once learned, the exercise can be used to satisfy a spooked horse's flight instinct while keeping him focused on the handler.

4) Once learned, the exercise can do anything from entertaining a bored horse during a long wait to putting a misbehaving horse to work.

It goes almost without saying that a horse conditioned to turn toward the handler in response to pressure on the halter will be much less likely to break loose in a panic situation.

Normally, I do this exercise using a 10-foot lead rope. Acey, however, seemed to find that method too high-pressure. She pulled against me and sped up so that I couldn't effectively "bump" her back toward me rather than allowing her to continue pulling. Before she could form a bad habit of pulling, I switched to a soft, cotton lunge line instead. Doing so gave her more space and let the round corral keep her from pulling to the outside so we could both focus on direction changes.

At first, she was nervous and resistant. I had to use dramatic body language (backing away and turning my "center" to close the door forward), significant halter pressure, and an occasional flick of the whip to get Acey through the initial direction changes.

After a few repetitions, however, she settled into the exercise and responded to a much lighter touch.

We also reviewed some other give-to- pressure exercises. This one, which I also use to train a horse to tie, involves asking the horse to follow pressure from a long rope looped around a solid object, even though I am moving in a different direction. (Note: Do not attempt this with standard, 16-gauge panels! Our round corral panels are 7 foot high, 12-gauge steel locked together at the top so they cannot be pulled more than about 12 inches inward, even by a panicking horse.)

This exercise, which I normally use to introduce a very green horse to the idea of the handler dis- appearing from one side of his hindquarters and reappearing on the other side, involves looping the lead rope around the hindquarters, standing on the horse's opposite side, and asking the horse to follow the halter pressure around to face me. (Obviously, the horse in question should be comfortable with having ropes around its hind legs before attempting this maneuver.)

Just because Acey is learning responsiveness to the halter in the safe, familiar round corral doesn't mean she'll remain responsive out in the big, scary world. Before taking her out, I need to teach her to respond even under stress. I'll do this by intentionally increasing her emotional level in the round corral, then asking her to work through the stress.

How? By asking her to perform the familiar give-to-pressure exercises with a rope dangling around her gaskins, while trotting over a tarp or poles, with plastic bags tied to her tack, etc.

These are fun lessons that serve to build the horse's confidence and the trainer-trainee relationship. Acey will learn to trust me and respond to my instructions despite being under stress, and I will learn her typical stress responses and how best to mitigate them.

Only then will Acey be ready to really break free.