By Laura Crum
Whenever people post about their goals with their horses, I am always struck by the fact that I don’t seem to have many goals these days. I used to. I used to show cutting horses obsessively, and at another stage, I was equally obsessive about team roping. Last year I obsessed on the trails across the road. I had to be out on them every day or I wasn’t happy. I bought a horse just to ride those trails (See The New Horse-- May 08 and The Trails Along the Ridge-April 08) But somehow or other I’ve lost the need to obsess on my goals, at least for the moment.
I’m not sure why this happened. It may be in part because my son’s horse, Henry, colicked at the end of January (see Colic—Feb 09) and had to go to colic surgery to save his life. The whole process of his rehab took much of my energy and time for the last three months, along with the need to finish my eleventh mystery novel by my deadline. (I’m glad to say the book is finished and we’re riding Henry again.) But somehow, in the process, I lost my need, or even my ability, to focus on goals with my horses. I just had to let go, and realize that a lot of things are out of my control (like whether my horse has a giant stone that needs to be removed from his gut). And the funny thing is that suddenly, I’m happier.
I still ride. I ride when I can, when I feel like it. If I get out on the trails every week or so, that’s fine. I enjoy myself immensely. If I need to spend hours riding Henry at the walk/trot in the riding ring in order to leg him back up, that’s fine, too. I enjoy doing that. If I don’t ride, I enjoy walking down the hill to feed my horses and do the chores. I’m finding it’s a real pleasure to detach from goals.
Its not that goals are bad. While cleaning out my closet the other day, I came upon two trophy buckles that I hadn’t glanced at for years. They reminded me of a time when winning a reined cowhorse class or a cutting meant a lot to me. I’d worked and worked to win those buckles. It still brought a smile to my face to see them.
But as time has passed, I’ve realized that the one thing that means the most to me in my life with horses is freedom. I want to feel free to do what I want with my horses, however much or little that is. What I don’t want is to feel trapped.
I’m not sure if others had or have this problem. Maybe its because I’m a Catholic school girl. Maybe its because I rode with my uncle for years and he was a very driven personality. The horses had to be ridden every day. Maybe its because I rode for a lot of trainers. I don’t know. All I know is that for years I felt guilty if my horses didn’t get ridden at least five or six days a week. I felt guilty if I wasn’t actively competing every weekend. I felt guilty if I didn’t do well at the competitions—obviously I hadn’t worked hard enough. I felt relieved if I won, but then, there was always another competition to worry about. In short, I spent a lot of time feeling that I had to do this or that with my horses…or feeling guilty if I didn’t get it done.
My current goal is just not to go there. If I want to ride, I do. If I don’t feel like riding, I don’t. My horse all live turned out in big spaces, so they can run and buck and play as much as they please. They are well fed, slick, happy. I have totally given myself permission just to feed them and care for them, if that’s what I want to do.
As it turns out, I still ride three days a week or so. Just cause I want to. It’s a completely different feeling. Instead of feeling driven and guilty, I feel free and happy. I enjoy my horses much more than I used to. I worry less. Its been good for me.
I don’t regret all the time I put into competing and training. I had some great experiences then, too. I learned a lot. But I’m glad to be in a space now where I don’t feel so driven. If I’d rather stay home and smell my roses, I can do so, and feel good about it. Letting go of goals is teaching me about freedom. I’m planning on paying attention to what the universe is trying to show me. That’s my goal. Wish me luck with it.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Mr Twister
By Laura Crum
Today I thought I’d write about a horse in my barn who is a shining success, against all the odds, a horse I helped train, and am very fond of. This would be Mr Twister, my one boarder, who belongs to my friend, Wally.
Wally bought Twister six years ago when the horse was a very green seven year old rope horse. By green I mean that this grey QH gelding had been broke at five, ridden very sketchily since then, and had been roped on for all of ninety days when Wally bought him. What Wally needed was another horse to compete on. What he bought was a project. Why?
There’s no easy answer. Wally and I have been partners on many horses, and I’ve trained quite a few young horses for him. He has always respected my advice when it comes to picking horses out. We both knew what he needed. But the two of us saw Twister at a practice roping, for sale cheap, and we both fell in love with him.
“I really like that grey horse,” I said.
We agreed he was too green.
Wally called me that night. “What do you think if I buy that grey horse?”
“Well,” I said, “he’s too green. But I like him.”
We tried him.
He was really green. And ill-broke. He had no idea how to give his head. He had no rein. He carried his head way up in the air. He had no idea how to stay in the lope for a full circle. You could rope and turn a steer on him, but it was very crude. He wasn’t a particularly well made horse, and looked too light to be an ideal candidate for a rope horse. Both Wally and I rode him.
We decided to buy him.
Why, you might ask. A lot of people asked us that. Several people said we were nuts. Nobody thought it was a good choice. Plenty of people told Wally he shouldn’t listen to me. So, I am happy to report that, six years later, Wally is “delighted” with Twister and having a blast with him.
Back to why. What did we see in this horse? Well, to begin with, when I first saw him, it was the look in his eye. Twister was green and ignorant, he was being ridden by a horse trader who had never ridden him before, and yet this young horse was trying really hard to do right. You could see it all over him. Despite his many flaws when it came to performance, he was trying. I saw other things. He was fast enough. He stuck a leg in the ground well. But it was the look in his eyes that told me that this, despite the odds, was a good-minded horse.
Then I rode him. Again, he was ignorant. He wasn’t just not very well broke, he was ill-broke. He didn’t have the smoothest gaits. But when I attempted to collect him at the lope, despite the fact that I think it was the first time that any one had ever tried it, he gave me his head for a few strides and loped in a gathered frame. That was big. And…here I am going to have a hard time putting something in words…I felt secure on him. Twister was and is a flighty, ampy, prancy horse, with a tendency to spooking and pulling back, and to look at him, you wouldn’t suppose that you’d feel particularly secure on his back. But you do. Everyone who has ever ridden him has noticed. No one has ever fallen off of him. He’s just that kind of horse. For all his faults, he gives you a good feel.
I told Wally to buy him.
Wally liked the same things about him that I did. He bought him. And proceeded to have instant buyer’s remorse.
Because Twister needed a lot of work. He was not a horse that Wally could just take to the next roping. There was a lot to be done first.
Wally taught Twister to lope a circle. I helped as much as I could, but my training was mostly limited to giving advice. I had a lively two-year-old boy to look after, and I wasn’t in the horse training biz any more. This was the first horse that Wally had really trained without any active help from me (other than advice) and to begin with he missed the old system—the one where I did all the work. But he persevered. And Twister learned to stay in the lope, and collect, and lope a circle.
We worked on his rope horse skills. To begin with Wally wanted to give up. This horse isn’t going to make it, he kept telling me. He’s too hot, he’ll never score well, and he can’t run. He carries his head too high. Everything was wrong.
I kept telling him the horse would make it. Yes, he was high headed and chargy, but he could run enough. And he had a good mind. I devised ways of getting the horse quiet in the box. Unlike many horses, Twister really responded to being petted. When he became over-excited in the box, I had Wally get off of him and stand beside him and pet him. (Oh and by the way, this is something that most ropers would never do—we got a lot of funny looks.) As time went on, Wally could stay on Twister and pet him and get the same result. Pretty soon, he could just reach down and touch his neck and the horse would calm.
I watched Wally rope on Twister and helped him figure out what the horse needed. When Twister got too high, I would have Wally run out, stop the horse gently, back him up a few steps (gently) and then just sit there until Twister relaxed. People continued to tell us we were nuts and Twister wasn’t the right type of horse. I told them all they were wrong. Wally, a bit dubiously, persisted.
Twister got better. Slowly. I watched him and I had confidence in him. And Twister grew in confidence, too. He was a sensitive horse. Wally and I learned early on that you could not—ever--hit this horse. You couldn’t even yell at him. He would be upset and afraid of you for days if you did. He was light sided and needed no spur. You needed to stay light on his face or he got upset. He remained high headed and a bit chargy. But he learned to be good in the box and to work well in the arena as a head horse. Wally started to compete and win on him. People stopped telling us how wrong we were. Twister even filled out a bit and became a decent looking horse. All seemed well.
And then Wally fell off a colt and hurt his shoulder. The shoulder mended, but in such a way that Wally could no longer throw a strong head loop. He could throw a heel loop. But Twister had been trained to be a head horse. A chargy high-headed horse is not an unreasonable choice for a head horse, if he has certain attributes. But a chargy, high-headed horse (who doesn’t cow much) is nobody’s choice for a heel horse. Still, Wally was really fond of Twister at this point and didn’t want to sell him. I assured him that we could turn the horse into a decent heel horse.
Everybody said we were wrong. Everybody said we were stupid to try. Certain roper friends told Wally he shouldn’t listen to me (the same ones as before.) But Wally persisted.
And for a while it looked stupid. Twister was really not a good choice for a heel horse. He was too chargy. He wasn’t very cowy. He was high headed. About all he had going for him was that he would stop hard. And he wanted to do what was asked of him.
I’m sure you all can guess the rest. Twister tried. He did his best to understand this new event. He trusted Wally. He tried to learn. I watched and helped as much as I could. We used many of the same tricks I’d worked out to teach Twister to be a head horse. And Twister learned. Wally took his time. He heeled on Twister only as much as the horse could handle it. It took awhile. But this year, now that my good horse Plumber is too old to be very competitive any more (Wally had been using him as his heel horse for the past ten years), Twister is finally really competitive as a heel horse. Wally is winning on him. And all those same people who said we were nuts are once again having to eat their words. It makes me really happy.
Twister has just recovered from a mystery illness that gave him a slight fever and some pussy discharge from his nose, and both Wally and I are hoping that he has a long life ahead of him as a rope horse. He is one horse who succeeded against the odds—and the naysayers—and I’m proud of him. He’s proven for me, yet again, that a horse’s most important attribute is his mind. And that a good-minded horse comes in many forms. This hot, flighty horse who had such a rough start, wouldn’t strike many people as good-minded….but he is. Wally and I have agreed that Twister has earned his home. He will live with me until he dies, and I’m glad to have him. Here’s to Twister—the gallant horse.
Cheers,
Laura Crum
Today I thought I’d write about a horse in my barn who is a shining success, against all the odds, a horse I helped train, and am very fond of. This would be Mr Twister, my one boarder, who belongs to my friend, Wally.
Wally bought Twister six years ago when the horse was a very green seven year old rope horse. By green I mean that this grey QH gelding had been broke at five, ridden very sketchily since then, and had been roped on for all of ninety days when Wally bought him. What Wally needed was another horse to compete on. What he bought was a project. Why?
There’s no easy answer. Wally and I have been partners on many horses, and I’ve trained quite a few young horses for him. He has always respected my advice when it comes to picking horses out. We both knew what he needed. But the two of us saw Twister at a practice roping, for sale cheap, and we both fell in love with him.
“I really like that grey horse,” I said.
We agreed he was too green.
Wally called me that night. “What do you think if I buy that grey horse?”
“Well,” I said, “he’s too green. But I like him.”
We tried him.
He was really green. And ill-broke. He had no idea how to give his head. He had no rein. He carried his head way up in the air. He had no idea how to stay in the lope for a full circle. You could rope and turn a steer on him, but it was very crude. He wasn’t a particularly well made horse, and looked too light to be an ideal candidate for a rope horse. Both Wally and I rode him.
We decided to buy him.
Why, you might ask. A lot of people asked us that. Several people said we were nuts. Nobody thought it was a good choice. Plenty of people told Wally he shouldn’t listen to me. So, I am happy to report that, six years later, Wally is “delighted” with Twister and having a blast with him.
Back to why. What did we see in this horse? Well, to begin with, when I first saw him, it was the look in his eye. Twister was green and ignorant, he was being ridden by a horse trader who had never ridden him before, and yet this young horse was trying really hard to do right. You could see it all over him. Despite his many flaws when it came to performance, he was trying. I saw other things. He was fast enough. He stuck a leg in the ground well. But it was the look in his eyes that told me that this, despite the odds, was a good-minded horse.
Then I rode him. Again, he was ignorant. He wasn’t just not very well broke, he was ill-broke. He didn’t have the smoothest gaits. But when I attempted to collect him at the lope, despite the fact that I think it was the first time that any one had ever tried it, he gave me his head for a few strides and loped in a gathered frame. That was big. And…here I am going to have a hard time putting something in words…I felt secure on him. Twister was and is a flighty, ampy, prancy horse, with a tendency to spooking and pulling back, and to look at him, you wouldn’t suppose that you’d feel particularly secure on his back. But you do. Everyone who has ever ridden him has noticed. No one has ever fallen off of him. He’s just that kind of horse. For all his faults, he gives you a good feel.
I told Wally to buy him.
Wally liked the same things about him that I did. He bought him. And proceeded to have instant buyer’s remorse.
Because Twister needed a lot of work. He was not a horse that Wally could just take to the next roping. There was a lot to be done first.
Wally taught Twister to lope a circle. I helped as much as I could, but my training was mostly limited to giving advice. I had a lively two-year-old boy to look after, and I wasn’t in the horse training biz any more. This was the first horse that Wally had really trained without any active help from me (other than advice) and to begin with he missed the old system—the one where I did all the work. But he persevered. And Twister learned to stay in the lope, and collect, and lope a circle.
We worked on his rope horse skills. To begin with Wally wanted to give up. This horse isn’t going to make it, he kept telling me. He’s too hot, he’ll never score well, and he can’t run. He carries his head too high. Everything was wrong.
I kept telling him the horse would make it. Yes, he was high headed and chargy, but he could run enough. And he had a good mind. I devised ways of getting the horse quiet in the box. Unlike many horses, Twister really responded to being petted. When he became over-excited in the box, I had Wally get off of him and stand beside him and pet him. (Oh and by the way, this is something that most ropers would never do—we got a lot of funny looks.) As time went on, Wally could stay on Twister and pet him and get the same result. Pretty soon, he could just reach down and touch his neck and the horse would calm.
I watched Wally rope on Twister and helped him figure out what the horse needed. When Twister got too high, I would have Wally run out, stop the horse gently, back him up a few steps (gently) and then just sit there until Twister relaxed. People continued to tell us we were nuts and Twister wasn’t the right type of horse. I told them all they were wrong. Wally, a bit dubiously, persisted.
Twister got better. Slowly. I watched him and I had confidence in him. And Twister grew in confidence, too. He was a sensitive horse. Wally and I learned early on that you could not—ever--hit this horse. You couldn’t even yell at him. He would be upset and afraid of you for days if you did. He was light sided and needed no spur. You needed to stay light on his face or he got upset. He remained high headed and a bit chargy. But he learned to be good in the box and to work well in the arena as a head horse. Wally started to compete and win on him. People stopped telling us how wrong we were. Twister even filled out a bit and became a decent looking horse. All seemed well.
And then Wally fell off a colt and hurt his shoulder. The shoulder mended, but in such a way that Wally could no longer throw a strong head loop. He could throw a heel loop. But Twister had been trained to be a head horse. A chargy high-headed horse is not an unreasonable choice for a head horse, if he has certain attributes. But a chargy, high-headed horse (who doesn’t cow much) is nobody’s choice for a heel horse. Still, Wally was really fond of Twister at this point and didn’t want to sell him. I assured him that we could turn the horse into a decent heel horse.
Everybody said we were wrong. Everybody said we were stupid to try. Certain roper friends told Wally he shouldn’t listen to me (the same ones as before.) But Wally persisted.
And for a while it looked stupid. Twister was really not a good choice for a heel horse. He was too chargy. He wasn’t very cowy. He was high headed. About all he had going for him was that he would stop hard. And he wanted to do what was asked of him.
I’m sure you all can guess the rest. Twister tried. He did his best to understand this new event. He trusted Wally. He tried to learn. I watched and helped as much as I could. We used many of the same tricks I’d worked out to teach Twister to be a head horse. And Twister learned. Wally took his time. He heeled on Twister only as much as the horse could handle it. It took awhile. But this year, now that my good horse Plumber is too old to be very competitive any more (Wally had been using him as his heel horse for the past ten years), Twister is finally really competitive as a heel horse. Wally is winning on him. And all those same people who said we were nuts are once again having to eat their words. It makes me really happy.
Twister has just recovered from a mystery illness that gave him a slight fever and some pussy discharge from his nose, and both Wally and I are hoping that he has a long life ahead of him as a rope horse. He is one horse who succeeded against the odds—and the naysayers—and I’m proud of him. He’s proven for me, yet again, that a horse’s most important attribute is his mind. And that a good-minded horse comes in many forms. This hot, flighty horse who had such a rough start, wouldn’t strike many people as good-minded….but he is. Wally and I have agreed that Twister has earned his home. He will live with me until he dies, and I’m glad to have him. Here’s to Twister—the gallant horse.
Cheers,
Laura Crum
Friday, April 24, 2009
My Horses Always Preferred the Ritz
Hi Everybody,
Well, it's in the seventies outside and my twin three year olds are throwing a football (foam, with cartoon characters on the outside) around with the sitter while my seven year old sniffles on the couch with her inevitable springtime allergies. Poor baby. She is delighted with her latest gift from Mom and Dad. We were attending a silent auction and won her a day following a veterinarian around. For a girl dedicated in all ways to animals, this is a little slice of heaven. Allergies aren't a good mix for an aspiring veterinarian, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
She's taking a break from horses right now and is doing theater, tae kwon do, swimming and wants to start soccer in the fall. In the meantime, I'm trying to get to know the area barns a little better so I'll know my way around when the time comes.
I've been at a total of seven barns in the course of my career and each barn had it's own personality. Finding the right home for your horse is so incredibly important, and it becomes even more important when you're trusting a trainer with a precious child.
When I think back on the barns I've been at, I lucked into a couple of good ones and then we relocated. I had Spencer at that time and chose a barn in the new area mostly for the physical plant, turnout, and because I really liked and trusted the barn manager, so I knew Spencer was in good hands. The training wasn't that advanced, but that was okay because neither was I.
I bought Topper and stayed there for several years until Topper injured himself and needed surgery. The barn manager had moved on by that point and I needed a barn where veterinary skills were top notch. I chose a barn, thinking it would be temporary, where the trainer was excellent training both horses and riders and was a vet assistant to boot. Now, the facility was old, the stalls were small and there was no indoor ring. This didn't worry me as I wouldn't be riding much while Topper healed up & Spencer came to live with us and was happy trotting around a few novice riders at this place. When I went I told the trainer there it would probably be for about six months and he was fine with that. Surprisingly, in that time frame I rode one of his horses and learned more in those six months than I had in the three years previously. So I learned a valuable lesson. Creature comforts come second to the quality of the horse care and the training.
Unfortunately, when I moved up into a senior management position I needed a barn where they had staff to tack & untack, etc., since I was going to be lucky to get to the barn a few times per week and time would be very tight, so off Spencer, Topper (now healed) and I went again. Now I may have been happy without a large facility with an indoor but I don't think Spencer was. Usually Spencer was a bit resistant to loading. However, when the trailer pulled up I loaded Topper first, looked back and saw Spencer take one step at a trot, one at a canter and leap the rest of the way up the ramp and into the truck, pulling the driver and his lead rope right along for the ride! Topper and I executed a sideways leap of our own just in time!
When we arrived at the new barn, Spencer pranced down the ramp, head held high, and sauntered into his new stall with an expression that was an equine version of 'finally, accommodations suiting my illustrious presence.' (Spencer was always a sweetheart, but he knew his worth & wasn't afraid to let me know it.)
Now I'm barn shopping again. First order of business will be to evaluate the quality of the training. Since my daughter isn't riding right now I suppose I'll be taking a few lessons at different places while I try to get the feel of them. Wish me luck!
Cheers,
Mary
Well, it's in the seventies outside and my twin three year olds are throwing a football (foam, with cartoon characters on the outside) around with the sitter while my seven year old sniffles on the couch with her inevitable springtime allergies. Poor baby. She is delighted with her latest gift from Mom and Dad. We were attending a silent auction and won her a day following a veterinarian around. For a girl dedicated in all ways to animals, this is a little slice of heaven. Allergies aren't a good mix for an aspiring veterinarian, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
She's taking a break from horses right now and is doing theater, tae kwon do, swimming and wants to start soccer in the fall. In the meantime, I'm trying to get to know the area barns a little better so I'll know my way around when the time comes.
I've been at a total of seven barns in the course of my career and each barn had it's own personality. Finding the right home for your horse is so incredibly important, and it becomes even more important when you're trusting a trainer with a precious child.
When I think back on the barns I've been at, I lucked into a couple of good ones and then we relocated. I had Spencer at that time and chose a barn in the new area mostly for the physical plant, turnout, and because I really liked and trusted the barn manager, so I knew Spencer was in good hands. The training wasn't that advanced, but that was okay because neither was I.
I bought Topper and stayed there for several years until Topper injured himself and needed surgery. The barn manager had moved on by that point and I needed a barn where veterinary skills were top notch. I chose a barn, thinking it would be temporary, where the trainer was excellent training both horses and riders and was a vet assistant to boot. Now, the facility was old, the stalls were small and there was no indoor ring. This didn't worry me as I wouldn't be riding much while Topper healed up & Spencer came to live with us and was happy trotting around a few novice riders at this place. When I went I told the trainer there it would probably be for about six months and he was fine with that. Surprisingly, in that time frame I rode one of his horses and learned more in those six months than I had in the three years previously. So I learned a valuable lesson. Creature comforts come second to the quality of the horse care and the training.
Unfortunately, when I moved up into a senior management position I needed a barn where they had staff to tack & untack, etc., since I was going to be lucky to get to the barn a few times per week and time would be very tight, so off Spencer, Topper (now healed) and I went again. Now I may have been happy without a large facility with an indoor but I don't think Spencer was. Usually Spencer was a bit resistant to loading. However, when the trailer pulled up I loaded Topper first, looked back and saw Spencer take one step at a trot, one at a canter and leap the rest of the way up the ramp and into the truck, pulling the driver and his lead rope right along for the ride! Topper and I executed a sideways leap of our own just in time!
When we arrived at the new barn, Spencer pranced down the ramp, head held high, and sauntered into his new stall with an expression that was an equine version of 'finally, accommodations suiting my illustrious presence.' (Spencer was always a sweetheart, but he knew his worth & wasn't afraid to let me know it.)
Now I'm barn shopping again. First order of business will be to evaluate the quality of the training. Since my daughter isn't riding right now I suppose I'll be taking a few lessons at different places while I try to get the feel of them. Wish me luck!
Cheers,
Mary
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Conrad Schumacher---Part 2--The Rider's Education
I am so sorry. It's 70+ degrees here, and I've been working outside all day. I just logged onto the internet for the first time and realized I hadn't posted my blog entry yet.
For this next part, Conrad had several riders demonstrate the importance of the proper seat. He started with a rider being lunged and went over several beneficial exercises. I apologize that I didn't write any of these down. Instead I bought Conrad's new DVD which covers this part. Mostly what I wrote down are quotes, so here goes.
The Rider’s Education
For this next part, Conrad had several riders demonstrate the importance of the proper seat. He started with a rider being lunged and went over several beneficial exercises. I apologize that I didn't write any of these down. Instead I bought Conrad's new DVD which covers this part. Mostly what I wrote down are quotes, so here goes.
The Rider’s Education
In dressage everything depends on the rider. The best horse in the world means nothing if the rider can’t ride.
The rider needs to understand what it means to sit on the horse in harmony. She must be connected to the horse. The rider's hips must move with the horse. The legs should not grip, but be there on the horse's sides.
The rider's body is like a shock absorber. The body takes the motion and gives it back to the horse (recycles it).
Body awareness is essential. You must be trained to feel each body part as you’re riding, such as your big toe, your little finger. (Conrad does believe feel can be trained, while many instructors don't.)
You must have the right lunge horse. You cannot sit on a piece of wood. The horse must go like a dressage horse.
Mental fitness is very important. Being able to sit quietly and handle your body is a prerequisite for mental fitness.
There was a question about why many riders in symposium rode with wide hands. Riders need to have an open body position. The hands together position came about because of the military and the need for the horses to be ridden eventually with one hand. This is not necessary now. The hands together position fosters stiffness in the shoulders. (I can vouch for this. I'm very stiff in my shoulders. I found that keeping my hands a little wider really improved my ability to ride with a soft, following hand.)
A good riders has a natural springing down of ankle. The body is flexible. The rider maintains the same seat now matter how big the gaits. World class riders must do it by feel and mental fitness. Feel comes out of the seat.
There is no such thing as an ideal seat. It all depends on the person’s body type and abilities. Some riders have a good seat but don’t look so good on a horse. Others look good on the horse but really don’t have a good, effective seat.
Feel must be trained and can be trained. Timing and how we do it is what’s important.
Principle of giving aids:
- Prepare (flex neck to inside)
- Do
- Reward—such as stretching which opens the back
For a halt, flex neck to inside (prepare), close legs (do), and reward (release pressure).
Horses anticipate, so control anticipation by warning them that something is coming.
The weakest rider in the world is stronger than the strongest horse if you can bend the horse.
Conrad used a support rein for one rider: Use only one rein, fasten to girth between front legs, run through flash. Do not use to pull down the neck. Put it on the horse’s hollow side.
The biggest problem riders have is if it doesn’t work, do it harder.
A good excercise to increase mental fitness and body awareness:
Volte in walk, canter at wall, go large, volte at end of long side and walk.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Guest Blogger--Sandy James
I'm happy to welcome back Sandy James as a guest blogger today.
SPRINGTIME
It’s springtime again in Indiana. Of course, we had snow flurries this week, but... In the Hoosier state, you can never count on spring and warmth to co-exist. With the arrival of April comes the opening of Hoosier Park. Yes, my friends, we’re racing horses again!
I stood in the winner’s circle for the first time this season on my first trip up to Anderson. Between the eight hours I spend dazzling kids in my classrooms, the time I devote to churning out edits, and the hours of trying to add pages to my many “works in progress,” I don’t get to see my horses nearly as often as I’d like. So to have a visit to the winner’s circle on my first trip truly made the drive to Hoosier Park worthwhile. The cherry on top of the sundae was that the winning horse was Heart’s Prince – my homebred four-year-old.
I wrote about Prince the last time I blogged for Equestrian Ink. At that time, he’d finally won his first race, and I was in hopes we would have some success with him. His two-year-old season hadn’t really been much more than a few qualifiers and some less than stellar races. That first win was the beginning of his three-year-old season, which I’m happy to say was a success. He found his way into the winner’s circle three times. Most of his earning, however, came from Prince’s constantly finding himself a bridesmaid. He finished second eight times. For a horse who seemed to act like racing was the furthest thing from his equine brain, we were pleased to see him pacing so well.
Prince is a chestnut – a typical redhead. Hot temper and passionate nature. He used to be a pain both on and off the track. Luckily, he seems to have matured. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still an ass around the track. It’s one of the reasons we keep him with a trainer who stables on a farm.
The first time this season Prince was led to the track for a pari-mutuel race, he reared enough he almost unseated our driver, Jason Dillander. And in the paddock, he doesn’t exactly wait patiently for his race. But at the farm, when he’s away from the track, he’s affectionate and easier to manage. He’s also fallen in love with our trainer’s girlfriend, Renay. She’s the only one
who can keep him calm in the paddock. Prince obviously has a crush on her.
That fire inside Prince showed itself in the race I watched. The first quarter had been slow, and Prince had been parked in second, riding the pocket behind the leader. But as they approached the half, Jason took him around the leader and started to set his own pace. That move is always a big gamble that often leads to the horse being too tired to finish strong in the stretch. I think I groaned and threw a frown at my husband who sighed in return. We both feared the race would have a very unhappy ending.
As the field rounded the last turn, Prince’s lead started to dwindle as the pack, one horse especially, closed in on him. My heart sank as I figured Prince would fade. But he didn’t. In fact, when the inside horse drew eye-to-eye with him, Prince refused to let him pass. That kind of desire to win came from his parents. They were both fantastic and tenacious competitors. Prince not only held his ground, he opened up a lead again. He won by a good length.
Heavens, how I love my little chestnut. Is it any wonder I modeled Katie’s horse – Spun Gold – in Murphy’s Law after him? Speaking of Murphy’s Law, I’m pleased to say it has done well since the ebook release last month. It’s nice to know people love to read about horses. I’ve also had a couple of great reviews of the story from Night Owl Romance and Coffee Time Romance. Look for the book to appear in print in June. My May ebook release, All the Right Reasons, takes readers back to the track to reconnect with the Murphy’s Law characters and introduce some new people and new horses.
Let’s hope this season will be just as great for Heart’s Prince as the last.
Photo by Linscott Photography
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http://www.sandy-james.com/
Friday, April 17, 2009
The Ditch by Janet Huntington
I woke up this morning to a typical Colorado spring day. The snow is pouring straight down, schools are closed and the morning news is gleefully airing images of wrecked cars peppering the sides on Monument Hill.
Ahhhh. Springtime in the Rockies.
When I was a girl in high school my horse, Mort, was kept at a self care boarding stable (OK, it was a couple of lean-tos and some sagging barb-wire around 20 acres) down the street from our house.
Because I was young, eager and didn't have a drivers licence, I walked the few blocks to care for my horse twice a day. There were two routes to take. I could walk down our street, Midsummer Lane, hang a right and take Serendipity (no kidding) to the end of our neighborhood, cut through a few fields and get to my barn about a half mile later. Or I could cut through the Moline's side yard, cross their backyard, crawl over their fence, run through the ditch and end up in my pasture, about half the distance.
The Molines were fine with the arrangement since their daughter, Melinda, shared the stable with me.
The biggest obstacle between me and my horse was the ditch.
Village 7 was built on the prairie on the outskirts of Colorado Springs. When the realtor's had set the tractors in motion to tear deep into the heart of the prairie and began building the multiple "village" neighborhood they encountered Nature's own irrigation system. Our part of the neighborhood, Greenway Village, was built on a flood plain.
Which pretty much guaranteed every severe rain or hail storm covered our brand new landscaping with 2 to 4 inches of water.
So the realtor's built the ditch.
The ditch was a man-made waterway constructed on the outer perimeter of Village 7. It was about ten feet deep, about the same across and then ten feet up. The sides were angled, but steep.
If I got a good enough run at it on the way down I could usually expect my momentum to carry me up the other side. If I had a record of my scabbed hands, elbows, knees and chin you would understand why I say usually.
As time went by I became pretty adept. I even got to where I could run through the ditch carrying my 45 lb. saddle and bridle. You see I kept my tack at home. I have to admit, that ditch helped me to become quite the bareback rider.
On a morning like the one I woke up to today, I would stall as long as I could before I left to feed. Sometimes my Dad would give me a ride to school on wet, snowy days. If he did, he would often take me to the barn to feed on the way.
I would wait to see if he settled into the morning paper as he ate his single soft boiled egg. My Dad would carefully remove the top of the egg nestled in the shot glass we used as an egg cup. If he then shook open the sports page I knew I was doomed.
I would pull on my coat and hurry up the road, fully aware that now my dawdling had put me behind and I might miss my chance at a ride to school. I didn't have time to take the long way around.
The ditch had a wicked habit of icing over on mornings like these.
I would stand on the rim, the ice covered sides dropped below me like the Grand Canyon, and I would breathe deep, steeling myself.
I could hear Mort's impatient whicker.
I could feel the clock ticking.
Melinda Moline would pop over her fence and blast through the ditch, laughing, as she slid and leaped and ran up the other side, light as a white tail doe.
I really hated her sometimes.
I would throw myself over the side with a yell and chase after her. Suddenly my arms would begin to pin-wheel, my big wonky boots would head in two different directions and SPLAT! I would be on my back in the dirty, heavy snow.
I would look up at the grey, merciless sky and feel the big fat flakes melting on my hot, flushed face. I would sigh a little as I felt the trickle of gray snow water working up my back and soaking my school uniform shirt. Great.
Then with a roar I would jump up and launch myself at the side of the ditch.
I would make it halfway up, scrabble at the opposite edge, just inches from my fingers, slip, slam and slide to the bottom. Again, I would throw myself at the side. Where I would whack my knees and elbows and slide to the bottom.
Melinda Moline would come skidding down the wall, jump over my prone form, her happy "See ya this afternoon!" ringing in my ears as she whipped up the other side and back to her warm, toasty house.
Finally, I would stand one last time, take off my gloves and my coat and throw them up to the field above me.
I would face the opposite wall, run halfway up the side, turn midway before the ice could catch me, and race back towards the other side, hoping my momentum would propel me to the top. I would lunge desperately at the rim, just make it and scramble to the top.
As I stood, my last clean shirt torn and covered with nasty, gray, ditch muck, I would scoop up my coat and gloves and drag across the pasture to feed my bucking and hollering Mort.
Of course I still had to make it back.
I love spring in Colorado.
Ahhhh. Springtime in the Rockies.
When I was a girl in high school my horse, Mort, was kept at a self care boarding stable (OK, it was a couple of lean-tos and some sagging barb-wire around 20 acres) down the street from our house.
Because I was young, eager and didn't have a drivers licence, I walked the few blocks to care for my horse twice a day. There were two routes to take. I could walk down our street, Midsummer Lane, hang a right and take Serendipity (no kidding) to the end of our neighborhood, cut through a few fields and get to my barn about a half mile later. Or I could cut through the Moline's side yard, cross their backyard, crawl over their fence, run through the ditch and end up in my pasture, about half the distance.
The Molines were fine with the arrangement since their daughter, Melinda, shared the stable with me.
The biggest obstacle between me and my horse was the ditch.
Village 7 was built on the prairie on the outskirts of Colorado Springs. When the realtor's had set the tractors in motion to tear deep into the heart of the prairie and began building the multiple "village" neighborhood they encountered Nature's own irrigation system. Our part of the neighborhood, Greenway Village, was built on a flood plain.
Which pretty much guaranteed every severe rain or hail storm covered our brand new landscaping with 2 to 4 inches of water.
So the realtor's built the ditch.
The ditch was a man-made waterway constructed on the outer perimeter of Village 7. It was about ten feet deep, about the same across and then ten feet up. The sides were angled, but steep.
If I got a good enough run at it on the way down I could usually expect my momentum to carry me up the other side. If I had a record of my scabbed hands, elbows, knees and chin you would understand why I say usually.
As time went by I became pretty adept. I even got to where I could run through the ditch carrying my 45 lb. saddle and bridle. You see I kept my tack at home. I have to admit, that ditch helped me to become quite the bareback rider.
On a morning like the one I woke up to today, I would stall as long as I could before I left to feed. Sometimes my Dad would give me a ride to school on wet, snowy days. If he did, he would often take me to the barn to feed on the way.
I would wait to see if he settled into the morning paper as he ate his single soft boiled egg. My Dad would carefully remove the top of the egg nestled in the shot glass we used as an egg cup. If he then shook open the sports page I knew I was doomed.
I would pull on my coat and hurry up the road, fully aware that now my dawdling had put me behind and I might miss my chance at a ride to school. I didn't have time to take the long way around.
The ditch had a wicked habit of icing over on mornings like these.
I would stand on the rim, the ice covered sides dropped below me like the Grand Canyon, and I would breathe deep, steeling myself.
I could hear Mort's impatient whicker.
I could feel the clock ticking.
Melinda Moline would pop over her fence and blast through the ditch, laughing, as she slid and leaped and ran up the other side, light as a white tail doe.
I really hated her sometimes.
I would throw myself over the side with a yell and chase after her. Suddenly my arms would begin to pin-wheel, my big wonky boots would head in two different directions and SPLAT! I would be on my back in the dirty, heavy snow.
I would look up at the grey, merciless sky and feel the big fat flakes melting on my hot, flushed face. I would sigh a little as I felt the trickle of gray snow water working up my back and soaking my school uniform shirt. Great.
Then with a roar I would jump up and launch myself at the side of the ditch.
I would make it halfway up, scrabble at the opposite edge, just inches from my fingers, slip, slam and slide to the bottom. Again, I would throw myself at the side. Where I would whack my knees and elbows and slide to the bottom.
Melinda Moline would come skidding down the wall, jump over my prone form, her happy "See ya this afternoon!" ringing in my ears as she whipped up the other side and back to her warm, toasty house.
Finally, I would stand one last time, take off my gloves and my coat and throw them up to the field above me.
I would face the opposite wall, run halfway up the side, turn midway before the ice could catch me, and race back towards the other side, hoping my momentum would propel me to the top. I would lunge desperately at the rim, just make it and scramble to the top.
As I stood, my last clean shirt torn and covered with nasty, gray, ditch muck, I would scoop up my coat and gloves and drag across the pasture to feed my bucking and hollering Mort.
Of course I still had to make it back.
I love spring in Colorado.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Friends....
By Laura Crum
I am addicted to Janet’s mugwump chronicles blog. I read every single comment and am fascinated with the discussions. A lot of very nice folks gather there to talk about their horses and training issues. Its lots of fun. And it frequently gives me something to ponder.
Not so long ago someone posted there about wanting to get her bossy, cranky mare to be her friend. This mare reminded me a great deal of my little trail horse, Sunny. I have posted before on this blog about Sunny, see “The New Horse” (May 08) and “My Little Palomino Plug” (Dec 08). But I thought it would be fun to tell you all about how I was able to get this recalcitrant little mule of a horse to become my friend. Especially in light of the posts on Janet’s blog.
From the day I bought him (New Year’s Eve 2007) Sunny watched me attentively whenever I was around. It was kind of unnerving. I’d go down to the barn and my other horses, sure I wouldn’t feed them, would eye me in a relaxed way and carry on with what they were doing, unless I walked up to their pens. Not Sunny. As soon as he saw me, Sunny would leave whatever he was up to, march across his pen and park himself as close to me as he could get. He would then proceed to watch me as I went about my chores. Even if I just sat down in my chair and did nothing—other than watch him back—Sunny persisted. He could watch me for hours at a time.
Now, you might think this meant that Sunny liked me, and maybe in a way he did, but it wasn’t as simple as that. When I did go to his pen to catch him, Sunny was determined to test me. The very first day after I got him home, I walked confidently into his corral to catch my new acquisition. Bear in mind that Sunny had been sold to me as a family horse and I’d known the horse for several years and knew he would pack beginning riders down the trail. I had every reason to suppose he was gentle. As the route toward his left shoulder was blocked by a big mud puddle, I decided to walk behind him and around him in order to catch him. Imagine my surprise when the gentle kid’s horse swung his butt around, humped up and popped his back feet in my direction.
Now, he didn’t come anywhere near me. And he didn’t mean to. This was a threat, not a blow. But no horse of mine is allowed to threaten me in any way. So I caught Sunny and proceeded to beat the crap out of him with the end of the leadrope.
However, this procedure did not go unchallenged. Sunny was not at all sure that I was the boss of him. He thought there might be room for argument. When I whacked him on his shoulder as hard as I could, he flew back and hit the end of the rope, trying to drag me backward. Some might have thought him intimidated, but it wasn’t so. I jerked him to a stop and hit him again. And again. This time he tried to jerk his head away and swap ends to kick at me. I snatched his head back to me and hit him again. And again. Sunny then charged forward, in the run-over-the-top-of-you maneuver. I jerked his head around and continued to beat on him. He leaped sideways and tried to pull the rope out of my hand. I was getting tired. But I kept jerking his face and hitting him.
Now some of you may consider me a fairly abusive horseman at this point. You may be wondering why I was still hitting this little horse. I’ll tell you why. Because I’ve dealt with horses like this before. Horses who will test for dominance. You need to know how to read such a horse. And if you take one on, as I was taking Sunny on, you need to keep on until the horse shows submission. Or you just go backwards.
Sunny had shown no sign of submission. I kept beating him. It wasn’t bothering him all that much, to tell you the truth. He’s a cold-blooded, tough-minded little guy. But in the end, at the point where I had worked up a pretty good sweat and was getting out of breath, Sunny gave up. His head came down, he made mouthing motions and he just stopped. I stopped, too. And the horse immediately stepped forward and put his face up to me in a very submissive way, asking for a pet.
I’ve seen this reaction before, many times. If you beat a horse who is asking you to prove you can be dominant, the horse will like you for it. Sunny was accepting me as the boss. I petted his face. We were friends.
All well and good. Unfortunately, Sunny needed to test this out once every so often. We’d get along fine, and then one day, as I was catching him or saddling him or something, Sunny would assay a nip, or pantomime a kick, or try to step on my foot. He never connected and he never meant to. He wanted to provoke me into proving I was boss. He wanted a beating. After I beat him up, we got along just fine until he decided to test me again.
Lest you think I’m being fanciful, Sunny displayed exactly this pattern when I turned him in with my son’s horse, Henry. He challenged Henry, and Henry put him in his place. Sunny remained submissive until a few days later when he challenged Henry again. And this went on and on. Eventually I separated them. I was afraid that Sunny’s need to keep challenging was going to get him hurt. And I was sick of the bite and kick marks on his shiny gold hide.
So, for what its worth, there are some horses that you can’t be nice to all the time. Strange as it may sound, these horses want and need a beating from time to time, and they angle for it. If you can dish out the required treatment, they will love you.
My little palomino plug nickers every time he sees me. He presents his muzzle for a pet any time I go near his pen. He shows every sign of being fond of me and is a reliable riding horse. I enjoy him very much. And every few weeks he tests me. And I let him know I’m boss. And we’re both happy. Sometimes that’s what it takes to be friends.
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