The Horseback Writer

TRUST VERSUS FAITH

2011-10-16T20:31:00.001-07:00

Recently I’ve been pondering the difference between trust and faith. Though similar (and each can be expressed as a noun or a verb), they aren't exactly the same. Trust is defined in Websters this way: firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something. Faith is defined like this: confidant belief that does not rest on logical proof or material evidence. It would seem some kind of trust has to develop before authentic faith can occur, the kind that flings itself into the care and keeping of another for no logical reason.

Both trust and faith are elements critical in intimate relationships: a marriage, a best friendship, between a man and his Maker, even that between a horse and rider. Trust is built over time in a million big and small ways that test and refine the relationship. When someone has proven themselves trustworthy a “leap of faith” is possible because the relationship has a “trust account,” sorta like money in the bank.

It is humbling to be the object of someone’s blind faith. I think of my children, when they were very young. They simply believed I had the answers to all things, could find all things, could fix all things. They are now 13 and 18 and, sadly, that sort of faith no longer exists. They know now that I am all too human and prone to mistakes and bad judgment. Like this summer, for instance.

Eli and I had gone out for a “short ride.” This is code for, “I feel somewhat guilty about abandoning my duties to go riding so this will be short.” Short being relative. On this particular day my neighbor couldn’t go so it was just me and one handsome chestnut stallion. It was sunny and humid and the late summer bugs were annoying so we tried to say in the shade. It didn’t take long to decide the mosquitos were intolerable and we’d do well to head home. I chose a particular stretch of trail only usable in the summer for the route back. It is a favorite of dirt bikers and prone to deep ruts, mud, and somewhat technical hills. But it had been dry for weeks and the path was shady and cool.

We’d only been on the trail a few minutes when I noted the bikers had carved an unusually deep, narrow slash in the single track. Eli disliked the deep rut as it was difficult to place his feet without slipping. As we went deeper into the trees we frequently had to go off trail to go around sections that weren’t safe. The ground off the track was brushy and filled with slash, stumps, and rocks. As I removed my sunglasses to get a better look at the footing, that sensible inner voice began speaking: “Hey, this is sketchy; you should turn around.”

“Not much farther,” I told Eli, stroking his sweaty neck and ignoring the voice. “Good boy.”

After navigating a particularly dicey downhill section, Eli and I found ourselves looking up a curving hillside that used to be easily manageable. It now consisted of the ugliest rut I’d ever seen, the width of a dirt bike tire and about a foot deep. On one side of the rut a few inches of space gave way to a steep wall of brush and trees, on the other side about two feet of packed, dried mud dropped into more brush and trees. Ahead the rut ran up the hill and disappeared around the corner that would lead us to the trail head. So close and yet so far away. I dismounted and looked around at my predicament. It was challenging to turn Eli around and I knew the way back, around all those bad places in the trail, would be nearly as difficult as the hill ahead. Eli was sweating profusely in the humidity and stamping his feet constantly as the mosquitos descended. Not good.

I’ve never owned a horse that made me work as hard as Eli has to earn trust. He loses confidence in people easily, is highly sensitive, and, like most stallions, will immediately assume leadership if he senses hesitation. A horse that once didn’t trust me enough to accept hand feeding, we’d come a long way in nearly three years. Still, he wasn’t good about standing calmly and thinking through touchy situations. He likes to rush forward when the going got tough instead of trusting me to tell him when to go or, more importantly, stop. Now I was stuck on a trail with ruts so deep he could break a leg at speed.

I tried a couple of times to get him to walk in the rut but he kept slipping and floundering, swinging his hind end off the trail and becoming agitated when he couldn’t find a way to place his front feet side by side. Afraid he’d fall off the track entirely, I finally stopped and we just stood there, wondering what to do. I spoke to him the whole time, telling him I was sorry and assuring him he’d done a good job, the situation was entirely my fault. Many times in the past Eli had gotten upset and impulsive in similar situations, but to my surprise he had adopted a look of surrender and stood calmly, waiting on my move. After about 20 minutes of staring blankly into the forest around me, I looked up the hill and decided there was only one thing to do: trust him to walk quietly, right behind me, on the edge of the trail and hope the place where it disappeared from view would be passable. He’d have to have faith in my ability to get us out of the situation unharmed and not rely on his own devices which might include stepping into the treacherous rut, leaping over me and up the hillside or, worse, down into the ravine.

“Let’s go son,” I told him and began walking briskly up the hill while he followed.

When we got to the top—with minimal scrambling, my backside unharmed by a stampeding horse—I breathed a sigh of relief and spent several minutes just scratching Eli’s neck and telling him how awesome he was. He loves praise and adoration. Later I thought of our journey of building trust that enabled him to depend on me in a difficult situation. I didn’t deserve his faith, but he gave it anyway.

A few weeks ago I visited a friend who has a mysterious illness—one that gives her intense pain in her neck and renders her entire right side almost useless some days. Only 38 years old, she now owns a walker. While we talked, the right side of her mouth often had difficulty forming the words, like a connection between her brain and the facial muscles was shorting out. Her faith in God during an ordeal that makes no logical sense brought tears to my eyes: “I don’t know why this is happening, but I know God has a purpose in it, somehow.”

I want that kind of faith; the surrendering-of-my-own-devices kind that walks quietly behind God during the sketchy situations in life.

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

2011-09-05T10:05:00.001-07:00

In 2007 I had the opportunity to visit Churchill Downs two weeks before the Kentucky Derby. In Louisville for a two-day writer’s conference, schedules were tight and I fought a bit of jetlag hangover. Still, there was no way I’d miss the chance to see The Downs, a place steeped in generations of equine glory.

Once backside, I followed the rest of the tour group at a distance, satisfied to silently take in the regal spirit of the place. It was chilly and fog hovered over the famous track. It seemed alive with the anticipation of the coming race—The Sport of Kings. Morning exercise was winding down and sunshine glittered at the edges of the mist promising warmth. Still a little sleepy, I gazed at the near empty track, lost in my own world.

The stillness was abruptly broken by the thunder of hooves. I turned to watch two Thoroughbreds breeze by, playfully, or so it seemed, battling for position. They galloped effortlessly by, blowing rhythmically with each stride, and disappeared into the fog. I just stared, goose bumps covering my arms, as unexplainable emotion rose inside. It was breathtaking. Am I becoming a hopeless sap? I thought, feeling the tears prickle. Maybe I’m just tired. The sight is one I’ll never forget.

“Look of the eagle” aside (or perhaps its Eye of the Tiger—still loving that ‘80s culture), the Thoroughbred horse is one breed I’ve been content to admire from a distance. An elite athlete is best kept doing the job it is born to do and that particular breed isn’t known for its every day “livability,” shall we say. That’s why it’s rather amusing to see one grazing in the field right now, a horse on trial for Haley. Even if we don’t buy him, “Poncho” has been an inspiration on the power of identity.

I’m a big believer in names. Animals tend to live up to the moniker we bestow on them. That’s why there will never be a Witch, Jezebel, or Outlaw in my herd. The last choice is actually part of the registered name of our Quarter Horse, Cowboy. Perhaps no surprise the horse had a history of bucking. We took no chances and gave him a more promising handle and he’s been a great guy. Sometimes a horse is given an unfortunate registered name such a friend’s “Voodoo Magic” and there’s not much you can do about it. She calls the gelding by a positive nickname, however, so I say his future is “bright and shining.” Eli’s barn name was acceptable when I got him, but I love the meaning of his registered name Aur Elijah. The Biblical prophet Elijah had an astonishing life on Earth befitting its Hebrew meaning: My god is the Lord. I shortened Elijah to Eli which works better around the barn. The subtle difference in meaning still inspires: Ascend my God.

I’d have never gone to look at a Thoroughbred had it not been for the videos. Cruising Craigslist one day I clicked on an ad and saw photos of a non-descript brown gelding as well as videos of him running barrels and poles. There was something easy, natural, and relaxed about the horse’s performance. He didn’t look crazy or out-of-control. Sure he was the wrong breed…but, what the heck?

My first reaction upon meeting Poncho was, “Oh boy…he looks so Thoroughbred!” And not a particularly pretty one at that. His name—which I thought suggested a fat Mexican cook—didn’t suit the narrow, rangy animal I saw before me. I could count nearly every rib. To make his appearance worse, Poncho’s left eye had a conspicuous cloudy spot and the hair behind both ears was permanently white, evidence of prolonged pressure from…something.

“What’s up with that?” I gestured to the eye.

“A piece of grit got in his eye when he was on the track. It required a drain tube and stall rest with his head tied up for three months.”

I grimaced, from both the details of the injury and the horse’s past life. An off the track gaming Thoroughbred—what could be worse? Full body armor anyone?

We watched the owner tack up the horse and begin warm-up. When Poncho broke to a canter I heard the distinctive blowing unique to race horses begin to punctuate his every stride. He ran naturally, easily, and in the space of a few minutes I’d forgotten about his bony topline and that fat Mexican. It was obvious what he was and what he’d been created to do.

After Haley rode him I asked the owner for more details about his past at the races. She did not know his race history, name, or real age so we looked for a lip tattoo. Sure enough, several numbers found behind the upper lip promised to reveal the horse’s true identity. Curious, I took it down and gave it to a friend with connections to the Jockey Club.

“His name is Tropic Star,” she told me a few days later. “He’s 7 years old. You can watch his races online.”

Haley and I had great fun watching a star athlete win a race early in his career, prior to the injury that eventually dumped him onto Craigslist. He came from the back of the pack on that particular day and won by several lengths.

Later I got to thinking about names and, more importantly, identity. The times I’ve acted the worst and/or treated others badly can all be traced to issues with identity. Too often I’ve believed a lie or thoughtlessly attached labels rather than searching for the truth: Child of God; Greatly Loved; Possessing Unlimited Ability. A King’s Kid.

Embracing our true identity is a beautiful thing.

ON WRITING, RIDING, AND JENNIFER BEALS

2011-08-22T15:49:00.000-07:00

I’ll never forget my first published article, an essay for the now out of circulation Victoria Magazine. It was called Of Horses and Dreams and I received a check for a whopping $100 bucks. It might as well have been a million bucks for the way it made me feel. The piece represented so much—the combination of two passions, the resurrection of a once dead dream of being a *real* writer, and, less romantic, hours of rewriting and numerous rejection letters. Almost ten years later, I’m an editor working with writers and it feels surreal. Along a journey of numerous publications in regional and national magazines, newspapers, and books, there have been many setbacks and a lot of disappointment. I’ve learned some things along the way about the publishing world and am indebted to those--including a few editors--who a became valuable mentors and helped me build writing “muscle.” I’ve only been editor of the Northwest Horse Source for a couple of months, but I’m enjoying being on the “other side” because I know how it feels to want to write so badly and put yourself on the line. Repeatedly. I hope to be an encouragement to aspiring writers in this new venture.

A not-so-fun part of this gig is working with entitled wannabes. Recently I received a note from someone who felt unfairly treated because we did not jump at the chance to use their material. It is for this person--and aspiring wordsmiths everywhere--that I dedicate this post with the sincere hope that genuine writers (and you don't have to be published to be one) will never give up. What do writing, riding, and Jennifer Beals have in common? More than you think.

Know that writing isn’t for wimps, whiners, or the thin-skinned. “Freelance writers” are a dime a dozen and the publishing world owes you nothing. Writing is like any other creative discipline, it takes a lot of practice and a teachable spirit to become good. Not unlike working with horses, actually. Putting a horse in your pasture doesn’t make you a horseman any more than the knowledge of how to write a sentence makes you a writer. Working on your high school paper or producing a nice essay in college doesn’t mean an editor should drop everything to read your work. It takes years of dedication and a good dose of humility to become a true artist—of anything.

One of my favorite movies in the 1980’s was Flashdance. I must have been about 13 when the film came out and watched it several times, each time becoming more and more convinced I should become a dancer. After all, I’d squared danced in elementary school. And if Jennifer Beals could do it, why not me? So enamored was I of the story that I took some community college dance classes around age 16. I quickly learned a couple things: I am a white girl of no rhythm and little coordination (except on horseback) and…it was darn hard! I think I made it through half the class before dropping out. I had leggings and a sweatshirt top that hung off my shoulder, but a dancer I was not. More than that, I simply didn’t have the desire it would take to learn the things that looked so easy in the movie.

I felt strangely happy to learn that many of the shots of Jennifer Beals dancing were actually a double. A real dancer. She didn’t get a lot of fame, but she was the real deal and possessed a dancer’s body honed by hours on the floor and years of sacrifice. I could square dance (badly), but that was a world away from the abilities of the girl in the movie (and that includes Miss Jennifer!).

Many things in life that take serious commitment can look easy, such as riding a horse. To become a proficient horseman you must begin with the fundamental ingredients of desire, passion, persistence, and the willingness to learn. Mix in a little raw talent and a good attitude and, one day, you may discover you have grown into an equestrian artist who makes it look easy. Writing is the same way. If your first attempt(s) at getting published is rejected accept it graciously and practice being professional. You’ll need those skills if you want to be taken seriously in the future. In the publishing world hate mail and an attitude of entitlement never greased the hinges on the doors of opportunity.

That’s all for now. I’m off to buy a new pair of leggings…

RORSCHACH AND RIVER

2011-08-15T06:45:00.000-07:00

Meet Eli's youngest son, River. Recently I visited this sweet, sweet colt and couldn't resist posting his head shot. Ink blot test anyone? Just for fun, here is some background behind this test, officially known as the Rorschach Test after Swiss psychologist Hermann Rorschach.

The test was developed to examine a person's personality characteristics and emotional functioning. In the 1960s it was the most widely used personality test and sometimes used in forensic assessment. Test subjects are asked to respond to ten cards of ink blot patterns--what they think the shape/pattern looks like and what makes it look that way. Unique responses are most often found in creative/artistic types and in people with larger amygdalas. The amygdala is part of the limbic region of the brain and processes feelings. It is especially good at recalling memories with a strong emotional context.

The Rorschach test is believed by some to reveal underlying motive and even thought disorders. Hmmm...as I look at River a specific disorder and motivation is clear: I am hopelessly crazy for horses and must have one in my backyard!

Happy Monday.

MEET AUTHOR SUSAN KETCHEN

2011-08-08T06:41:00.000-07:00

Usually it makes me feel better to wear my riding clothes. But today nothing helps, even when I buckle on my riding helmet and hop on my bike. Somehow I know I'm doomed. ~ Susan Ketchen, Made That Way

In this family fiction sequel to Born That Way, Susan Ketchen reunites readers with the intrepid young Sylvia, who is challenged by a genetic disorder, wild about horses, and determined to find solutions to the obstacles presented by her life in general. Sylvia wants to be a real horsewoman and she’s excited about getting her own horse, even if the horse is arriving at a less-than-perfect time. Brooklyn is, well, not quite a regular horse. He has big ears, makes strange sounds, and he’s already bitten the transport driver.

Recently I had the pleasure of reading this book by Canadian author Susan Ketchen. The story has many unique elements that make it not your average "Girl and Pony Story." I thought it would be fun to interview Susan about the genesis of the book and her own experience as a horsewoman and writer.

1. The main character in this series, Sylvia, lives with a genetic condition called Turner Syndrome. Tell us what this is and how it became an element in the story.

Girls born with Turner Syndrome are missing an X chromosome. This can result in a number of symptoms, varying from individual to individual, but most people with the condition are short in height and infertile. Treatment with human growth hormone can help girls attain a more normal height, and estrogen replacement therapy can trigger the development of female sexual characteristics.

I did not set out to write a novel about a character with Turner Syndrome. But as I was writing about Sylvia, I noticed that the other characters always referred to her as a small person, and tended to treat her younger than her years. I did some research about possible medical conditions that might account for her short stature, and discovered Turner Syndrome. The developmental and sexual difficulties presented by the syndrome were interesting to me as a writer as they seemed to open a number of doors for discussion and exploration.

2. You are trained as a counselor and spent time working with teens, have you always wanted to write to this audience?

Oddly enough, I don’t think of myself as a writer for teens. I think more that I write for people. In the Sylvia books, I reflect a lot on what it is like for young people, but many of my readers are adults who are either reminded what it was like when they were young, or see themselves as parents dealing with their teens, sometimes in ways that they want to change.

3. One of the especially brilliant elements from Made That Way is how Sylvia comes to understand her peer group (and their reaction to her "disorder") by observing equine herd dynamics. How else have you seen horses support teens, in particular?

Some girls say that their horse is their best friend. They tell their horse everything. Of course the horse doesn’t disagree or offer advice or criticize. The horse stands there and allows a person to lean on it. Adults can have the same experience: I have known women who pointed to their horse and said, “There have been many tears cried into that mane.”

Horses are large powerful animals. I wonder about how empowering it is for a young person to manage and direct another being of this stature, and how this empowerment might influence other aspects of their life as they tinker with increasing independence.

4. The story is inspiring to those struggling with a label, disability, or handicap. Have you had feedback from this sort of reader?

I have had wonderful feedback from people with Turner Syndrome and their parents. What they appreciate is that I didn’t make it a story about a disability or handicap—Sylvia is more than a Turner Syndrome girl. Still, she is different from other girls, with different questions about life. Plus there is an educational component that will help someone who doesn’t have TS to understand what it might be like for someone with TS.

5. What lessons have you personally learned on horseback?

Oh the lessons never end! And the one I will likely be struggling with right until the end is when to accept “conventional wisdom” and when to trust myself to do things differently when traditional methods feel wrong for me and my horse.

I think one of the most important things I have learned is to keep an eye on the emotional source of some of my reactions. Training should not be influenced by anger or fear or frustration. If any of these emotions are present, it’s better to get off the horse and start again tomorrow. Training should be clear, calm and logical; if it’s not, the lessons are confusing for the horse. I think this carries over into the rest of life too, when we’re dealing with each other. It’s easy to be overwhelmed by our own emotions, or the emotions of others, and not see what the real issues are.

6. What were your favorite books as a youth?

I read non-stop. In my teens I went through a long period of reading a lot of science fiction. Arthur C. Clarke’s Childhood’s End was one of the first adult books I read. Alas, Babylon by Pat Frank still haunts me. And John Wyndham’s books.

7. It seems you are living a longtime dream to write and ride, with horses in your backyard. Any advice to others nurturing a passion or creative dream?

I think I’ve been very lucky, so I don’t know how much advice I have to offer. People are fortunate if they have a passion, but it can have a narrowing effect on your life. And not all dreams are attainable, no matter how much positive thinking you do. Sometimes you have to let go. I let go of my early dreams for a while, and pursued other goals, and learned things that I never would have learned if I had focused solely on being a writer who rode. As a result, I have more to draw on when I write, and my life has been richer.

8. Tell us a little about your own horses and your interest in training. I understand some of them can play the piano?

Oh boy I could go on for pages about my horses and my interest in training.

I have two horses out in my field right now. Lollipop is an Arab/Welsh/Human cross. She is the official “companion pony” because she’s not sound. But any time a new horse arrives on the property, she is invaluable to me in helping the new one settle in because she’s very engaged with me. She’s the smartest horse I’ve ever known. I use a variation of clicker training with her, so she knows flash cards and the names of her body parts, and yes, she will play a child’s piano with her nose…if we use the word “play” loosely. She hits the keys. I wouldn’t call it “music”.

This Spring I was looking for a new riding horse, and met Huck. He’s an Arabian gelding. I wasn’t looking for an Arabian gelding, and certainly not a chestnut. So I think he picked me. He comes from a show background, which is not what we do here, and he is very smart, so is learning about his new lifestyle. I ride with a dressage saddle, and am interested in improving my riding and improving the horse’s way of going, but I’m not so interested in competing. I’d like to explore horse intelligence some more with Huck, and see how our relationship develops.

I’m interested in animal training generally, and in how to train positively, avoiding punishment if at all possible. I want the horse to feel motivated, not coerced. Both my horses have a strong desire to please. I don’t want to do anything to diminish that, which means I have to question some traditional methods. On the other hand, horses are big powerful animals and they can be dangerous without meaning to, so some limits have to be put on their behavior.

Thanks Susan! What an interesting person you are.

Made That Way is available for $12.95 from Amazon or local booksellers.

Susan Ketchen was born in Nanaimo, B.C. and had a successful Family counseling practice for many years. She now resides on a small Vancouver Island hobby farm with her husband, two horses, two cats and a flock of chickens. Grows That Way, the third book in this series will be published in fall 2011. Visit Susan at: www.susanketchen.ca

INSIGHT FROM BUCK

2011-08-01T10:57:00.000-07:00

Is it a sign of age to love documentaries? I'm a serious fan of them and often prefer the "extras" found on DVDs over the movie itself. I have an endless curiosity when it comes to peoples lives: What makes them tick? How did they come to be where they are in life, for good or for bad? A fave author is Jon Krakauer; he's a man after my own heart when it comes to this sort of curiosity. A tragic expedition on Mt. Everest? I'm into sussing out how and why it went wrong. A young man compelled to wander into the wilds of Alaska and subsist on wild game and berries? I'm diggin' that story.

I was in heaven when the documentary Buck was released. A film about a great cowboy and horse trainer (with a tragic personal story)? What could be better? Bring on the popcorn. Only something that good could keep me out of my saddle on a sunny July day and inside a dark theatre. I was not disappointed.

There was much to love about this film. It chronicles the life of an extraordinary child performer and gifted horseman who inspired a best selling novel and film of the same name. Buck has spent his life "helping horses with people problems." While it was all good, there was an especially beautiful nugget of wisdom that I mentally polished long after the show was over; a truth about horses, people, and why some are successful while others are not.

Buck could have very easily become a statistic. Born to a violent alcoholic who beat him and his brother mercilessly, Buck was finally put into foster care when his mother died and a teacher discovered the abuse. He was shy to the point of an inability to connect or speak at all and trembled in fear the first time he met his foster father, a large, masculine man who possessed a physical strength Buck had learned to fear. Instead of feeling sorry for the young boy, ignoring him, or allowing him a life of ease and pity, the foster father immediately threw him a pair of brand new calf-skin gloves and invited him to come build fence. They spent that first day together working; Buck so proud of his new gloves he couldn't bear to wear them and get them dirty. Being respected with the responsibility of a job and treated fairly without spoiling, helped a boy in danger of falling through the cracks become a success.

About halfway through the film a similarly tragic story is introduced: a young stallion whose mother died while giving birth. The foal is bottle fed and allowed to live with his owner in her home. Coddled, loved, and felt sorry for (he was oxygen deprived at birth and there was the probability of brain damage), the foal is never taught respect or given a job. When he arrives at Buck's clinic, in all his masculine glory, the stallion is so dangerous even Buck will not handle him and instead ropes a hind foot from horseback. Though the stallion is able to be worked, to a degree, he eventually attacks his handler during the clinic and seriously injures him. Buck wisely says to the owner, "This horse tells me an awful lot about you." He continues on to say that the failure in the life of the stallion was not his mother dying, or his oxygen deprivation. The horse didn't have to be a victim and could have grown up to be of use. Instead, he was failed by the humans in his life. Sobering.

I know alot of people, and horses, that could use a pair of calf-skin gloves.

INSIDE OUT

2011-07-09T06:10:00.000-07:00

I once watched a documentary on Thoroughbred breeding. As in other breeds, very few stallions actually make a difference. Just because an individual horse is superior is no guarantee he will be able to pass on his type. Secretariat is a notable example of this. Though an outstanding athlete the horse was weak in the breeding shed and failed to duplicate his best attributes, unlike other sires such as Bold Ruler and Northern Dancer. A veterinarian on the show said only two out of every hundred stallions is truly prepotent, consistently able to pass on their type. This is rather sobering. It means many stallions should be gelded and the genetic typing left to the animals that can actually make a difference in any particular breed.

When I decided to breed Eli last year I had this documentary in mind. He has some wonderful qualities, but I knew he wouldn't necessarily pass them on. I hoped to see his long sloping shoulder and outstanding feet and legs. Besides the physical traits, I also wanted to see something more subtle reproduced in the foals. His eye. I know that sounds weird but the eye truly is the window to the soul and mystical as it sounds I trust the look in a horse's eye. It conveys something very important about the mind--will the horse be teachable, kind, and honest? Not all horses are and, like people, potential lies within. The most beautiful horse on the outside is useless without a sound and trainable mind. What's inside will reveal itself in performance.

Any breeder knows the mare is more important than the stallion--yay for Girl Power! Breeding a mediocre, crazy mare to the nicest stud you can find will produce, roughly, 60% crazy in your foal. Eli's mares were all quite different so it was impossible to say what traits he might pass on. After a year of waiting and hoping for the best I went to see his first colts with modest expectations. It took only a few minutes of time with each one to discover what I'd hoped to find--a good dose of daddy inside(and out!).

Father's Day passed a couple of weeks ago but the power and influence of a good daddy is still on my mind. Aren't the boys cute? Stay tuned for more photos.

TWO EARS

2011-06-15T14:40:00.001-07:00

"Your mind operates like computer screen pop-ups."So said my husband one evening before bed.

Nice.

I grimaced and said something sassy. Later I decided he was pretty spot-on. The last two months I've had a hard time concentrating on anything, for any length of time. Attention span of a gnat and all that. A boatload of responsibilities, commitments, plans and events had my mind flashing from thought to thought like those annoying computer ads that pop-up unbidden on the screen. Or, almost as bad, those flashes of top news stories and "trending now" attention-getters on the internet. The only thing trending last month was my nervous breakdown. To illustrate how random my mind became I only have to think of a night two weeks ago. I woke up at 3 a.m. with this thought: How will I cut and serve the carne asada??? I swear I spent a half hour staring into the dark and worrying about my son's upcoming graduation party and the stupid carne asada on the menu. But that has been my life: one graduating son, visiting East coast relatives, a writing workshop, wrapping up a client's book project, a new editing job, church, family, and home responsibilities. I was exhausted, but my brain was on pop-up hyper-drive.

That's why I had to go riding. Yep, right in the middle of all of it I pulled my horse out of the pasture, prayed he wouldn't be too jacked up after sitting in the field all ornamental-like, and threw the saddle on his back. I hit the trail and left a house in disorder and a party menu that needed planning. It didn't take too long for me to take a deep breath, gaze at the wonder of the Twin Sisters granite spires, and get a desperately needed reality-check. Boy, do I need to ride.

Horseback riding, for me, is the ultimate mind/body exercise. The mind slows down and begins listening--to the body, to the environment, to the quiet whispers of the spirit. I love a line in the movie The Last Samurai. When Tom Cruise is unable to wield his sword, unable to concentrate and be effective, one of the Japanese samurais remarks, Too many mind. I know all about that.

Information overload, combined with an overloaded schedule, creates a condition of "too many mind." Horse time, for me, is a time to remember to listen and stop reacting to the craziness around me--"This too shall pass" and "It ain't nothing but a thing." The perfect carne asada does not a meaningful life make.

Sometimes you get ahead faster by going slower. I seem to always find perspective by focusing my attention between two furry ears and a dirt trail beneath me, where the loudest noise is the clicking of hooves over stones, the flick of a tail, and a whiskery snort.

Happy trails, may you lose your (too many) mind on the back of a horse.

PS. The carne asada turned out great.

COWBOY UP

2011-05-20T07:45:00.000-07:00

I think the sound of horses eating is relaxing. It could be sold as soothing background music like those nature CDs of rain dripping on roof tops and waves crashing on the shore. Instead of Sea Scapes I'd call it Hay Scapes. Or maybe Grass in the Morning (see above).

So, check out Mister Spunky! Nothing could have been better than watching him wander around and graze on a sunny morning. First time of freedom from his stall prison of the last six weeks. He is doing AMAZING. Wound nearly scabbed over and bearing full weight on the injured limb (this after two weeks of three-legged hopping and worries of laminitis due to pressure on a single hind leg). Gimpy at the trot, but that didn't stop him running around the pasture when instigated. Yes, that's right. Running. After a morning to himself I had a weak moment and let him out with Eli the next day so the best buds could enjoy each others company. Big mistake. Eli thought it was a good time to play Let's Bite the Hinny and Pretend We're At the Racetrack. At which point Your's Truly sprinted outside in her stocking feet to "rescue" a gimpy Cowboy who had an identify crisis and thought he was an Arabian stallion. Sheesh!

THOUGHTS ON PASSION

2011-04-19T18:00:00.000-07:00

Not long ago I watched the movie Soul Surfer. If you were born under a rock (or live in a tiny town named after a cartoon, like me) you may not be familiar with the true story of Hawaiian teenager Bethany Hamilton. Born to surf, the passionate athlete lost her arm in a vicious shark attack off the coast of Kauai in 2002. Forget about surfing, she's lucky to be alive.

But Bethany could not simply forget about surfing. Her story is an inspiration and modern commentary on the power of passion. It is especially appropriate for what I have been going through lately in both my equestrian and spiritual life. Passion, as it turns out, makes all the difference when one is hit by the unthinkable.

Passion is a word I've been tempted to throw around at times in a sort of casual emotional sense. A person's "passions" are highly individual, but they are also defining whether it be a romance, the practice of faith, or expressed in a hobby. One may feel passionate about gardening, or mountain biking, or horses. They just *love* to do it so a certain effortlessness must be involved, right? As it turns out, the word passion--from the Latin passio--literally means "to suffer for." It's purest form isn't found in the pages of a Harlequin Romance; it was originally affiliated with the sufferings of Christ on a Roman cross 2,000 years ago.

Passion can be found in unlikely places; like in the tearful lament of an armless teen--"I just don't see how this can be God's will"--who initially gave her beloved surfboards away. Later, Hamilton returned to the ocean to re-learn the art of surfing. After suffering dramatically, the teenager went on to compete professionally and inspire thousands with courage beyond her years. It seems one cannot be truly passionate without first suffering in some way. When the going gets tough the depth of our passion is revealed and we find out who we really are.

In the last nine days the depth of my equine passion has been sorely tested by disappointment. It's tempting to give it in and take up something less demanding. Bird watching, for instance. I spent my birthday this year at an equine surgical center emptying my wallet and crying my eyes out while vets determined how my daughter's horse, Cowboy, will ever recover from a critical hock injury. I'll spare you all of the details but suffice it to say a mysterious "blunt force trauma" tore a tendon, punctured his joint cavity, and cracked a vital structure called the hock. This is anatomically equivalent to the human knee. It can take a horse's life if infection sets in, a very real fear from the beginning.

If this happened to Eli I would grieve, but ultimately be okay. I've suffered for my passion before (Can I hear an 'Amen'?) But this is the beloved friend of a child and, if the worst happens, will be her third horse in four years that has been lost to strange catastrophes. She is done competing in western games on this horse--maybe forever--after working hard for two years. It seems impossible and deeply unfair.Though I love this horse, my personal breakdown comes in seeing the disappointment of a child and knowing there isn't one thing I can do to make it make sense or go away--"I just can't see how this is God's will." My daughter is young and vulnerable and I feel her pain more keenly than my own--I just want things to work out for her; for life to magically become "fair."

Yesterday we were ready to euthanize Cowboy as he hopped on three legs and hung his head in the corner of the stall in misery. But xrays suggest a tiny bit of hope and my faith rests, regardless of outcome, in a promise that "All things work together for good for them that love the Lord." Eventually.

The disappointment in all of this--and overwhelming thought I'd have to put another horse down--has been such that one day I told a friend, "I think I'm done with horses." Murphy, you win. Inviting a horse and equestrian goals into my life and that of my daughter has also invited pain and disappointment. Like Bethany Hamilton, I thought about hanging up the surfboard.

The Easter season approaches as I think about all this, medicate a stall-bound horse with an uncertain future, and let my daughter decide where to go from here. It's a good time for us both to consider what it means to follow the heart in the various passions that define it. And on Sunday, passion will be celebrated in the picture of a cross. It epitomizes committment, courage, suffering, and reward. I'm inspired to "count the costs" and choose my passions carefully.

Happy (passionate) Easter.

A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS

2011-04-04T09:53:00.000-07:00

My favorite spring things? Little girls in Easter dresses, miniature daffodils, Reese's Peanut Butter eggs, the mossy smell of moist dirt...and a newly born foal. Here's one of Eli's first sons...isn't he handsome?

A SLEAZY STORY

2011-03-18T05:47:00.000-07:00

Yes I know this looks like a wholesome horsey scene, but it's going to get sleazy. Trust me.

Today I wanted to take a break from heavier blog fare like the previous one and have a little fun (My deepest thanks to all of you who shared your heart with me). Meet clever entrepreneur Jennifer Teigrob. When faced with a new season of life--becoming a mom--this former horse trainer found an innovative way to enjoy a passion without sacrificing her family. I found her story of creating a small, home-based business inspiring.

Describe your horse life BC and AC ("Before/After Children"), Jennifer:

Before I had children I spent ten years training and giving riding lessons. I managed my barn and worked with all disciplines of horses. I did alot of colt starting and enjoyed working with horses with fear and aggression issues. I taught horsemanship for beginning through advanced students, offered a horse camp every year, and did everything from show prep to working cows. It was a blast!

After my first daughter was born I cut back to mainly lessons and a training horse from time to time, she just went everywhere with me. However, my second daughter required Mom's full attention! I knew right away my days of working outside the home were finished. My husband and I felt strongly that I needed to be home with the kids and, thankfully, God has blessed my husband with a great job that allows me to be home.

How have you managed to stay involved with horses?

When I was younger I went through a naughty phase and in my freshman year got kicked out of Home Ec class for refusing to cook (don't tell my kids). For punishment, my teacher put me in an advanced sewing class with a bunch of seniors. I loved it! It was my favorite class in highschool. Then about three years ago I began sewing polo wraps for fun and selling them at local horse shows. Last year I added sleazies. The business is small but it has done well. It's fun to create fun custom sleazies for girls in colors they want, not just what's available at a tack store. And I can do it out of my home. I mainly sew to support my horse habit and to fill that void of I-need-something-to-do-with-my-life.

Okay, the obvious question from non-horsey folks--what the heck is a sleazy?

A sleazy is a lycra hood that fits over the horse's face and neck and attaches around the belly. They are most commonly used for horses being shown to keep them clean the night before a show and to help the mane lie flat. They can also be used as an added layer of warmth in winter, to help horses prone to sunburn, or to protect the mane if a horse rubs. Originally, I think they were called "Sleazy Sleepwear" but the name morphed to just 'sleazy.' I wish someone had come up with something else...I've been called The Sleazy Lady multiple times in one day!

What does life look like now? I take it you still have horses?

Life is busy and fun. My three-year-old knows all the names and colors of fabrics and loves to open the boxes from UPS when they arrive with new fabrics. My almost 2-year-old enjoys walking around with a pink tape measure draped around her neck. You know, I wouldn't trade it for the teaching/training routine. I do not think I will return to that in the future. I spent ten years meeting client deadlines and having horses to work. These days I've taken a real turn for natural horsemanship and am trying to return to the carefree joy of riding and being with horses; not always have an agenda. Currently I have a colorful Appaloosa gelding named Rascal who really lives up to his name. He is fabulous and needs lots of play or he'd be bored to death. Too much arena work and I'm sure he would find very inventive ways to amuse himself--at my expense! I hope to do some competitive trail riding with him in the future. I also have Gina, my retired Anglo-Arabian mare; she is 22. Lastly we have Cookie, a black and white pinto mini my daughters enjoy riding and driving.

What's on the horizon for your business, Sewcial Butterfly Designs?

I have been invited to be a vendor at a huge show in Nampa, Idaho in June. Last year there were over 1,400 entries! So, I have been making inventory for that and I think this will jump start the business. It's exciting but a little scary. I'm really thankful for my very supportive husband who has been helping me plan and is coming with me to be Cash Register Guy. Hopefully I'll be busy taking measurements for custom orders and helping people pick out fabrics. Besides the sleazies and polo wraps I have added more items: tail/mane bags, helmet covers, grooming aprons, English pads, quarter sheets, and shoulder guards. And I love making costumes and custom orders!

Thanks Jennifer! We wish you lots of luck in the future as you combine the things that you love. Visit Jennifer on the web and ensure your horse is fashionable at the next show (see below).

WAITIN' ON A HAPPY ENDING

2011-02-08T13:33:00.000-08:00

I'm a fan of happy endings, no denying it. I love reading and writing happy endings. Not Cinderella happy endings or shallow ones tied up too pretty with a big red bow. No. I enjoy a good struggle, some loss and heartache, tears and Dark Nights of the Soul. In other words, my favorite happy ending literature includes the edginess of life. But, in the end...a happy one. The main character has learned, grown, changed and found a silver lining hiding in a mess of grey clouds (Yes I live in the Pacific Northwest--can you tell?) I love writing and experiencing those kinds of happy endings. That's why its especially hard to write this post.

I had a happy ending clearly in mind when I brought Chance home one cold December day three years ago. He was not the first mess-of-a-horse that has shared my life. I must have been about 9 or 10 when I met a coal black pony colt starved nearly to death. I had accompanied my grandfather to pick up a load of wood in our old Chevy truck and spied the colt lying in a paddock. The owner appeared more concerned about making a few bucks than the condition of his horse. I begged my grandpa to help (I'm sure tears were involved) and my parents got more than a truck load of wood that day. We made "Star" at home in an old chicken coop and began the long and expensive road to rehabilitation. After veterinary care, a good dousing for lice, and plenty of feed the colt recovered completely. Strong and handsome he was eventually sold to a Shetland Pony farm and trained to the cart. That early experience with taking something cast off and turning it into a happy ending must have imbedded itself firmly in my psyche. God loves to reuse and recycle; He loves happy endings, right?

I've owned, adopted, fixed up and passed on numerous animals of every size and shape. Always there is the feeling of well being in being part of nurturing life and the reinforcing of an idea that effort, patience, and dedication are the keys to securing a happy ending. Effort equals reward. I've resold horses that ended up in my life and recieved the double pay out of a few bucks and a satisfying feeling.

From the start things were a bit different with Chance. I'll never forget seeing him for the first time that raw winter day, his skin draped over bony haunches, eyes staring off into the distance as if he'd long since dissociated himself from the pain of the present. He didn't look like a good investment and I knew it. Still, I felt drawn to him and that happy ending. While decidedly mediocre in conformation and athletic ability (less than mediocre) he was a good age and lovely color. Once a handy vet trimmed off the stallion ornamentation and he recieved lessons in polite behavior I saw potential. Lots of effort, no doubt, but potential. I felt pretty sure another happy ending was in the future.

Chance must have been born under a rain cloud. He had a hard time mastering physical basics--like loping--and mentally remained a bit off. Fear was his best friend and even other horses--his own kind--rejected him. While he improved100% over three years time, it wasn't enough to make him trustworthy or "normal." He often dissociated both on the ground and under saddle and could go from broke and trained to wing-nut in three seconds flat. But, he tried. Just wasn't happening. I've known people like that.

When my neighbor saw him fall and have what appeared to be a seizure, I forbade my daughter to ride him. Increasingly I felt uncomfortable riding him and had the strange feeling the horse was becoming less broke every day. When we saw him have a seizure while standing in his stall it all started to make sense. He was off and there wasn't alot to be done about it. From a veterinary stand point neurological problems are hard to diagnose. I sent his DNA away to rule out a particular disease and discussed the options but I had a sinking feeling my experience with Lady would be repeated. Why me? And why not a happy ending? I'd spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars and hours on this animal. My daughter and I loved him, in all his weirdness, and he seemed to deserve a happy ending. His entire life, up to the point I'd gotten him, had been about fear and rejection and neglect. It was hard to make peace with what I knew we'd have to do.

Putting Chance down was sort of the culmination of a season of comtemplating death. It began in October when I had the honor of writing a post script about the life of an amazing woman who died at the young age of 40 from a brain tumor. She had horses, a husband, and a four year old son. In the way God does, something beautiful was birthed in the life of a young woman who'd recieved both Mary's unselfish love and inherited her two horses a few years after her untimely death. My job was to catch that silver lining and share it. As happy as I was to do it, the story haunted me. Why, God? I felt myself asking the question over and over and getting no real response. The love Mary invested lived on, but it seemed unfair.

After writing Mary's story I lost my dog Chase to carcinoma. The dog that greeted me every day with a gift of some sort (stick, flower, token stolen from the cemetary next door) and helped raise my two children. He was a friend who knew how to love, no strings attached. No, a pet is not the same as a human being, but their loss hurts just the same.

After saying goodbye to Chance and allowing the tears to dry and my heart to breath a little I've come to some conclusions about happy endings. Maybe this isn't the place to focus on them. Life hurts and we're all going to say goodbye over, and over, and over again. If I didn't place my hope in a grander eternity the weight of it would be too much. I'm realizing these days how stingy I am with my love. Yeah I like to help out, but that's mostly if its going to feel good later on; include an ending that justifies effort expended and costs incurred (also called conditional love) . I think of all the Chances--human and animal--that languish in all sorts of places because they aren't a worthwhile investment. They have nothing to offer but brokenness.

The scriptures say over and over that love is the only thing we get to take with us some day. Love is valued above and beyond all; love conquers death and fear and hopelessness.

I love both the above pictures. One is the first time I saw Chance actually respond and find resonance with a human being. Probably no coincidence that human being was my daughter. Children don't hoard love and parcel it out for deserving causes in the way adults do. The second is a drawing by a thoughtful boy. It reads, "Chance," and then under it, "Forever."

Guess I'm going to wait on that happy ending. In the meantime...Love.

Forever.

I FEEL YOUR @%&#!

2011-01-22T07:28:00.000-08:00

Is it just me or do normally sweet horses morph into a cranky Mr. Hyde alter ego in winter? I feel their pain, really I do; nothing can dampen spirits like the Pacific NW in January--dark, cold, and wet, wet, wet. Thinking a Costco "happy light" is in order--for me and my boys in the barn! I notice the horses look more forward to feeding time in winter and even just taking them out of the paddock/barn and giving them a good grooming can lighten the Mr. Hyde mood that takes over on days of unrelenting rain.

Soon I will be able to talk more openly about my current book project (the one stealing most of my creative energies these days). I can't wait until the first drafts are finished and publication is around the corner. For now, I'll be content with sharing some general thoughts and look forward to any feedback.

One of the topics the work explores is the shared emotions of horses and humans. This begs the question, Do horses have emotions? I say there is no doubt, but for those that aren't sure check out the work of Temple Grandin and neuroscientist Jaak Panskeep. It's been pretty well proven that the basic emotions of humans--including fear and anger--are shared by all mammals. How do we know? By stimulating specific emotion circuits deep in the limbic region of the brain predictible behavior is the result--ie: Rage circuit makes a dog snarl and the human feel angry, etc.

With that in mind, I've been watching my very emotional (yet introverted) stallion more closely and trying to listen, not just react, to what he tells me with his behavior. Of course I have a story for you:

A few days ago I returned from a day long gaming show with my daughter (it took hours for my butt to defrost--wintertime arenas contain a brand of "cold" found nowhere else on earth). Poor Cowboy--sporting a five inch winter coat and case of the winter flabbies--had worked hard. I thought it appropriate to reward him later with an apple. Since he and Eli share a paddock/stall I figured I'd share the apple between them. When Eli saw me enter the barn and approach the stall, he immediately turned tail and walked off. I felt snubbed. Gee, I haven't seen you all day and you give me attitude?? Well, fine. I fed the entire apple to nice Dr. Jekyll and ignored Mr. Hyde who had returned and hung at the back of the stall watching. And grumbling. He did not approach and I did not look at him--Take that. I have other horses that enjoy my attention. When I began cleaning stalls it became apparent Eli was angry with me. Really angry. He seemed to want to come into my space but I was less than enthusiastic about sharing it with an amped up stallion that wanted to give me a piece of his mind. At one point he walked in to the stall, backed up to the wall, and shook his head at me with ears pinned. Not okay. I made an ugly sound, raised my hand and said, "Well get out of here then." We were a good ten feet apart but just the sight of my raised hand made Eli rush out of the stall like I'd beaten him with a whip. Now he was pissed and offended. It took maybe 15 mintutes for him to come near me again. Eventually he walked back in the stall and stood, his head down, ears struggling at half mast, about six feet away as I worked. Negative energy radiated from his body yet he seemed to want to have a conversation. As long as I didn't touch him (or stare at him!) he wanted to share space. Curious. A couple of years ago I would have dealt severely with an angry horse. Not by physical punishment but by making him work until I saw a level of submission. I was still ready to do this, should I see any aggressiveness, but this horse has never threatened me and the behavior was atypical so I decided to try to decipher what his emotion was telling me. I left the barn confused and curious. I'd managed to soothe his anger a little by singing to him (he enjoys this) but he remained aloof and tolerated the nightly blanketing only because he had to.

The next day I approached when I saw him watching me from the pasture. I waited for him by the fence line. "Dr. Jekyll" walked over all sweet and affectionate. I rubbed his neck, then produced another apple from my pocket--oh joy!

A friend shared some thoughts with me later. She suggested I pay closer attention to the environment before engaging with him and be sure I wasn't obtuse to any horsey "social culture" going on. Horses aren't people but they do have an animal culture and seem to appreciate when we respect boundaries and show some sensitivity. Of course, stallions have unique social issues to consider and I have more to learn here. And the issue of respect of boundaries is huge--especially for a stud. It is never okay for a horse to threaten or hurt me--bite, push, kick, etc. This is a very firm boundary for which there are swift consequences. That said, I find I jump too quickly to assumption--That horse is trying to dominate me; doesn't like me; is just being a "jerk." I find those scenarios are much more rare than I imagine. The horse is, after all, just a horse. He has his own life, agenda, needs, and emotions. Listening for the message behind the behavior should be the first step I think. What do you think?

I'm not sure what was going on that dark, wet afternoon. A few things I considered later: It was a day for Mr. Hyde to show itself in bored, underworked horses; I'd immediately assumed Eli was snubbing me by leaving(human beings, especially women I think, project emotion onto their horses that often doesn't exist) and decided to snub him back; I fed a subordinate horse a special treat. The last thing is rather huge to a stallion who places more value on things like who eats first and who moves who. Usually I always feed him first, honoring the pecking order that exists with two other geldings. I didn't know he was angry--and perhaps he wasn't--until after the apple feeding. He could have left for any number of reasons when I walked in the barn.

I don't like to anthropomorphize, but its interesting to "decode" horse behavior. It seems too often we don't want them to be too expressive becauses we worry about control. Safety is important, no doubt. In no way should pushy, aggresive behavior at feed time--or any time--be tolerated. Not saying that at all. But just what was Eli saying? Hopefully I'll listen more closely next time. And I may decide to buy that happy light.

MAKING CONTACT

2010-12-04T08:08:00.000-08:00

The title of this posting is sorely appropriate seeing as I haven’t been visiting the blog as much as I’d like. Holidays, horses, and a highly active family keep me hopping these days. Not to mention a humongous writing project (knew I could fit another ‘h’ in there somewhere). With Thanksgiving just behind us let me say I am thankful for readers who still return here from time to time regardless of my consistent inconsistency.

I’d planned another vehicle encounter for this post. It would be appropriate seeing as…I GOT A NEW TRUCK. But, alas, horses under the hood are not as inspiring as the one under my saddle (see above beauty) so photos of the snazzy, white, diesel powered truck I now have will have to wait till next time. Something else is on my mind.

More than one sport has been called a “metaphor for life.” From running, to rock climbing, athletic pursuits are often said to mirror the journey of life. My favorite is golf. I’m sure there’s a meaningful message in the wearing of pastel colors while driving a cute white vehicle around 18 holes scattered on unnaturally green looking grass. Hmmm…it’ll come to me, I’m sure.

I cannot find an immediately recognized metaphor for life in the equestrian sports. However, life with horses does mirror a person’s style and health (or not) within relationships. Horses reveal us to ourselves; they are a revelation if we allow it. Angry/controlling/inflexible/a push over/highstrung/restless/relaxed/available/emotional/unstable/unresponsive? There’s an excellent chance your horse is, too. An English proverb states: Show me your horse and I will tell you who you are. My horse is at the mercy of my personal awareness and it’s up to me to straighten things out.

For the last month Eli has been at a dressage trainer’s barn. He’d gone as far as I could take him in his training and we were in need of some deeper insight to continue developing both athletic ability and our relationship under saddle. My objective? Helping him progress along the training pyramid with specific goals of strengthening his self carriage and balance. He is so flexible sitting him could be compared to riding a large fettucine noodle. Wiggle this way, wiggle that. A giant stride, weak rear end, and plenty of forward go make for an interesting time some days. We’d come a long way in his first two years under saddle, but I wanted to graduate from elementary school.

Dressage frequently gets a bad rap from backyard owners like myself who make the mistake of dismissing the discipline as something pursued by stuffy elitists who enjoy showing off. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Dressage is worthwhile and challenging for many reasons. It demands focus, attention to detail, and sensitive feel. It demands an understanding of the equine body and mind as the athlete they are created to be.

I was not thinking too much about my own focus and attention or habitual “sins under saddle” when I dropped Eli off. Rather, I was excited someone with a lot of knowledge would shape him up, straighten him out (literally), and show him the ropes. I couldn’t wait to get on and ride a horse with “education.” It would be so much easier.

Not.

Today was case in point. Let me just say Eli is looking beautiful. As I saddled him just prior to our lesson I admired the muscle building along his back and wither. Lifting the back and relaxing the neck while driving under in rhythm builds a very pretty equine shape. Our current challenge? Encouraging a state called “contact.” This is frequently a misunderstood term. It is not forcing an artificial head “set” or pulling the horse’s head down with a jerk of the wrist. Like all good communication it involves seeking, sensing, and trust. Rigidity and sloppy riding destroys the horse’s faith in the human at the end of the rein.

Straightness helps contact by enabling the horse to drive under and stay “between the reins.” No bulging inside or out. This has been a problem for Eli and I. We bulge. I felt sure this was his problem. I mean, he’s a big strong stallion. He needs to just use his body better. Then I, the weaker human, will be able to sit on him and look lovely. We’ll have this contact thing down and can start doing cool stuff like flying lead changes and passage.

Apparently we need to fix our bulging problem. This was the scenario today as I trotted down the wall:

Trainer, also known as Yoda (though she is much cuter): “He’s bulging right because you’re crooked. Bring your right shoulder back, squeeze your right knee, and loosen the left rein.”

We are going left so this feels awkward, but I do as I’m told.

Yoda: “You’re still crooked. Look at the wall to your right; pretend you’re a rodeo queen waving at the audience.”

It seems necessary to look where I’m going, but I’ve always wanted to be a rodeo queen.

Yoda: “More. But keep your weight in the left stirrup.”

At this point I’m thinking rubbing my tummy and patting my head would be easier then what she is asking. I have become a tragic victim of scoliosis, my spine freakishly twisted. I stare at the arena wall as we trot along, certain we will crash into it at any moment.

Yoda: “There! You’re straight now.”

Me: “What? This does not feel natural!”

Yoda: “I know. You’ve been sitting on your horse at an angle. When he follows you right, you pull him left. He does what you do. Notice how he’s traveling now.”

Over the course of a few (hard) minutes of correcting my body position a miracle has happened. Eli is rhythmically trotting, his neck long, lovely, and relaxed. He feels round and supple. A moment later he reaches longer into the bit looking similar to the photo above.

Yoda: “He’s seeking the contact. Follow him with your hands and receive it.”

There is only one way to describe the feeling at that moment: Trust. No forcing or pulling just rhythm and relaxation. As dorky as it may sound, I felt rather emotional.

Later I became aware that my crookedness isn’t just in the saddle. I slouch right when I stand, when I drive, when I lean on my kitchen counter. I’m darn crooked! Was Eli crooked on his own or did I create it by my position? What came first, the chicken or the egg? Doesn’t matter. The point is I need to straighten out to improve our communication, even if it doesn’t feel natural. Crooked position causes crooked responses, but a changed perspective invites contact.

Is that like a metaphor smorgasbord or what?!