MIA and now stuck in Las Vegas

Beyond the strip, there are lovely places to visit near Las Vegas

Steve and I have been at a trade how in Vegas since Tuesday so as well as being horse-deprived, I was completely ready to be home in just a few more hours now. Unfortunately, it will be a few more hours at least. Due to some poor planning on the part of Alaska/Horizon out of Santa Rosa, our flight has been cancelled. Seems like they could have told us this before we checked our bags, but I will rant more later.

While I'm waiting, I'll amuse myself by giving an update on the Thoroughbred Twitch situation.

Monday before we left, I got the boy out and did some acupressure on his shoulders and some massage on his neck before taking for a quick warm up in the round pen. He had a little heat in his left shoulder, but I went ahead and saddled him anyway, planning on some light work at the walk just to see how he was doing. I used my wither-cut out wool pad and tried to be sure to leave space over those touchy withers of his.

He warmed up fine--rather exuberantly, actually. Then when I went to check the pad, the slightest pressure from it made him twitch, so I switched to Peter's fleece pad (also a wither cut out but open in the front) and a blanket on top of that.

I got on and we walked, just walked. I encouraged him to just move as he wanted, as he was comfortable, trying to get him to swing out and stretch through his shoulders. I got some of the twitchies whenever anything touched his neck--my hands, reins, whatever--but he would keep walking through it. Could have been heat and flies on top of whatever is going on, too.

After I got off, he had an odd sweat pattern on that left shoulder, so I unsaddled him there in the arena and took him to the wash rack to cold hose him. As I hosed him down, he gave me some good releases--blowing, licking his lips and good shakes. Then I took him back in the arena where he proceeded to roll very effectively on both sides. Very thoroughly. That is the first time in awhile he's rolled on both sides, so I'm hoping that helped him.

Of course, now I've been away from him for four days, I've had a chance to worry and fret some more. He got a break, so that may be good, too. Katie was going to work him for me, but I haven't had a chance to talk to her to see how he's doing. Except to hear he's had plenty of grain in my absence.

My vet wants to do x-rays and Karen thinks that's a good idea. I halfway agree, I just don't know that I can afford it right now, so I'm adopting a wait-and-see attitude. Keep massaging, keep stretching him, keep working him lightly, keep cold-hosing any heat. See where we are in a couple weeks, then make the next best decision I can make for him.

Luckily, he seems more uncomfortable than in a lot of pain, which gives me the head space to figure this out and help him the best I can without draining my bank account. Sometimes reality sucks.

Would I do it all again?

I have often contemplated whether--knowing what I know now about the challenges we've faced--I'd go the same route and choose Calabar as my trusty steed.

We were talking over dinner tonight--Steve, Katie, and me--about our horses, the personalities and training differences of all three--and Katie challenged me. With the schedule I have now, the commitment I need to put into my job, would I choose Calabar?

It gave me pause. He's needed all the time I've put into him. Heck, I needed that time, too. Would we be where we are now without it? Would I have survived the relationship without that investment?

It is hard to say. Hindsight obscures the hard times and what I have with him today is worth every bump, every bruise, every doubt I've had up to this point.

Could I have picked an easier horse? Of course. Could I have picked a horse that would watch and respond to my every move, as well as teach me as much as he has? That is doubtful.

If I'd been working then like I'm working now, it would have been different, more difficult. But what he offers me is warm oasis, a haven in the desert that sometimes surrounds me in my professional life. (Healthcare is really a mess, I have to say.)

Life offers opportunities and I think things tend to fall in where they should fit. Not always, mind you, but often enough.

There is no doubt in my mind that Calabar is my horse. Do I wish I had more time with him right now? Absolutely. Do I need to work as hard as I'm working for my company right now? No doubt. Is my goal to balance out the two because I value both? Heck yeah.

If I had not had the time and energy to spend with him before work got so crazy, we would not have the foundation we have now--a foundation that lets us take a few days off and start back where we left off.

I don't think he'll ever be a horse I can just show up and slap a saddle on and go. He needs more from me, just as I need more from him.

So would I do it all again, knowing all I know now? Yeah, I probably would. He's just too awesome to even consider a do-over.

Back in action

Originally uploaded by spottyhorse67

Bar got his first workout in nearly two weeks, and he needed it!

The race-breathing returned as he ran himself to the left in the round pen. I just figured out it reminds me of Lamaze breathing--quick, explosive, and rhythmic, "phuh, phuh, phuh."

He even dealt reasonably well with Forrest banging around in the round pen and other commotion. After ten days of cooped up Thoroughbred energy, his antics were not only expected, but welcomed. It all meant he was feeling much, much better and that's all that matters to me.

Barn time, thinking like a horse, and reminders about boundaries

After a sporadic couple of weeks, I got to spend 3+ hours at the barn yesterday. It was like heaven. I worked both horses on the ground, let them both graze if not to their hearts content, at least for a good long time, brushed the mud off, de-tangled manes and tails, and spend some time reminding Bar of boundaries.

He forgets, you see. When we work together consistently, he does a pretty good job of not being a brat. He always tests, of course, but with the recent lapse in quality barn time, he didn't give in quite as fast. It wasn't even that he didn't want out, either. I worked Lena first, got back to the paddocks, and had a sad-faced Thoroughbred looking at me.

Part of it is his huge play drive, which was sometimes encouraged in less-than orthodox ways by his race trainer/former owner, Howie. We had to teach Bar that biting (for example) is not a part of play, no matter how long he's been cooped up in his paddock. Yesterday, he was definitely feeling high--dancing over obstacles, even jumping sometimes, feeling good in his own skin--and he's fun to watch when he's in that humor. Awesome, actually. It's a delicate balance, though, to give him the opportunity to cut loose and still keep the boundaries in place. It absolutely requires being clear and firm, just like another horse would be in the same circumstances. Body language works extremely well, actually. Taking an aggressive stance when he's headed towards you will keep him from coming in too close, too fast, and instead he'll veer off and stop a respectful distance away until you invite him closer.

He actually wasn't too bad yesterday, just wired. WIRED. Normally, a few trips around the round pen settles him out and we can do some good thinking work. I got dizzy waiting for it yesterday, and it took quite a while for him to come down enough to a relaxed trot with any kind of collection. But he did. Eventually. By then it was dinner time (his), and so when I led him over to the mounting block for a little bareback work, he fussed. He nipped at the lead rope (and in the direction of my fingers) as I looped it through his halter. He never connected, but he was definitely reverting to earlier behavior. Smacking him doesn't really help--he just thinks I'm playing--so I sent him around me, over objects, both directions, then made him stand much further away than he likes until he settled down. You can see it in his eyes when he's decided to go along with you, just like you can see it in his eyes when he's in the mood to nip. It's all about paying attention and preempting the negative behavior with him--so he knows you actually can read his mind. It's evil, I know, but effective.

Lena, by the way, was only marginally better. Her reactions are just different as she is a much more confident horse than Calabar is. She's also bossier, so our arguments were around doing what I asked and not ripping my arm out of the socket to get to grass. She maintained her normal round pen routine--go along lazily, then pretend something spooks her and zip around snorting with her tail up in the air. I just let her go until she calmed down, dropped her head, and started licking her lips. Still at a canter, mind you, but much more relaxed, until she finally settled into a nice, relaxed trot.

Both of them loved their spa time, too, giving big yawns and head shakes while I brushed the dreadlocks out of their tails. They are both a little vain, so simply telling them they are looking beautiful will usually distract them from being antsy in the cross ties.

All in all, a quite restorative day at the barn. And the way things are shaping up at work, we're all going to need as much of that as we can squeeze in.

Will he still love me tomorrow?

It's now been 3 days since I've been to the barn, and four since Bar got any work.

I am attempting to not feel guilty. I'm failing at the moment, but I know a) this will pass (we're hiring) and b) my horse will forgive me and be glad when I do show up to play with him. After he pouts a little and I've emptied the carrot bins of all the local grocery stores to make it up to him, of course.

There's also the fact that I may have the world's bounciest Thoroughbred when I do get there, which should be fun.

We've got a three-day weekend coming up and my boss has informed me he really would like me to take the entire time off (he himself is going to be skiing) and that is my intent. If I can just catch up in the next couple of days, it should work.

And if I can even just get close, that will be enough.

My pony needs me and I need him. Balance must be restored to my universe.

Bar and Forrest

Katie sent me this earlier today and I thought it was so cute. Until she told my my horse was biting her horse.

Apparently, Bar is the bossy one.

Dominant? Maybe a little.

I worked until 6:45 so didn't get to see my boy tonight. The boss is out of town until next week, though, so am hoping the chaos is kept at a reasonable level and I can get to the barn the rest of the week.

Both Bar and I need to burn off some energy, not to mention I need to remember the smell of dirt.

Sort of a saddle update

I have yet to see a saddle that sits as nicely on him as this one does--despite it's sort of un-orthodox appearance--but I was once more thwarted tonight in my attempts to see how it works with me in it. I know Dave wants pictures, and I'd like to oblige, just have to get the weather to cooperate. The weather and apparently the universe, too.

Sunday, it was pouring rain. Monday, I worked too late. Last night, it was pouring rain--even more than on Sunday. Today, however, was lovely! Clear skies and cold, but NOT RAINING! Yes!

So I called Steve to tell him I would be late because Bar hadn't been out in a couple days, would probably be fresh, and I didn't want to rush through trying the saddle.

The rigging on the saddle threw me--two back latigos and no front cinch--a true centered rigging set up, I think, for which I was unprepared. I improvised by slapping a cinch and latigo on the front rings and hauled it all down to the lower barn so I could saddle down there after we warmed up.

Then I let the boy run off some steam in the round pen. He shot around to the left in a nicely balanced (albeit fast) canter until I called him into the middle.

And then I saw it. Left rear shoe no longer centered on left rear foot. Off by about two inches to the outside.

ARGH!

I pulled it off right then and there, grumbling to myself all the while.

I won't work him--let alone ride him--when he's missing a shoe. I know some people might, but I think of how out of whack my body would get if I walked around with one heel higher than the other and choose not to.

So we played with some desensitizing exercises, particularly with the lunge whip which (for some reason) terrifies him. I apparently don't possess the skills necessary to crack it, which is really what sets him off, but did wave it and slap the ground with it until he could bring himself to stand still. That's progress as far as I'm concerned.

Mike (our fabulous farrier) comes out on Friday, so I'll just give Bar tomorrow off and hope the nice ladies at Saddles to Boots will let me keep the saddle another couple of days. If not, I'll return it, then borrow it again over the weekend if it's still there.

Did I mention how well the saddle seems to fit?

This is either a sign that the saddle is not for me or a lesson in patience.

I'll get back to you all on which it turns out to be.

Christmas photo shoot

Proof positive that Thoroughbreds like to play dress-up. Lena only succumbed after seeing the boys in their holiday outfits.

One group shot

Yes, we actually contributed to and participated in cutesy photo taking. Well, sort of. Horses don't give in to much of anything they don't think is their idea, but we managed to get some good photos, though not necessarily of all six of us at the same time. That would be a Herculean task for sure. However, add a little creative editing and we'll end up a holiday card with good shots of each horse-owner combination.

Group shot in which all horses look annoyed

Lena even let us put the Santa hat on her, but only after she saw that Bar and Forrest both had decorations and decided she felt left out.

She looked from Bar to Forrest and back again, then allowed the hat to be placed on her head

Check out Katie in the perfect halter-class pose. She never did this in shows!

Technically, Katie should be a little further away, but the smile and the stance are show-worthy

Bar looks stunning in both hat and antlers, and I admit to being utterly and completely biased. He is a truly handsome horse and as soon as his shoe is replaced, we'll get back to our fun.

With hat

With antlers

Much thanks to Joan Rasmussen over at "Cowboy and Dexter's Excellent Adventure" for her fabulous photography skills!

My three muses

Writers and artists rely on muses--spirits or spirited humans--to inspire their creativity.

My muses are of the four-legged variety, though I also think of my dad almost every time I sit down to write. (And not just from an English teacher's copy-editing viewpoint.)

Lena was my first muse, full of energy and sensitive nearly to a fault. She was willing to mold herself to whichever rider climbed aboard that day, and so very strong and balanced in her movements.

The brain is always working in this spotty head

Bar, of course, was my second muse and has inspired tales and prose I didn't know lived within my brain.

Smallest ears of the three, this horse of mine

And now there is Forrest, who with his very arrival has presented delightful challenges to my darling daughter and provided a whole new perspective.

Baby face

Such fabulous muses, so many stories yet to unfold.

Dreams

I dreamed last night of riding Bar out onto a wide open beach, turning parallel to the surf, and urging him up into a gallop. I leaned forward, out over his neck, feeling his mane and the wind in my face, without an ounce of fear.

I count it as a good dream, a hopeful dream, a dream of things to come.

Playing with intentions

Communicating what you want to your horse can be challenging--especially if you aren't entirely sure you want what you're asking for. There are cues, of course. Leg cues, voice cues, and any combination thereof that horses can (and are) trained to respond to.

But how can you make it seem, well, seamless? How can you ask for a trot, then a canter, without that awkward jog in the middle? If you don't really want a canter because perhaps you're terrified it might morph into a gallop, well then what? How does that translate to your horse?

The Parelli's talk about using your own energy--bringing it up or down--to share your intentions with your horse.

Mark Rashid talks about visualizing and changing your own movement to signal what you want, instead of springing it on your horse all of a sudden. (At least in their opinion.) In the clinic we audited, he pointed out that the motion at all gaits is the same, just faster, so all you have to do is communicate that change in cadence to your horse.

That is easier said than done for some of us.

I decided to practice with Lena tonight and see how I did before getting on Bar. Why? Well, Lena is a much more sensitive horse. You think of changing directions and she's already there. She tells me I'm hitched up on the left by shifting off in the opposite direction, and stops on a dime when you sit back in the saddle. Usually, anyway.

Plus, I hadn't really ridden her since the broken rib and knew I had to get back on for both our sakes.

At first, she couldn't figure out what I was asking, which was okay because I had to think about how I was asking. The really cool thing was having her ears on me the whole time, which means she was using that big brain of hers--for good instead of evil this time. We worked on upwards and downwards transitions, the former being easier for her since it's what she's usually asked for. We ended with some fairly decent downward transitions from canter to trot to walk. They could have been smoother, I'm sure, but she was so with me in her head I thought it was a good place to stop.

Then I worked with Bar a little bit. Now Bar and I work on transitions in the round pen all the time--with hand and voice cues from me on the ground. Actually, he'll even change cadence if I sing faster or slower.

Lena is much more sensitive to my position, but I think Bar and I are more mentally tuned to one another. I think about a trot, change my motion, and I instantly get a trot. It works the other way, too. I think about a walk. change my motion, and I get a walk, then a halt. He is sensitive to my position, too, but instead of drifting when I get out of balance, he stops.

We had a little hurdle for me to get over last night, too. Romeo and Manna came in right after I got on and while I trust Romeo, he and Bar have a "thing," a competitive thing, and I worry about Bar acting out. But I need to get over it, I need to trust my horse and trust myself. So I visualized a calm horse handling this new parameter. Luckily, I also know Manna can handle her horse and deal with a horse that might get a little nuts, so all I had to worry about was Bar and me. Mostly me.

We walked them next to each other a little, Bar got big and bossy and tried to bite Romeo, then settled down and wanted to be right next to them instead of on the other end of the arena. But he didn't fight me when I moved him away. Success number one! We started to work on our trotting (okay, my trotting), and circled the round pen while Romeo and Manna rode on the outside of the arena. Bar was good and paid attention to me, despite wanting to chase after Romeo. Probably pass Romeo, knowing Bar. Success number two!

I probably could have ridden him longer, challenged both of us a little more, but since he was really with me and behaving, I figured I'd stop our ride on that high note. Actually, I think the real success was me staying calm, staying balanced and centered, so he could focus on what we were doing. Because it's perfectly normal to ride with other horses that aren't Lena. No big deal, right buddy?

With Lena, I changed my body and motion. With Bar, I channeled my energy in a positive direction. Both horses followed and all of us learned a few things. I'd call that a good day.

Memories

"Uh, there's a horse running loose through the campground!"

I saw this unfortunate blurb in the local paper (okay, the online version of said local paper), and while the news is a bummer, it brought back what has--with time--become a rather amusing memory. I think I've told this story at least twice here, but in honor of the campground, I thought I'd pull it out again. Besides, it amuses me more each year that goes by.

A month after we got Bar, we decided to venture out on a trail ride. Where should we go? Oh, I know! The beach!!

Can you say rookie mistake?

It was cold. It was windy. Bar had only been with us a very short amount of time. Very short. A blink in horse-human bonding time. We were both uneducated in the ways and lives of Off-Track Thoroughbreds, though Bar had been out on trail rides at this very same beach with his trainer and apparently loved it.

However, I was not her. I was a new and untested human.

We got out of the trailer, got saddled up, and headed out towards the beach, sand and wind blowing in our faces.

Bar took one look at the sand and snorted. "What kind of footing is this? It doesn't look solid and safe to me!" But he went forward, mainly because Lena was bouncing along fine in front of him. I highly doubt I had much (anything) to do with his decisioning at that point.

We got a little way down the trail when another rider crested the hill in front of us, headed back to her trailer. Her horse was blowing and sweaty, which set of Bar's radar a little right there. Then, for whatever crazy reasoning, Steve and I decided to try to pull off the narrow trail and let that rider pass us.

Long story short, I separated Bar from Lena on rather treacherous (in his mind) footing, then pulled on his head. He had one option--go up, and up he went and off I went. I slid right off and right underneath this huge brown frantic horse. Bar must have levitated straight up and off the dune because I saw hooves between the arms wrapped instinctively around my head and then he was gone.

I stood up, all eyes on me--I guess it looked bad, Steve's face was a little ashen--and when Steve asked if I was fine, I said, "Yes," pointed after Bar, and said, "Go get him."

"Please don't head up Highway 1," I thought to myself.

Bar, however nuts he may have felt at the time, kept his head to some extent. He took a tour of the campground instead--probably looking very dark and dramatic on that foggy, misty morning with his head up and wild eye.

"Yes," said Steve in response to the query about the horse dancing through the tents, "I know, thanks."

Meanwhile, I was trudging through the sand worried about my horse, not realizing how lucky I was to be trudging. Several riders came back to check on me and seemed reassured when I spoke in coherent sentences.

Bar circled the parking lot once, then allowed a woman on a different spotty horse to catch him. Went right up to her, as a matter of fact. Which, of course, is what one does when one is a racehorse--you go to that pony horse for safety.

It's been nearly three years since that attempt, and we have yet to go back there. It's not even really that I'm afraid of it, but it's quite a slog through the dunes before you even get to the beach, and then--unless it's a perfect day--once you actually get to the beach, you are often hit with stinging sand and cold wind.

But I would like to go back some nice spring day, so it is unfortunate that the California State Budget is such that this hugely popular campground has to close so many sites. Poor Bar won't get nearly the audience this time.

This is from the trail ride we tried after the one described above--when we figured out the beach was not the best place to start. After the fact, of course.

Katie is already wanting to see how Forrest does his first time out on the trail, and smiled wickedly as she suggested the beach. Honestly, Forrest might be fine wherever we take him, but it might also be good to start somewhere with a slightly less sensory-overload possibilities.

We'll just have to see. Of course, we'll also have to get both boys in the trailer, but that's a whole other blog post.

Wondering about Bar

Calabar by a nose--giving #8 the eye

Bar was off the track for three years or so when we adopted him. I've watched all his races (more than once) and I know how he ran. Fast, by the way. I know he was a sprinter, not a long-distance runner. He excelled at 5-1/2 or 6 furlong races--unless there was mud. Even now, he dislikes mud. On the track? Messing with his footing? Forget it.

But I've never seen him before a race. Or after a race. Never seen him load into the gate or parade around while the bettors decide if he's the one who will win.

Watching Forrest and Sitty makes me wish I'd known Bar longer, before he was mine.

I've seen Forrest before his first race, getting ready, parading. I've watched Sittytwofitty eyeballing the crowds and her competition, standing calmly while being saddled, confidently heading out to the track and loading into the gate, ready to go.

What was Bar like? Was he calm? Was he he wired? Was he the one bouncing out of the paddock while the other horses paraded around?

I will probably never know, and it probably doesn't matter. Okay, maybe it matters a little. Because I love this horse. Because I want to know more about how his brain works so we can work better together.

Then again, I'm pretty far along in figuring out how his brain works so maybe it is all about moving forward from here.

Moments to remember

Bar gave me a gift last night, one that washed away all the stress of the work week and told me the journey he and I have taken--all the ups, downs, bruises, and scrapes--has been worth it.

He asked me to get on and ride.

It had been a long week, and I'd already missed two nights at the barn when I called Steve to say I'd be late again and to eat without me--I really needed my horse fix.

It was dark, cold, and rainy when I pulled in and the arena lights were off. I had planned on just patting Bar and giving him some carrots just to let him know I was indeed still on this planet and thinking of him.

But he wanted out. He came splashing through the mud, nickering at me, asking for head scratches and carrots. I slipped the halter on and down we went (after blanket removal) to the arena--rain on our heads, water under our feet.

As we walked into the arena, he started to do his spin around thing--I even felt him expand in size right there next to me (Thoroughbreds can do that, you know). And then, when I didn't react, he.. just.. deflated. Not in a bad way, just in a "well, maybe I don't really need to do that tonight" way.

So instead of heading to the round pen for our normal routine, I unsnapped his lead rope and gave him the whole arena. He rolled, he ran, he bucked, he farted. He would come towards me and veer off, never once invading the bubble.

I sat down in the dirt, back against the round pen (which for those who don't know rests inside our already crowded indoor arena) and watched him. He was beautiful. Picking himself up over and around the ground obstacles, spinning on his hind end, rolling and throwing up clouds of dust he would then snort out of his nose.

Then he stopped, wandered into the middle of the arena, and stood watching me. He nibbled one of the cones. Looked over at me. Snorted. Looked over at me. Wandered over to the mounting block. Looked over at me. I was relaxing, letting the week roll out of me, and just wondering what he would do. He stood still, going back and forth between nosing the mounting block and looking at me. He took a step towards me, so I stood up. He closed the distance.

I wasn't even thinking I'd get on and ride until that moment. I was just letting things play out to see what happened. It was enough to make both of us think, and since I didn't do what he expected, he didn't do what I expected.

I snapped the lead rope back on his halter and looped it around, then led him back to the mounting block. He let me get on from the wrong side, checked to be sure he had a leg on each side, and off we went.

We didn't do much, just some walking, side-passing, and backing, but it was one of the best rides I've ever had because he asked for it. Now maybe he just thought this was what he needed to do to get back to his pen. That's okay. It was still communication. I got it. He got it. It worked.

One of those "Aha" moments for sure. Not to mention warm snuggly moments when you know you've made a connection with your horse. Almost nothing sweeter than that, my friends.

Four Thoroughbreds, one indoor arena

Two of the four

Sounds a bit like a recipe for disaster, doesn't it? Especially on a crisp fall evening--all the excuse a horse needs to act like a wild and fierce war horse. One other horse used to be enough to send me back to Bar's pen without working him, but after his antics the other day, I knew we had work to do.

Luckily, it was a bunch of other Thoroughbred owners and their horses, including Manna and Katie. They tend to be on the forgiving side when someone gets a little raucous. Oh, and they don't usually blame you if their horse acts up--in fact, there is often laughter and camaraderie instead of huffiness and condemnation.

Bar looked into the arena, saw all three other horses and riders and those brown eyes got really big. I let him watch for a second, then opened the door slowly, warning the one woman I haven't had him around that sometimes he gets a little dramatic. She chuckled.

Right. These are Thoroughbred owners. They like a horse with that buzz going on. In fact, they actually prefer it.

I wasn't brave enough to ride with all the cantering and energy out there, but I did work him in the round pen and he actually did really well. Even Katie said so. He stayed focused on what he was doing, with only a couple minor lapses into slightly frenetic behavior--generally when Romeo was cantering around the outside of the round pen. Very distracting, apparently. In fact, the third woman commented that he looked really happy! Yay! Then she laughed when he started bucking and showing off.

I still wasn't quite ready to get on him, though, until it was just Katie and Manna, Forrest and Romeo. And then it was bareback, and only to walk, side pass, back, and stand still while there was cantering and sideways-Forrest-trotting going on. BUT. I got on. And Bar did great.

Maybe we should work with Thoroughbred people all the time. It will be good for both Bar's confidence and mine.

On the bit

Not having much in the way of training in my life--well, except for on-the-job-stay-in-the-saddle-or-else training--this term hasn't meant much to me. Nor, for that matter, has collection. Particularly when I watch other people and their horses in what seems to be a parody of that term.

Lena is collected much of the time, it's just the way she is. One of the things Cheri said about Lena is she was always so confident, so sure of where her feet were at all times.


Bar is learning, and I can see the difference in his topline and in his overall strength, movement, and confidence every day. I can tell he feels it, too, knows his body is more in balance and therefore stronger.


But on-the-bit was an odd concept for me. We learned to ride Lena with a loose rein, only picking up her mouth when we wanted her to do something.

Bar had no idea what to do with a loose rein, and I'm afraid I didn't help early on by grabbing his face when I'd get nervous.

In a book I just finished, The Byerley Turk by Jeremy James, he talks about the style of riding I've seen encouraged--holding the horse back with your hands while pushing him forward with your legs. His description is from the perspective of a Turkish groom who has traveled miles with the first Thoroughbred and knows what kind of response this might lead to. It does. The rider who used that technique ended up in the dirt, and that kind of makes sense when you view it from the horse's perspective. "Make up your mind!"

The concept itself is important, but figuring out what it really meant eluded me and therefore was not easily translated to my dearest darling opinionated Thoroughbred.

This post by Glenshee Equestrian Centre, to which I was directed by Kate at A Year With Horses, makes more sense than anything else I've read, seen, heard, etc.

This last paragraph sums it up, but the whole post is definitely worth a read:

"Rather than the rider demanding the horse both yield to pressure while paradoxically accepting a strong contact, the rider offers a gentle contact and the horse, once he knows he can trust the consistency and fairness of the hand, will seek that gentle contact wherever the hand may lead, and allow the hand to shape his entire carriage and movement (the action of the rein through the body) with that same light feel. This, to me, is what it means to be “on the bit.”

I am looking forward to practicing with this methodology a little more, and I'm sure Bar is too. ("Finally she's making sense!") Lena already gets it for the most part, but it certainly won't hurt to play with it with her as well.

The thing I love about horses is there is always something new to learn. When there isn't, I'll just have to invent something lest we all get bored.

Two OTTBs, two personalities

I never want to hear "Thoroughbreds are all x-way or y-way" again. Not that I wanted to hear it before, but I got to witness first hand just how different two ex-racehorses can be today.

No worries, there were no injuries, but there was spinning and dancing.

Not, however, by Forrest. He was an absolute angel, despite being very nervous when the saddle went on and the bit went in.


It was Katie and Forrest's first ride today, and Katie did a great job of taking it very slowly. First she hand-walked him with the saddle on until he relaxed, then added the bridle and did the same. Only when he stopped chomping on the bit did she get on, and then she held him to a walk. Same deal, walk until he stopped chomping on the bit and relaxed, and then she got off. It wasn't even particularly hard to keep him at a walk, though at first you could tell he was waiting for her slightest signal to move faster. They even had to deal with a horse in the round pen and he was great.


Enter the "seasoned" horse, the one who has been doing all of this much longer.

I saddled Bar, kind of eager to get back on and actually ride after being off for four weeks or so after the rib incident. I wasn't planning on riding hard, just working on our side passing at the walk and trot, plus the ever-important stop-and-back.

Peter warned me he had two more horses to lunge, and brought the first one--a gray--into the round pen. In the meantime, one of the other boarders had come back from a trail ride and had a horse in their trailer calling out.

Bar, the horse that has walked around with me on his back bareback for weeks, jigged sideways and spun when the horse in the round pen started up. Oh, I stayed on--that bareback riding appears to have helped my seat tremendously--but it was almost like he forgot I was there. I reminded him with some nice, tight circles, but holy cow I forgot how he could move.

He did this a couple times, then when he settled down by the wall furthest from the round pen and relaxed, I gave him a carrot. Yes. You get a treat for not being a spaz. Hm, he said.

Then Peter brought in the next horse, who proceeded to buck and fart and was a louder horse than the previous one. So we had more dancing and more spinning, so more circles. Then he relaxed again and got another carrot.

At this point, I knew Bar needed to move more than my ribs were ready for so I unbridled him and took HIM into the round pen. He approached it with wide eyes, certain that all the ruckus (though it had ended by then) was a demon about to consume him whole. So we went in to confront said demon and to see where the boy's head was, since it was not 100% where it needed to be--with me. Heck, I'd have settled for 80%!

Lunging won't tire him out. That's not why I do it. I wanted him to relax and focus and I can see that better from the ground right now. He did, and I got back on. We worked on the things I wanted to work on before the shenanigans and he did everything I asked. Perfectly.

In other words, one Thoroughbred--off the track within the last month--handled a stressful situation with less drama than another Thoroughbred--the one who has been off the track for six years. But I was able to bring Bar back and get him focused on work.

Yes, I am comparing the two, but not because I think one is better than the other. They are different personalities. Completely. Just like people. Maybe as different as Katie and I are from one another, even.

Devon told us Forrest was more easy going and easier to handle than Calabar.

I don't really care.

I love my horse. He teaches me more every time I ride him. Today he reminded me I need to pay attention and notice when we are entering into interesting and possibly stressful situations. That's when I need to calm down, when I need to give him the best I can give him.

Forrest told Katie the same thing, he just was a little less dramatic about it.

Forrest is Forrest and Bar is Bar. They are indeed both Thoroughbreds. They did both come off the track. But to say one is like the other is to miss the nuances and specialness of each. To say they are the same is to miss what both of them can teach each of us.

Learning from Forrest

Bar watching Forrest arrive

This post could be about what Katie's learning as she works with Forrest, but it's not.

It's about watching her with her young, fresh-off-the-track Thoroughbred and wishing I'd understood things a little better when I brought Bar home.

Forrest is curious about everything. It's all new, it's all different from his previous life--including obstacles on the ground and the indoor arena and working at night under lights.

Bar was older when we got him, and had a little more experience, but not as much as I mistakenly assumed. He'd never really seen an indoor arena, either, or worked at night or clambered over logs on the ground.

The difference is in their reactions to new situations. The motivation is the same--"This is new, this is different, how do I deal with it?"--but where Bar went for huge, dramatic movements, Forrest stops and gulps, needing to be coaxed along gently. (Yes, he really does gulp. It's rather endearing, actually.)

It took a long time and patience for Bar and me to build the trust we have--the trust that means he pays attention and is alert, but doesn't spin up out of control because he knows I've got his back. And his front. Sides, too.

I don't regret the journey at all--the training epiphanies alone have been worth the struggles. To have come through it, emerge on the other side, and feel this connected to Calabar is a gift beyond measure.

I only feel a little twinge watching Katie and Forrest, wishing I'd figured things out a little sooner for Bar's sake. Then again, I wouldn't have learned nearly as much about myself or been able to appreciate the path he's taken to meet me here.

Here is good. There, wherever that is, is good, too. We're not done, yet, this big brown horse and me. There are many adventures to come and many trails to take.

And I've got a horse who will travel with me.

What more could I ask for?

Dark horses get dirty too

This is for Dave at A Tale of Two Buckskins--bay horses get just as dirty, they just choose a different color palette. Or maybe Bar wants to be a Buckskin?

And yet more evidence:


I rest my case.

A tale (but no pictures, sorry) of two OTTBs

Last night, we took Lena and Forrest down to the arena. Mostly because I'd already worked Bar, but also because I erred on the side of NOT putting two Thoroughbreds together immediately. Other horses have always been a trigger for Bar, so I didn't want to freak out the new horse with big brown horse explosions.

As it turns out, I worried for naught--the boys did just fine. Better than fine, actually. Bar started in the round pen, working out cold-weather kinks. Forrest and Katie worked over obstacles while Steve observed what could have been incipient chaos.

It wasn't.

Bar was calm and focused on his work, giving a balanced canter and varying is speed on command. Forrest was attentive to Katie, though still wouldn't cross poles on the ground one direction even though he'd cross them going the other direction.

Then we switched, and Bar worked over obstacles despite oddly syncopated rhythms coming from Forrest in the round pen. Normally, disturbances of that sort send Bar into at least a freeze while he figures things out, and usually a larger-than-necessary up-down-sideways maneuver.

It was like he knew he had to be the grown-up, the steady pony horse on the track, the calming influence. My horse? My crazy, bouncy, ginormous moving, brown horse? Yup, he said. That youngster needs me.

Forrest watched Bar go over the poles the "wrong" way, and then proceeded to navigate them with Katie. He had watched Lena yesterday, but hadn't copied her.

Somehow Bar was a different nut. Well, I know he's a different nut, but apparently Forrest thought he was an okay leader.

The camera we had wouldn't take pictures in the indoor arena--it's lit, but not enough anymore after the time change. Otherwise, you would see pictures of the Thoroughbred mind-meld. Bar and Forrest--forehead to forehead, passing unknown secrets to one another. Not really sure I want to know, but I do wish I had pictures.

After that, Forrest proceeded to very thoroughly--much to Bar's discomfort finally--sniff and snuffle the big, brown horse. Interestingly enough, Forrest went right to the bowed tendon. Then the girth and flank. The look on Bar's face was priceless--ears back towards Forrest, but not pinned, looking down at me as if to say, "What on earth is he doing??!!" Finally, he had enough and moved away, but never kicked or struck or even squealed.

Katie and I were both very proud of our horses, and came up with several theories about the interesting behavior. Has Forrest ever really been close to a lot of other horses? Any other geldings, or only mares? For that matter, had Bar before he came to live with us?

I did have to reassure Bar that I was still his human and wasn't dumping him for the new, flashy kid on the block. As cute as Forrest is, he is Katie's and she is his. And Bar is most definitely my partner in this horse journey.