It's a Girl!!!

I had to drop by and say hi to everyone. If you've been reading this blog for a few years, you are familiar with my mare, Gailey. She hasn't been rideable for a year, but last year, I leased her to my horse trainer for a baby.

Her very first baby (Gailey is 18) was born this morning at 8:30 am. A little filly, and she is beautiful. Here are some pictures taken when she was an hour old. I just got a new camera and am having a bit of a problem figuring it out, hence the spots on the pics. I hope you enjoy them.

Gailey is a Hanoverian mare and the daddy is a Dutch stallion named UB-40.

Worst Wreck of my Life (and an Encounter with the Queen of England)

                        by Laura Crum

            True story. Well, maybe not the worst wreck of my entire life, but if not, close to it. I remember it perfectly, because it happened the day Queen Elizabeth waved at me. That’s right, the queen of England waved at me. I’ve never forgotten. And I never forgot the wreck that followed, either.

            This would be thirty years ago on the outskirts of a foggy town in California’s Central Valley, right about this time of year. I’d been working all winter for a well known reined cowhorse trainer as his assistant, mostly in the chilly (40 degrees), gray fog that is so typical of the Valley in winter. This particular trainer had won the prestigious Snaffle Bit Futurity a couple of years ago and was a BIG player in the reined cowhorse game. He probably had 50 horses in training. And he had three assistants to ride them—myself, another young woman, and an equally young guy. All three of us were in our twenties and were paid minimum wage. We were all working there because we wanted to learn how to train horses.

            All of us could ride pretty well, and we were given the greener horses and the retrain projects—the trainer rode the horses that were scheduled to be shown. As a matter of fact, the trainer didn’t ride all that often. Mostly he watched us ride and yelled at us. He had a huge voice and as someone else said of him, “He could be abrasive, to say the least.” Most assistants lasted only a few months. He frequently reduced me to tears, still I kept sticking it out. I wanted to learn to ride cowhorses in the worst way, as did the other two kids working for the trainer. The three of us had all been there six months on this particular March day, and we were friends, of a sort. At the very least, we were comrades.

            The trainer had gone to town for the morning, as he often did, and the three of us were working our way through our respective “strings” when the neighbor came driving in the yard, very excited. Apparently Queen Elizabeth had been visiting Yosemite Valley and was on her way to the airport. And the neighbor had just heard (via police scanner—which everybody seemed to have in those parts) that the queen’s convoy would be going down the road in front of our ranches. In ten minutes from now.

            This was big news. As we understood it, the queen’s route was kept secret until the last minute, for fear of snipers. So there was no crowd lining the roadway. We three training assistants had the bright idea to saddle the most “western looking” horses we had and wave at the queen—who we all knew was a horsewoman. I grabbed a loud-colored paint, the other gal took a blanket Appie and the guy saddled a buckskin. We put our cowboy hats and chaps on and lined the three horses up at the end of the driveway, on the shoulder of the road, facing the street, right under the wooden crossbar that marked the ranch driveway. We looked western as hell.

            And shortly thereafter the police convoy came down the road, with a big black limo sandwiched in the middle. We took off our hats and waved and waved and I distinctly saw the queen’s face peering at us through the back window and she gave her signature wave back. So, the queen has waved at me (!)

            Anyway, after that excitement, it was back to business as usual. The trainer came back from town and decided to have me work all the upcoming snaffle bit prospects “checked up” in the round pen. Not the real round pen, because that was a lake, after a rainy winter. But a makeshift round pen had been set up in the covered arena—rusty old portable panels baling wired together. Not ideal.

            The sort of “checking up” the trainer had me do is kind of touchy. The reins are run from the snaffle bit down between the horses front legs and then up to the horn, one on each side. The reins are then tied around the horn.  When the horse walks or trots, the movement of his front legs works the reins in an effect that is similar to a rider scissoring the reins. The horse must bring his head down, and/or break at the poll to get relief from the pressure. If he raises his head or throws it, the reins, tied fast at the horn, will give him a harsh jerk in the mouth. There is no escape. If the person doing the checking up is not skilled, it’s common for a colt to flip over backward. This event is not for the faint-hearted, and it CAN be very abusive. Every single reined cowhorse trainer I ever knew used it at least occasionally. I had used it before and knew how to do it. But I tended to err on the side of kindness and caution.

            I usually started with the reins pretty loose and gave the colt a lot of space to figure out what was wanted. If he seemed upset, I loosened the reins further. Only when I was sure that the colt had figured out the desired response and was comfortable with it, did I drive him into the bridle—which was the goal of this exercise. It is, to be frank, a little like rollkur (sp?).

            Anyway, I was working my way through the three-year-olds, one at a time. Most understood the exercise and didn’t struggle with it. I worked them for fifteen-twenty minutes or so at the trot, as I had been told to do. And I finally got around to Lynn’s filly.

            Lynn was a non-pro with very little money, but she had a three-year-old she wanted to show at the Snaffle Bit Futurity in the Non-Pro class and had put the filly in training. Think about this for a minute. She had very little money, she wasn’t going to have the trainer show the horse, she was going to show it herself. The trainer had at least a dozen Futurity prospects in training that he WAS going to show himself. Take a guess how much Lynn’s filly got ridden. Yep. If you guessed almost never, you’re right.

            The trainer didn’t ride her because he wasn’t interested in her. The assistants didn’t ride her much because we all had plenty of horses we were assigned to ride and the filly was a flighty, goosey little critter, afraid of everything. Lynn rode her occasionally. The filly was WAY behind the other horses in her training.

            I got her out and saddled her and checked her up with some trepidation. I wasn’t sure she’d ever done this before. And sure enough, she reacted by being  freaked out. I had the reins adjusted so they were very loose and I was just sort of babying her along, hoping she would relax and get the idea. But she kept throwing her head against the pressure and running backward. I was worried she would flip over and I soothed her and loosened the reins further. At this point, if I had been in charge, I would have been happy to have her take a few calm steps forward at the walk and I would have put her up.

            But I was not in charge. And the trainer chose just this moment to come lean on the fence and observe what I was doing. In no time at all he was yelling at me to tighten the reins and drive the filly forward into the bridle. I protested, saying that I thought she’d freak out. He yelled louder, telling me that he was the boss here and if I wouldn’t do it he would, and to get my ass in gear and do as he said.

            Well, I should have quit him right there. But I was young and he was a big name, and yep, he was in charge. So I did as he said.

            I shortened the reins under his direction—much shorter than I would ever have chosen to do with this filly. With the trainer yelling at me every second to drive her harder, I used the whip to force her to trot, despite her wildly rolling eyes and attempts to throw her head in the air and run backwards.

“Drive her harder!” screamed the trainer.

            I understood the point. She couldn’t flip over backwards if I could keep her moving forwards. So I drove her hard. And the filly, out of her mind with panic, tried to jump out of the round pen, with her head virtually tied down to her chest.

            She didn’t make it. She landed on top of one of the old rusty panels, which fell apart. The filly impaled herself on an upright. Blood poured out of a gaping hole in her chest.

            The trainer dove into this mess, and got the horse untangled and out of the panels. The vet was called, the filly survived, though she was out of commission for a couple of months. I felt terrible. And the worst part was that I absolutely knew that the trainer would tell Lynn that I was to blame for the wreck. He would say my inexperience caused the problem.

            Lynn was a nice gal. I told her I was sorry, and I very softly said that I had been doing exactly what the trainer told me to do. I did not add that I never would have driven her horse like that by my own choice, and that I had warned the trainer that I thought it would be too much for the filly. Lynn said she didn’t blame me. But she didn’t have much money and now she had a huge vet bill, and her horse, already behind in her training, was going to be even further behind. As I said, I felt terrible.

            Three months after that, and after witnessing many more very abusive things, I quit that sorry son of a bitch of a trainer and finished training my horse, Gunner, for the Snaffle Bit Futurity on my own. We placed in both the Non-Pro and the Ladies, and I was happy with the results. But I never became a star at reined cowhorse, and shortly thereafter I switched to cutting, which was (in my opinion) easier on the horse. And one thing I can tell you for sure. Though I checked up other colts in my life, I was always very careful how I did it, and I never again had a wreck of any sort in the process.

            If you’d like to hear more adventures from my past life training horses, there are many woven into “Hoofprints,” the second book in my mystery series. Hoofprints is on special right now as a Kindle edition. Only 99 cents. Here is the link, if you’re interested.

Still Horses

by Linda Benson

We finally got settled in our new place (well, sort of . . .) and I've been thinking a lot about choices in life. As a writer, and as a creative person, my surroundings are important to me. I cannot imagine living in the middle of a city, with lots of people and traffic. Some people crave that. For me, I crave peace, and trees, and quiet. In fact, one of my goals that I set for myself when I became an adult was:

Always Live Somewhere Pretty. (and I have been lucky enough to do this!)

Another requirement that I had was to live in a place where I could have my horses with me, and have the availability of great places to ride right outside my door. This, too, I've always had.

This time, however, we moved with no livestock, and I didn't need horse trails outside my door. I did, however, still need quiet, trees, and good trails to walk with my dogs. And we found that!

As an added bonus, I have friendly horses right next door to visit. Beautiful scenery:

Thousands of wildflowers on the hill above me, all getting ready to bloom, and a new writing studio - all my own:

I think I'll have plenty of inspiration, don't you?

And if I need a horse, all I have to do is walk across our property and wrap my arms around one.

Because the outside of a horse - is still good for the inside of this woman.

Freak Accidents

                                               by Laura Crum

            Freak accidents are scary. By freak accident, I guess I mean the truly unexpected happening, not a result of obvious problems or carelessness. In my opinion, there are no freak accidents when you are training/riding/handling young/green horses. Such horses can be expected to do problematic things and if you do not expect this sort of behavior, you’re not thinking straight and will inevitably have a quite predictable accident. This is even more true if you’re re-training problem horses. Even if you do everything right, you will have some accidents when riding young horses or problem horses…it goes with the territory. But when a person with lots of horse experience is riding/handling older, solid, gentle horses and uses safe practices, and still an accident happens…well, I’d call that a freak accident.

            Since I very sincerely do NOT want to get hurt at this point in my life, I’ve given a lot of thought to freak accidents and how to avoid them. I am that person with lots of experience who chooses to ride/handle only older solid, gentle horses. So I’ve hugely reduced my risk right there. But those pesky freak accidents are still a potential problem. I’m knocking on wood right now as I type, but I have to admit, my horse life has been remarkably free of freak accidents. And I hope to keep it that way. So the other day I sat down and tried to consciously think about what I do to prevent such accidents.

            The first thing that came up for me is that I’ve learned to recognize potential problems BEFORE they happen. This is huge. Its partly a matter of experience (I’ve seen a lot of stuff), partly a matter of intuition (and paying attention to your intuition), and partly a matter of listening carefully when I hear about a wreck and making sure I don’t make that particular mistake. So when Olympic rider Courtney King-Dye suffered a traumatic brain injury when a gentle horse fell with her, I bought a helmet. I’ve ridden all my life without one, but I KNEW, when I read her story on her blog, that wearing a helmet made sense and that I should do it. If it could happen to her, it could happen to me. And the results can be devastating.

            The reality is that a horse falling with me (or my son) is my biggest fear. Any horse can fall. Period. Some are more likely to fall than others, but they can all fall. Wearing a helmet reduces your risk of brain injury; it won’t help with the rest of your body. I know of several ways to reduce the risk of a horse falling at all. If a person heeds these guidelines, the risk of a horse falling is much less. 

1) Ride a horse who has never fallen under saddle. Mostly, if they haven’t fallen, they won’t. But it’s no guarantee.

2) Don’t ride when the footing is bad. Too deep, too slick…etc. Just don’t ride.

3) Don’t overtire a horse. They make mistakes of all sorts, including falling, when they are tired.

4) Don’t ride a lame horse. It’s the same basic problem as number 3.

5) Learn to “catch” a horse with the reins when he stumbles. Some will argue with this, but I have found it to be effective. Ever since a good horse once fell with me loping on a “thrown away” rein, I never ride on a completely loose rein. I always have very light contact, and I “catch” my horse when he stumbles. So far, it’s worked.

6) If you have any misgivings (about the footing, or the horse) trot or walk rather than lope. Horses don’t fall easily from the trot or walk…they usually fall from the lope.

7) This one is obvious, but many people just don’t seem to get it. Your risk of falling and being hurt is much greater when you are doing something at speed, be it jumping or roping or whatever. If you seriously wish to avoid being hurt, don’t choose eventing, ya know?

8) Experienced older horses with no history of falling are the safest, but a horse that is truly old and arthritic has a higher risk of falling than a strong horse in the prime of life.

So there’s a list for you. How to deal with the problem of a horse falling BEFORE it happens. But, though a horse falling with me is my greatest fear, there are other risks. People get injured all the time handling horses from the ground—they even get killed. I have to admit, in some ways I feel safer ON a horse than leading it. So here’s some things I do to reduce my risk handling horses on the ground.

1) Don’t feed by walking in the corral or stall. Food aggression is a huge problem and some otherwise gentle horses will never be reliable in this area (I had one of these). My pens are set up such that I feed from outside the fence.

2) Always pull a horse’s head to you before you turn him loose. Ever since I heard of an old horseman who was killed by being kicked in the head while turning a horse loose, I’ve been careful about this one. Because I, too, have turned a gentle horse loose, only to have him kick up his heels and run off.

3) Don’t ever assume a horse WON’T kick you or run over you. I do believe that some of my horses would never do this, but I treat them as though they might. I don’t stand behind them when they are loose, I lead them from the correct position at all times, I don’t sit down or lie down when hand grazing them, I don’t play games with them at liberty, or mess around with them in their corrals without catching them. My horses are truly gentle and what I am doing is really overkill, but it is the way to prevent that accident before it happens.

4) My horses are all broke to be tied solid. Even so, I never assume that they won’t pull back and I use caution when I work around them tied up.

5) Don’t ever allow a leadrope or lungeline or rope of any kind to wrap around your arm or leg, or any part of your body—not even for a moment. It does happen, but when it does, unwrap it immediately. So many bad wrecks that I’ve known came from being tangled up and drug.

6) Insist on good manners from the horse at all times. Its very easy to let a gentle horse get spoiled such that he crowds you or pulls on you—you know he doesn’t mean to hurt you, you trust him, you don’t want to get after him. But…this is the path by which that gentle horse one day ends up knocking you down. Make sure all the horses you handle respect your space and follow your direction. Be clear and firm at all times. Remain the boss. This is actually a hard one for many people to follow, and I am guilty of being lax here, too. But when one of my horses virtually drags me toward a patch of grass, I realize my mistake, and we have a brief reminder of manners.

The other category of freak accident that I’ve both seen and heard of, comes from the truly gentle horse doing something unexpected. Either because he was stung, or startled by something that really frightened him, or feeling way too good, or, well, who knows. But this does happen. My son’s horse, Henry, is an equine saint, and yet he had a little meltdown over feeling good one morning, and he was dramatically afraid of my son in plastic knight armor, complete with sword and shield. And the number of people I’ve known who were badly hurt due to a gentle horse unexpectedly spooking—whether they came off his back or were mowed down on the ground, is well, legion. I’ve already addressed the ground handling issues, so here are a few tips for when you’re aboard.

1) Ride with your hand on the horn. This sounds dumb, I know, and is counter to how we were all taught to ride. But it can save your life. I learned this when I was showing cutting horses. They duck and dive in amazing ways, and all cutters ride with a hand gripping the horn. I got in the habit of doing this and after that, whenever I rode my very spooky, reactive Gunner “outside,” I rode with one hand on the saddle horn. Saved me coming off numerous times. (I realize this is no help to English riders.)

2) Listen to your gut. Make a LOT of space for this. If you have a plan to do a particular ride and it just doesn’t feel right, if you feel a lot of resistance to it, don’t go. Maybe you’re responding to subtle signals that your horse is feeling very “up”, maybe you can feel an odd energy in the wind that is tossing the trees, maybe you can faintly hear dirt bikes out in the hills where you meant to ride…whatever it is, your gut just doesn’t want to go. Don’t go. Wait until you feel that you do want to go. This has helped me a great deal.

3) Expect the unexpected. Take the obvious precautions. Wear a helmet, tell someone where you’re going, carry a cell phone, ride with friends when exploring a new place. If you can see trouble coming, prepare as best you can. One time while riding on the beach, I saw two very low flying helicopters approaching, and realized the horses might not like them. We bunched the three horses shoulder to shoulder, with my son’s horse in the middle, and I clipped the leadrope that I carry with me to the halter that Henry wears under his bridle and got a hold of him. Of the three horses, Henry was the one who got scared, but I was able to keep him from spooking or running. Sometimes being prepared amounts to feeling that your horse might spook, and getting a good grip on the horn while you keep your body relaxed. There are those who like to get off and lead when their horse feels too “up.” I’m not in this camp, I feel safer and more in control ON the horse.

4) Sometimes truly gentle horses freak out unpredictably due to being stung or who knows? This has happened to good horses that I have known. Fortunately I was never on one or in the path of one at the time. I do the best I can to be wary—we don’t trail ride much during the season when wasps are most active here (August/September), and I remain alert and watchful. I once disturbed a wasp nest while riding a 4 year old in the mountains. He was stung and started to bolt. I saw what was happening and turned the bolt into a controlled but speedy long trot and we got the hell out of there, escaping any more stings. No harm done. Being alert and paying attention goes a long way toward staying safe.

5) Never assume. This is similar to the above—remain watchful and alert. Sad to say, it really helps if you are on the lookout for problems. This doesn’t mean you have to stay tense and worried, but it’s my belief that you have to stay alert. I liken it to a gazelle walking down to the water hole. The gazelle can enjoy the evening; but it better not forget there are predators out there. Your trail ride may be idyllic in the moment, but trouble can be just around the corner. Very often you can ensure that trouble remains minor, rather than life threatening, if you are alert and catch the problem before it escalates.

Never assume. So often I hear things like, “The horse freaked when someone opened a soda can from his back and bolted.” I have known people to be bucked off when taking off a jacket, or when a ball rolled under their horse. Don’t assume that a horse will tolerate something—even if it seems no big deal to you. As I mentioned before, the otherwise very reliable Henry freaked out at the sight of my son in plastic knight’s armor—fortunately my kid was only running around the barnyard. He did have plans to ride Henry and be, you know, the knight on horseback, but those plans were quickly abandoned. And again, the first time my son wanted to eat lunch on Henry’s back, I made sure I had Henry on the leadrope and was prepared, in case the sounds of packages being unwrapped bothered the horse. It didn’t bother him at all, as it turned out, but I didn’t assume this would be the case.

OK—there are a few things that I do to prevent accidents before they happen. Some of this stuff will be of no use to those of you who are younger and braver and want to compete in strenuous events, and I understand this. I trained young horses and competed at cutting and team roping when I was young. I was taking risks and I knew it. I felt OK with that level of risk at that time. Now I don’t.

So how about you guys? I would love it if you would let me know what you do to reduce your risk of being hurt in a freak accident with your horse. And I hope you all are having much fun with your own horses—spring is here.

Survivors and Joy

                                                by Laura Crum

            Lately I’ve been thinking about survivors. No, not the TV show—I know nothing about that. I don’t even have a TV. Haven’t had one in my house since I was in college and lived with roommates who were addicted to soap operas. I’m thinking about real survivors.

            I live on a small property that I bought twenty years ago as a piece of raw land. Over time, and as I could afford it, I’ve turned it into a sweet little horse property. It’s fenced and has a barn and five big corrals with pasture sheds. There are two small houses (750 sq feet and 550 sq feet). There is a little riding ring and a vegetable garden and a shop building and a dog run and a fish pond. There is a rambling wild garden that melds into the truly wild and brushy hills that surround us. Every single bit of all this I designed myself. My husband and I maintain it. It’s a real labor of love and takes much of our time and money. But we don’t begrudge it.

            Sometimes people who haven’t known me very long come out here and say things like, “Aren’t you lucky?” or “I wish I had a place like this.” Or “I’ve always wanted a horse property but I could never afford one.” This usually makes me grit my teeth a little. Quite often the people who say these things own a nice suburban home in a subdivision. Their home cost them more than double what I paid for this little piece of bare land. If I’m in a good mood I smile, and say, “You know, I lived in an old travel trailer out here for seven years—that’s how I afforded this property.” If I’m in a bad mood, or I don’t much like the person, I say, “You could have had this; you just made different choices.” Because that’s what it comes down to.

            The only things that were here when I came here were the plants and animals of the brush country. Just wild, hilly land. We sculpted the land such that I had a level riding ring and a passable graveled drive up to the house (though for seven years the house was only a travel trailer). We built first the fences and corrals and barn and pasture sheds (of course—any horse person would do the same), and then, when we could afford it, the little house. Eventually we were able to replace the old travel trailer (which was falling apart by this time) with another even smaller house. Every single “garden” plant on this place I planted myself (or my husband planted himself), just as we designed and helped build the two little houses. I have to say that I think this creates a depth of knowledge and intimacy with one’s home that cannot be acquired any other way.

            And the payoff, twenty years into it, is the absolute joy I feel when I walk or ride around my home and look at the results of our planning and labor. The horses in their big corrals or turned out to graze along the driveway, my pleasant bedroom with the morning sun streaming in, my husband’s music room full of late afternoon light, the big roses that drape the pergola, the round vegetable garden in the middle of the riding ring, the porch where I have a margarita in the evening…all of it gives me endless satisfaction. And nothing gives me more pleasure than observing the “survivors.”

            What are the survivors? They are the plants that worked. I like gardening almost as much as I like horses, and I have spent lots of time out here planting things. Everything from fruit trees to flower bulbs, California native plants to Mediterranean shrubby herbs, wildflowers to water lilies, roses to redwoods, you name it, I have planted it. And mostly watched it die.

            Yes, its true. The casualty rate among things I have planted is something like 75%. The reasons are many. Gophers and deer are high on the list. Drought and neglect (it is meant to be a wild garden—I don’t fuss with the plants much) take their toll. Some plants just aren’t suited to this environment. Some plants (like ceanothus, a native California shrub sometimes called wild lilac) have a short lifespan and are going to die in a few years no matter what. So now, after twenty years of living here, I take particular pleasure in those plant projects that have worked. The ones that are thriving. The survivors.

            Last weekend my husband and I spent some long, sweaty hours cutting out the dead ceanothus plants by the driveway. Once glorious huge, blue-flowered, sweet-scented shrubs, they had died of old age a couple of years ago. But I was loath to tackle their removal. There was always a trail ride I wanted to do instead. But this spring I’m trying to focus more on the garden, and I’ve taken on a few chores that have been postponed for awhile. So the dead ceanothus went.

            And guess what? The redwood trees I had planted at the same time as the ceanothus, that were somewhat hidden by all that dead wood, leaped into the foreground, and I realized, to my delight, that the skinny five foot high saplings I had planted twenty years ago along the property line were now a redwood forest. Look.

            Its kind of amazing to stand in a redwood forest that you planted yourself. I looked at my trees and was so pleased that they had survived and thrived.

            And then I let my 33 year old horse loose to graze. Gunner is a survivor, too. When I first moved out here I brought two horses with me—Gunner and Plumber. Gunner was 13 and Plumber was 4. These two are still here with me today. They are my longest running animal companions. Gunner is 33 and Plumber is 24. Both are sound and healthy. Here is Gunner just last Saturday, two months after the bad night, right before Xmas, when he got cast. He has made a full recovery. Doesn’t he look good?

            And finally, on Sunday I rode.

So it was a good weekend in every way. Much joy in my survivors, plant and animal, and plenty of joy in loping Sunny up a few hills. I may not take elegant vacations to tropical islands—in fact, I rarely go on vacations of any sort. But I don’t mind at all. The life I love is right here.

Does anyone else out there find their greatest pleasure in just dinking around at home?

A Winter Walk

Winter is almost over in Virginia, where we really haven't had any snow and none of the freak storms that California had or the severe storms that the Midwest and Northeast have had so for my critters and me winter has been mild.  Not that I have ridden. Too busy is my excuse, and since I am still working on revisions and historical backmatter for books and teaching and maintaining booths, I am swamped. Quicksand type swamped. I want to apologize to the other members of the blog because I have not even had time to read and comment on posts, which is not a neighborly thing to do!  And my own posts have had to be fast and furious including this one, which will be filled with photos of my winter walk. Kind of like photos from Laura's trail ride when she takes them from between Sunny's ears.

The dogs and I take long doggy hikes twice a day through rain, snow, sleet or hail.  Neither are too excited about rain or hail, but we do forge on.

Here they are dressed up for the start of our morning horse chores and hike.  Poor Ziggy, if it got any colder here he would need ear muffs! Their stylish coats keep them warm, but they will be happy to shed them when warmer weather arrives.

 Speaking of shedding, in another month I will be brushing wads of hair off Relish and Bell. It's hard to see that beneath the fuzz and floppy manes lurk fine-boned, purebreds. Yes, I am a writer of fiction, but really, both horses have 'papers.' Only they were bred by backyard owners who never should have mate stallion with mare. Bell and Relish have great personalities, but let's just say, that unlike Francesca, I will never have to worry about training for competition. Neither would make it. (Whew!)

Last note on my walk, is my own winter gear as we set off. Muck Boots are the best unless there is frost on the ground and then I take my life in my hands. I wish I would say I will soon shed this attractive footwear, but Muck Boots are year-round. They are fashionable with sweat pants or shorts.

 And here is my last picture and my attempt to get the dogs walking on the trail if front of me while I take a shot ala between Sunny's ears. Alas, neither dog cooperated and all I got were fuzzy photos and cold hands, and I didn't get a shot of the geese on the pond or the frosty leaves.

Do you have any musings about winter before spring arrives? Please share your winter chores, walks and rides.

Training for Tests

by Francesca Prescott

I did it again. I signed up for a show. It’s a month away, but I’m already stressing out over how things will go.

Despite having ridden for most of my life, I have very little experience with competition. To give you an idea, I’ve probably taken part in less than twenty competitions in my five decades on the planet. I’ve always had conflicting emotions about competing. I want to, but at the same time I know I’m happier in the arena at home, working towards four perfect strides, concentrating on refining my feel for certain movements, trying to get my body to find the keys to asking for, say, a good turn on the haunches. I want to be the queen of turns on the haunches! And of half pass! The queen of everything, really!  I love the finicky stuff. I love doing things over and over again, taking my time to get things just right, feeling my way. I could take lessons every day, all day long. I find training fascinating.

The problem is, you can’t take your time and do things over and over again when you’re riding a test. You can’t say, “hang on a second judges, I know I can do a better turn on the haunches than that, because I didn’t use enough outside leg to push the quarters around nor did I hold the outside shoulder enough, and I could have used a more inside leg for impulsion and bend, and besides, Qrac was being a piggy and going lalalalalala just then, so can we do it over? And over? And over?”

I’m not used to riding with competitions in mind, so neither me nor my horse are used to riding one figure after another.  Qrac may be rising nine, but he was an extremely green seven-year-old when I bought him, he’s not test savvy, and being of an anxious nature, tends to become fractious when asked to halt at X, go straight down the centre line, turn left at C, then extend down the diagonal, etc etc. And that’s before we add the judges and the flowers and the other horses and the noise. It’s all too quick, all too too what-what-what-comes-next??? Before we’ve gone past A he’s no longer focused on me and is all in a flap, doing a horrendous, Thelwell-inspired pony-trot.

It’s strange, but when I think about it, character-wise, Qrac is very similar to me. He’s super-sensitive, mostly calm, yet ridiculously quickly upset. Like me, he’s a big worrier. He does, however, tend to have a shorter fuse than me and can sometimes be rather rude when asked to venture out of his comfort zone. But with a little gentle persuasion he can eventually be swayed into trying, and once he’s figured out that YES HE CAN, he’s all proud of himself and game to do it again. Ok, sometimes he forgets that he could do something the day before and needs a little reminder. And sometimes I get frustrated, wondering what the heck is wrong with me that I take lessons, and more lessons, and more lessons (up to three a week), and work ever so hard, and lots of people drool over how gorgeous he is and how amazing he looks, yet, almost two years down the line, we’re incapable of doing a basic test smoothly! And then I think back to how Qrac was in the beginning and I tell myself we’re not doing so badly. I think about my horse a lot.  

So anyway, Qrac and I are signed up for a show the last weekend in March. Call me pessimistic, but I have very low expectations. The venue is indoors and spooky, the arena is small, and I know my horse is going to look at everything, that he’ll be tense and explosive. But my goal is to do more shows this season, because Qrac needs to go out and see things, he needs to get used to the show ring, and maybe over time we’ll both get used to riding tests, not to mention riding tests in unfamiliar places. Who knows, at some point, maybe we’ll even start really enjoying competing. Maybe, eventually, someday, we’ll place! Maybe we’ll “win the cup” (as my riding girlfriends and I say jokingly). Wow, wouldn’t that be something!

What are your experiences of training inexperienced horses towards competition? If you ride dressage, how did you approach working on a test? And whatever your discipline, how do you deal with a nervous, spooky horse on your first few outings?