They all do have value

Calabar by a nose

I wrote a hard but important post over on our NCRR blog, a post that is so much a part of the journey I've made on Spotty Horse News, it needs to be shared here, too. There is value in any horse, but as I've become involved with a re-homing organization, this concept has taken on new meanings--some not so pretty.

The post came out of several conversations and is deeply rooted in my own experiences with Calabar. Experiences I would never have had if I'd waited for the "perfect" horse.

I have the perfect horse for me--an ornery OTTB who tells me when my seat is off center and my focus is elsewhere.

In other words, he tells me to stop fussing around and ride.

Thank you, Bar, for helping me keep it real.

Super duper announcement

The eye of my inspiration

If you think I have been sitting on my hands doing nothing and simply avoiding my blog, you could not be further from the truth. In fact, there is much afoot in my OTTB world.

Over the last few months, it came to my attention that there are several organizations doing a really good job at promoting the OTTBs they have for adoption--photos on Facebook pages, email marketing, all very good. There could be blogging and story telling, too, but for the most part the word was getting out. What struck me was that most of the posts I was seeing were from East Coast organizations with a smattering from Southern California.

How could it be that here in Northern California, with a prominent track, we didn't have someone helping horses transition to new careers? Ah, but we do! As I hinted at in my last post, we did connect with NeighSavers--a group that has been doing this since 2007. We are still looking for the right facility up here--preferably one with a good arena and access to trails--to do the rehabilitation and retraining these horses need, but the team is ready.

We actually get our first horse next Sunday, a long-term rehab named Queen of Paris, or Paris for short. We met her that rainy night we met with NeighSavers and she handled six of us in her stall, petting her, picking up her feet, surrounding her, with calm curiosity. She got smooches. She is lovely.

She needs sponsors, by the way, but back to the mission. Oh, wait. That's part of the mission. Paris needs sponsors to help mitigate the costs of caring for her as she recovers.

Paris raced around and about the same time Calabar did--she's a year older--and then retired to become a brood mare and went out to pasture. She is currently suffering from laminitis and fractures of her coffin bone, but the vet has assured us she can heal and be rideable after her rehab. No, she won't ever be a jumper or eventer. But she is sweet and even tempered and we have a year to make her into a pleasure horse. Which makes me incredibly glad to be working with this team of women.

This team of women rocks.

Karen came from the icy land of Canada where she worked on the tracks for several trainers. It was there she found her Bobby (Halograph). He came off the track with fractures and pain. After three months of body work and light, gentle exercise, the same vet who pronounced him no better than a permanent pasture ornament didn't recognize him. The improvement was that dramatic.

Devon has been around horses for years, shown various disciplines, and now spoils her on-track Thoroughbreds rotten. She rides and trains her own and when they can't run any more, she finds them homes. She is brave enough to get back on horses that travel 35+ mph even after ending up underneath one a few times--something that encourages me when I'm feeling terrified.

Katie got me into this whole mess but I am the reason she ended up with an OTTB, so I think that means we're even. She loves the energy Forrest has and his willingness to learn. They have tossed a lasso around me and Forrest thinks it's actually rather amusing. He does gates almost as well as Lena does and better than Calabar ever will. She is training him to be the horse she wants and he is responding with, "Okay, what's next?!"

Keri was introduced to OTTBs by her aunt and uncle--polo people who take Thoroughbreds off the track and teach them to play, well, polo. Keri's first OTTB, Ink, taught her a lot and took her to the Expo in 2009. She has had to deal with the loss of Ink, which helped her find found Reason, and her writing and creativity is so valuable to what we are trying to accomplish.

Then there is me. I am the rookiest rider of the bunch--likely I should have started with a nice, old, quiet Quarter Horse but instead I started with Lena who is anything but. Lena led to Calabar and all that led to my passion for Thoroughbreds. He is curious, he is smart. He is not easy. He has taught me volumes about riding and about myself. What do I have to offer this fine group of women? My ability to put pieces together, to find the correlations between this goal and that potential sponsor. My complete willingness to send emails to people that should intimidate me. What? The worst they can say is 'no' and very often they simply ask what we have to offer.

We, this talented group of people and me, have a lot to offer. And it's all focused on helping the rest of the world--or at least the horse world portion of it--recognize the beauty and grace of the Off-Track Thoroughbred.

We call ourselves the Northern California Retired Racehorse Re-Education (NCRR) Alliance. For now, you can find us on Facebook (and please do!), but our own website and blog are coming very soon. Videos are being planned--how-to's for working with horses off the track, from basics about where they've been and what they know, to common injuries and how to treat them, to more advanced topics as we move forward.

We've already reached out to the California Authority of Racing Fairs (CARF) to see if we can show off OTTBs in conjunction with racing. We're working with the Petaluma Arts and Equestrian Festival to secure a booth at their event in July. We'll be at the Western States Horse Expo in June. We even approached the Retired Racehorse Retraining Project about putting some West Coast events together.

Is there a limit? Maybe. Will we find it? Possibly. Are we doing good things? Absolutely. The super duper announcement is we're live and here to help OTTBs in Northern California. And not just our OTTBs, either.

Retired Racehorse Today

Natalie is at it again.

Here, on Retired Racehorse Today, she promises to continue her delightful prose about all things Thoroughbred.

Thoroughbreds are indeed an addiction--a happy, fuzzy addiction. With soft, warm noses. It is a relief to know I am not alone in this folly.

Just one little bit

I am a good horse owner, better than most, not as good as a few, and always conscious of the things I haven't done. I did not get to my horse tonight and know I need to get out there tomorrow, if only to try out the saddle I found--an endurance trail saddle made for Gaited horses that sits on his back like it was made just for him. Craftsmanship-wise, it is a work of art. Aesthetics-wise, well.. Steve referred to it as the ugliest saddle he's ever seen. It is, however, set up to be a really nice, lightweight trail saddle. And--I repeat--it seems to fit Calabar like a glove.

But.

It is winter and tonight was a particularly hideous night of deep puddles on roadways (challenging for the Miata) and cold, persistent rain.

It is vexing to not get out there some days, and to not get him the care and exercise he needs on those days. I could guilt trip myself for days, but that is probably not productive for anyone.

This article from Sue at Off-Track Thoroughbreds reminded me that doing what you can is often doing enough.

It could, however, stop raining for a few days. Just a few. Really, that's all I need.

Playing with intentions

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

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

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

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

That is easier said than done for some of us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Memories

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

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

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

Can you say rookie mistake?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Four Thoroughbreds, one indoor arena

Two of the four

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two OTTBs, two personalities

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don't really care.

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

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

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

Learning from Forrest

Bar watching Forrest arrive

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What more could I ask for?

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

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

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

It wasn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Progress is made

Something occurred to me as Bar and I cantered around the indoor arena last night, nice and easy, both of us calm and relaxed. (Yes, I did just say "cantered" and "arena" in the same sentence.)

The trust is coming back.

The trail riding has been a key factor. He is so awesome and steady on the trail, it's beginning to translate to my brain when we're in the arena. Probably to his brain, too. He listens. He responds. He takes care of me. I listen. I respond. I take care of him.

That two way street has been nearly three years in the making. From being dumped in the sand and watching him run off through a campground to cartoon-style spontaneous "dismounts" and bucking fits to following my gut when it came to riding and training him, it's been an amazing journey. We've overcome a lot, the two of us. And we've learned a lot.

There will always be more to do, more to experience, but being able to read each other and communicate with a touch or a word--all based on trust--means we do it on a foundation we've built together.

Sometimes it won't work. Sometimes trailers revert to being terrifying limousines of doom and we get to play horse psychologist.

But it works a lot more often now than it used to.

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.

(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.