Calabar the Calm

That title is not a typo. I'm not 100% sure it's not a behavioral anomaly, but it is not a typo. Not lately. And while I don't want to jinx myself (or him), I also want to give the big brown horse some credit for his hard work and dedication to being cooperative. Especially at dinner time. (His, not mine. Mine comes after his.)

What are we doing? Besides drooling a little, I mean.

He is attentive. He is relaxed. He is full of curiosity and playfulness. I have been experimenting with loose reins and a bareback pad, relying on balance and trust--letting go of a need to completely control him--and believing we work better together than bouncing in different directions. This is hard at a trot where there is a lot of bouncing but it turns out we can actually get in sync. The canter is, however, much more divine.

It seems when I let go of the need to control, which stems from the fear that still lurks in my psyche, he relaxes. And when he relaxes, I relax.

Ah.

Epiphanies are sometimes so very hard to get to. At least until they hit you in the head with a resounding "thunk." Or "think." It might be "think." Unless I think too much and then the thunk is better.

As I've often said--though likely in different words and turns of phrase--going with logic would have brought me to a different horse. The thunk of my heart when I first met Calabar definitely overrode the think part of the equation.

Leading with my heart has (mostly always) turned out to be the right thing. Even if he reverts to Calabar the goofy tomorrow, it's been well worth it to walk, trot and canter this road with him.

The journey doesn't end, it is ever-evolving

Recently, someone responded to a message in a way that intimated they thought I was under delusions of grandeur about my horsemanship abilities.

Not an expert for sure, just willing to keep trying to be better.

Good gravy, no. Obviously, they have never read this blog wherein I frequently highlight my foibles, faults and faux pas and where many of you ever-so-kindly remind me not to be too hard on myself.

All the steps we take, especially the ones that go backwards, are part of the journey towards being a better horse person but there is no ultimate finish, no golden carrot of perfect horsemanship. There is only the next thing to learn and the next "Aha!" be it with Calabar or Lena or any other horse that might cross my path.

Calabar has probably taught me the most but Lena has offered her own version of the world as she knows (and prefers) it. Using Calabar tools on Lena won't always work. In fact, they rarely work. Going over a jump is a great way to get Calabar to have fun and relax so we can go back to (as he says) "dumb" trot work. To Lena, going over a jump  is a horrid form of torture to be rushed through as quickly as possible so we can get back to more fun things. Like cantering big, lazy circles or running barrels.

Learning is hard and sometimes frustrating but without the willingness to question what you're doing and try new things, it is hard to improve or grow in anything you do. Some people have a hard time with this, hate getting out of their comfort zone and facing a little risk. Steve recently came back from a work trip where he suggested some of the other programmers learn a new version of a programming language in order to update one of the systems. They looked at him like he had three heads.

I sometimes feel like I have three heads--all of them telling me to do something else--when I'm working through something with the horses, but that's actually the best part. There is always more to learn, more they can teach you, about everything. How to ride is only part of it. Your energy and the way it impacts those around you. How to listen. How to treat mystery wounds and sporadic ailments that appear out of nowhere.

Even my grand-horse has given me lessons. Forrest recently moved to the big pasture and has been instrumental in teaching me more about herd dynamics. He is definitely a lover, not a fighter, and is luckily faster than the horse in charge of the small band of four (now five) horses. My attempts to show him how to send "Go away" vibes towards that alpha horse have so far resulted in Forrest hiding behind me, but there is hope he will learn and the observations have been valuable to me in any case. Apparently, I'm a little scary. Who knew?

Forrest trying to squeeze into Calabar's paddock

Figuring out the best path forward, being willing to try, to keep evolving my skills, my relationships with my horses--that is the only real goal worth pursuing. Anything else, like someday actually looking like I know how to ride, is just icing on the cake. 

Milestones

Calabar and I have ridden quite a journey together--from both of us not knowing much to knowing a little and trying a lot to figuring out what we can work on that is fun for both of us. Along the way, we've had some great teachers and terrific support from a lot of people. Peter (my barn owner) teases me a lot but also pushes gently when it's time for me to be a little braver. Steve, of course, has always been there for me and for Calabar, telling me to trust myself and trust my horse. Karen has been supportive and always offers a trick or two based on the two personalities involved. Katie tells me all the time I'll be fine and she's usually right. Allie dares me to just go for it and applauds Calabar and me for all our efforts.

It seems like it's all helped us make some progress! At a recent clinic with our favorite Dressage instructor Ellen Eckstein, Calabar and I managed to eke out a rather decent trot. Better than that, we worked through some fussiness and behavior challenges and focused on the work at hand. 

It has sometimes been a hard road for us but the smile on my face at the end of this video plus the attentive and focused expression on Calabar's face says we have made it a good journey. There is more to come, always more to learn, but the joy and the passion persist.

I love this horse. I love what he has taught me and how far we have come together. I can't wait to see what we can do next! To all of you who have supported us and believed in us, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. We may have gotten this far without you, but it wouldn't have been as much fun.

Smiles after the clinic. Love this horse.

An ex-racehorse named Calabar and his spotty friend Lena

Lena Rey was our first horse. She is big and beautiful and knows it. She likes to run fast but it is good for her mind to slow down and focus. Her friend Calabar is the opposite. He needs to speed up to get his mind pointed the right direction.

Oh, he looks good in black and white

Funny we have ended up with two such different horses, but then again maybe not.

Allie and Lena moving slowly--Lena is listening very hard

When Lena starts to amp up--usually by the gate and almost always before I've asked her to--I turn her. We do serpentines or circles, sometimes across the whole darned arena for awhile. Because once she starts going, you've lost the concentration battle and there will be no more learning thereafter for either of you. Sometimes this is okay. Steve likes to just go out and ride and enjoy each other and the freedom of the gallop. I tend towards a little more work on my part and that requires a little more concentration on Lena's part. I can't work on my position and my posting if we are galloping. She can't work on her long trot and transitions if we're galloping. "It's good for you," I say. "Pbbbbbbrrrth," she says, blowing air out in a big sigh of resignation. Actually, I hope it's relaxation but my guess is it depends on the day.

Calabar rarely amps up. He would prefer to stand in the middle of the arena and watch other horses do all the work but he is always willing to be saddled and--once we get rolling--he works for me. And he works pretty hard. He is learning collection at the ripe old age of 13 and it's not so easy for him. "Why can't I balance with my neck, it's what I've always done??" he snorts. I explain that it's much better to use his whole body and he says that would be easier if I wasn't such a spaz in the saddle, but okay.

Beautiful boy, goofy rider

Yesterday, I felt a more balanced horse than I've ever felt. We long trotted over a pole both ways without even the slightest hesitation or hitch in his stride. Then we cantered over it both ways without hesitation. He flowed. I mostly went along with him and must not have gotten in his way too much.

He's not perfect. I have to get him moving and then ask for collection and contact, but that's okay. He's building up his muscles and learning to support himself (and me) and we'll get there together. He is trotting lovely circles in frame and his canter (yep, still cantering in the outdoor, woo!) is beautiful. It's better when I remember to bend and relax, but he is tolerant of my stiffness in a way he hasn't always been. I think that means that somewhere along the line, this horse and I have bonded.

I know it means we're moving forward on our journey together.

And as for Lena, she and I are remembering how to ride together, too. That's good for both of us and is probably good for Calabar, too. Lena teaches me to slow down and focus. Calabar pushes me to, well, push us both.

What a wonderful thing to have two such amazing horses in my life, each of them showing me something different about myself.

A different lesson than expected but good nonetheless

"I really need to ride Calabar a lot for the next two weeks," I said to myself two weeks ago, "So we're ready for our clinic with Ellen."

Unfortunately, that just didn't happen.

I rode him some, I worked him more than I had the previous two weeks, but the consistency we both need and had gotten used to was definitely absent.

Come to find out that the riding part was not necessarily the most important thing missing.

Those that have read this blog a long time can remember a few times where lack of consistency has led to bad manners returning in my big, brown mirror. This round is really no different and he reminded me today that my attention has been scattered lately and he has indeed noticed. It's not so bad at home, but in a "new" environment, it was much amplified.

Even after all the work we did, Calabar was still sure things were a little scary. Must. Get. Out. More.

When I'm in a hurry, trying to squeeze in care for the two rehabs under my supervision as well as tending my own horse, I have a bad tendency to let things slip with Calabar. I know him. I trust him to at least be the horse I know so sometimes don't correct him as quickly or forcefully as is needed. He is allowed in my bubble because he's proven (in the past) that he is worthy of that trust, but that means when he bounces because he's testing the bubble, I need to remind him what exactly is acceptable behavior and what is not. In no uncertain terms. So there.

Maybe that didn't happen enough over the last two weeks. Maybe he is grumpy (or relieved) that I'm spending time with other horses that are not him. Maybe it is a combination of many things, further compounded by me letting bad behavior slide.

Whatever it is, we both needed a lesson today about respect and personal space and how to prevent turd-like behavior. It started on our way to the round pen to warm up because I knew we had to work some stuff out before I got on his back. He was big, explosive and not careful about me--things we had worked on and overcome and things I had let slide in the last month or so.

I worked him around me, direction changes, off-line, on-line, got his attention and focus--or so I thought.

"Is he normally hard to bridle?" Ellen asked, watching me struggle to get the headstall on my normally quite easy to bridle horse. "No," I said. "This must be frustrating," Ellen replied. "Yes, it is," I admitted. It was frustrating and if I'd had more pride, it would have been embarrassing, too. More pride or higher expectations--both of which would not have served Calabar or me well in this instance. We had to take several steps back which actually turned out to be okay for us.

"Why don't we go back to the round pen," Ellen suggested after trying to bridle him herself and being the recipient of his rude behavior and deciding he needed a little work on the respect issue. Maybe more than a little.

Luckily, no one got hurt in the process, though Calabar showed Ellen an OTTB can pout. Expressively. "I hope you don't think I'm being mean to him," Ellen said at one point. "Nope," I replied as she backed him away from her, swinging his clip up into his chin when he didn't respond. (Hence the pouting.) He may have thought she was being mean, but in the end he decided he didn't want to be in charge and he could and would listen.

Ellen held Calabar while I went to get his bridle to try that exercise again. He automatically tried to follow me and while she corrected him for not paying attention to who held the lead rope, she liked that he wanted to be with me. That's my big brown mama's boy. He did accept the bit and bridle and then waited at the gate until I gave him permission to exit and we even had a few minutes left in our slot to actually ride.

I should have been more nervous about getting on, but I must have dissipated all my anxiety somewhere along the way--not to mention Ellen's gentle way of instructing without criticizing put me at ease and allowed me to listen and subsequently learn.  

After all that, my boy got compliments on his gait and movement. "He looks really good!" said both Ellen and my long-time horsey friend Katie Dougherty Kunde. Katie has known me throughout this journey and has probably wondered many times about my sanity.

"His trot is so much more forward!" Katie said.

"He is moving beautifully," said Ellen, "and you are riding much more relaxed."

So even if the riding part of our session was short-lived and things didn't go exactly as planned, my horse learned and I learned. And people I respect told me we've both made a lot of progress. (Insert big grin here because it's still on my face.) Steve also added to the afterglow, giving me a kiss and telling me how proud he is of me and how well I handled my horse today. (Bigger grin.)

Oh, and Lena and Allie did great and also got a few things to work on. Love the spotty mare. Here they are--shot is across the alley from the trailer because Mr. Worried Pants really needed company--as evidenced in the above shot. (No, Calabar. Timmy did not fall in the well. Everything is fine. Eat your hay.)

Lena working on her hind end. Allie in her cute jacket. Steve staying warm.

There is more to do for sure, but really? This all feels pretty good right now.

Calabar says..

My horse is opinionated about things, many things.

For example, he likes to have his hay delivered (even if he doesn't eat any of it) before we do any work. Seriously. He can have had grain and carrots and even some alfalfa from me, but unless he knows his hay delivery from Peter is in his pen (best if he gets a bite or two), he is just that much harder to work with. When he has the hay, it's like he can relax and concentrate on what we're doing without arguing.

Luckily, Bar has no obvious opinion about being ridden by a mushroom.

Apparently, he is also pretty sure about the pattern of the poles and jumps and the order in which we should cross them. Even if I'd been doing it wrong in the first place.

After watching Allie and Lena the other day go over properly placed and spaced poles and jumps, I attempted to direct Calabar to first go over the pole, then go over the little jump.

"Um. No!" he said.

Arguing with 1.200 pounds is really not productive, though I did explain emphatically that I was NOT coming off again so settle down. He did, after a mild tempter tantrum.

The way he seems to like it to work is to jump high over the little jump--he clears it by a significant margin--and canter out so as to be able to completely ignore the other pole. Having to think about getting over the single pole at a trot BEFORE getting to the jump is more of a challenge. Where to put his legs, when to lift his feet... "I need momentum!!" he says.

No, you need a little momentum and a lot more self-carriage, my big brown friend.

And you aren't getting either with your head down between your knees throwing a tantrum. Stoppit.

Now after our first go-round with this, I realized that having even the little jump set up after the pole might have been a little much for him, so decided to drop the jump rails to the ground when we started the next time. Oh, and I added another pole on the ground so we could try this from both directions.

The very next time we faced the jump question, I was actually not riding. We had gone on a great trail ride the day before, so all I really wanted was for Calabar to do some light ground work to stay supple. After that, though, I thought it wouldn't hurt to play with the jumps. "Just follow me!" I said.

"Hm," said Calabar. "You've changed it. Again. Have we not discussed change? Why must things change? Just because you can trot through with your two puny legs does not mean I, with my four beautiful long legs can be nearly that coordinated." And no, he wasn't at first, but he got it at the end.

Tonight I rode and we walked over it. A lot. Then we tried trotting over it and he jumped all three FLAT objects instead of trotting. Sigh.

So then we trotted several times over a single pole. "See?" I said, "Piece of cake."

"What's cake? Are we done yet?"

We finally trotted over the three sequential poles without thumping or cantering or bucking, though it was not necessarily the smoothest it could be. That's okay. He stayed at the trot, I didn't fall off. We'll take it.

This all reminds me a little bit of Snowman, "The Eighty-Dollar Champion." His owner tried to teach Snowman the basics of jumping,  starting in the logical place of trotting over poles. If I recall, Snowman wasn't too great at that part of his training, so was sold and proceeded to jump high paddock fences just to go back to where he knew he belonged. The rest, as they say, is history.

Calabar can jump, I've felt him gather up and spring up and over. He just hasn't yet linked the poles on the ground to the jumping piece of things, but I think we'll get there. Unless he thinks it's as pointless as a mechanical cow, in which case I will have to get creative to build up his core and his balance for all things, not just jumping.

If I take Snowman's lead, I should just set up 3-footers and let go of the reins to see what happens. I really wish I were that brave.

I am not, though, so crafty training techniques will have to suffice. Calabar says he is helping prevent Alzheimer's from setting in.

He may be right at that--certainly I am never bored with the big brown horse and that counts for a lot.

Calabar's new favorite thing

Though you might not know it from the few and far between blog posts over the last month, Calabar and I have been doing great work together and we have found something the big brown horse enjoys--jumping. He's way better at it than I am, and we're only doing tiny jumps, but he loves it. Ears up, big trot, canter out, loves it. I'm trying to catch up to his skill level, but it's hard when I'm laughing and saying, "Woo!!!"

What are you doing down there? Let's go jump!

I knew when I got him Calabar liked to jump. He once cleared his pipe panel corral to go see what the neighbors were doing--bowed tendon, shmowed tendon, he says. Once, very early on, he dumped Steve in the outdoor arena--when we had several 3-or-so foot jumps set up--and Calabar proceeded to go over every single one with ease before coming back to Steve. His solution when we came to a creek crossing up at Slide that was a little steep for him? Jump it. 

So for quite awhile I've had vague plans of starting to do some low jumps with him, both for entertainment and because Karen suggested it would help him with his self-carriage. We've been discouraged a little by people who worry about his tendon, but my answer is to see how the tendon does and make a decision based on that. He will let me know if things hurt and he knows I will listen. We also aren't planning on anything too high or too strenuous, just something to add to the arena routine to make it, well, less routine. 

There were a few things we had to conquer first--teaching him to turn and use his hind end and my own fears about riding him. 

The funny thing is having specifics to work on seems to have helped with both. I'm thinking about how he feels, where his feet are, where my balance is and does it feel right, rather than "OHMYGODIMIGHTFALLOFF!" The more I ride, the more he and I both progress, the less I'm thinking about the fear and the more we can actually do. It's like this awesome upward spiral I forgot existed. 

So a few nights ago, we began trotting over one of the trail obstacles (poles on the ground in a pattern) and walking over the tiny jump. Then we trotted up to and over the tiny jump. I was trying to imitate the positions my friends who jump post on Facebook as examples the "right" position, but apparently I was not getting it quite right, not at first. Then we trotted up to it and I stuck my legs down and did something with my rear end and hands that felt balanced--still not sure what--and Calabar apparently agreed because he rocked back and cleared the tiny jump with plenty of air and big happy ears. So we did it again. 

He apparently won't jump unless I'm in the right place. I'm not sure which one of us he is taking care of, but he is very clear on where I need to be for us to do the fun thing, not the just-get-over-the-jump thing. 

I admit that I still get a little nervous when he breaks into a canter out of the jump, but I am working through it a little more every time. It helps a lot that he listens when I ask him to slow down, of course, and that he is so very excited to move forward as long as it's towards the jump. Motivational tools for the lazy horse are good to have. 

Really, though, having journeyed this far with him--through heartache and frustration and sometimes crushing fear--it is incredible and somewhat humbling to find ourselves in this space, working together and finding new ways to enjoy what we're doing. Jumping may be Calabar's new favorite thing, but he is still (always) my favorite big, brown ex-racehorse and I am grateful for all the things we've taught each other.

The perfect horse

He looks so happy and relaxed--dinner time!

Working in the world of re-homing Off-Track Thoroughbreds the last several months has been both rewarding and only sometimes annoying. (See my mild rant here). It has also made me appreciate my horse and the depth of commitment I feel towards him. Some might hear my story and say I have a blind spot where Calabar is concerned, but I prefer to think of it as a stubborn streak. It's still only half the story. The other half is the fuzzy brown horse on this journey with me--my version of the perfect horse because he has been perfect for me in many, many ways.

Perfect, but not easy.

Calabar, is smart and affectionate but he is not a push-button horse. It used to be that he was not easy for me to stay on, and there were more than a few times we parted company in spectacular fashion. Now that I ride better, he is challenging me mentally as we work on increasing his skill-set from trail riding and meandering around the arena to a little dressage work. "How much do you want me to trot in that circle, change directions and keep going? Okay, I did that can we do something fun, now? Like eat dinner?" Luckily, our goal is not the show ring--or if it is, I'm not in any particular hurry to get there--and we can take lessons and try things to see what works for us.

Cross over in back!

Neigh Savers does get people checking out our ex-racehorses as potential show horses, though, and we have had several very successful graduates, like Warning Zone. And some ex-racehorses can even go to upper level competitions--just look at this list from this year's Rolex to see an impressive list of OTTB competitors.

But all of it takes commitment, patience and at least a little time--even if your goal is just to hack around on trails. In some ways, it might be better not to take too much time--barring injuries--to at least get your new OTTB settled into a new routine away from the track. Forrest, for example, had hardly any down time and he is an eager beaver as far as work goes and has managed to stay sound. (Except for a self-inflicted gate injury, that is.)

Calabar had a couple years off before I got him and he perhaps thought retirement suited him. It doesn't. He is a much better horse now that he gets regular exercise and attention, even if we have to argue a little sometimes about how much is too much. He was a sprinter, you see, so we affectionately refer to his attention span as six-furlongs long. I use that limit to our advantage, though, because honestly it matches my own. There really is only so long I can do one thing and it seems we are twinsies in this regards. It also helps me to push him past his limit, teaching me to stay focused just a little bit longer each time until we get the right thing. Or at least a little closer to the right thing. Then we do something else for a little while before returning to what we need to work on. It keeps both of us entertained that way and we still make progress. That's a trick I wouldn't have if it weren't for the big brown horse and I suspect it will come in handy with other horses I meet.

Luckily, except for one abscess and the mystery football knee, Calabar has (knock wood) always been sound--even on his bowed tendon. Sometimes he is sore and stiff, especially in winter, and sometimes after a tough trail ride he likes a little liniment and a day off. So do I, so he gets both. I view his aches and pains from the perspective of my own aches and pains. He's an ex-super athlete, and like a lot of us--even those of us who were only mortal athletes--there are places that hurt if we sit still too long. My knees are actually noisier than Calabar's and the worst thing I can do to them is sit at my desk all day. The more we learn how to get him in frame, the better his body will work, too, but mainly it's important to keep him moving. I use yoga to strengthen my own core and stretch stiff parts and walk nearly daily for cardio. In fact, Calabar is my inspiration to stay in shape and keep my weight down--he has to carry me after all, so I try to do my part to make it comfortable for him. If I'm strong and active, I'm more able to move with him--or at least stay out of his way--and that makes us a better team.

"K, you were right. THIS is fun!"

That teamwork, this journey we've had, has changed me in so many ways--mentally and physically--and I love where we are now and where I can see us starting to go. Calabar is who he is and he always brings it all to the table. His challenge to me is to be a better horse person each and every day. My challenge to him is to trust me when I say, "No, really! This will be fun!" 

Calabar says welcome home!

"Oh, you're home! More treats!"

I feel a little spoiled coming back from swimming in warm salt water and having this lovely brown horse greet me with a whinny of enthusiasm. Okay, so maybe he was just hoping for more treats, but there was a touch more snuggle than normal, too. Steve says it was obvious he missed me. Steve is a wise and loving man. Calabar has me wrapped firmly around his hoof but was also a very good  boy for our first post-vacation ride.

The trip was indeed awesome. Not only for the diving, which was incredible, but also because I. Did. Not. Work. Not once. I actually deleted my work email account off of my phone so I couldn't even see when I got an email. (If I see it, then I look at it.. you know the drill.) I will re-install it. Soon. Maybe.

What was also awesome was the fact that Calabar did not forget what we'd been working on when I left! His trot is evening out, he's responding to the cadence of my posting, he is using his hind end and making nice circles with me--it's fantastic!

Of course, he is still a little on the lazy side, but once I wake him up, he gets into it. He (as always) prefers to not drill on the same thing for hours, but to mix things up a little. So Saturday we went out to the outdoor and did some trot poles--ooooo! He thought those were okay and then we circled around the vaguely scary pile of sand. It got the eyeball, but I just kept him moving forward around it and he forgot it was new and terrifying after a minute. Or maybe he saw Lena and got distracted. Either scenario meant he didn't spook, which was the goal.

We went down the driveway to the road, bouncy walk and ears up the whole way. My horse is the only horse I know who slows down on his way back to the barn. Yes, he does. Just have to figure out how to get that big forward-ness IN the arena. (Bribery, Calabar says.)  It would be so nice to have a gallop or trail around the property where we board so I could skip the arena sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. The road is okay, but it's cement and there are other distractions (like idiots who drive too fast). But for now, we will just expand our arena obstacle adventures and keep on keepin' on.

Meanwhile, Lena has been getting ridden pretty regularly by the wonderful Allie--there are now two very colorful English saddle pads, one purple and one orange. The purple looks fabulous on Lena Rey and I'm thinking I'll have to try the orange on Calabar. Sometimes Lena gets ridden twice in one day, but that does not appear to be doing her any harm and in fact she is very calm these days and moving beautifully.

Love my ponies. Glad to be home. Still miss swimming in warm salt water, though.

Time to push a little more but nag less

Having gotten to a point where I can ride Bar without hyperventilating, it's time for us to do a little more. He needs it, I need it and the right kind of training will make both of us stronger and more supple--meaning we will be in good shape to ride together for many, many adventures which is my real goal.

First, I needed to see what all we are doing so I have a better idea what to work on next. I have lots of tools to try, but have gotten so caught up in thinking I don't know what I'm doing and/or am not riding well, we aren't really progressing--either of us.

My friend Katie Dougherty-Kunde graciously came over to my barn to shoot some video of the big brown horse and me and--miraculously--she didn't fall over in hysterical laughter. Just kidding! She actually even voiced some reminders of the things Bar and I worked on with Ellen in our last two clinics. Being able to watch and see exactly what is happening underneath me and relate that back to what I know I asked and how I asked it turns out to be a hugely valuable tool. The video also showed that while not perfect--not by a very, very long shot--I'm also not as spastic as I thought I was. That was just enough of a confidence boost to help me realize I can keep going and get both of us riding better--and doing it together.



Watching the videos, it is obvious my horse is a hair on the lazy side. An ex-racehorse? Lazy? Yes, yes he is. I will be adding some motivational tools as we work on getting him to carry me versus me being a constant nag. Nagging is actually completely out of character for me. In fact, an ex-husband once told me I didn't nag him enough. Since we were divorcing at the time, it was a moot point, but the fact remains that I do not like nagging. I don't do it to Steve and I try very, very hard not to do it to my daughter Katie.

Apparently, I save it all for Bar and that's only under specific circumstances. I simply don't ask him to work very hard and that is primarily because I'm afraid of what might happen if I ask for more. Oh, the epiphanies abound after watching the videos.

Katie, understanding my fear, had a great point about asking a horse to move forward--even when you're afraid of what they might do. "If they are moving forward, they have a place to go with that energy." Steve has also reminded me on more than one occasion that I actually ride better than I think I do and have actually managed to stay on Calabar fairly well of late--even in some tricky situations.

Once Calabar and I had done some work--including our version of the trot and some direction changes--he did loosen up and give me a more forward and engaged walk. I think he actually likes the work--even if he is lazy and even if I'm still nervous--so there will be more asking and more doing.



I think we are both actually ready this time and--really--I hate to nag so it's time to push this to the next level for both of us.

Constant learning

Calabar and Jess--to every season, turn...

Calabar has been my teacher now for over four years. Sometimes the lessons are good, sometimes they are not. Sometimes he is learning, sometimes I am learning. Of course, it's better if we are both learning, and that does actually happen sometimes.

We have been dutifully working on our trot like Ellen showed us and the big trot steps behind have been happening--when we are in a tiny, itsy, bitsy circle inside the round pen.

The first thing Bar told me is he's not as good at circles without clear boundaries. Apparently, I am not good at giving clear boundaries with my outside rein because he will lead with his outside shoulder and suddenly we're going sideways instead of in a circle.

We could not make this work at a trot--I'm sure there was bus-driving on my part even if I didn't mean to--so we slowed back down to a walk and got his shoulder to stop popping out and his neck to stop bending quite so far into the circle. After a few good walk circles each direction, we went back to the trot and got better trot circles both directions. I called it good at that point. When all else fails, slow it down and get it right before moving on.

The next ride, we again had lovely tiny trot circles, and still no success in trying to tie them together when I'd go out to the outside of the round pen. Not that he wouldn't trot, mind you, but he would trot his normal jar-my-fillings-out trot as soon as we moved beyond the inner circle.

It occurred to me it might not just be him. The boy really is trying, and I am feeling big movement behind when we do our tiny circles. While I'm sitting that trot, I might add. Sitting the bone-jarring trot is a nearly Herculean feat in my opinion. Especially, as I reminded the big brown horse, sitting it on the sacrum we broke last year.

But I am convinced it is possible to teach an OTTB that the trot is actually more than a warm-up gait to be performed with a high head and entirely on the front end. I like my teeth, thank you very much.

So our last ride, I tried something new. I signaled him the same way on the outside of the round pen as I do in the middle of the round pen. I know. A completely rational and reasonable and smart thing to do, right? A thing I didn't think of doing.

So funny! He got it. I have no idea if what I'm doing is right, but the point is he knew the queue and I wasn't using it so naturally, he wasn't doing what I was asking. At least until I asked him the same way I'd asked-and rewarded him for--before.

Why this didn't occur to me long before now is a tribute to my own learning curve and not a reflection on the lessons this horse has given me. He's been trying for months to tell me I was doing it wrong and actually seemed to relax when I went back to asking him in a consistent way.

Go figure.

Simple exercises

Ignore the bus driver on your back, Bar--you're doing great!

The other day, in the midst of finding my balance again in the English saddle and helping Calabar ignore another horse bouncing around the arena screaming loudly and continuously for his herd-mate, I had a revelation.

Riding is fun again. 

It is something I look forward to, not something to talk myself into. It is an opportunity to learn, not a time to beat myself up over being afraid. There isn't anyone in my head saying "should" anymore. Or at least not nearly as often.

What's there is instead is a new mantra. "What can we do to get to the next stage?" This breaks down into smaller pieces, as it must for the two of us. What can I do better to communicate to him how to do X? And once he's done X, what's next and how do I tell him how to do that? Then how do we tie it all together in a more seamless way so we're building, not just repeating?

That's a really nice change, and we've had a lot of help getting there from a few good trainers and some great friends. It turns out, there is a lot in both our heads, we just need to put it all together.

Ellen really helped us do that in the two lessons we had, so I treated myself to her (and Betty Staley's) book/DVD combo to bone up for the next clinic. "Bringing It Together: An approach to a lighter and happier dressage horse."  It may say dressage, but the exercises she teaches are simple, work for any horse and--best of all--do just what we needed. This, then this, try this when that doesn't work. And then build on it with this. (Being specific would be boring and Ellen is much better at describing it all in any case.)

It's given me ways to teach Bar and have him become more and more willing to learn--more cooperative--even if he's not sure what I'm asking or why. Seeing those brown ears pointed back at me, patiently (mostly, anyway) waiting, asking what to do even as I try to figure that out myself--it's like a whole new chapter. 

It's even gotten me feeling more relaxed in the saddle--my shoulders have rolled back and my chest is no longer curled defensively over my stomach. 

It's not really a culmination of everything we've learned so far, it's more like being able to pull it all together again outside the foggy, fearful place and having the future open back up to us. 

I've likely thanked all these folks before, but they deserve another shout out because somewhere along the line, they all were there when I needed them. 

Peter, who rode Bar and told me "He's a good horse, he just doesn't know much," released a huge knot in my chest I barely knew was there. Ellen, helping Bar engage his big brain and think, taking us a little further.  Ike and Cheri for not being afraid to let a "crazy" Thoroughbred get in front of cows.

And of course there are the folks in the background--my own little cheer-leading and coaching section. Steve gently supporting me and pushing just enough. Katie congratulating me on some of my smallest victories with more enthusiasm than was likely warranted. Karen and Devon reminding me how far I've come with him and pointing out the bond we have. Joan for talking through some of the fear with me and giving suggestions and help and letting me know it was okay to get off sometimes.

Yes, Bar and I both deserve credit, too. I'm too stubborn to give up on him and he's too stubborn to let me. And soft. And fuzzy. And adorable. (Him, not me.)

It's been a road that sometimes felt long and frustrating, like we'd never get up the hill again. But we did. And I can look out at the horizon from between a pair of big, brown ears (and sometimes spotty ones, too) and know we have lots of adventures we will take together, one simple step at a time. 

Contrasts

Not quite a mirror image

Spots aside, Bar and Lena are very different horses in many, many ways--from their foundation training to their movements to the things that set them off down goofy horse lane. Riding both of them this week has reminded me there are things each one can teach me about riding, things that help me ride the individual horse better but also translate from one to the other in some interesting ways.

In all honestly, the 2010 broken arm thanks to Lena shook my confidence and comfort level almost as much as the last trip off Calabar's back, almost exactly a year later. She was supposed to be the "easy" horse, after all.

It may even be that Calabar became my excuse to not help out with Lena more, and I certainly sank most of my time and energy into training him, teaching him to be my horse. Besides, between Steve and Katie, Lena was getting enough exercise. Or she was until Katie got her own horses. I would ride Lena occasionally or do ground work with her to help her get a little more exercise, but Bar was always my priority.

Being blessed with some additional time these days, it seemed that Lena deserved some of my attention. There was more fear to work through than expected, but once it was stuffed away for that moment (by moment by moment), the joy of riding a horse who knows how to do things I actually know how to ask her to do returned.

We had hit the indoor arena a few times when the outdoor arena was too wet, but the other day it was sunny and dry and beautiful. Thud, thud, thud. That's the sound of my heart in my chest. The outdoor arena and I are not friends. Especially where my left arm is concerned. Keeping Lena contained is fairly easy in the indoor, but the outdoor means--in her brain--a good run, something I'm still working back up to with both horses.

She tried to take off a few times, but found that it resulted in smaller circles which are much harder--despite the fact that she is an extremely athletic and powerful spotty horse. It is so beautiful to work with a horse who knows what a shift in weight means, knows her own balance, knows to pick up an inside shoulder when the inside rein comes up, knows how to give to contact.

I felt good, balanced in my seat and my feet. The confidence began trickling back. This in turn allowed me to give her more room to move--a little more, anyway. It was also good to have been taught by another horse to recognize the try, and to--quickly--release and soften my hands in response to that try so she and I could communicate instead of argue.

On the flip side, riding Lena helped remind me what a balanced horse in the right frame feels like. That reference point gets me ever closer with Bar so we can move from, "No, that's too bouncy, you are not using your hind end." to "Yes! That's it." Even if the latter only lasts two or three steps, feeling it faster is easier and feeling it faster means I can reward him for his try sooner. That positive feedback loop is so crucial for him to help with frustration avoidance. (His and mine, truth be told.)

The contrasts between the two horses are many. Neither horse is better than the other--they are merely different and know very different things. Bar spooks less on the trail because he's seen more. Lena is more balanced and knows more about how to be a "normal" riding horse.

Both offer lessons and constructive criticism, both continue to teach me much about myself. It is beyond lovely to be riding two such fine ponies.

Bar and the art of the turn

Big brown fuzzy OTTB

Calabar, like many ex-racehorses, has not perfected the art of the tight turn. The turn at the end of the straight-away? Not an issue. He'll even switch leads for it, as he was well-trained to do.

But a small circle? Oh, now that's a different story. And it's a particularly different story to the left.

Ellen was helping us on our trot and our turning using the same exercise--short reins, outside elbow out slightly to support the neck, inside index finger inching up the rein, Dressage whip at the ready. It works pretty well to the right. To the left, especially when he gets tired, not so well. We get drift, major drift, to the outside.

Was it me? I know that my own spinal mis-confirmation twists my pelvis to the right and it is a physical effort to drop my left seat bone into the saddle. A contortion that sometimes escapes me despite all my best efforts.

And, as previously mentioned, Calabar does try.

So last night, after our workout, I asked Calabar to move around me both directions, just at a walk. I pushed his hindquarters while directing his head. He was lovely to the right, loose and crossing over behind beautifully.

To the left (also known as racing direction), we were not so smooth. One step, two steps, then his left front would plant and he would try to rotate around it.

Well that just won't work for all kinds of reasons.

And here is where some knowledge and training on my part would really come in handy. I know I need to lift that left leg somehow and get him off of it, but I am not at all sure how to do that.

He needs to be looser there, of that there is no doubt, and the left has always been the tighter shoulder--despite the bowed tendon being on the right and the compensation that entails. So massage and stretching for sure. But what else? Do I push with my left hip/foot to get him to extend? Do we do more circles? Less circles?

If it were me, I would do gentle extending exercises. If it were me, and it is in some ways, I would keep working it, keep gently moving to build the balance and strength required.

I just need to figure out a way to help him do that.

It appears the lessons never end, but that is why us crazy horse people do this, right?

So much I don't know

There is so much I don't know, and both horses remind me of that--now on a daily basis. Calabar told me yesterday that the reason he had too much bend in his neck was my inside hand was too far up the rein and if I just pulled it back a little bit towards me--hand, not rein--ah, there, perfect arc. Lena Rey told me to relax in the saddle while we cantered, sit back, move with me.. there, that's it.  

I don't have quick answers or responses to every lesson presented to me by either Lena or Bar, and I didn't always have the confidence to even think on my feet, or their feet as the case may be. It's better now--at least with Bar. I know Bar's quirks and moods better, and have enough in my arsenal to redirect him most of the time. Lena, however, is a different story--especially since I haven't ridden her nearly as much over the last year or so.

This week has been my chance to reconnect with her Royal Spottiness and it's been interesting to say the least. 

Lena is much more balanced and sure of her feet than Calabar is. Cheri (of Slide Mountain fame) said Lena always knew where her feet were. Uh, yeah. So what works to distract, er, redirect Calabar -- shifting his attention to his hind feet -- does not work quite the same with Lena. It's not that it doesn't work, it just works a different way. Usually sideways, as a matter of fact.

So with Lena, who can turn on a dime as soon as you think it, the trick is to think it before she does. To take that energy as it starts to build and turn it. Or push it sideways. Get her to use her brain and her body together, not just propel herself forward with great and furious speed--which she has in abundance. It's not that she isn't allowed to run, it's that it needs to be mutually agreed upon and she still needs to pay attention to her rider, not just run like a wild thing. "There are gaits between walk and gallop, Lena Rey." Her natural balance is a wonderful tool, though, since it allows me to pick her up and point her in another direction with an ease and grace Calabar and I do not yet possess. 

Lena's fabulous balance is also teaching me to feel the "right" thing better and (hopefully) that will translate into being able to get there with Calabar, too. Or at least part-way there. I'd be good with that as a next-step.

The more I ride, the more I realize how much I don't know. I could let this paralyze me, but instead I choose to give myself room to grow, room to learn how to be both a better rider and a better horse-woman. 

I think I just heard both horses say, "Phew!"

Jess and Calabar learn to trot--the movie

Why yes, I am going to risk mortal embarrassment and post this video of Ellen helping Calabar and me with our trot last weekend. It's a little long, so don't feel obligated to watch all of it, but it shows a lot of what we worked on. And what we still need to work on.

You can see that my big brown horse is being extremely patient even when he obviously has no idea what I'm asking him to do.

Ellen was also extremely patient. When I watch her work with Katie Dougherty-Kunde and Willoughby, I realize that I am at a much different level than Ellen's normal clientele. I'd like to think I'm presenting Ellen with a different kind of puzzle, though, right?

True fact: if you direct me to do multiple things at once, I forget to be nervous. I do, however, still tend to babble and laugh really loud.

Aside from my horse looking as relaxed as he could possibly be, you should also notice he is trying to decide which camera to look at--Joan and the video camera, or Devin with the DSLR who is off-screen to Joan's right. He looks back and forth several times in this video and in some the others Joan took, possibly trying to decide who would get his best side. Big brown ham.

It was a great day and I feel really good about what I've learned. So good, in fact, that we will keep at it, keep building on it, until we both know a little better what we're doing. And then it will be onto the next adventure!

One more thing..

In my excitement over the journey we took yesterday, I neglected to mention one tiny thing. Or not so tiny. Maybe a little huge for us, actually.

By the end of the session, I got a few steps of a sittable trot from my horse. And he got a few steps of a not bouncing rider.

Even better, at least one of us could feel the difference. And what a nice difference it was.

More later. It's Katie and Forrest's turn today and as I'll be unencumbered by horses, I can watch someone else without distraction. More photos and maybe some video later!

Oh the things we can learn

Calabar and me, getting ready to learn a few things.

I have had some formal training and lessons. I have also held on for dear life as my horse chased a mechanical cow or galloped up a trail, smiling the whole time. There is a balance in between, I think, and it amazes me sometimes how much I don't know about riding. We're talking basic fundamentals, really. Do this, expect this movement. Do that, expect some other movement. What?

Calabar may know even less than I do, and has not always been willing to learn. Control the situation, yes; learn, no. But something has happened along our journey. He is trying to learn (most days, anyway), now, even when he is entirely unsure what it is I'm asking.

This all crystallized a little more at another clinic today with Ellen Eckstein. 

We had another mildly rocky start--including Calabar nearly pulling himself loose from the trailer when Lena got out of sight--but what we all learned was so worth it. Even the bout of breakfast-impeding nerves I fought before even leaving the house.

I'll cover the fact that our horses are totally herd-bound later, but let's just say we worked through Calabar nearly getting loose, then leaping above the ground before settling down, all while Lena Rey called to him during most of her lesson. 

Steve and Lena had a great lesson, working on position for both of them. Lena is allowed to have her big, beautiful head up as she canters as it gives her the ability to balance herself and drive with her hind end. I'm sure there was more, but I was busy with the brown horse and missed most of it--including some bucking, apparently. All I saw was the beautifully balanced canter at the end and a happy horse and rider. There are pictures, but they are being edited by a far more talented photographer than I and will be posted later.

Then it was Bar's and my turn. He had settled way down from his antics and was standing mildly at the side of the ring waiting to see what was next. 

What was next was Jess learning to tell Calabar what to do with his body. My goal was to learn how to ride his trot. It turns out we both had lots of things to learn. It's not that I just had to learn to ride his trot, I had to learn to teach him how to trot. He trots off his front end, propelling me out of his saddle with every step. It's kind of a post, but not really, and is rather impossible to ride--let alone ride well. We won't even talk about sitting it. 

Of course, I didn't know that was what the problem was. I thought it was all me and my inability to become one with the jackhammer trot. 

Ellen helped me see that perhaps there was another path we could travel, this horse and me.

Bridging the reins in one hand, directing with both inside and outside rein--WITHOUT over(t) steering. Now switch directions. Then we tossed in a Dressage whip to get a little more life out of my horse. (WHAT?!) 

I know. I had the same fears. If I smack him, how long will it take me to hit the ground? It turns out... he needed smacking. Really? This horse was just bouncing straight up in the air and dancing, why would he need an extra push? Oh. Because he has no idea what to do with those hind legs. And no idea how to turn from behind. And I have no idea how to tell him to do these things. Or I didn't. 

I do now. And it didn't even take more than one good smack. Maybe two. And many, many tiny circles in both directions. "Stop neck reining," said Ellen--more than once, I might add. Apparently, muscling a horse through a turn is not the most effective technique. I've had instructors tell me to use the outside rein to counter balance, but Ellen said, "Don't cross it over his withers." OH! That's what that meant. Hear the little bell going off in my head? Yeah, I heard it too. Quite a bit.

Of course, I also had to learn how to use a Dressage whip properly first. This was not as easy as it may sound. There is switching of hands required so said appliance is always in the inside hand. There is the angle in the hand so there is actual contact instead of just waving. At least until waving suffices. 

Waving was not enough initially. It may be later. I believe Ellen's exact words were, "You need to be more definite." No, I did not cry out, "BUT WHAT IF I DIE??!" though I did maybe think it briefly.

All the while, even when he was confused about what I wanted, Calabar tried and he tried really hard. Even when he got frustrated, he hung in there with me and kept working on figuring out what I wanted. That little piece tells me how far we've really come together, and that is a gift beyond measure.

There is more to learn, always. With horses, with life. Coming come away from a lesson with clearer objectives and a path to achieve that next step is so valuable. Coming away and feeling like you can actually achieve that next step is golden. 

It's like I got Calabar all over again, wrapped up in a big red bow--WITH an instruction manual! How cool is that? 

Pretty cool, I have to say.

Jess-2, Fear-0.5

Fear and I are doing a dance, but bit by bit, I'm reverting to my true nature and starting to lead a little more. It has not always been this way, no. There have been many times over the last couple of years when I've let myself chicken out when faced with a situation I think could get squirrely or even one that just makes me a little nervous. Sometimes the scenario mirrors one that caused Bar and me trouble in the past, and sometimes it's just something unfamiliar. I'm not proud of giving in to the fear or hesitation and I could cheat and resort to only writing about the times we are awesome, but we won't start to work past anything if I don't start by admitting I still get scared sometimes.

The thing is, I'm coming back around to the conclusion that I can handle more than I think I can.

Calabar says, "Duh." And, "Phew, it's about time you figured it out."

Over the last couple of weeks, I've faced a couple scenarios that previously would have caused me to back away--riding with folks I don't know, and having another horse in the round pen when I'm working with Calabar. Both cause me anxiety and I've used both as an excuse not to take him out, but I decided to suck it up and deal instead.

Last week, I got to the barn in time to ride, but saw the lights on in the lower barn and a few cars there, indicating I would have company in the arena if I chose to ride. "Urgh," I said to myself. I could just smooch and go home, no harm, no foul. But.....

Bar hadn't been out in a few days and I needed to be a big girl and do this. It would be a learning experience, right? And he's been really good lately. And we both needed OUT. I needed out of my medical-industry-nonsense brain space and he needed OUT of his blanket and paddock.

Yes, please, and thank you. Now.

Being around other horses has been challenging for us, and I'm not sure how much is him and how much is me being nervous because I'm afraid he's nervous and will react to the other horses. I know he's a herd animal and that other horses are interesting, exciting, and possibly competition. He has had good days and bad days, but has gotten progressively better over the years with more and more exposure. That night in the arena, he showed interest in the other horses and riders while we did our ground work in the round pen, but he didn't show off too much and kept his head in the game. I got on and we stayed in the round pen to do our work, during which a little bounce-spin told me that was a good plan. He thought he was done after that, so I worked him some more to show him he wasn't. We finished up our ride and I told him next time he could go out with the other horses if he was good. "I was good," he said. "I suppose you were at that," I sighed, realizing I should have trusted him a little more than I was ready to. Something to remember next time, though.

The other night, after I'd warmed him up in the round pen, saddled him, and gone to get on him, the barn owner's wife came in to lunge her Quarter Horse mare. Bar is particularly weird about horses lunging in the round pen. To put it bluntly, it freaks him out. No, I have no idea why, but I've levitated with him enough to safely say it's low on his list of favorite things.

So I thought it prudent to stay on the ground until I could see how he was going to handle this. Daisy is normally fairly sedate, but she was frisky and Calabar's eyes became large brown saucers. However, he didn't go anywhere and even moved forward a few steps to check out what was going on in the round pen. In fact, he was really good and I was about to get on when he heard someone clang the gate to the outdoor arena and I became the center of a short-lived Thoroughbred tornado. Only one circle, actually, at the end of which he tripped over the mounting block and looked suitably embarrassed.

I did get on after that, and we walked, and he was somewhere else--e.g. not with me. You know. Me. His rider. So I got off and lunged him again a little in the round pen, which he thought was truly boring. I told him I was scared, and that I really couldn't get hurt again and he bumped me with his big head as if to say, "It's okay, I know." Then I got on again and he was most excellent. Once again, I realized I could have trusted him more than I did. "Sigh," says Calabar.

In between those two scenarios, we went on a trail ride that was not only physically challenging for all of us, but provided much-needed non-arena time.

Today there was no scary situation, no hurdles, just lazy Calabar and me in the arena. We did a tiny amount of ground work, then I climbed on bareback and worked on feeling his front feet. He worked on trying to figure out what I was up to and pointing out when I was scrinched over to one side. "You're doing it again," he said. "Crap, you're right," I said, pushing down into my seat bones, pushing my shoulders back, and uncurling my spine.

It was all very relaxed, even the tiny (and I mean tiny) dip-spook he did in the back of the arena because he could hear-and-not-see someone out there.

Bit by bit, I'm taking the lead back from fear. All with the help of my big, fuzzy, brown mirror. And a little faith in myself tossed in for good measure.

Inspiration

I don't even really know what a 15m circle is--though thanks to Peter I do know my circles tend to look like eggs--and I don't even know how to coordinate my outfits, let alone my aids, but Calm, Forward, Straight hits on several things in this post that I can relate to, things I do struggle with. Nausea, for one.

Okay, I don't usually feel nauseous. Sometimes just a little fluttery in my stomach. Normally, I'm merely fighting to breathe around my heart as it slams first into the front of my rib cage, then into the back of my rib cage, kind of like it's trying to give itself CPR.

But lately, I'm finding the fun part again. The get on and laugh part. The "well, that was an interesting reaction" part.

And Calabar seems to be coming along with me. Nudging me when I need to be nudged and following me in our funny little dance.

He inspires me to be a better rider, and other writers I read inspire me with their own journeys.

Life is a good place to be.