The Horse's Perspective

And now for your daily dose of crippled musing, because I have nothing better to do than sit around and think about horses (well, not really, I actually got some stuff done today!).

The horse's perspective. I mentioned this awhile ago, but here's what it comes down to for me.


When I'm training (and by training I mean any time I interact with a horse, on the ground, in the saddle, whatever), I try to refrain from only thinking about myself. What do I want? Am I riding well? What exercises am I going to do to get my desired response? Well yes, that's all well and good, but I also do my best to question how I am affecting my horse. Why does she react the way she does to this cue? If she's anxious, what is the cause of her anxiety, and what can I do to alleviate that -- does she need to be pushed through it, or do I need to change what I'm doing? Do I need to be more insistent to get what I want, or do I need to soften? Do I need to repeat this drill until she relaxes and falls into it, or is that going to frustrate her? Do I need to be moving slowly or quickly through my ride? Do I need to challenge her, or let her build up small successes?

The answers are different every day.

All those questions are basically a way of shutting up and tuning into the horse. Because I'm a creature of presumably higher intelligence, I need to think about what she's doing and respond to it thoughtfully rather than simply reacting to it.

Here's a few examples.

When a horse bucks with me (say, while picking up the canter), my first reaction is to get their head up, sit up, and boot them forward. But McKinna never bucks, ever -- so if she bucks with me, then instead of reacting, I need to respond. If she's bucking, something is probably quite wrong, and it's likely that I would ride her for a bit to see if I can get a feel for what's going on, then possibly dismount and check tack or longe. If I'm on another horse, say one known for bucking to intimidate riders, you can bet I'd be riding his sorry self forward in a major way, making him work work work.

When my horse scoots forward in part of a circle, my first reaction is to resist strongly on the reins to say knock it off. But several things could be going on: perhaps the horse dropped his outside shoulder and drifted to the outside rushing. In that case, I need to give the horse more support from my outside leg and rein. Maybe the horse is feeling pressured, and rushes forward to escape; for this, he needs less rein (but still support) to help him relax, come back down, and then gradually build up contact. Maybe he's just spooking at something in the arena; this means I need to take charge and get him working his butt off next to that scary thing until he forgets it was ever there.

Different reasons for what they do, different responses.

Along with this must come an understanding of how your aids affect the horse. I know that if I tense up, my horses tense up. So I try to stay relaxed (and hold my temper, which is usually a bit harder). If I kick because I don't get the response I want, McKinna freaks out and worries for the rest of the ride; I know that using the whip gently will get a much better response. On the other hand, on Bailey, sometimes a boot in the side was exactly what he needed to wake him up and get a point across.

When I rode Bailey, if I insisted on too much contact too soon, he'd feel claustrophobic -- so when I rode, we warmed up with loops and serpentines on a long rein, where he felt comfortable enough to bend and relax into my hands. Then I asked for contact.

It's a delicate line between understanding your horse's reactions and giving in to your horse's reactions. If my horse freaks out about a dressage whip, I am not going to refrain from riding with a whip; I'm going to get my horse used to them. But, being considerate of his state now, I would calmly and slowly introduce the whip -- not plunge him into whip use all at once. If my horse scoots forward at the slightest contact of legs, I'm not going to ride with my legs away from my horse's sides -- but I will be understanding as I ask my horse to accept contact with my legs, and when riding, I will always keep in mind that this will probably be a light-sided horse.

In short: don't get pushed around (please), but do understand why your horse is reacting the way he is, and either adapt your riding in acceptable ways (e.g. my warmup with Bailey) or calmly help him through his initial reactions (e.g. fictional whip-shy horse).


A final note on understanding your horse's perspective -- I am a little bit of a worrier. I am always inclined to blame pain for nasty behavior before I will blame a horse for just being 'that way.' I will always consider tack fit, physical condition, dental care, and so on before I believe that a behavior problem is 100% the horse's fault.

That does not mean that horses get away with being rank. As Mugwump says, it doesn't matter WHY, they just aren't allowed to (buck, rear, kick, bite, ________).

But in return for this unyielding demand for safe behavior, I have a responsibility to ensure that my horses don't have a reason to be rank. This is really important to me, so listen up. If you are going to ask your horse to always behave and never buck/kick/etc, you need to make sure they have no physical reason to do so. If this means a vet check, chiropractor check, dental exam, saddle fit check (for the umpteenth time, even), then just do it. I brought a chiropractor out to check out McKinna even though she didn't really show any signs of back pain. Why? Because she's a little stiff in her canter, but most importantly, because I wanted to be confident that when I asked her to work hard for me, she was physically capable of doing so.

I don't take crap from my horses. They need to do what I ask. In order for me to feel comfortable demanding this of my horses, I must have the peace of mind that they are not hurting anywhere. I need to listen to them. If McKinna hurts herself, and tells me in subtle ways that she is sore (head tossing, refusing to listen, reluctant to pick up a gait, or any other uncharacteristic misbehavior), then I will listen and check her out, instead of pushing through it until she resorts to more drastic behaviors to get my attention.

I know McKinna is in perfect health, so I feel no guilt when I ask her to work hard or when I push through an issue. I know her blocks involve a lack of either understanding or physical strength; both of those I can bring her through. She, in turn, trusts my judgment and does what I ask.



So there -- that's my big point. Don't let your horse get away with shit, but make sure they're pain-free so that you can be guilt-free when you get after them for something.

Broken Ankle: Then and Now

Last time I broke an ankle, I was 14 years old. Now I'm 18.

It was my left ankle. This time it's my right.

I got on a horse I shouldn't have, he bolted, and I bailed; this time, I was riding a horse I love and trust, and it was just an accident.

Then, I landed straight on my foot, and got an impact fracture; this time, I rolled it, and got a different kind whose name I can't remember.

Last time, I was in a walking boot but could put no weight on it; this time, no weight still but I got a cast.

Then, I was a horseless, horse-crazy kid about to start high school. I broke my ankle two days before I was going to a horse camp with my best friend. Now, I'm a horse-owning, horse-crazy girl about to start college; I broke my ankle during an eventing camp, two weeks before another clinic.

After the first time, my parents got me half a horse because they felt so bad and everything finally came into place; now, I certainly am not getting another horse, but I think I can talk them into buying me some cake. Hazelnut cake. Mmmmmm.

When I first had my broken ankle, I wanted badly to end up riding show jumping. Now, I'm steadily moving further into the eventing world and loving every minute.

Then, I was sad I missed camp, but I didn't mind sitting around a bunch and hopping. Now, I'm pining for riding but most of all I dislike my lost independence.

Then, I wasn't even thinking about driving. Now, I'm acutely aware that I broke my right ankle and thus can't drive.

Then, I loved horses but didn't know much. Now, I love horses even more, and still don't know much.



Funny how some things change and some don't :)

Use Your Mirrors - Part I

I miss riding.

I mean really, I can handle it. I'll probably start riding bareback in three weeks, after I get my checkup x-rays to make sure everything's still healing right. Mom has gotten me several horse books to read in the meantime, and I'm getting some good ideas. I just...miss riding, in the way that you miss things when you can't have them. I'll go out to the barn soon to give my mom some lessons, though. I've been practicing my loud-whistle and I'm making some progress, so maybe soon I can work on teaching McKinna to come at the whistle! Or I could just go buy a dog-training whistle.

Okay, the much-anticipated (or so I'm told) explanation of My Talk at Leadership Camp.

First, a little bit about camp: it's a leadership camp for marching band. There's four different tracks. One for the drum majors, who conduct the band musically and usually serve as student leaders, aka the step between students and staff; one for the section leaders, who are the leadership corps under the drum majors as they lead their section (trumpets, flutes, drumline, etc) in marching and music; one for the color guard, whether they are captain or not; and one for collegiates, who have graduated from high school and then go through more advanced subjects and are pushed harder.

That being said, the message that the camp says really isn't about band, it's about life. Yes, I admit to being very sappy about the subject. It's really hard to describe -- but basically the camp, which usually has around 70 campers, really instills a sense of responsibility in kids, and gives the people that attend some amazing leadership tools. I've used many of them with horses.

The collegiate campers this year (of which I was one, since I graduated this year) were asked to give a seminar to the campers. Every night, the camp director and his right-hand-man give leadership seminars -- stories from their lives that illustrate a leadership concept of the camp. So we were asked to give something similar during the day.

Here's mine: the camp concept was, 'The Band is Your Mirror.' I tied this into horses.

This is paraphrased, obviously. I've also given a little more weight to the horse examples -- my talk before was more geared towards bands, since I was at a band camp, and thus the horse examples are very simplified; it's more to help support the points I am making to them with my own personal experience, with memorable analogies and key phrases for them to focus on.

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Your band is your mirror. They will reflect two things: your emotions and your actions. If you show them consistent leadership through your emotions and actions, they will reflect that back at you; consistent emotions and consistent actions make consistent leadership. The place I learned this, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with band. I learned this from horses, because horses, too, are mirrors.

The first part of your mirror is your emotions. Horses are usually very sensitive to the emotions of their rider; what you project at them, they will reflect in their responses. For example, with my first horse, Bailey, I used to get very angry when things didn't go the way I wanted. He was an ex-racehorse, fresh off the track from a not-so-kind trainer, and almost completely green (untrained). He had a lot of issues, and he was always tense when I rode him. I just could not get him to relax, and I used to get so angry when things weren't going well. Unfortunately, Bailey was very sensitive to my emotions -- and when I got angry, one of two things happened. He might, in the face of my anger, shut down in self-defense. Imagine you're at the first day of band camp, and little Suzie the Freshman Flute Player just doesn't understand the concept of reading drill. She's in the wrong place every time, and it's driving you crazy. But what happens if you blow your temper and yell at her, giving her only anger? Sweet little girl that she is, she'd probably be very quiet, cower, nod, and go home and cry later. She would probably not trust you for quite awhile, even if after that you made every effort to be understanding and kind.

The second thing would happen with Bailey is that he would reflect my anger right back at me by getting frustrated and angry himself. Now, picking a fight with a horse isn't exactly a good idea. I was a 14-year old girl and weighed 110 pounds soaking wet; he was almost ten times my weight. Obviously just as unproductive, if not more, than when he shut down. What if, in your band season, Tommy the Trumpet Player just doesn't have it together and misses his solo six times in a row? Now he's a senior, and your trumpet section leader, and he's been a rock star for you all four years, your best section leader, always solid in the music -- but you get really angry, and you yell at him in front of the whole band to just get his act together and stop messing up, because he's bringing the band down. Do you think that Tommy the Trumpet Player might get angry with you? He would probably not be very interested in helping you out; for the rest of that rehearsal, he would probably be very bitter, and he might even stay that way for awhile. You gave him your anger, and he reflected it right back.

But imagine your season if your emotions were consistently those associated with a leader: relaxed, calm, assertive, confident, supportive, friendly, uplifting. These, too, your band will reflect back at you; if they know they can count on you to be calm in tough situations and uplifting when they're struggling, they will trust you, and that will show. (True of horses also, incidentally; if they know you always keep your head, and if you're always relaxed, supportive, and calmly in control, they will pick that up.) So the first thing you must do for a successful season is have consistent emotions. This means that you need to leave your baggage at the door, which we'll talk about in a bit.


Next up: consistent actions. To be continued . . .

And Then It All Went to Hell in a Handbasket

Here's a couple pictures from Friday:

Stadium, the morning lesson on Friday where I jumped my first bending line

Trotting through the water complex on XC

Saturday's events:

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I woke up to the pleasant sound of horses nickering and an espresso machine. Which, as I would find out Sunday morning, was being employed in the creation of some really, REALLY good vanilla lattes. But I digress.

About 45 minutes before my morning lesson, my mom and I went to get McKinna ready. Glancing up, I see the chestnut gelding of one of my group members absolutely freaking out as he's tied to the trailer. This gelding pulls back hard, goes up, hooks a foreleg over his leadrope, flails, and then his rider undid the quick release. The grey gelding tied to the trailer, who belongs to the third guy in my group, pulls back in the trademark TB Sympathy Panic, breaks the ring he's tied to, and both horses trot nervously into the corner of the pasture we're all parked in (only a few feet away, thankfully). By this time I was already over there.

Within seconds, we see the sight that makes any horse person's heart sink: blood starts dripping down onto the gelding's left hind leg. Fast. The grey's owner catches him and ties him now that he's settled down; the chestnut's owner catches him and tries to look at the injury. I come over to hold his head (the horse's name is Al, by the way) while his owner takes a look. Al settles down a little, and we can see that it's a nasty slice right on his stifle. It gapes open every time he takes a step, and blood is coming pretty fast. We locate some towels to hold on it, and until the vet arrives maybe 45 minutes later, Al settles down quite a bit and is holding still. I'm at his head petting him and holding him still, his owner's holding a series of blood-soaked towels to the injury.

Eventually the vet comes, sedates him, stitches it up, etc etc etc. All three of us skipped the morning lesson and let the trainer know. During lunch hour, me and the rider of the grey decided to go out for a lesson.

Our instructor takes us out to the XC field, where they've just spread a very very thin layer of fresh compost. We warm up at a trot on a nice big circle; McKinna's a little hot, but nothing major, and she's relaxing as I move her off my leg. When told to, we pick up the canter -- it's beautiful. A flawless, balanced transition (somewhat of a rarity for her!), and the first few steps are just lovely. Relaxed, an easy tempo.

And that was when everything went to hell in a handbasket.

We hadn't gone more than three strides when all of a sudden McKinna's forelegs were sliding crazily out from under her. Her nose must have only been a few inches off the ground -- all I registered was that I could see her foreleg out of the corner of my eye (I think she spread them out in opposite directions to try to regain balance), her forehand was going way down, and I was popping off over her shoulder. I landed on my right side, feet first, rolling down, saying "Please don't step on me, please don't step on me."

When we came to a halt, McKinna had managed to regain her balance. I'm laying on the ground on my right side. Her forelegs are on either side of my waist, and my whole lower body is under her body. She's standing dead still. After a brief second to breathe and realize she wasn't going to step on me, I said, "Ow."

And then a lot more ows, and I started crying, because my right ankle hurt really really bad. I couldn't use it to move myself, so the instructor carefully backed McKinna up and handed her to the other rider. I immediately took my boot and sock off, realized that there was no way I was going to be able to put weight on it, and said "I am going to be SO PISSED if this is broken."

We're maybe a half mile away from the camp (we are on a cross country course, after all!), so I get lifted up onto McKinna and ride her back, semi-hysterical the whole way. By the time I dismount and get into a chair, it's swollen to maybe the size of a baseball -- and I have small ankles.

Horse people being horse people, there are doctors and nurses and people with crutches and so on, so in a rather timely fashion I've got ice wrapped on it, which of course makes it hurt even more because it's not numb yet.


Anyway. What it came down to is, my ankle's broken. The doctor I saw that day said I couldn't put weight on it for 4 to 6 weeks; I go in to see the orthopedic surgeon tomorrow, where I will find out more specifics and they will hopefully tell me that 1. I can keep it in a boot instead of a cast and 2. it's non-surgical.

Mostly I'm just really pissed that I can't ride. I was so excited to keep working with McKinna throughout the weekend -- I had JUST gotten the feeling for how to rate her gallop. I can still feel it now, which is good, because as soon as I'm able I'm going to go out there and try it out. I was loving the stadium lessons, because she's come so far (can hold a course together, finds her own distances, understands the concept of leads) and our group was so much fun. I'd just learned to do banks and things like that, and I couldn't wait till we did more complicated stuff.

Not to mention there are several upcoming things like clinics, schooling shows, etc that I can't do now.

On the plus side, I did stick around and watch other lessons. Thanks to that I really solidified my understanding of how to set up a horse for a fence on XC, and tied in to that, how to fix my position. I tend to jump ahead of the horse, a habit I acquired when Bailey used to rush all of his fences. It makes me more likely to come off if she stops, because I'm already ahead of the motion, and she has such a shorter neck than a TB that there's nothing there to catch myself on.

We've just moved to a new barn, too. McKinna is out in the giant mare pasture, cheerfully roaming all day, and she appears to have made friends with an adorable Shire cross. I met at least three people at the camp this weekend who live literally right next to this new barn -- so I have some new riding buddies, even though I can't ride! I'm excited to start riding with them once I can, though. One of them has a big field with some XC fences in it, and one of the ladies has a really sweet packer mare that she's offered to let my mom ride.

But here's what I've decided in light of my fall and what I've learned this weekend.

I am going to establish a really, REALLY solid position once I'm back in the saddle. That means I need to ride without stirrups, a lot. I need to get my mom to longe me so I can focus on me. I need to spend a lot of time in two-point strengthening those muscles. I need to go out into a really big field and practice going back and forth between galloping and setting back for a fence. I need to stop jumping ahead.

So, that's that. Since I won't be riding, you will be treated to all kinds of blogs that I've been meaning to write (talk at leadership camp et al), as well as reflections on training methods and so on. One of the things I've decided to work on is to have McKinna come reliably when called; I'm going to enlist my mom to help me with that, so I will post an update once we try it a little. It involves me learning how to whistle loudly, so I need to acquire that skill first!

Hope your weekend went a little better than mine :) Here's me arriving back at camp in my trainer's car after going to Urgent Care.

Home, Sweet Home

Well, I'm home!

I wrote blog posts as I was at camp -- no internet access, but I saved them in Microsoft Word. So you will get to read them as if it's happening that very day!

Here's Friday's post:

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Upon our arrival Thursday night, the first thing we did was get McKinna settled in. We picked a little corral (nice little things, 12x12 wood-pole deals, bedded with straw), parked the truck in a nice spot with some advice from some friendly riders (who were quite cheerful to direct us to a parking spot that didn’t block their view of neighboring vinyards), pitched the tent, unpacked some stuff, heated up our stew over the little propane barbeque. We watched, bemused, as a neighboring camper ran an extension cord all the way across the field we parked in: “You have electricity!” my mother remarks. “Oh yes,” says the lady, “it’s just for…the espresso machine…” and grins sheepishly as she realizes what she’s saying.

We horseback riders know how to do it in style, that’s for sure.

My first ride is Friday morning outside. A lovely outdoor arena, awesome footing, no idea exactly how big it is, but it’s big. I’m in a group with two guys (of the three total in the camp). After starting off with a warmup crossrail, we move right into gridwork, first with two fences, then three and four. I really enjoyed the gridwork because we’ve never had enough room to do it at home – but McKinna acted like she’d done it her whole life, just hopping right along through.

From there our instructor just kept building the course. Grid, diagonal, single. Then she added a bending line (my first ever!) and then another. The first time, McKinna practically blew through the bending line – getting a little strong was a bit of a problem for us. On my last round, though, I figured out how to ride it better, and she backed off a lot more when I was a little lighter in my hands (funny how that works). My group is officially awesome. It’s small, we’re all competent riders with competent horses, and we get to move along at a nice pace. I was so proud of McKinna! She finally understands her leads, I don’t fuss with her distances, she never hesitates at the fences, and she can put together a whole course. She truly has come a long way.

Lunch, enough time for a quick nap, and then off for my ‘indoor’ lesson, except that we did cross country. I had a BLAST. She was really really strong in the beginning as we trotted and cantered in a big circle, but settled down once we got to really cantering and jumping some low warmup fences. Then we headed out into the big field with the water complex!

Lots of firsts today: first time cantering down the hill, through the water, and back out again. First up bank, trotting and cantering; first down bank, just trotting. First ditch, both natural and revetted. My little mare was an absolute star for all of those! Up banks are way more fun than I thought they would be.

Our biggest problem with XC is McKinna wanting to charge forward. I don’t like it, and I want her to come back the instant I want, so I tend to half-halt really strongly, and it’s just messy. I started to find a rhythm towards the end, using the same riding style I did at the end of the first lesson – lighter in the hands, lighter in the seat, just gently rolling with the motion. When I did that, she relaxed and found a rhythm, and would come back to me before fences when I sat back and half-halted. I only started to get a feel for it towards the end, though, so I’m excited to see if I can recreate that feeling for the whole lesson tomorrow!

She also had one dirty stop at a red barn fence. I hate that fence, she’s never liked it, she’s refused it before. I should have ridden her stronger to it the first time, and/or dropped to a trot where we’re both more secure. The second and third times over it she was fine, but I should’ve seen it coming the first time.

Oh well – at least most of the time she is quite honest! I suppose I’ll just have to school it every time we’re here until I get over my irrational dislike of that fence.

We had a potluck dinner with everyone and it was quite enjoyable. I’m having an absolutely awesome time, probably the most fun I’ve ever had on a horse, and McKinna is doing so well! This whole weekend is going to be such a great experience for both of us, and I think it will take us a long way in terms of our comfort level in jumping. I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings!