Horse Boot Camp - Tim Mounts Up

Yesterday it was time to put my thespian student in the saddle, and I knew how I wanted to approach his introduction to riding. In the years since I returned to horses, I've learned enough to know now just how much I was not taught during my previous horse life, an array of things both minor and major. Those gaps in my education might not have caused my anxieties, but they certainly didn't help me overcome it. One day soon I'll post an embarrassing list of the things I didn't know, had never been taught, when I came back to horses in 2004.

My first goal for Tim: Don't put him in a position to feel tension or uneasiness, put him in a position to feel the horse and feel himself. Riding, with all its component parts, can come later.

We did a sheddy, speedy grooming of Gambler, who screamed all the while for Scout and Saxony. During tack up, we reviewed the parts of the saddle and bridle. Next time, Tim will tack Gambler himself. After grabbing gloves and helmets, we went to the farm's large round pen. I rode Gambler through a 10-minute warm up, de-noodling and stretching him. While I rode, I talked to Tim about what I was doing, showing him the three gaits, the position of my hands, legs, seat, just describing things in basic, straightforward language.

Then it was Tim's turn. After adjusting the stirrups, we spent a few minutes at the mounting block talking about etiquette for both horse and rider. Wise Gambler stood statue-like and impervious, offering no challenge at all. Once Tim was up, I led Gambler off at an easy walk. "You don't need to do anything," I told Tim. "Just feel the horse moving under you. Feel his back swinging, his legs lifting, his efforts to balance your weight." We walked for 15 minutes, much of it in silence.

"Now it's your turn, Tim, to feel your own body, how it finds balance, how it adjusts, how it moves with the horse." From time to time as we circled in the wide round pen, I asked him to raise one arm to his side, then the other, put one arm behind his back, then the other, look at the sky, look right, look left. We talked about how when you're driving a car over rough roads your head corrects for the impacts of potholes so constantly and fluidly, you're not even aware of it. It can be the same on horseback: your body always seeks balance if you let it.

In all, we worked for 45 minutes. I showed Tim how to hold the reins correctly, thumbs up. I kept a finger hooked under Gambler's noseband for a lap around the round pen, then let go and walked beside him, and then drifted farther and farther until I was standing in the center of the circle, watching Tim ride by. My thespian student has a naturally straight posture, easy legs, and an instinctive interest in horses. In the end, he might make me feel like a real teacher. We're having a blast.

Hands on Horse Bodies

Figuring that, since the end times were to occur today, or some such hoohah, there was no place I'd rather be than with the horses and the person of my life, H.G. and I drove through the rain to the barn.

Among things I'll have to adjust to there, protocol at the new barn keeps horses indoors during heavy rain. I'm not yet comfortable with that, but nevertheless, it meant Saxony and Scout were loitering in their stalls, dry and ready for a diversion. It's been a long time since I gave Scout an epic grooming, and I've really missed it. So has H.G., or perhaps I should say that Scout has really missed him. He's very tall and early on formed the habit of placing one hand on her back, withers, neck, wherever, while brushing her with the other. Scout loves this; she relaxes completely into her inner horse. I have the notion that H.G.'s resting hand, coupled with his height, takes her back to a body memory of being a foal kept close by her mother, bumping along her side, ducking under her neck. I never see Scout so peaceful as when H.G. and I groom her together. We polished her dusty red up to a fiery auburn.

H.G. does not know Saxony well yet. I told him how she loves to have her face groomed. He spent a lot of time shedding her whole head with a soft rubber curry, whisking the loosened hairs away with a soft body brush, and this was magical to her. She stretched her neck long and low, extending her face flat beneath his long hands. I heard him talking to her softly, murmuring praise. Saxony shifts in cross ties, always wanting to be in direct visual contact with her person, but eventually she surrendered completely to the face massage and forgot about me. In time, we had her burnished to a dark liquid chocolate.

I wonder if they know how good it feels to me to groom them. I wonder if it matters to them to be put away clean and cared for, contented; I wonder if such concepts can exist somewhere in their awareness. Maybe it's just the time and attention that matters, for all of us. I owe them.

Moving Day Two - Saxony Joins Scout

There was a moment when I laughed out loud, giddy with happiness and relief, my heart lifting at seeing them together. Scout asserted her supremacy through a quick show of squealing and striking. Saxony consented and that was the end of it. I stayed for hours, watching them and reflecting on the presence of horses in my life. I feel fortunate and rich for having my mares, each so different, each so strong, each connected to such different parts of me. The future has finally begun.

During the Tempest

We will be denied spring, it seems. I think the planet is irritated, restless and impatient with the hive of lives that squirm over her endlessly. Yesterday's weather was unseasonably harsh, all aggression and turbulence, gnashing and blowing. Not so long ago, this would have severely limited what I could do with my horses, but not now. I spent an easy five hours in the barn, where time moved naturally, invisible and never intruding.

There stood Scout, slimming fast on a new diet, relaxed and bright eyed, happy to be involved with her people. She likes her new home, and it's bringing out a side of her I haven't seen in some time, the curious open-eyed red mare who charms. Freshly groomed and calm in the cross ties, she watched me filling water buckets. The wind skidded meanly over the roof of the barn, but we were snug far below.

There was a high rider reconnoitering the rafters. "Cow Pie," I call her. She's a bit lardy, but no less of an acrobat for it. She kept us distant company, exploring the heights, stopping every now and then to watch and be near, but not too near.

There was the little filly, almost two weeks old, shy of humans right now, squealy and petulant when handled, but obviously irresistible. I went in and gave her overlooked mom some straight-on TLC with my curry comb and body brush.

And there was Horse Boot Camp 101, conducted in the wide aisle of the barn. Lessons in picking the hoof and leading the horse, saddling the horse and sitting on the horse. My thespian student is eager and happy. I spent some time teaching him the finer nuances of picking stalls. Ha!

Throughout, the sound outside was amazing, built of powerful clashes of rain and roaring wind, but in the barn I felt like I was idling on a lovely island, surrounded by  peaceful, dozy horses and fat barn cats. I thought of how life can sometimes assault and intrude, prevent, complicate and exhaust, and it was as if the weather was mirroring exactly that, only in vain, truly in vain, for yesterday the peace and richness of being with horses would not be disturbed, could not be disturbed.

Tomorrow, Saxony moves in. It will be a wonderful thing, long overdue.

Impossible Green

Someone who never before groomed a horse polished one of this pair.

Yesterday evening I was at the new barn for the first session of Horse Boot Camp 101, Muddy K style. My friend Tim has been cast in a film shooting in July, a wild, post-nuclear, apocalyptic Western of yet-to-be-revealed storyline. It seems that horses must have survived whatever calamity befell the country, however, because he'll be expected to ride in the film, something which he hasn't done since the proverbial mechanical pony circle of childhood. He asked me to teach him about horses. Twist my arm, why don't you? Longtime readers of my horse journal know I love sharing my horses with people, love it maybe more than any other thing I do.

My six-week boot camp is going to fun for Timmy, but not nearly so much fun as it's going to be for me. Sometimes you don't have a clue what you know until you're asked to share it. I'm curious to see where I run aground, hoping that I don't.

We started at the beginning: Here is a barn. In it is a horse. I combined basic anatomy study with a lesson in grooming. We began at the feet and ended at the face. As I showed him how to lift and pick a hoof, Tim also learned about the frog, bars, sole and heel, laminitis and founder. Then we groomed rough to fine, shedding blade to body brush, following the curves of the horse with discussion layovers at withers, croup, poll, eyes, nostrils, jaw. It was wonderful for Tim, wonderful for me, but wonderful most of all for Gambler, a once-muddy mess who went into an impossibly green pasture clean, bright and white.

Whoosh . . . Crash

If I'd had time this week, I would have groomed both of my mares deeply, thoroughly and slowly, with ungloved hands. If I'd had time, I would have whiled away hours in Scout's paddock, being with her while she reconnoitered her new environment. Sometime, I would have cleaned and shined Saxony's bridle and saddle and run my fingers through her silly fat forelock.

If I'd had time, I would have spent more than 20 minutes in turnout with that new foal and her kindly first-time mom. I would have lingered in the squealy joy of seeing a newborn filly discover she can buck and run, I would have photographed her impossible attempts to mimic her mother at the water trough and hay feeder.

If I'd had time, I would not have felt the rash of passing seconds searing across my mind, my skin, irretrievable. Sometimes it really cuts me not to get to the horses when I need them. I know the days will come, but oh, did I need them now. All I could steal were the moments for this crabby bleating, which is only like looking at a picture of a picture of a picture.

Backblogged: Realizations and Revelations

On Monday, I moved Scout to a new barn and Special K moved her adorable little Arab with us. It was a long and wonderful day, one in which revelations and realization occurred throughout.

Philosophical revelation: Go to a place where life is new.

Born at the new barn, not even 24 hours old.

Logistics realization: Where possible, move your horses together.

You'll be just fine here, you'll see. You've got Gambler.

Practical realization: Some horses know hay feeders, others, not.

I don't get it. I am hungry. How is he eating?

We rode to our new barn in spirit-lifting weather, dawdling and looping for 90 minutes, engineering to arrive with the horses a little worn out. Scout and Gambler went into a paddock together, and it became clear that for all her posturing and bossing, Scout is entirely dependent on Gambler. Nose pressed against his withers, she clung to him throughout their exploration of the new yard.

Emotional revelation: Wary Scout is so attached to her people.

You guys are coming back, aren't you? Can you come back now?

It was the best of days, it really was. As the sun moved west and shadows fell over the east side of the big barn, K and I sat together on an old park bench, bagging Equi-Shine and watching our horses reading pee-mails and patrolling their new perimeter. Next chapters are inspiring and exciting when begun together, for the horses and for their humans, too.