It's Only an Ocean When There Isn't a Bridge

Or, How I Mythologized the Canter.

I'll be taking Saxony to my trainer in two weeks. We'll be there for four to six weeks. It's a first for me and I think it'll be a first for her too.

In my first horse life, after I graduated from wild summer-long bareback rides on a borrowed horse but found I hadn't left my love of horses behind, the options I saw were riding lessons or showing; I mean those were the milieus around me. People who wanted to learn to ride had riding instructors, and people who wanted to show had trainers. I would never show, didn't even have a horse, so I had a riding instructor. There was no middle ground; at least, I didn't know about any. I had some riding lessons and eventually I had a horse. She cost money, so I quit the lessons to pay her board. Several happy years passed during which I acquired two more horses. I became a better rider through miles and hours, but I didn't learn anything more about how to ride properly or well. Nothing, in fact.

When I came back to horses after 2o years off, I remembered the familiarity of them, the habitual nature of wanting them, the whole love of being able to touch them. I remembered all those things and it made it so easy to come back. What I overlooked was that I had never learned how to ride from beginning to end, through all three gaits, not to mention any of the other myriad nuances.

I returned to horses in the unexpected company of a fast, sturdy, opinionated mare who I eventually learned to be frightened of. I felt that I did not know how to ride her the way, perhaps, that she should be ridden. I didn't know what way that was, exactly, just that whatever it was, I didn't know it.  So I took riding lessons, the option I remembered from all those years ago. I hired someone to instruct me and "train" my mare. Fits and starts, fits and starts. There was never unity, never a unified course. I never "finished" those riding lessons and she never "finished" her training. (Understanding neither of those endeavors is ever finished, but I mean the basics roughed in.)

That's history and now is now. Before my lesson with B began today, I mentioned cantering. I was thinking that Saxony would be arriving at the barn in two weeks and those things felt connected, to me. "I'm not going to say never," B said to me, "but not until your sitting trot is there. You can't canter without it." I felt chastened and elated at the same time. Chastened like an eight-year-old, Oh, I'm not that good? Elated like an adult suddenly understanding something key, Oh, I can't canter without it? I get it. B went on to say that the canter is simpler to sit once a rider has command of the sitting trot.

It feels lame to write this, because I've had so much experience with horses, done real time with them in my own relative way. But no, I didn't continue with my lessons back then, so I never made it to the sitting trot. All these years intervening and then to come back seated on a high-spirited, spooky mare and find myself wondering what comes between the trot and the canter? Hmm. I just couldn't get Scout into a canter without both of us wigging out. There was a void there, so I filled it with fear, simple as that, and began to broadcast it, too. The canter became huge in my mind, mythic.

It didn't help at all that I had a riding instructor that used to call it "the C word." Literally. She'd say something like, "Just another couple of lessons and we'll start work on 'the C word'." Oceanlike, my fear of the canter grew, spreading as a sea of impossibility in front of me. It also became, in the negative space around it, the zenith, the height of my ambition: Cannot be a rider without it.

My thighs are just burning as I write this, sore from so much rising trot, sitting trot, rising trot, sitting. I get it. Someone has told me. I am being taught the sitting trot. It is hard, hard work, and I would go back there in an hour if I could.

Cosequin ASU - Our 90-Day Trial Begins

Because Saxony tends to be mouthy in the bit, fretting over and chewing my gentle French-link snaffle, I decided to have Dr. B come and check out her teeth a few weeks ago. Since another vet had done the pre-purchase exam, this was the first meeting between Saxony and Dr. B, who will be her regular vet. We ended up doing a full physical so Dr. B could assess her and create her file. I learned two important things. 

Turns out my nine-year-old mare still has her wolf teeth, which may have some bearing on the mouthiness. She's never resistant to the bit, but never quiet and comfortable with it either. She had been ridden in a fat, rubberized or plastic-covered loose-ring training snaffle before I got her, and the adjustment away from that to my Eggbutt French Link may simply be hard for her. Because she didn't need to have her teeth floated, we elected to wait until February, when she will be due for a float, to extract the wolf teeth under one sedation.

Before I bought Saxony, friends pointed out what they saw as a hitch in her right hind leg. I couldn't see it. I am not skilled at spotting subtle anomalies in the movement of a horse. I can see profound lameness, limping and some signs  of stiffness, but I couldn't see any of these in Saxony. Riding her, I felt nothing except the stiffness inherent in horses who are not regularly being suppled and flexed. The vet who did the pre-purchase exam noted something in her right rear pastern, but was reluctant to rate it even a 1 on the lameness scale, offering instead a point five, if there were such a thing.

In the few months I've had Saxony, I've done very little cantering with her. We cantered during the two rides I had on her before I bought her, and I still shiver at the delight and easiness I felt to be riding her, the joy of feeling unafraid. I've realized since then, though, that Saxony doesn't pick up the left lead. Because she needs a lot of suppling and gymnastic strength-building work to learn to carry herself through her body, our canter work will have to wait for some time, but I did want to know whether there could be a physical reason for her refusal to pick up the left lead. "Refusal" may not even be the right word; it's as if she doesn't know there is such a thing as a left lead.

I moved her out on the longe line for Dr. B. After big circles in both directions and Saxony offering a perfect demonstration of cantering on the wrong lead, Dr. B put her through a soundness exam. She found arthritis in both her right and left hinds, with emphasis on the right. I admit I wilted for a second, felt a sharp pulse of disappointment gulp up in me. Dr. B said, "You'll never do a third-level dressage test with her."

That's okay with me. For this horse's mind, her heart of gold, I will trade a lot. I'm not a dressage rider, not to say as much, anyhow. I just value the principles of classical dressage, realizing how they help horse and rider come together in work and then journey forward as a team safely, kindly, and in balance.

Dr. B gave me a container of powdered Bute, suggesting pain management might help Saxony find the left lead. I'll wait on that until spring. She strongly recommended putting Saxony on Cosequin ASU, which she uses on her own horse. I'm doing it via Smartpak, and we started the loading dose today. 

As someone who was born emotionally and intellectually resistant to hooey in whatever form, be it religion, fad diets, new-age gurus, age-defying moisturizers, swimming with dolphins or any of the million other ways humans find to kid themselves, I've embarked on the Cosequin experiment with great interest. If it doesn't work, has no impact, I'll say so. If, on the other hand, it helps my stiff mare, I'll say that too, and then see if Smartpak will make up a dose regimen for me.

The Best Defense is A Good Offense

"That's fine, but keep moving forward," I told my boy. I think he's been in my care for three weeks tonight. I want him to leave the joust ring behind. I need to separate him from his past so I can see what he brought out of it and what he took in to it. We've been working on the lunge line. Walk, trot, halt. Stay out on the line; don't swoop in toward me, it's okay to just stand out there. Last Thursday night he reared, ears pinned in the resistance of forward. "Uh-huh. Move on," I said. Ears pinned, he obeyed. I watched the stiffness of his top line: his spine rises and straightens. Before long, he bucked. "Yeah, I get it," I said. "Tuh-rot!" And he did. His body language says no, but he obeys. I wondered then whether he was in pain. On Friday morning he colicked, nothing bad, but enough to depress him. I don't know him well enough to connect the events.

Sunday night, we returned to the lunge line. He was better, more relaxed, but I could see in him the question. I don't know yet if this big kid hates to work or learned to hate to work.

Tonight I asked him for a canter. He offered a silly power trot. "CAN-ter," I repeated. Almost, and a miss. Again. "Easy, easy." I brought him down to a steady trot. "CAN-ter!" He leapt into it, and then stayed there, circling out at the end of the line, fast in it until he tuned in to my voice. As soon as he leveled out, I brought him back to a trot. "Good boy. See? You're okay."

He understands praise; I don't know if he believes it, though. But already I get that I have to persuade him, and that's how both of us will accept possibility.