The horse I see

Sometimes it gets really frustrating owning an OTTB. "Oh, he's having a good day." "Lena must be rubbing off on him." "It's hot, so he's quieter."

There are some people who will never, ever be able to see how far Bar and I have come. They will only remember where we were--nearly three years ago--and that he's a Thoroughbred, so any good behavior must be attributed to something else. The stars being perfectly aligned, maybe? I know this, and yet it still manages to get under my skin. Steve tells me to let it go and he's right--it's just hard to do when I work with this horse every day and know, feel, see, sense who and how amazing he really is.

For example, after Bar's ground work tonight (I'm not riding because I'm still sore from being squashed by LENA, thank you very much), I climbed up on him bareback, with just the halter. My crazy Thoroughbred and I just stood and pondered the deepening colors of the sky outside the arena. We heard another rider come up the alley way--another Thoroughbred no less--and still he stood. Then we heard Lena and Katie coming up the driveway from their post-work trail ride. And still he stood. In fact, he cocked a back leg and relaxed even further.

Those are both things that, yes, originally would have been cause for dancing and snorting, possibly even nuclear explosions. I was prepared for it all, but consciously stayed calm and still up there on his back while he checked out the situation. I was rewarded by a horse who was alert, but settled and responsive.

No. I didn't run him into the ground in the round pen. (Hard to do and no fun in any case.)

No. He wasn't in any different humor than he normally is.

He is a good horse. He wants to please, and he does a damn good job of taking care of me.

He spooked today, at twilight in his pen, while standing six inches from me. Did he run into me? Did he shove me into the side of his corral? No. He jumped in place, felt my fingertips on his flank, and stopped.

My mom says it's because he loves me and perhaps, in his way, he does. Or maybe he just knows and trusts me the way I know and trust him. Either way, it is working for both of us and that's really all that matters. The doubters, the naysayers, will never understand and will never appreciate the gift this horse offers.

I'm beyond grateful that I do.

With special thanks to The Equus Ink for starting this conversation.

The right horse

Most people think about what they want, what they are looking for specifically in a horse when they go and choose their equine partner. Riding style, competition goals, soundness, and personality match are all really good things to think about when you're searching for the "Right" horse.

We did some of that, but (if one wants to be truly honest about things), it might be said I blatantly ignored the sane-person's checklist of picking the right horse for yourself, not to mention I chose a horse that was definitely not physically perfect.

(I'm using a very old photo here, mostly because it's so rainy and gross outside I'd like to remember the sun. I think it will be awhile.)

Reading this post from the Un-Retired Racehorse blog, and the journey Kate at "A Year with Horses" is taking to find her next horse, I realize I went about things all wrong when it came to choosing this horse that became mine.

I have no regrets. None. I adore that big, brown horse, and am proud of how far we've come together--both with training, and with reshaping his body and teaching him balance and collection. Oh, and teaching me balance and collection.

But it has not been easy.

The reason I was so candid in my interview with Susan at Off-Track Thoroughbreds is that while I love my horse and have learned a lot with him, he was (and probably always will be since we'll keep doing new things) a project. It has taken an investment in time and energy I've been glad to make, though with no specific goal in mind--beyond continuing to grow together--we have had that luxury.

The mental challenges of working with Bar have tended to be the most dramatic; the physical changes have been slow and steady, sometimes hard to notice because they are so gradual. Then, suddenly I catch a glimpse of him and realize how far he's come physically, too. Lean muscle moves smoothly under that sleek brown coat, and he moves with a more deliberate strength and confidence.


He didn't come to me perfect. He wasn't lame on his bowed tendon when I got him, but he had learned to carry his body to protect it and his right shoulder was much more muscled than his left. He has sore spots, places that ache and get stiff when it's cold out. His right hamstring is perpetually tight, and he had to learn to use his core to carry himself, rather than just pulling himself forward with those front legs.


But he's done it. His canter is much smoother, more balanced, and we're getting there with the trot, too. His top line is smoothing out and up, and his abdominal muscles are engaged with (most) every stride. His bow will never be beautiful, but it is tighter and stronger than when we got him and he moves comfortably on it. The aches and pains remain, but my body is not as supple as it once was, either. One or two days without yoga and a walk, and I notice a lot more noise coming from my knees, hips, and back. Movement is definitely better, and I figure it's the same for him.

There are also the famous Thoroughbred feet, but even they have improved with good, consistent hoof care from our awesome farrier and Farrier's Formula. Getting him out of the mud this winter will be a huge benefit, too.

We are also very, very lucky that the human injury list is--all things considered--fairly minor.

Was Bar technically the right horse for me when I got him? Most would say no. Is he the right horse for me now? Absolutely. When did that shift happen? I can't really say for sure, so maybe he's been the right one all along. He certainly thinks so. All bias and complete goofy Thoroughbred love aside, so do I.

Not one, but TWO crazy Thoroughbreds on the beach

Today, Bar and I had a wild adventure all on our own. It was not all smooth sailing, but it all turned out well and we both learned a lot. Particularly about each other and about other crazy Thoroughbreds. Or not so crazy as it turned out.

Devon--one of the fine folks who handed over the big, brown horse--has a nice 9-year old mare who came off the track earlier this year and then got knocked up. Ursulita's due in March and according to Devon has been quite antsy on maternity leave, so we had decided we would take them out on an easy ride. (They actually knew each other since their careers crossed over under Devon and Howie.)

I know. First ride out on an OTTB with my OTTB? What craziness! But I have a lot of faith in Bar. And I know Devon can hang on and not fall off with the best of them, so I decided to take on the challenge and suffer the consequences if it didn't turn out exactly perfect.

It did not start out well.

Bar loaded just fine, but when he figured out he was alone in the trailer, things started to go astray. First, there was a nose through the screen and a general stomping and pawing. Not to mention the whinnying as we drove through town. I kept talking and singing to him, but it did not stop the trailer from rocking back and forth in a rather alarming manner.

Then the entire neck and head came out the window. "Bar!" That brown head swung around to the sound of my voice, "Get your head back in!" And he did. For a minute or two.

I had loaded him loose--tied in the front, but not shutting the center divider. My thought was--since I knew I'd be doing some maneuvering when we got to the ranch to pick up Devon and Ursulita--he'd be better off balancing himself if he weren't locked in.

As we drove through downtown Sebastopol, with the truck and trailer shuddering with his antics, I started to rethink that strategy. I even debated stopping and shutting the divider, but had a vision of being bowled over by 1,200 brown pounds as he pointed himself back up 116 and headed for home, so decided to just get him to the ranch and reassess the situation.

Apparently, you could hear us coming for quite a ways. All the horses on the property came running out to see what the heck was going on in this trailer, and Bar called out from his window, "Save me!!!"

Big baby.

I climbed out of the truck and peeked in the window, where I saw he had pulled himself loose from the trailer tie. Aha. No wonder the trailer felt like he was walking in circles--he was! Luckily, in all his wild antics, he did not injure himself--save for one tiny surface scrape on his left foreleg.

Ursulita looked a bit askance at the concept of climbing into the trailer with such a wild beast but we got him settled, shut the divider and the window, and loaded her in.

One of the nice things about other Thoroughbred people is they are willing to accept a certain amount of interesting behavior, though I think Howie was a tiny bit worried as we pulled out.

Within a few moments, Bar settled down and rode the entire way to the beach with hardly a bump--even though he was completely out of hay because he'd shredded the hay bag with all his wild antics.

I know I'm occasionally guilty of anthropomorphizing, but if a horse can look sheepish, Bar absolutely did when he stepped out of the trailer and realized we were at the beach. "Oh. We were going somewhere fun, just like you kept saying."

And he was fabulous on the beach. Playful but calm, watchful but responsive--fabulous.


Ursulita looked like an old pro out there, enjoying the sand and agreeing to at least approach the waves, if not douse her feet in them.



The return trip was completely uneventful. We loaded Ursi in first so we could drop Bar off first. If he looked sheepish when we got to the beach, he looked downright embarrassed when we got home.

It's not that I don't understand his reaction. In his world, it was perfectly reasonable. I could have been taking him anywhere, and wherever it was, it was too far away from the life he's used to. I'm still debating if I should have confined him to the front spot, but he might have actually panicked more that way. Really, I could second-guess myself forever, but I'd rather focus on what the situation taught both of us.

It's all about building trust, and I think we both figured out a little more about each other today. He learned we really are usually going somewhere fun; I learned he really will settle out if I just stick with him.

A year ago, I might have turned the truck around and taken Lena.

I'm glad it's not a year ago. I think he is, too.

Fear of flying

Reading a recent post on one of my favorite blogs reminded me of a topic buzzing around in my head since Sunday's awesome trail ride.

I am still afraid to canter the big, brown Thoroughbred. At least while I'm in the saddle, and apparently only in the arena.

And if I'm at all honest with myself--always a good plan--I'm still afraid some of the time just riding him. Not when we're on the trail, just in the arena.

This really makes no sense.

The arena is a fairly controlled environment. The trail has a host of unnamed surprises that can (and do) leap out at any moment. Dogs. Small children. Fishing poles (which look like lunge whips). Really, any combination thereof--and more--can occur. (I've seen it, trust me.) So why (why?!) can I relax in the saddle as we trot (and sometimes canter) up the trail and the mere indication of an increase of speed in the arena causes breath-holding?

Ugh.

Most--in fact nearly all--of our serious accidents have been in the arena. However, our very first trail outing was short-lived and terrifying (particularly for Steve) because I slid off and underneath a rearing horse. Only the big brown horse did everything imaginable--even panicked as he was--not to step on me. And I had no idea how bad it looked at the time, either--apparently quite bad if the look on Steve's face was an accurate gauge.

But it is the arena that causes me the most consternation.

I know this, so I take extra steps to deal with my neurosis. I babble to Bar in the arena. He tolerates it because it's better than breath-holding. I know I should hum or sing, but sometimes babbling is what comes out instead.

To his credit, many months have gone by since he has given me any reason to doubt he's taking care of me. When I get out of balance, he stops. When he does speed up without permission, the most I have to do is a gentle one-rein stop--usually because I'm too far forward and I've confused him--and mostly a tap on the outside rein is sufficient.

He likes it when I get on his back, for crying out loud!

No doubt part of it is that both of us have minimal fun in the arena. Ideally, we'd live somewhere that would allow us to point our noses off the property and run up and down trails instead of doing dumb ovals. However, I think it's important to ride him regularly and keep him in shape before asking him to climb over hill and dale, so we have to do arena work even if it sucks.

So we are stuck with the arena.

And I think it is past time for me to channel my trail riding calm--or at least trail riding confidence--to the arena.

I haven't figured out exactly how to do that, yet, but I have a deadline in mind. We are all (Steve, Lena, Bar, and me) going up to Slide in October and I'll need him to work with me in the arena by then. Or rather I'll need to be able to relax enough to keep him focused in the arena--a new arena in a new place--so we can learn a few things from Ike and Cheri.

Of course, we'll also have the trails up there to give us a good break. Hm. I wonder if he'll want to come home.

I wonder if I'll want to come home.

An OTTB pack horse? Oh, yeah.

I follow a log of different blogs, some Thoroughbred related an some not.

You all know I love Thoroughbreds and will champion their off-the-track abilities as often as possible.

But a back-country horse? I think this is incredibly awesome and it inspires me. Check out Buckskins Rule's buddy's OTTB hanging out in the back-country. (Scroll down until you see him mention me, below the picture of the chestnut Thoroughbred carrying, yes, trail gear.)

Bar can do this, I know it. In fact, he would probably opt for this over the arena every single time.

Personal space

One of the hardest things I've run into--besides the ground, of course--is teaching Bar about maintaining personal space.

All the reputable trainers (and even some of the disreputable ones) insist that to start to get a horse's respect, you need to teach them to maintain a set distance between them and you. They all insist horses don't really want to be that close to you, and this is all related to safety on the ground as well.

Nobody seems to teach racehorses this rule, nor have they been told snuggling is not horse-like behavior. The concept is completely foreign to them--someone is always there, holding their head, often giving them lead ropes to nibble to occupy their busy little minds and mouths. Now that's okay, nobody needs to teach them this ridiculous "personal space" concept--it's not necessary for them to do their job and do it extremely well.

It does present challenges for those of us who come afterward, particularly when you are in the way when something spooks your ex-racer.

Now, Lena is very good with maintaining "the bubble." Mostly, she doesn't want to be in your space and merely facing her backs her off a few steps.

Bar, well... not so much. He will back off the full length of the lead rope without too much commotion--because I've asked him to--then stare at me with worried eyes, as if he can't understand why I am not right there next to him, keeping him safe.

I admit, I don't push on this issue like I probably should. He does watch out for me now--more than he did when I got him--and he will absolutely back off when I ask for it, but he is much more relaxed when I'm within reach of his nose. The trainer's answer is to slowly expand that safety bubble and I'm sure we could work on that. I'm sure we should work on that. I also know I love hugging my Thoroughbred.

It may be a tough sell on both sides.

Life with an OTTB

Admittedly, there were a lot of blank spots in my horsey knowledge back when Bar and I joined forces in December of 2007. Not so much about horses, or even spirited, high energy horses, but about Thoroughbreds in general and OTTBs specifically.

I had never even been to the horse races except once at the Santa Rosa Fairgrounds when Katie was 8. She told me to bet on number 8 to win. I bet Win-Place-Show. She has never let me forget it.

That was eleven years ago, before Bar had even been foaled, and long before he started down the path into my world.

In my efforts to understand him better, to figure out his reactions and how I can help us train each other, I've been lucky to find a lot of resources out there. New Vocations, LOPE Texas, and Retired Racehorse, to name just a few. I've also visited the track more than once, watched morning workouts, and read about famous racehorses like Seabiscuit and Secretariat. Steve jokes about me being a little obsessive, but it seems important to understand--really understand--where Bar is coming from.

We know Lena's background, had ridden her brothers and sisters and are good friends with her owners/breeders. She is not the mystery he is, though sometimes she likes to pretend she is. We have watched babies get started there and know how she was trained, know who her pasture buddies were, and had even ridden and patted her nose before even considering bringing her home.

Bar has some distinct fuzziness in his past. I know his breeding, I've watched (and re-watched) all his race footage, and I know he's an escape artist. Because I'm still in touch with his trainers, I learn more about him every time I see Devon and Howie.

Devon, who has been encouraging and tough with me as required, only came into Bar's life for his last race--the one where he got hurt. She's picking Howie's brain for me for more detail, but did say Bar was "very calm shipping in for that race. He was a very good boy, knew what he was there for, that sort of thing!"

Last time we saw Howie, he told me about Bar first arriving off the van to start training and immediately flopping down in his stall. Howie didn't worry too much initially--it was a long drive--until he went back to check and Bar was still laying down. Howie checked him out and found all four feet were hot to the touch. Bar had hot nails run in all four feet. For the non-horsey folks (Mom), that means he had nails run into the meat of his foot, rather than his hoof walls. Think bamboo under fingernails, then running on those fingers. Makes me cry and rage at the same time. (Crage?)

They worked him in glue-ons for awhile--much more expensive--until they could get shoes on his thin-walled hooves. This could explain his not-so calm reaction to his first shoeing with our farrier. He trusts Mike now, but it was a bit of a long road. The deal may have been sealed the one time Mike thought he ran a hot nail and immediately pulled it out, rather than--despite their early history--simply assuming Bar was just acting up.

In other words, Mike listened. He doesn't cut Bar slack, ever, but he's fair and he pays attention. That's key with any horse, but with a Thoroughbred coming off the track--so sensitive and drilled to rely on their humans for every little thing--it's crucial.

An OTTB is not necessarily the horse I'd recommend for everyone--despite my obvious love for the big, brown subject of so many blog posts. In fact, had I known then what I know now, I might have hesitated longer than a split second. And what a tragedy that would have been! It is important, as Natalie at Retired Racehorse has said, to understand the kind of life they came from to re-train them. Not cater to it--don't get out of bed to feed at 5 a.m. and exercise at 6 a.m. just because that's what they're used to--but keep it in the equation as you move them forward.

It has helped tremendously to exercise patience and reward his littlest try before moving onto the next thing. It seems to almost immediately take the edge off his frustration, before it blows up into bad behavior, because he is (usually, anyway) trying hard to please more often than not.

Of course, not having any particular discipline we're training for or outside schedule also helps. It's just us, just our time and time-frame in play as we roll into the third year of what is framing up to be a great partnership.

(Re) gate training an ex-racehorse

Racehorses know what gates are, and what they are for. They open magically in front of you and you dash through them head first as fast as you can, of course. What else is there to know about them, really? Bar could not figure out why we would go up SIDEWAYS next to a gate, or why I would be leaning over and urging him closer--again with the sideways--and would get quite frustrated with such a nonsensical approach to things.

Lena was gate-trained when we got her, and Bar would watch with some interest as she sidled up, let Steve lean over and open the gate, go through, and side step to close it all up again for Bar and me to try. However, watching never quite translated for him.

Enter the longest rehab known to man (okay, that's how it feels) and the opportunity to do a lot more groundwork, including some gate training.

Truth be told, this occurred to me sort of accidentally during our normal routine of going in and out of the different entry points to the indoor arena. I realized he was lining up nicely parallel to whatever gate we were about to open and a tiny flashbulb went off in my brain.

We started going through the same motions we would use to open a gate, go through, and shut it again, with me guiding him from the ground. Encouraging him to side pass right up next to a half-open gate to close it again was the most challenging thing, so as long as he stepped as close as he was comfortable--giving me that try--I'd close the gate and reward him. Pretty soon, we had it down to a pretty smooth routine and the only way to tell if it translated was to try it from his back.

Now, as some of you know, I'm not supposed to ride until I have clearance (and a new cast) from my doctor. But my horse keeps doing everything I ask of him and looking at me with those big brown eyes, wondering why I won't get on when he's being so good. And darn it, I miss riding!

So, yeah, I climbed aboard this afternoon after his ground work and walked him around bareback, just feeling his rolling walk underneath me and enjoying his easy attitude.

He headed over to the fake gate in the arena, set up for trail practice, so I thought I'd see how we would do with it. No time like the moment your horse offers you that willingness to give something a try.

He walked up parallel to it, side-stepped closer when I asked, went through, turned, side-stepped and backed until I could get a hand back on the gate--which would have been enough--then gave me a little more so I could close it! It wasn't trail-class worthy, no. My hand came off the gate and we weren't very graceful about it, but I don't care. He did it, and then he did it again!

I told him was the best horse ever, got down, and gave him a hug and a carrot.

He said, "Okay, can we go out on a trail ride now?"

Soon, buddy. Really soon.

Bodywork for Bar

Yes, my horse may be a little spoiled.

But here's the thing. Karen--my friend the masseuse and the person actually responsible for the big, brown mirror ending up in my life--has rehabbed a lot of horses, Thoroughbreds included. Her own horse Bobby is 20, won over $250,000, and was deemed nothing more than a lawn ornament when she got him. He does dressage work now, and has carried Karen many miles.

Me? I know enough to see when Bar isn't moving exactly right, but my obsessive nature tends to skew my observational skills. Plus, I don't always know what to do with the information I see.

Bar is stiff and not moving as well as I'd like, but is that because he's been off so long? My body certainly reacts to not enough movement. How can I gradually get him back to work so he's stretching out and not straining? I do enough handling of him to know what muscles are tight, but at the moment--with only one very tired right arm--I can't do much for him.

Enter Karen.

She can do the body work, and she can watch the way he moves, see what I'm missing or what I'm imagining. And the best thing? She shares that information, shows me what I need to see to help Bar heal and become the horse he can be.

My long-suffering Thoroughbred

My long-suffering Thoroughbred
Originally uploaded by spottyhorse67

Bar wearing a Western outfit. Minus the hat--at least this time.

Softness and a lovely Thoroughbred for sale (No, not mine)

Seems like I'm stuck reading about riding more than riding right now, and one of my favorite blogs is Retired Racehorse.

Having fallen somewhat unprepared into the role of Thoroughbred re-trainer, it has been extremely gratifying to find people like Natalie. She not only loves and accepts Thoroughbreds, but has a calm and reasonable way of treating a horse that has lived a life only on the track, introducing them to a life that holds so much more than racing at high speed around an oval.

This post about softness may be one of my favorites.

The training tips are uncomplicated, and having long noticed that Bar does not respond to jumping up in his mouth, learning to be as soft as possible when asking him for something is certainly a good goal. And having practiced this very thing, I know it is indeed effective.

"Really?" he says, "You aren't going to hang on my face and haul my around by my head?" Yeah, buddy. I'm going to reward you for your very first response, as slight as it may be, to encourage you to keep responding, keep giving whatever it is you want to give. Because I know that means you'll just keep giving me more.

Reading is great, but I really (really) can't wait to ride again.

Oh, and by the way, Final Call is for sale. He looks like a fine horse and I know he's gotten the right start off the track.

Soap Box

Okay, okay. I know that last post was a little bit of a rant, and a rant on an oft repeated theme here at Spotty Horse News.

Sometimes my frustration cup runneth over.

My friend Karen commented that easy horses probably won't teach you as much, and that is really the heart of it for me. Push button horses are the right horses for a lot of people, and that's okay for them and probably better for their horses, too.

As I've often written, Bar and Lena have been marvelous teachers. Lena taught me to be passionate about horses and riding, and Bar continues to stretch my horse-training mental muscles. Lena has also recently taught us all the importance of consistency. This whole learning process has not been easy but it's been an interesting journey every day--one sure to keep us all thoroughly entertained for many years.

Note to self: You don't always have to hit the "Publish Post" button two seconds after finishing, particularly when the soap box feeling is upon you.

Challenging the Thoroughbred stereotype

It is obscenely obvious that I adore my Thoroughbred and that I believe there is much more to him than just a guy who came off the track. I'm also learning that it could all come down to expectations--in other words, his behavior reflects my anticipation (or apprehension).

My dad was an English teacher and often told a story about a study that was done years ago to point out the impact expectations can have. One teacher was given a classroom of "poor-performing" students and told that they were so smart, the teacher would have to struggle to keep up with them. Another teacher was given a classroom of honors-level students and told they were so slow, the teacher would be bored. Test scores of the two classes flip-flopped.

Bar and I have more issues in the arena, where I "expect" him to misbehave and where we've had the most accidents. On the trail, I am relaxed and confident because he has proven over and over again that he can be reliable and calm on the trail--even in hairy, yellow-jacket-filled situations.

With this in mind, I have been trying to mitigate his responses by talking myself into expecting him to be himself--e.g. bouncy--but also to keep thinking in any given situation.

It seems to be working.

Tonight, Bar had several opportunities to act the way people expect Thoroughbreds to act. "Well, you just know how they are." And indeed they are that way sometimes, but really? No more or less than any other performance horse I've been around. I know people say there are bombproof horses, but to me that just sounds like a horse that has a much larger chance of surprising you. Or boring you to tears.

But I digress (as usual).

We have done a lot of work, Bar and me. He used to react first--often several feet off the ground--and then maybe check in to see if that was the right thing to do. Now, he tends to look to me first. Sometimes he spins his hind end away before looking at me to see what to do next, but he's still thinking about me in the equation.

Can I argue with that? No, not really.

His first test tonight was coming back up the driveway with Romeo (his nice twin) dancing up the inside of the fence line next to us. Bar really wanted to play. He wanted to go prancing up alongside Romeo and then prove once and for all who is the fastest racehorse. I got the muffled back-of-the-throat squeal more than once--you know, the one that sounds like steam leaking out of a tightly-sealed kettle. I also got some bouncing and once or twice he swung around to face me--"C'mon Mom, pleeeeze??!!" But he kept his distance, settled down and listened. No matter how much I knew he wanted to break free and play horsey tag, he didn't. He stayed with me and kept his brain engaged.

His next test as when we were in the round pen and Colleen came in with her two mares and worked them around her together all over the arena, making lots of dust and noise. Bar came into the center of the round pen a couple of times to check in, but never barreled in and always stopped a respectful distance away and then went back to work when I asked.

Finally, as we were leaving the barn, a horse and rider we didn't know--though everyone else seemed to--were coming in while another horse and rider were doing some canter circles at the end of the outdoor arena. He ended up between both and had a moment of wide-eyed worry before deciding I was right and he was fine. Then we walked calmly up the hill to his paddock and made sure Lena wasn't stealing his dinner.

I haven't always been this comfortable or trusting around his energy, and he hasn't always given me reason to be. All of these things have caused him to flip out on previous occasions, whirl around me, and become nearly impossible to handle. I don't really know when it changed, either, or what has enabled me to calmly watch him bounce on the end of his lead rope these days. (As long as he isn't endangering me or anyone else, of course.)

Methinks I'm onto something with this expectation piece of the puzzle.

Reflections

Sometimes I think back to when we first got Bar, before some of our accidents, and remember a more confident rider--namely me--and get frustrated with myself. I look in the mirror (or at pictures) and wonder if I'll ever feel that brave and carefree on him again, if I'll ever get to a place where I can ask him to canter without holding my breath for at least the first lap.

Just like grief, working through fear is an individual journey and all of us deal with it a little differently. Some people can push themselves through it with bravado and come out fine the other side. For me, it's taken a longer, slower, and more circuitous path--a path that has taught me a lot about myself and about my horse, and a path that has led to a trust level between us that is invaluable.

Not to mention a healthy dose of reality.

Having horses in your life includes a level of risk and responsibility and forgetting that--even for an instant--is the biggest risk of all. It's not that you can't relax, which is something I keep striving for, but it's a balancing act between relaxing and being ready to ride through whatever this 1,200 pound prey animal might do in a mere nanosecond.

I've had people tell me it's okay to get rid of Bar, to get an "easier," more "bombproof" horse. But he's not a car that just didn't drive the way I wanted it to, he's my horse. He is happy to see me when I get to the barn, happy when I put a saddle on him, and now incredibly tolerant of my truly terrible efforts at posting and my breath-holding. He actually pays attention when I ask him to slow down and when he's not sure what I want (usually due to unclear directions on my part), or I'm off-balance, he stops--a marked improvement to dumping me. He has given me amazingly solid efforts on the trail--sometimes more than he really had in him physically--with little complaint.

We even managed several laps at a canter today--not to mention some really nice walk-trot transitions--and I did eventually manage to breathe.

So the reflection of who I was as a rider looks at the reflection of who I am as a rider--and who Bar was and is as a horse--and thinks maybe we're doing okay after all.

Rainy days and dancing with horses

Here in Northern California, it is an El Nino year--which means we have had a lot of rain, so much rain it feels like we haven't seen the sun in months. That's not actually true, we had just gotten accustomed to the drought cycle of mild, dry, and warm winters.

In other words, we forgot about the rainy season cycle, where the sun magically sliding through the clouds is cause for celebration--however brief--in the dreary norm of days-on-days of rain. Not to mention we get full reservoirs, lakes, rivers, ski slopes--all very good things.

The days and days of rain, however, leave us with muddy pens, slippery footing, and less romping back and forth for horses in their paddocks. Let's face it, deep mud makes for challenging rompage--at least it seems to for Bar. It's not that he doesn't get feisty, he just won't run and play as much as he likes to when he's fetlock-deep in the mud. It could be he's just taking care of himself--he's very cautious about footing--or maybe it's just too gross for him.

This inevitably leads to a build-up of play-energy, though. Yesterday it was just too much for him to contain and we had a minor eruption. Because we've worked extensively on ground manners, he's gotten very good at leading--with only minor reminders on occasion--even when the air crackles with him trying to be calm. It sometimes leaks out in a funny, low, squeal way back in his throat, but he usually manages to maintain until we get inside and he can buck, fart, and roll to his heart's content before we do any work.

Not yesterday.

A friend of mine said he must have known I was looking at his race photos and wanted to show off. Right, that must have been it.

He actually led fine down to the indoor arena, but as we went to close the gate (he always helps), he decided to see if he could make me drop the lead rope so he could have the whole arena to run free. He's done this once or twice before with some success, so he thought he would try again. He does a series of tricks to accomplish this goal: first, rear a little--always far away from mom because she gets mad; then back up to the very end of the lead rope and zoom around mom in a circle--again, far away because of the mad thing; then spin the hindquarters away from her, rear again while tossing the head, all in hopes of pulling said lead rope free of her hand.

Unfortunately for him, I've become more confident and am wise to his antics. He always stays outside my bubble, so I let him bounce around me a bit before informing him he was still attached to me. It's okay for him to play and blow off horsie-steam, but not in such a large way when we're joined together. He is smart enough to know the difference, he just needed a small reminder of what good manners are all about.

So after he got settled down and we walked together into the round pen, he had a few minutes alone to buck, fart and roll, then he stopped and looked over at me to check in. There are probably a couple different routes I could have taken, here--maybe immediately started working him hard or punishing him some other way--but it seemed like letting him work some of that out first would allow him to focus better when I did start to work him. I won't argue with his need to play, his need to MOVE, so I gave him that time and then worked him much harder than normal. We also went back to some basic movements and ground exercises to get him to focus. By the end of it, he was following me calmly around the arena, moving the parts of himself I asked him to when I asked him, and licking and chewing calmly.

There will always be days like this with him, days where he just feels so good in his skin he can't stand it. There are days I simply can't sit still to save my life, and my body aches, literally aches, to move (and sometimes aches when I move, too). Can he really be any different? I don't think so. He just has to remember I will always allow him that as long as he follows a few simple rules.

Lena wants everyone to know that she would never act like that and I should have just taken her out instead.


Both these photos were taken during sunnier times of the year, because photography in the rain isn't as fun, either.

My horse rocks

With his shoe firmly attached to his foot, Bar had a riotous time blowing off steam last night. He bounced, he bucked, he reared--and boy, did he roll.

He also listened fairly well, despite having way too much energy for his own good.

Today was even better.

Steve was getting Lena ready to ride, and Bar and I headed down for the round pen. Peter was riding Rio, a horse he is training. I asked if it was okay to bring Bar in and Peter being Peter said, "Probably not, but go ahead." Which in Peter-talk means he'd deal with whatever happened.

Knowing Bar takes his cues from me and my energy, I took a deep breath and slowed way down. We meandered around to the inside entrance and waited there until Peter and Rio came around by the gate. Both Rio and Bar started a little, but I let Bar settle and watch a little before opening the gate to go into the arena.

We got to the round pen without incident on our part, though Rio was not sure about the intrusion and there was a scuffle or two as Peter corrected some aspect or another of Rio's reaction.

I started with some body work, actually--using some of Jack Meagher's pressure points and techniques to treat some of Bar's more chronically sore areas. Bar submitted to this for the most part, though kept a wary eye on the actions outside the round pen.

Once he seemed focused enough, I sent him out at a trot, then got a beautiful, balanced, canter out of him. It absolutely lovely to watch him have freedom and lightness in front because he was driving from his hindquarters instead of pulling himself along with his front end. There was a spontaneous happy dance on my part, I admit it.

Then he heard Steve and Lena head in and Rio get excited, which created a bit of a ruckus and meant Bar had to show off a little. The head went up, the tail went up, the snorting began. However, when I raised my arm from the inside of his big, bouncy circle, he came dancing in and stood next to me. Amazing. I could see and feel his heart pounding--his body twitching with every beat, his eyes wide. And yet, he simply stood there, blowing a little, but just watching and checking in with me.

That pattern repeated a few times--Bar working nicely, reacting to one of the other horses acting up and coming in to me to check in, then settling back into his exercise.

After all was said and done, he got a good work out and proved once again that crazy Thoroughbreds can indeed make progress if you just give them time and patience.

Of course, it does help to have people around who are willing to handle their own horses.

Bar the big brown mirror

Bar is a mirror. A big, brown, fuzzy mirror that will not allow me to get away with anything.

There is no lying to him, no telling him everything is fine when I don't feel that way. All horses can tell when you're lying, but he is so finely keyed into my emotions, he is actually teaching me to steady myself, to take that deep breath and slow down.

He knows who makes me nervous at the barn. He knows who doesn't bother me. He even knows who falls in the middle and checks in with me to see how we're going to react. I can feel him relax with me when he knows when I'm having fun and trusting him.

Yes, he is a challenge. Yes, he's sometimes hard to handle. But he is not mean and he is not crazy--no more than I am any of those things, anyway.

He is my horse, and there is absolutely no doubt in either of our minds about that.

Bar teaches Jess something

Bar always teaches me something, but tonight felt a bit like one of those watershed moments--"click" as it all slides into place.

He hadn't been worked in a couple days. Tuesday I had a massage and Wednesday a social thing, so the plan was to give him a good romp and workout tonight--at least in the round pen--if there wasn't time to ride.

You know that they say about the best laid plans.

One of the other boarders was in the round pen with his horse--a nice Quarter Horse reiner--when I got there. Okay, I thought, maybe he'll be done by the time I clean Bar's feet and head down there. Normally I have the arena all to myself after work, and I really was not anxious to repeat the issues I'd had the other day.

No such luck. Bill and CD had finshed up in the round pen and Bill was getting on when Bar and I made our way down. I stood outside with Bar, letting him graze, while I fidgeted and tried to decide what to do. Finally, Bill looked out at me and asked if we were coming in. Fine. As I led Bar up to the gate, Bill asked which one it was and I told him, then said if Bar was too bad, we'd leave.

Remembering how Bar reacted to the situation the other day, I slowed myself way, way down. I let him check out the arena, made sure he saw Bill and CD, then opened the gate very calmly and again stopped to let him suss out the situation. As we went through the gate, I rotated him so he was facing Bill and CD, rather than having his butt to them. Then we turned and walked calmly towards the round pen, me giving him reassurances and pets to let him know he was acting just right.

Bar had a lot of energy--especially after two days off--and feels pretty strong and healthy right now, so really wanted to run, buck, fart, etc. I was relatively successful at keeping him at a trot and slow canter going to the right, but when he turned to the left--racetrack direction--all bets were apparently off.

I felt bad. If I were him, a certain amount of bucking and hijinks would absolutely be necessary, but I had to rein him in with someone else trying to work in the arena. Sad, because he looked like he was having a blast!

I called him in so we could do some yielding and side passing work--things less energetic but more appropriate for the situation. He did okay for a moment, but got frustrated and reared up a little bit, backing away as he did so because he knows that's bad manners. Clinton Anderson suggests letting them rear as long as they aren't striking out and as long as you are in a safe position--apparently, it takes the fun out of it when you stand your ground. So I let Bar rear, let him back off a little away from me, then backed him all the way to the end of the lead rope by wiggling it and made him stand there--far, far away from me.

Bar is a snuggler. He feels safe and happy when he is right next to me. In fact, I think that his lurch into me the other day was more because I represent safety than anything else. Not that it makes that okay, but it's another little piece of his psychology and our relationship.

So I could have backed him up all the way around the round pen and terrorized him--and it probably would have worked to some extent--but it occurred to me to try something different. Instead, I backed him gently but firmly away from me using just body language and the lead rope, driving him back every time he tried to come close, making him just stand there staring at me from a distance.

It was amazingly effective.

He did everything I asked after that--side pass, slow trot to the left, circle around me at a walk or trot both directions. Quite amazing, actually.

We took our time leaving the round pen and arena, too, so he could see Bill and CD again and be sure there were no monsters lurking outside the arena, too.

No monsters, just grass, which he got to eat more of because he had behaved if not perfectly, better than I envisioned.

Oddly, I think he thought the same thing about me.

Bright note from the "incident"

In all the irritation about the "incident" the other day (irritation which was preceded by a day of feeling guilty and obsessing over what I could have done differently, mind you), I forgot to mention the bright spot.

And there was a bright spot.

When I finally did get on Bar, Steve had already given Lena a beauty treatment and put her away, but being the great guy he is, waited patiently while I did a little more work.

Bar has been really good at maintaining a consistent trot in the round pen lately, but my not-so-great posting abilities make it difficult for him (and me) under saddle. I wanted to work on his speed control--as in he has to control his own rate of travel without me yanking on his mouth--by allowing him to trot on a loose rein. Not only did he do an excellent job setting a steady pace, he tolerated my spastic posting with good humor--all on a loose rein.

So things weren't all that terrible that day after all. Good to remember that.

New blog about Thoroughbreds

Really quick link to a blog I just discovered thanks to another blog I follow, The Second Race.

This is a blog that, like me, thinks Thoroughbreds have a lot to offer. Welcome to the blogosphere, Retired Racehorse!