I'm not one of these dressage riders who espouses a certain type of riding is the only way. We've learned a lot about horses in the last several centuries, how their bodies work, how they think, how best to train them. So, improvements in training methods are possible, and classical dressage can certainly change and evolve as horses change and evolve.
Rollkur is a word sure to spark hot debate on both sides. If you don't know what it is, take a look at the embedded video below and read this definition. I also found a good article on it here.
I've managed to stay out of the rollkur discussion because I really don't know enough about it. Ttrainers I respect have told me it works well with hot horses. I've seen it used to a point by a few trainers, and it's never bothered me. Yet, when I watched his video it really made me sick. I'm not sure why. The horse doesn't really look unhappy. He's not laying back his ears, not swishing his tail. Granted, he does have his tongue over the bit in the beginning. Maybe what sickens me is that the animal seems to have lost its spirit. Am I right or wrong? Who knows? I'd almost have to see the horse in the actual class after this warmup. I tried to find a video of the class and couldn't. I did find another video of him at the European championships. The horse looked fine.
In dressage, submission is important. But where is the line between submission as a willing partner and slavery? I have never been an opponent of rollkur, but now I'm not sure.
Regardless, I've been wanting to discuss this video which made the rounds a few months ago. Take a look, and think about it. I also found the wide range of comments on the video's YouTube page very interesting.
I'm interested in a civil, open-minded discussion, as I'd really like to hear both sides.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Riding Bareback and Other Small Pleasures
by Laura Crum
I have to admit, up until last fall I would have said that I hadn’t ridden bareback in twenty years and probably never would again. In my early thirties I was very focused on competition, first at cutting, then at team roping, and I rode to train for my events. I seldom/never climbed on my horses bareback, though I had ridden bareback a great deal as a teenager (didn’t we all do that). I took a break from riding in my early forties to have a baby, and when I began riding again, it was always in a saddle, with my child in front of me. Then I ponied my child on his pony, and eventually, gave him a “lead” on my solid little trail horse—always in a saddle. Riding bareback never crossed my mind. I felt secure in a saddle. If you’d asked me, I would have said that I probably couldn’t stay on bareback any more.
I’m not sure what happened. Maybe it was reading horse blogs. Maybe it was that my best girl friend and I (who had both given up training and competing) were talking a lot about the small pleasures we were now enjoying so much with our horses, since the constant pressure and stress of training to compete were removed. These things had always been available to us—we just never noticed them much. We were too busy. Always in a hurry, always trying to get something done. Now we had time to pay attention.
She talked of how sweet it is just to stroke a horse’s muzzle, and we both waxed lyrical about sitting in the barn listening to horses munch their hay. We admitted to each other how much we enjoyed the feeling that we didn’t need to ride unless we wanted to, and how some days we took great pleasure in simply getting our horses out to graze. The feeling of relaxation and spaciousness around our horses was endlessly gratifying. We were free to enjoy the small things. And we both love trail riding now, especially alone. (And yes we go together sometimes, too—but there is nothing quite like being alone with your trusted horse in the wild woods, or on a lonely beach.)
I’m not sure what exactly brought the urge to ride bareback into my head, but somehow connecting with these simple horsy pleasures reminded me of how much I had loved the feeling of riding bareback when I was young. So one day last fall, when I wasn’t feeling particularly ambitious, I put the bridle on my yellow horse and climbed on him bareback.
Sunny has a broad flat back and is very comfortable to sit on. I rode him for awhile, and managed a trot and a lope, though he’s pretty rough gaited, so mostly I walked. It was fun. But I still didn’t really make the connection.
This last month, however, it has really been too wet to ride much. We had two straight weeks of heavy rain and sporadic rain ever since. My riding ring has wet mucky spots and the trails are wet and slick. The horses are hairy and muddy and the impulse to ride just isn’t there. All my horses have plenty of room to run and most of them do. My son’s older horse, Henry, is pretty sedate, however, and he doesn’t move much. And, as I wrote about awhile ago, Henry eventually colicked (exactly one year after the colic that led to surgery—see my post “A Strange Story”). Since then, I have tried to get Henry out every day for exercise and grazing.
The exercise is just walking, because of the footing, and I got tired of hand walking Henry. Despite the fact that I haven’t climbed on a horse bareback in years (my husband legged me up on Sunny), I decided now was the time. Henry is only 14.3. How hard could it be?
Well, I had to get Henry pretty thoroughly downhill from me, but I did it. (I was pretty proud of myself.) So, for the last little while, I’ve been riding Henry bareback in a halter, at the walk and slow jog, to give him some exercise. And guess what? This is a real pleasure.
Sitting on his warm red back, in the spring sunshine, with the green grass all around us, going nowhere fast, I can completely relax. I can close my eyes, or I can daydream. Henry is bombproof. It feels so nice.
The sensation of completely relaxing on a horse is very novel for me. I have ridden young horses for so long that the habit of always paying attention is very ingrained. Even on Sunny, I pay attention. Sunny is a stong willed critter, though perfectly safe. But Henry is a babysitter. It is so much fun to ride him and be completely at ease.
I know wouldn’t have this pleasure if I didn’t own a completely reliable horse, so I’m grateful to Henry, not just for what he’s given to my child, but also for this unique opportunity. It’s a feeling I remember from my youth, riding my uncle’s gentle horses, lying down on their bare backs, sitting sideways, just relaxing, virtually taking a nap on a horse. I haven’t done this in so many years and now I’m doing it again. How cool is that? What a pleasure.
Anyway, I was wondering if this would resonate for any of you. Any simple small things you take pleasure in with your horses—that maybe you didn’t always notice? Do you ride bareback in a halter, too? For some reason it came into my head that the halter is part of it. If you go to the trouble of bridling the horse, then you’re having a formal “ride”. But somehow climbing on bareback with a halter is different. A return to a simpler world, perhaps? Any thoughts on this?
I have to admit, up until last fall I would have said that I hadn’t ridden bareback in twenty years and probably never would again. In my early thirties I was very focused on competition, first at cutting, then at team roping, and I rode to train for my events. I seldom/never climbed on my horses bareback, though I had ridden bareback a great deal as a teenager (didn’t we all do that). I took a break from riding in my early forties to have a baby, and when I began riding again, it was always in a saddle, with my child in front of me. Then I ponied my child on his pony, and eventually, gave him a “lead” on my solid little trail horse—always in a saddle. Riding bareback never crossed my mind. I felt secure in a saddle. If you’d asked me, I would have said that I probably couldn’t stay on bareback any more.
I’m not sure what happened. Maybe it was reading horse blogs. Maybe it was that my best girl friend and I (who had both given up training and competing) were talking a lot about the small pleasures we were now enjoying so much with our horses, since the constant pressure and stress of training to compete were removed. These things had always been available to us—we just never noticed them much. We were too busy. Always in a hurry, always trying to get something done. Now we had time to pay attention.
She talked of how sweet it is just to stroke a horse’s muzzle, and we both waxed lyrical about sitting in the barn listening to horses munch their hay. We admitted to each other how much we enjoyed the feeling that we didn’t need to ride unless we wanted to, and how some days we took great pleasure in simply getting our horses out to graze. The feeling of relaxation and spaciousness around our horses was endlessly gratifying. We were free to enjoy the small things. And we both love trail riding now, especially alone. (And yes we go together sometimes, too—but there is nothing quite like being alone with your trusted horse in the wild woods, or on a lonely beach.)
I’m not sure what exactly brought the urge to ride bareback into my head, but somehow connecting with these simple horsy pleasures reminded me of how much I had loved the feeling of riding bareback when I was young. So one day last fall, when I wasn’t feeling particularly ambitious, I put the bridle on my yellow horse and climbed on him bareback.
Sunny has a broad flat back and is very comfortable to sit on. I rode him for awhile, and managed a trot and a lope, though he’s pretty rough gaited, so mostly I walked. It was fun. But I still didn’t really make the connection.
This last month, however, it has really been too wet to ride much. We had two straight weeks of heavy rain and sporadic rain ever since. My riding ring has wet mucky spots and the trails are wet and slick. The horses are hairy and muddy and the impulse to ride just isn’t there. All my horses have plenty of room to run and most of them do. My son’s older horse, Henry, is pretty sedate, however, and he doesn’t move much. And, as I wrote about awhile ago, Henry eventually colicked (exactly one year after the colic that led to surgery—see my post “A Strange Story”). Since then, I have tried to get Henry out every day for exercise and grazing.
The exercise is just walking, because of the footing, and I got tired of hand walking Henry. Despite the fact that I haven’t climbed on a horse bareback in years (my husband legged me up on Sunny), I decided now was the time. Henry is only 14.3. How hard could it be?
Well, I had to get Henry pretty thoroughly downhill from me, but I did it. (I was pretty proud of myself.) So, for the last little while, I’ve been riding Henry bareback in a halter, at the walk and slow jog, to give him some exercise. And guess what? This is a real pleasure.
Sitting on his warm red back, in the spring sunshine, with the green grass all around us, going nowhere fast, I can completely relax. I can close my eyes, or I can daydream. Henry is bombproof. It feels so nice.
The sensation of completely relaxing on a horse is very novel for me. I have ridden young horses for so long that the habit of always paying attention is very ingrained. Even on Sunny, I pay attention. Sunny is a stong willed critter, though perfectly safe. But Henry is a babysitter. It is so much fun to ride him and be completely at ease.
I know wouldn’t have this pleasure if I didn’t own a completely reliable horse, so I’m grateful to Henry, not just for what he’s given to my child, but also for this unique opportunity. It’s a feeling I remember from my youth, riding my uncle’s gentle horses, lying down on their bare backs, sitting sideways, just relaxing, virtually taking a nap on a horse. I haven’t done this in so many years and now I’m doing it again. How cool is that? What a pleasure.
Anyway, I was wondering if this would resonate for any of you. Any simple small things you take pleasure in with your horses—that maybe you didn’t always notice? Do you ride bareback in a halter, too? For some reason it came into my head that the halter is part of it. If you go to the trouble of bridling the horse, then you’re having a formal “ride”. But somehow climbing on bareback with a halter is different. A return to a simpler world, perhaps? Any thoughts on this?
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Just Climb On...
by Laura Crum
The other day I heard a woman I know talk about working her horse “around” before she got on him. She meant working him on foot in a round pen. Now this wasn’t a colt with thirty days on him that she was talking about. It was a seven year old horse that she’d owned for four years. He’d never none anything particularly threatening. Yet it was her habit to work him “around” before she rode him…pretty much every ride.
I thought this odd. Then the fact that I thought it odd got me thinking about why I think the way I do. OK, that’s a convoluted sentence, but I’m sure you get my point. Once a horse is past the very green stage (like 90 days of riding or less) I was never in the habit of working the horse on foot (whether in a round pen or on a lunge line) before I got on him. Despite the fact that I’m old and stout and cautious, I still don’t do this. Whether I’m riding middle-aged Sunny, five year old Smoky, or my son’s twenty-one year old babysitter, Henry, I saddle the horse up and get on. I don’t dink around on foot first.
To clarify this—I don’t throw the saddle on, jerk the cinch tight, and step up. I tighten the cinch in three steps and I walk the horse a few feet between each “tightening”. If the horse showed signs he was going to have a conniption fit, I would rethink the climbing on part. I still wouldn’t work him on foot—I’d probably tie him up and let him “soak” with the saddle on for a few hours. If he still didn’t seem flat, I might repeat that procedure for a few days before I rode him. But I wouldn’t be inclined to work him on foot.
I don’t consider myself particularly brave. I don’t think I’m completely foolhardy, either. If I were to describe myself, I might even say that I’m a big chicken these days. But I still just saddle my horses and climb on, though I no longer choose to climb on anything too green.
I am constantly surprised by the number of people who don’t do this. When I bought my horse, Sunny, the former owner went on and on about how the horse did not know how to lunge when she got him, and, of course, she lunged all her horses to warm them up before she rode them. I shrugged. In two years of pretty steady trail riding, I have never done anything but saddle Sunny and climb on when I’m ready. I don’t know why in the world anybody would bother to lunge this horse first.
Back when I was riding a lot of horses, whenever I got a broke horse that was new to me, I saddled them and climbed on and rode them. Again, if I thought the horse looked snorty, I might rethink the climbing on part. I rode trading horses and rope horses for years. I must have climbed on several hundred horses I didn’t know. Not one of them did I “work around” first. Sunny is the last horse I bought. I had reason to believe he was broke. The first day I had him home to try, I saddled him, climbed on, and took him for a trail ride. My concession to the unknown was to take a friend with me.
If I was breaking a colt I would take it to the round pen, while I taught that colt to carry the saddle and respond to my signals. Lots and lots has been written about the many different ways people accomplish this, and I think anything I would say about how I did it has already been said (better) by someone else. But even when I was breaking young horses, it didn’t take me very long to get them to the point where I saddled them and climbed on without working them on foot first (by thirty days, almost every time). Maybe I climbed on in the round pen, if I was nervous, but I didn’t work them from the ground much once they knew how to carry me. To address a specific problem, sometimes. If I really thought they were going to dump me, sure.
So why is this? Well, its partly because I was raised in the horse biz by a bunch of ropers, and they would all have disdained to dink around with a broke horse, or even a reasonably gentle green broke horse, before they climbed on him. It just ain’t the cowboy way.
And its partly because I’m lazy. Its easier to step aboard than to do all that fussing around on foot.
But there is another reason or two.
First off, horses know when you’re scared of them. Honest—they do. (I put quite a bit about this in my book, “Hayburner”, in which my protagonist breaks a colt.) If you’re fussing around on the ground cause you’re scared to get on, the horse knows. Its not a positive scenario. Thus, even if I am a little nervous, I act like I’m not. (I guess I think I can fool them.) I don’t spend a lot of time dinking around. I saddle the horse and get on.
Once I climb on, I just relax with the horse. I’ll walk a horse until he’s loose, if he’s relaxed enough to walk. Back when I was riding colts, a lot of them needed to move, so I’d let them trot, or lope(if they felt flat), until that urge to move subsided. It’s the equivalent of “working them around” or lunging them, except I’m on their back. I’m not asking much of them, just letting them get the kinks out. So, what’s better about being on their back, you ask?
Actually, I’m not sure. Maybe I’m just really dumb. I’d sure be a lot safer on the ground, huh? However, I can’t think of a single time when a horse has dumped me during this warm up period, so I guess its worked OK so far. And, to quote a well known cutting horse trainer that I once worked for “If you dink around you make a dink.” This guy was very big on “just climb on em and go—don’t fuss with them,” and I absorbed a lot of his thinking.
Again, if I really thought a horse was liable to buck hard or bolt or dump me in some way (and by this I mean I knew the horse had done this before), I would probably take them to the round pen and work them on foot first. That or refuse to ride them. Nowadays (and for the past twelve years) I’d definitely refuse to ride them. But any horse that had never shown any big signs of wanting to unload people, it was always climb on and go.
The second reason I just climb on is because I think we can train a horse to accept our method, and I don’t see any point in training a horse to expect all this dinking around on foot that’s inconvenient for me. Once a horse thinks he gets to fart around on the lungeline or in the round pen before you ride him, why then he feels entitled to act up if you don’t work him on foot first. I don’t want him having that expectation, so I don’t create it.
I still remember when I got my son’s pony, Toby. This was a gentle, older pony, big enough for me to ride. The first time I lunged him (I intended to give my son riding experience on the lungeline) Toby acted like an idiot. My impulse was to set his little pony butt straight, but, just to be sure, I called the former owner and asked her if she ever lunged this pony.
Well, turns out she lunged him all the time. As, you guessed it, a prelude to riding, to “get his ya-yas out”. Toby figured lunging was when he got to act up.
I couldn’t believe it. This was a gentle pony. There is no way I ever bothered to lunge him before I got on him, and once my son learned to ride, I never lunged Toby before my son got on him either. In one short session (Toby was a smart little guy) I taught that pony that he had to mind his p’s and q’s on the lungeline, too. End of problem.
So what if your gentle, broke horse is “full of suds” some cool spring morning? Do you lunge him first? I know a lot of people think this is the thing to do. And certainly, Plumber, who I rode for many years, could be pretty silly when he was fresh. He didn’t buck or come unbroke, but he’d hop and bounce around, skittering, and even squealing a little. You couldn’t even really call it crowhopping, but he was pretty lively. And no, I never lunged him or “worked him around”. Even when I was riding with my three year old in front of me, I just climbed on. This may sound dumb, I guess, but I knew Plumber. I’d broke and trained him myself and I knew just what he would do or wouldn’t do. My little boy, too young to be scared, would giggle and laugh when Plumber “scooted” around. And then we’d lope a few laps and he’d be over it. I think this is the way to treat a broke horse. You don’t want to make it a bigger deal than it really is, or the horse will start to think it’s a big deal. And the whole thing escalates.
I find this hard to put into words, but by trusting a horse you allow him to become trustworthy. A horse cannot become “trustworthy” if you don’t trust him. Again, I’m not talking about a colt or a problem horse you are trying to retrain. I’m talking about treating a broke horse like he’s broke. Rather than treating him like some half-broke colt you don’t trust not to throw you.
What about a cold backed horse you say? My steady mount for many, many years was Flanigan, who I loved dearly. Flanigan was definitely a “cold-backed” horse. Meaning he was majorly cinchy. Every single time I saddled Flanigan, he had a big hump in his back. Flanigan bucked a number of people off when they tried to rope on him without warming him up properly first. My concession to this was to tighten the cinch very gently in stages, walking the horse between each stage, until his back flattened out. Took about three minutes. Then I climbed on him. He would usually walk with a hump in his back for awhile, felt like he was tip toeing around. I walked him until he flattened out. And I always gave him a long careful warm up before I roped on him, being sure to “break him out” (gallop him flat out) a few times before I backed in the box. Flanigan did buck with me once in awhile, but he never bucked me off. A better horse never lived. And I never once “worked him around” or lunged him before I got on him. He would have been insulted at the thought of it.
This brings me to my last point. Broke horses, horses who know their job, don’t like being dinked around with. They don’t like being retrained. They don’t care for having the snaffle put on them and being treated like they’re ignorant colts. They don’t like being worked in a round pen by some know it all who thinks he/she is going to “fix” their problems. I’ve seen this many times. Broke horses want and expect their rider to be competent and to respect the horse’s competence. They want their rider to climb on and go do something that makes sense to the horse. I have many times seen a good solid rope horse go dramatically backward in the hands of someone who began “retraining”, starting over with the round pen and the snaffle…etc. The “trainer’s” intentions are good; he/she is going to fix something they think is “wrong” with the horse, but it doesn’t usually work out well. In my experience, its better to meet a broke horse in the middle, let him do his job and concentrate on doing yours. If it isn’t workable like that, usually this isn’t the right horse for you and you’d do better to pass him on and try another one than try to retrain him.
OK. There’s my two cents worth, as my grandmother used to say. I would love to hear your thoughts on this. Feel free to tell me how dumb I am not to work my horses before I get on them, and explain to me the finer points of this and why it works for you. Tell me why it’s a good idea to put that old broke horse in the snaffle and retrain him. I’m not too old to learn something (I hope).
Don’t forget about the book review offer for my new book, “Going, Gone”. Email Susan Daniel at susan@danielpublishing.com and request your copy. You will need to send her your snail mail address, your blog address, and your agreement to review the book on your blog and email Susan a copy of the review. Review copies will be sent out on March 1st, approximately, which is also the deadline for this offer. I’m looking forward to reading your reviews.
Cheers--Laura
The other day I heard a woman I know talk about working her horse “around” before she got on him. She meant working him on foot in a round pen. Now this wasn’t a colt with thirty days on him that she was talking about. It was a seven year old horse that she’d owned for four years. He’d never none anything particularly threatening. Yet it was her habit to work him “around” before she rode him…pretty much every ride.
I thought this odd. Then the fact that I thought it odd got me thinking about why I think the way I do. OK, that’s a convoluted sentence, but I’m sure you get my point. Once a horse is past the very green stage (like 90 days of riding or less) I was never in the habit of working the horse on foot (whether in a round pen or on a lunge line) before I got on him. Despite the fact that I’m old and stout and cautious, I still don’t do this. Whether I’m riding middle-aged Sunny, five year old Smoky, or my son’s twenty-one year old babysitter, Henry, I saddle the horse up and get on. I don’t dink around on foot first.
To clarify this—I don’t throw the saddle on, jerk the cinch tight, and step up. I tighten the cinch in three steps and I walk the horse a few feet between each “tightening”. If the horse showed signs he was going to have a conniption fit, I would rethink the climbing on part. I still wouldn’t work him on foot—I’d probably tie him up and let him “soak” with the saddle on for a few hours. If he still didn’t seem flat, I might repeat that procedure for a few days before I rode him. But I wouldn’t be inclined to work him on foot.
I don’t consider myself particularly brave. I don’t think I’m completely foolhardy, either. If I were to describe myself, I might even say that I’m a big chicken these days. But I still just saddle my horses and climb on, though I no longer choose to climb on anything too green.
I am constantly surprised by the number of people who don’t do this. When I bought my horse, Sunny, the former owner went on and on about how the horse did not know how to lunge when she got him, and, of course, she lunged all her horses to warm them up before she rode them. I shrugged. In two years of pretty steady trail riding, I have never done anything but saddle Sunny and climb on when I’m ready. I don’t know why in the world anybody would bother to lunge this horse first.
Back when I was riding a lot of horses, whenever I got a broke horse that was new to me, I saddled them and climbed on and rode them. Again, if I thought the horse looked snorty, I might rethink the climbing on part. I rode trading horses and rope horses for years. I must have climbed on several hundred horses I didn’t know. Not one of them did I “work around” first. Sunny is the last horse I bought. I had reason to believe he was broke. The first day I had him home to try, I saddled him, climbed on, and took him for a trail ride. My concession to the unknown was to take a friend with me.
If I was breaking a colt I would take it to the round pen, while I taught that colt to carry the saddle and respond to my signals. Lots and lots has been written about the many different ways people accomplish this, and I think anything I would say about how I did it has already been said (better) by someone else. But even when I was breaking young horses, it didn’t take me very long to get them to the point where I saddled them and climbed on without working them on foot first (by thirty days, almost every time). Maybe I climbed on in the round pen, if I was nervous, but I didn’t work them from the ground much once they knew how to carry me. To address a specific problem, sometimes. If I really thought they were going to dump me, sure.
So why is this? Well, its partly because I was raised in the horse biz by a bunch of ropers, and they would all have disdained to dink around with a broke horse, or even a reasonably gentle green broke horse, before they climbed on him. It just ain’t the cowboy way.
And its partly because I’m lazy. Its easier to step aboard than to do all that fussing around on foot.
But there is another reason or two.
First off, horses know when you’re scared of them. Honest—they do. (I put quite a bit about this in my book, “Hayburner”, in which my protagonist breaks a colt.) If you’re fussing around on the ground cause you’re scared to get on, the horse knows. Its not a positive scenario. Thus, even if I am a little nervous, I act like I’m not. (I guess I think I can fool them.) I don’t spend a lot of time dinking around. I saddle the horse and get on.
Once I climb on, I just relax with the horse. I’ll walk a horse until he’s loose, if he’s relaxed enough to walk. Back when I was riding colts, a lot of them needed to move, so I’d let them trot, or lope(if they felt flat), until that urge to move subsided. It’s the equivalent of “working them around” or lunging them, except I’m on their back. I’m not asking much of them, just letting them get the kinks out. So, what’s better about being on their back, you ask?
Actually, I’m not sure. Maybe I’m just really dumb. I’d sure be a lot safer on the ground, huh? However, I can’t think of a single time when a horse has dumped me during this warm up period, so I guess its worked OK so far. And, to quote a well known cutting horse trainer that I once worked for “If you dink around you make a dink.” This guy was very big on “just climb on em and go—don’t fuss with them,” and I absorbed a lot of his thinking.
Again, if I really thought a horse was liable to buck hard or bolt or dump me in some way (and by this I mean I knew the horse had done this before), I would probably take them to the round pen and work them on foot first. That or refuse to ride them. Nowadays (and for the past twelve years) I’d definitely refuse to ride them. But any horse that had never shown any big signs of wanting to unload people, it was always climb on and go.
The second reason I just climb on is because I think we can train a horse to accept our method, and I don’t see any point in training a horse to expect all this dinking around on foot that’s inconvenient for me. Once a horse thinks he gets to fart around on the lungeline or in the round pen before you ride him, why then he feels entitled to act up if you don’t work him on foot first. I don’t want him having that expectation, so I don’t create it.
I still remember when I got my son’s pony, Toby. This was a gentle, older pony, big enough for me to ride. The first time I lunged him (I intended to give my son riding experience on the lungeline) Toby acted like an idiot. My impulse was to set his little pony butt straight, but, just to be sure, I called the former owner and asked her if she ever lunged this pony.
Well, turns out she lunged him all the time. As, you guessed it, a prelude to riding, to “get his ya-yas out”. Toby figured lunging was when he got to act up.
I couldn’t believe it. This was a gentle pony. There is no way I ever bothered to lunge him before I got on him, and once my son learned to ride, I never lunged Toby before my son got on him either. In one short session (Toby was a smart little guy) I taught that pony that he had to mind his p’s and q’s on the lungeline, too. End of problem.
So what if your gentle, broke horse is “full of suds” some cool spring morning? Do you lunge him first? I know a lot of people think this is the thing to do. And certainly, Plumber, who I rode for many years, could be pretty silly when he was fresh. He didn’t buck or come unbroke, but he’d hop and bounce around, skittering, and even squealing a little. You couldn’t even really call it crowhopping, but he was pretty lively. And no, I never lunged him or “worked him around”. Even when I was riding with my three year old in front of me, I just climbed on. This may sound dumb, I guess, but I knew Plumber. I’d broke and trained him myself and I knew just what he would do or wouldn’t do. My little boy, too young to be scared, would giggle and laugh when Plumber “scooted” around. And then we’d lope a few laps and he’d be over it. I think this is the way to treat a broke horse. You don’t want to make it a bigger deal than it really is, or the horse will start to think it’s a big deal. And the whole thing escalates.
I find this hard to put into words, but by trusting a horse you allow him to become trustworthy. A horse cannot become “trustworthy” if you don’t trust him. Again, I’m not talking about a colt or a problem horse you are trying to retrain. I’m talking about treating a broke horse like he’s broke. Rather than treating him like some half-broke colt you don’t trust not to throw you.
What about a cold backed horse you say? My steady mount for many, many years was Flanigan, who I loved dearly. Flanigan was definitely a “cold-backed” horse. Meaning he was majorly cinchy. Every single time I saddled Flanigan, he had a big hump in his back. Flanigan bucked a number of people off when they tried to rope on him without warming him up properly first. My concession to this was to tighten the cinch very gently in stages, walking the horse between each stage, until his back flattened out. Took about three minutes. Then I climbed on him. He would usually walk with a hump in his back for awhile, felt like he was tip toeing around. I walked him until he flattened out. And I always gave him a long careful warm up before I roped on him, being sure to “break him out” (gallop him flat out) a few times before I backed in the box. Flanigan did buck with me once in awhile, but he never bucked me off. A better horse never lived. And I never once “worked him around” or lunged him before I got on him. He would have been insulted at the thought of it.
This brings me to my last point. Broke horses, horses who know their job, don’t like being dinked around with. They don’t like being retrained. They don’t care for having the snaffle put on them and being treated like they’re ignorant colts. They don’t like being worked in a round pen by some know it all who thinks he/she is going to “fix” their problems. I’ve seen this many times. Broke horses want and expect their rider to be competent and to respect the horse’s competence. They want their rider to climb on and go do something that makes sense to the horse. I have many times seen a good solid rope horse go dramatically backward in the hands of someone who began “retraining”, starting over with the round pen and the snaffle…etc. The “trainer’s” intentions are good; he/she is going to fix something they think is “wrong” with the horse, but it doesn’t usually work out well. In my experience, its better to meet a broke horse in the middle, let him do his job and concentrate on doing yours. If it isn’t workable like that, usually this isn’t the right horse for you and you’d do better to pass him on and try another one than try to retrain him.
OK. There’s my two cents worth, as my grandmother used to say. I would love to hear your thoughts on this. Feel free to tell me how dumb I am not to work my horses before I get on them, and explain to me the finer points of this and why it works for you. Tell me why it’s a good idea to put that old broke horse in the snaffle and retrain him. I’m not too old to learn something (I hope).
Don’t forget about the book review offer for my new book, “Going, Gone”. Email Susan Daniel at susan@danielpublishing.com and request your copy. You will need to send her your snail mail address, your blog address, and your agreement to review the book on your blog and email Susan a copy of the review. Review copies will be sent out on March 1st, approximately, which is also the deadline for this offer. I’m looking forward to reading your reviews.
Cheers--Laura
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
First Horses
So – do you all remember your very first horse? The one you fell head-over-heels, achingly in love with, at least until you became a better rider and moved on?
I remember mine. He was a nondescript bay gelding and I named him Copper.
Growing up, I was the epitome of the horse crazy girl, reading everything I could get my hands on about horses, thinking, dreaming, and practically living and breathing horses. We lived out in the country, but my mother was a city girl and my father was busy working to support our family, and horses were big expensive creatures and a daughter could get hurt.
But I could not get over my dream so finally, to placate me, or maybe just to stop my begging, my parents made me a deal -if I could save enough money to buy my own horse, I could have one. (Hint: this technique still works with almost all children and teenagers, to find out how bad they really want something.) Anyway, prices of horses have varied over the years, but as I recall, the amount needed to buy a pretty decent kid’s horse back in those days was about $600.
Hearing the offer, I went to work. I babysat, pulled weeds, took care of neighbor’s animals - whatever a young teenager without a car could do. And I saved every penny. In about two years, when I was fifteen years old, I had the $600, and my parents, bless their hearts, made good on their promise. We set out to look for a very safe first horse.
And such horses, as you know, are scarce as hen’s teeth, probably because people generally hang on to good, reliable horses. Or they pass them on to friends and other horse people.
But after several faulty starts and one horse that didn’t pass a vet check, we finally found just the right one. He was probably 12-15 years old, a bright bay, common headed, straight shouldered, short pasterned, high-withered, sloping crouped, dead-slow gelding and I was TOTALLY in love.
I remember mine. He was a nondescript bay gelding and I named him Copper.
Growing up, I was the epitome of the horse crazy girl, reading everything I could get my hands on about horses, thinking, dreaming, and practically living and breathing horses. We lived out in the country, but my mother was a city girl and my father was busy working to support our family, and horses were big expensive creatures and a daughter could get hurt.
But I could not get over my dream so finally, to placate me, or maybe just to stop my begging, my parents made me a deal -if I could save enough money to buy my own horse, I could have one. (Hint: this technique still works with almost all children and teenagers, to find out how bad they really want something.) Anyway, prices of horses have varied over the years, but as I recall, the amount needed to buy a pretty decent kid’s horse back in those days was about $600.
Hearing the offer, I went to work. I babysat, pulled weeds, took care of neighbor’s animals - whatever a young teenager without a car could do. And I saved every penny. In about two years, when I was fifteen years old, I had the $600, and my parents, bless their hearts, made good on their promise. We set out to look for a very safe first horse.
And such horses, as you know, are scarce as hen’s teeth, probably because people generally hang on to good, reliable horses. Or they pass them on to friends and other horse people.
But after several faulty starts and one horse that didn’t pass a vet check, we finally found just the right one. He was probably 12-15 years old, a bright bay, common headed, straight shouldered, short pasterned, high-withered, sloping crouped, dead-slow gelding and I was TOTALLY in love.
On the day we went to get Copper, my parents let me skip school. Oh Happy Day! My parents even pitched in $75 for a good used saddle. Copper had the number one important trait for a first horse. He was lazy. And a horse that wants to go slow builds confidence in a rider. Because I certainly didn’t know to ride. I was entirely self taught. I remember riding Copper out in the pasture the very first time, with the old cowboy we bought him from riding alongside, giving me pointers. “Keep your heels down,” he said in a gruff voice, “and put more weight down through your stirrups.” And I did.
Once I got him home, I rode Copper everywhere, and he never batted an eye at anything. And even though I had a saddle, I loved to ride bareback. I remember hanging on to Copper’s mane for dear life, trying to sit his bone-jarring, teeth-in-your-eyeballs trot, kicking his sides, trying to get him into a lope. And that big smile when he finally did it! Surely that’s where the phrase flying by the seat of your pants comes from.
Because I did develop a seat from that old rough-riding horse. And I shortly outgrew him. He was a wonderful horse to begin on, but soon I wanted something with nicer gaits and a bit more get-up-and-go, and so I sold him, and progressed to a better-looking, more responsive horse.
I’ve often wondered what ever happened to Copper, and how many other kids he taught how to ride. Because you never really forget you very first love, do you?
So – tell us what you remember about your First Horse.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Authors' Journeys with Horses
This is the last of my series on books in my horse library. This installment I'm covering books which are biographies covering the author's experiences with horses. These are some of my favorites:
Taking Up the Reins by Priscilla Endicott--This is one of my favorite books. Back in the beginning days of dressage in America, Ms. Endicott journeyed to Germany for a year to train with a dressage master, Walter Christensen. If you've ever considered training in Germany, read this book. She tells it like it is with no sugar coating in an entertaining style.
Believe by Buck Brannaman--This book and Faraway Horses chronicles Buck's journey and experiences with various horses. I highly recommend both books for the insight they give the reader into the mind of the horse.
The Man Who Listens to Horses by Monty Roberts--In this book Monty outlines his philosophy about working with horses and how he got there.
Ahlerich--The Making of Dressage World Champion by Reiner Klimke--In the dressage world, Klimke is an icon. His account of selecting Ahlerich and the trial and rewards of training the difficult horse are eye-openers. Those of us who've watched videos of Klimke riding Ahlerich will find it hard to believe this was not an easy horse to ride at first.
Along the Way by Various Authors--This book was available through USDF at one time. It may still be. Its an anthology written by serveral authors detailing their unique relationship with horses. There are chapters by Conrad Schumacher, Betsy Steiner, Sylvia Loch, Anne Gribbons, Debbie McDonald, Paul Belasik, and Kathy Connelly, among others.
Anky by Anky van Grunsven--This is an interesting biography of Anky's life and her horses.
True Horsemanship Through Feel by Bill Dorrance as told by Leslie Desmond--This book is a tough one to read. I struggled with as Ms. Desmond wrote it using the same dialect Bill Dorrance would use, which makes it difficult to understand. It's still a great book and offers incredible insight into this man who was the pioneer of natural horsemanship.
Riding Through by Debbie McDonald--This book is a combination of a biography of Debbie's life with horses and a how-to book. I find Debbie a delightful person in print and in person.
------------
For now, this is the end of my horse book recommendations. I hope you enjoyed them and found a few keepers for your own library.
I'm currently struggling with the possiblity that my mare may not recover fully from her cellulites. The swelling in her leg hasn't reduced since December, despite our best efforts. It is easily twice as large as her other hind leg. My vet is currently consulting with other experts to see if there's anything we haven't tried. In the meantime, I've been riding religiously. In fact, I rode the last 6 out of 7 days. She is perfectly comfortable in walk, trot, and canter as long as I keep her up and forward so she doesn't get that big leg tangled up with her other legs. She trips over herself in any lateral work, so that appears to be out.
I'm struggling with coming to terms as to where I go from here if this leg stays the size it is. I may end up with a VERY nice trail horse, and my dressage dreams may be at their end, but I'll cover all that in my next post.
Until then, I hope all your rides are rewarding.
Taking Up the Reins by Priscilla Endicott--This is one of my favorite books. Back in the beginning days of dressage in America, Ms. Endicott journeyed to Germany for a year to train with a dressage master, Walter Christensen. If you've ever considered training in Germany, read this book. She tells it like it is with no sugar coating in an entertaining style.
Believe by Buck Brannaman--This book and Faraway Horses chronicles Buck's journey and experiences with various horses. I highly recommend both books for the insight they give the reader into the mind of the horse.
The Man Who Listens to Horses by Monty Roberts--In this book Monty outlines his philosophy about working with horses and how he got there.
Ahlerich--The Making of Dressage World Champion by Reiner Klimke--In the dressage world, Klimke is an icon. His account of selecting Ahlerich and the trial and rewards of training the difficult horse are eye-openers. Those of us who've watched videos of Klimke riding Ahlerich will find it hard to believe this was not an easy horse to ride at first.
Along the Way by Various Authors--This book was available through USDF at one time. It may still be. Its an anthology written by serveral authors detailing their unique relationship with horses. There are chapters by Conrad Schumacher, Betsy Steiner, Sylvia Loch, Anne Gribbons, Debbie McDonald, Paul Belasik, and Kathy Connelly, among others.
Anky by Anky van Grunsven--This is an interesting biography of Anky's life and her horses.
True Horsemanship Through Feel by Bill Dorrance as told by Leslie Desmond--This book is a tough one to read. I struggled with as Ms. Desmond wrote it using the same dialect Bill Dorrance would use, which makes it difficult to understand. It's still a great book and offers incredible insight into this man who was the pioneer of natural horsemanship.
Riding Through by Debbie McDonald--This book is a combination of a biography of Debbie's life with horses and a how-to book. I find Debbie a delightful person in print and in person.
------------
For now, this is the end of my horse book recommendations. I hope you enjoyed them and found a few keepers for your own library.
I'm currently struggling with the possiblity that my mare may not recover fully from her cellulites. The swelling in her leg hasn't reduced since December, despite our best efforts. It is easily twice as large as her other hind leg. My vet is currently consulting with other experts to see if there's anything we haven't tried. In the meantime, I've been riding religiously. In fact, I rode the last 6 out of 7 days. She is perfectly comfortable in walk, trot, and canter as long as I keep her up and forward so she doesn't get that big leg tangled up with her other legs. She trips over herself in any lateral work, so that appears to be out.
I'm struggling with coming to terms as to where I go from here if this leg stays the size it is. I may end up with a VERY nice trail horse, and my dressage dreams may be at their end, but I'll cover all that in my next post.
Until then, I hope all your rides are rewarding.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Reader's Write Saturday--Shannon
This week's reader is Shannon. So welcome, Shannon, thanks so much for sending us a Saturday blog post. If anyone else would like to send one, please send it to: jami@jamidavenport.com.
I also want to extend a big welcome to Linda Benson. Linda has joined us as a regular contributor to Equestrian Ink. She'll be posting next week.
-----------------------------
Hello Equestrian Ink - I also want to extend a big welcome to Linda Benson. Linda has joined us as a regular contributor to Equestrian Ink. She'll be posting next week.
-----------------------------
I'm Shannon and I have 3 horses at home - Brandon, my 31 yr old, who I've owned since he was 8. I initially used him for hunt seat and hunters over fences but moved into dressage when I was around 18. I have NO desire and absolutely NO courage left for any sort of jumping or fences today.
My second and primary riding horse right now is Sera, my red headed, race track reject - she went to the track and was sent home because she was too slow. She never raced and isn't tattooed. I brought her home when she was 4 yrs old and she's 10 this year. We will show second level dressage this summer to get my silver medal scores and I love, love, love my mare. I was EXTREMELY fortunate to find her when I did because I know how long horse hunting can last. I'd lost my young 2 yr old Holsteiner colt in a bad accident and found Sera one month later. We named her Seraphim because she was truly heaven sent to us during a dark time.
My third horse and sort of my "booger" right now is Rosso, out of the same dam as my lovely Sera. We've owned him for 3 years now.. He raced 8 times, had a knee surgery to remove a bone chip and returned to the track. He won around $500, which is why someone like me has him now. He's 8 this year... he had one year off when we brought him home to acclimate from his life on the track while rehabbing from a suspensory injury, he was started and going well last year and then things sorta went South - we're working on it and he's my sore spot that I obsess about right now. (OCD anyone?)
He'll stay with me and he has come leaps and bounds from when we first brought him home but after this, I don't think I want any more younger horses to re-train for the life of a saddle horse.... it's hard on a cautious chicken like me. My trainer has all the faith in the world things will be fine and I can handle it. I'm not so sure and I really, really wish I shared her faith in my ability!
We live in Northern Colorado on a small 5 acre place along with my fabulous husband who is amazing and supports my horse addiction. We share our home with 6 cats (yes, I fully realize I am setting myself up to be the crazy cat lady) 3 great dogs, some chickens and a few Lamancha dairy goats for my milk and cheese obsession.... (oh. Did I mention OCD?) I milk my does twice a day and have a heck of a handshake..
The cheese I make from their milk goes quite well with wine and/or beer at the barn parties and horse shows so it all ties in one way or t'other...
I'm glad to read your blog and really enjoy your talents - thanks for sharing your creativity and wonderful writing skills!
(pictures are Brandon in an 2006 Christmas card picture with a few of the critters - and a picture of Sera and Rosso shortly after bringing Rosso home - they look VERY similar so you can see why I may have been tempted to bring him home. He was "free to a good home", tho I realize nothing is truly "free" and maybe that is why he's my "booger" now - I'm paying, paying and paying! grin. )
Shannon
"Barn's burnt down, now I can see the moon" - Masahide
Thursday, February 4, 2010
A Strange Story
by Laura Crum
As those of you who have read my blog posts know, my son’s horse went to colic surgery last year to save his life. They removed a stone as big as a cantalope from Henry’s large intestine as well as about two gallons of sand (which he didn’t ingest here) and smaller stones. The date of this surgery was Jan 31st.
So last Sunday, Jan 31st, I’m thinking about the whole ordeal, which is indelibly impressed on my mind. The sleepless nights, the worry, the anxiety and tears. I’m feeling glad we made it through and Henry is back to being a riding horse. Then I go down to feed the horses in the evening. Guess what I found? Yep, Henry was colicked. Exactly one year later.
He wasn’t colicked in any extreme way—he’d been bright eyed and normal all day. But he wouldn’t eat his dinner and he kept trying to lie down; he wouldn’t graze and he kept on trying to lie down when I got him out. He stood camped out, looked at his sides, and was droopy and miserable. He was definitely colicked. The scary thing was that these were all the signs he ever showed when he had the colic that led to surgery. He never got real painful, he did not sweat or thrash or have an elevated heart rate or respiration. But for 48 hours, as soon as the current dose of banamine wore off, he went back to showing these minimal colic signs. Exactly what he was showing now.
OK, I admit it. I freaked. I simply couldn’t believe it was happening. I yelled at my husband to walk the horse while I called the vet. My husband gave me a look. It was getting dark, it was Sunday night, I know we were both having the same déjà vu.
“I don’t want to do this again,” my normally very sweet husband said. “Just call the guy with the backhoe.”
He was kidding, sort of.
I ran up to the house and called the vet (cellphones don’t work here) only to discover that (hard times all over) they had no on call vet Sunday night. Nifty. Now my choices were to adlib (give banamine paste myself and walk Henry) or call a vet I’d never used for a first time emergency call. My husband and I looked at each other.
“Or,” I said, and I knew he was thinking the same thing. “We could just haul him to the equine center now.”
“Lets,” he said. “Let them deal with it. It’ll be worth it.”
We both knew that by the time we had a ranch call, holiday charge, after hours charge, emergency charge, exam charge…etc, the cost would be almost the same as what the equine center would ding us. And at the equine center, somebody else would be checking on Henry all night long. And if his colic went the wrong way, they could hook him up to fluids. They had the drugs, the equpiment, the big clean stall, the crew of interns to observe and do the work. I’m not sure I would have made this choice with another horse in different circumstances, but neither my husband or I could face a rerun of the two sleepless nights that led up to Henry’s colic surgery. We loaded him up and hauled him one hour to the equine center and I kissed him on the nose and dropped him off.
Well, as fate would have it, they gave him the dose of banamine that I could have given, they watched him all night and called me in the morning and said he was fine. I picked him up the next day and so far he’s been fine. So I pretty much wasted the five hundred dollars it cost. Oh well, hindsight’s twenty twenty. At least my husband and I got some sleep.
So how weird is that? Henry just happens to colic exactly one year after the colic that led to surgery? Do horses have "anniversary reactions" like people do?
I have to say, there are moments when I almost wish I didn’t have any horses. How about you? Any strange stories to share?
As those of you who have read my blog posts know, my son’s horse went to colic surgery last year to save his life. They removed a stone as big as a cantalope from Henry’s large intestine as well as about two gallons of sand (which he didn’t ingest here) and smaller stones. The date of this surgery was Jan 31st.
So last Sunday, Jan 31st, I’m thinking about the whole ordeal, which is indelibly impressed on my mind. The sleepless nights, the worry, the anxiety and tears. I’m feeling glad we made it through and Henry is back to being a riding horse. Then I go down to feed the horses in the evening. Guess what I found? Yep, Henry was colicked. Exactly one year later.
He wasn’t colicked in any extreme way—he’d been bright eyed and normal all day. But he wouldn’t eat his dinner and he kept trying to lie down; he wouldn’t graze and he kept on trying to lie down when I got him out. He stood camped out, looked at his sides, and was droopy and miserable. He was definitely colicked. The scary thing was that these were all the signs he ever showed when he had the colic that led to surgery. He never got real painful, he did not sweat or thrash or have an elevated heart rate or respiration. But for 48 hours, as soon as the current dose of banamine wore off, he went back to showing these minimal colic signs. Exactly what he was showing now.
OK, I admit it. I freaked. I simply couldn’t believe it was happening. I yelled at my husband to walk the horse while I called the vet. My husband gave me a look. It was getting dark, it was Sunday night, I know we were both having the same déjà vu.
“I don’t want to do this again,” my normally very sweet husband said. “Just call the guy with the backhoe.”
He was kidding, sort of.
I ran up to the house and called the vet (cellphones don’t work here) only to discover that (hard times all over) they had no on call vet Sunday night. Nifty. Now my choices were to adlib (give banamine paste myself and walk Henry) or call a vet I’d never used for a first time emergency call. My husband and I looked at each other.
“Or,” I said, and I knew he was thinking the same thing. “We could just haul him to the equine center now.”
“Lets,” he said. “Let them deal with it. It’ll be worth it.”
We both knew that by the time we had a ranch call, holiday charge, after hours charge, emergency charge, exam charge…etc, the cost would be almost the same as what the equine center would ding us. And at the equine center, somebody else would be checking on Henry all night long. And if his colic went the wrong way, they could hook him up to fluids. They had the drugs, the equpiment, the big clean stall, the crew of interns to observe and do the work. I’m not sure I would have made this choice with another horse in different circumstances, but neither my husband or I could face a rerun of the two sleepless nights that led up to Henry’s colic surgery. We loaded him up and hauled him one hour to the equine center and I kissed him on the nose and dropped him off.
Well, as fate would have it, they gave him the dose of banamine that I could have given, they watched him all night and called me in the morning and said he was fine. I picked him up the next day and so far he’s been fine. So I pretty much wasted the five hundred dollars it cost. Oh well, hindsight’s twenty twenty. At least my husband and I got some sleep.
So how weird is that? Henry just happens to colic exactly one year after the colic that led to surgery? Do horses have "anniversary reactions" like people do?
I have to say, there are moments when I almost wish I didn’t have any horses. How about you? Any strange stories to share?
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