Our eventing training begins
My goals in life are simple.
Fame? I hate being the center of attention. No fame for me. Fortune? I wouldn’t know what to do with lots of money.
No, all I ask from life is to one day be the Supreme World Grand Champion of Wave at the Jumps as You Pass By Eventing.
I like the idea of eventing, you see. I’m less sure about the actual, you know, jumps and stuff.
Of course, even at the most basic levels of eventing, you have to have a horse. I don’t think there’s a Stick Horse division or a Lead Your Horse on Course division… yet. I can always hope.
So I have started Ro’s Someday Eventer training.
I don’t know much about eventing, but I know water is involved.
Last week, the arena had puddles in it. Perfect! After a hard lunging session, when I needed to walk her out anyway, I took her into the arena and marched boldly up to the puddle. I figured I would walk right on the edge, and she could walk through the water.
Ro walked up to it, looked at it, and sidestepped neatly behind me and followed me along the edge.
She could die if her hooves get wet and muddy. She knows it. She’s not sure why I don’t know that, but she’ll walk around puddles all day long until I get a clue.
Eventually, I gave in and walked across the widest part of the puddle. Eventually, she followed me across, although she thought it was a pretty stupid thing to do.
I’m not sure what we learned there. Let’s hope it was “water doesn’t actually kill you” and not “stupid tricks you can get your human to do, #67.”
Let’s hope that at the wanna-be eventing level water is optional. We clearly have a ways to go on that.
However, I am pretty sure that even at the wanna-be level, you have to at least go over poles on the ground.
So this past week I also pulled out a cavalleti and lunged her over it, just to see what she’d do with it.
First, as a pole on the ground. After kicking it a few times, she figured out that she could pick up her feet over it.
Then I raised it just a little. She didn’t quite jump it, but she did take big, bounding strides over it. Unfortunately, she has no idea whatsoever of distance. She went over it however she got to it.
The next day, I pulled the cavalleti out again while I was riding. I figured that I could rate her to the pole a little and help introduce her to the concept of distance.
Here’s what we learned: Cantering Poles is Fun.
Galloping Poles Is Even More Fun.
I see a lot of walking and trotting over poles in our future. A lot.
But the promising thing is that she likes them. She’s till figuring out what to do with them, but she thinks poles are very exciting.
Through all of this, she wasn’t really jumping anything. Big, bounding canter strides, sure, but not really jumping. I’m not worried about this; I’ve seen her jump shadows before, so I know she can jump. The rest will come.
Then today—today I got on just to walk and trot her around. She’s had a few days off, so I figured a light hack would be good.
It was more like: walk… walk… walk… tro—- canter… canter… canter… I’m tired and want to walk… walk… walk… tro—-canter, canter, canter, canter, whoa I’m out of shape… walk… tro—would you stop asking for the trot? I want to canter, canter, canter….
We like the canter. It’s fun.
We did trot eventually, but first we had to canter around. And jump a depression where a puddle used to be.
Ah ha! See? My pony jumps. She jumps things that aren’t there.
That’s talent.
So, here is what we’ve learned from all of this: we can be eventers one day.
As long as no trotting is required, no water is involved, and the jumps are invisible.
Sense and Sensibility
In early December, Ro and I were cresting a wave. Our Very First Schooling Show Ever was scheduled for December 18, and we were prepared to astound and amaze the judge and both spectators.
Then it rained. The schooling show was canceled.
Then she got an abscess.
Then I had family visit.
Then winter arrived, it rained, winter returned, and it rained some more.
Suddenly it was late January. The rescheduled schooling show was days away. For the first time in ages, I was able to ride Ro two days in a row. I called my instructor and advised her that we’d be showing Intro instead of Training. The point of the show—especially given how much time off Ro had had—was just to get her out and about. Who cares what level we rode?
It turned out to be a moot point. The schooling show arena was still waterlogged and the show was canceled.
So on Sunday, Ro and I had our first lesson since December instead.
Unfortunately for us, the barrel racers were doing their thing in the front half of the arena. We were left with the back half, which shares a weedy, overgrown fenceline with the crazy neighbor.
The fenceline is scary on its own. The neighbor is scary and creepy. He likes to yell things randomly. He likes to rev his various crappy engines while horses are in the arena. He really likes to pull his cars and motorbikes out (if they are working) and run them up and down the road alongside the barn.
We make lemons out of lemonade and call it free bombproofing. It doesn’t make the neighbor any less obnoxious, but the reality is he’s going to do his obnoxious thing and we all have to deal with it.
Still: the fence is scary. Neither Ro nor I like it, and we usually cut off that part of the arena. Bad training, but he’s creepy and Ro and I agree on that.
However, with our lesson taking place in that half of the arena, we had to put our big girl boots on and deal with the fenceline. Which we did, and there were some really cool moments in that lesson. Fabulous canter. Show-quality stretchy circle. Flying lead change!
Yeah, ok, the flying lead change was not intentional and happened when Ro bounded over a low spot; the extra loft in that stride was just enough that she also threw in a lead change. We repeated it, just to show we could (or because someone didn’t steer correctly and hit that same low spot on the next round; I forget which). So Ro can do lead changes under saddle. God help us if she ever really figures that out—I think she’ll want to do them everywhere.
Then, on Monday, it rained.
Tuesday the world was still waterlogged. I got Ro ready to lunge and headed to the round pen, where I discovered a horse had been turned out.
Given our stretch of bad weather, we are all doing whatever we can to get horses out whenever we can. I could have put that horse in his stall while I lunged, but I was feeling lazy and decided I would just throw Ro out in the large paddock—it was muddy, but areas were firm enough that I decided she could deal with it overnight.
However, last night, that “tack up and walk to the round pen” thing somehow translated into “I worked Ro.” I hadn’t, but when I saw the arena was dry enough to work again, I tacked Ro up and headed out to ride. Why lunge when you can pretend the horse worked the day before and won’t be high as a kite?
About the time I got on Ro, I realized my mistake. That’s about the same time the creepy neighbor revved an engine, people at the nearby gun range went trigger happy, and some guys working outside the arena picked up a big plastic drainage pipe and poured standing water out of it.
The crazy neighbor we can deal with. The gun range we barely notice anymore. The water pouring out of the pipe was too much for Ro. She spun and took off.
You know how there are dirty spookers, who drop a shoulder so you fall off and the monster will stop to eat you, giving them more time to get away? And there are horses who kind of like their riders, and make sure to take the riders with them, so everyone can escape the monster in one piece? Ro is one of the latter.
So when we pulled up a couple strides later, no worse for the wear, my first thought was that if she turns like that during the barrel race, we have it in the bag.
Then I thought that perhaps I should lunge her.
Then I thought that perhaps we should learn to deal with noise everywhere. Bombproofing opportunity!
One of us had sense last night, and it probably wasn’t me.
We trotted figure eights, Ro working on dealing with a cruel, scary life, while I worked on regulating tempo with my posting and not constantly getting in her face to slow her down. And, I have to say, her coping skills are really coming along. She doesn’t behave stupidly—she’s not taking off in all-out, mindless bolts, and she tries very hard to do what’s asked, even when she makes it clear that she would rather run away fast. Eventually, I think she’ll be one of those horses who can keep working even as aliens invade. For now, I know we can work through being edgy and uneasy and get to someplace productive, and that’s good enough for me. “Eventually” will come along. Eventually.
After, I talked to my barn manager a bit. We agreed that shows were going to be a piece of cake. If anything, Ro is going to trot into an empty dressage ring surrounded by silent spectators (both of them) and freak out because it is too quiet. I wonder—can I bring someone with a motorbike and have them cruise up and down the arena if the quiet turns out to be too much for Ro?
Flirting with the dark side
In case I never mentioned it, I board Ro at a barrel racing barn.
There are two of us who ride dressage and a third who sometimes rides hunter.
Everyone else? Barrel racers.
This is awesome. There is no warmup ring in the world that will worry Ro, because she’s already accustomed to horses, well, barreling past her.
They are actively trying to convert us, especially since they went to a race recently and saw an Arab kicking ass. They are even more convinced than ever that Ro wants to run barrels.
My “but she’s a dressage horse!” defense lost any semblance of solid ground today when my instructor, watching us gallop around a little (we were supposed to be cantering, but I digress…), pointed out that Ro was going faster than anyone else in the arena and could probably run barrels.
So I give in.
Ro’s first event, her debut into competition, is going to be a barrel race.
The barn is having a party in early February and running a barrel race as part of that, so we’ll at least go trot the barrels. We might canter them if I’m feeling brave. I hear that at barrel races, people win money instead of ribbons. The idea is appealing.
They are also bringing in some cows to do some roping, so it’s possible we may not make it into the arena at all. Ro has seen cows before, but I’m not sure what she’s going to think of them in the chute by the arena. Hopefully she’ll be interested and not freaked out by them.
If she’s ok with them in the chute, I’m going to try and get her into the arena with the cows. No roping for us—I don’t have the eye/hand coordination, and the cow would probably pull Ro over—but I think it would be fun to herd some cows around. At a walk. A slow, sedate walk.
Cross-training is good for the body and mind, right?
Let’s see what happens when a dressage queen and her princess pony go western for a day…
Back in the Saddle Again
The weather gods heard my comment about winter being over and chose to smite me via freezing temperatures last night.
To remind me that they are still watching, I don’t think we got much above 45 today.
I am duly chastised.
My fingers are also duly frozen.
Despite the cold weather, I hopped on Ro today. Sure, she hasn’t been ridden in ages. Sure, she didn’t get worked at all yesterday. Sure, she’s had limited turnout. Sure, she’s five and less than a year under saddle. Sure, it was in the low 40s and feeding time.
Why wouldn’t I hop on her, given all of that?
All things considered, she was very good. My plan from the beginning was to just get on and walk. Lots and lots of walking. The footing is still a little deep due to the rain, so walking was workout enough for a first ride back.
For better or worse, I’m not someone who thinks a horse needs to be immediately, 100% mentally focused when they have had time off and I get back on them. I really don’t care how trained they are. If I can spend Monday mornings staring at my computer screen and trying to remember what a Shift key is and why I might want to use it, I think I can cut the horse some slack on their first day or two back, too. All I want from the first ride or two back is for the horse to be honest, obedient, and to get their head back in the game.
So my other reason for only walking was to make it a nice, low-key hack. I wanted it to be an easy mental and physical ride.
All things considered, she really was very good. She jigged a bit, but she came back to the walk when asked. She reminded me that the ditch is full of dead people and other things that eat horses, but she walked down the long side in a more-or-less straight line. True, she walked like she was in training for the world speed walking championships, but forward is never a bad thing.
For most of the ride, she was on high alert:
A leaf moved on that bush! And that one! And that one! OMG! All the leaves are moving! Speed walk!
There’s a car in the road! Must watch the car! Speed walk with a rubber neck!
Is that a wheelbarrow in the barn? I swear I hear a wheelbarrow. My hay gets delivered in a wheelbarrow. That’s the sound of food! I want food! Why are we marching through mud in the arena when someone could be putting food in my stall right now?!
She settled in, though, and started to focus and relax. As soon as she began consistently reaching into the bit and stretching down, I called it a day. That seemed like a good stopping point. Also, my fingers were frozen, but that’s just extenuating circumstances.
And, frankly, in addition to the cold and everything else, she was probably picking up on my energy, too.
It’s like she knows what’s coming this weekend…
It’s never a good sign…
... when you walk into the barn and everyone comes running over to tell you your horse is nuts.
That was Wednesday. Apparently, the idea that her pasture mate could be fed and turned out while she was left inside blew the Princess’s little mind. Our ride that night ended up being a lot of cantering around and blowing off steam, but I think it’s good for them to have a mental break and just get to go sometimes, so that was ok. She wasn’t bad—just forward.
Then today I walked into the barn and the barn owner asked if I was riding. When I said yes, she laughed and said “Good luck with that.” Ro’s idea of a good time is trying out a crow hop or two, so I was a little concerned when a barrel racer who takes on young and spoiled horses to train found her behavior in the paddock that morning a little… exuberant. It’s like hearing the sheep are plotting war.
And, of course, this was the first lesson with my instructor since the clinic, and I have been raving non stop about what a super star Ro was in the clinic. I put Ro on the lunge line to see what I had—was there a brain in there? Was I going to be trying to pass off her antics as airs above ground?
As it turned out, there was nothing to worry about. I think Ro has figured out the difference between work and play time, because she was all business.
The lesson ended up being just fabulous. She was going along just as fabulously as she did in the clinic. We also worked on canter departs, because it was clear to me after the clinic that we’ve been muddying through those on a wing and a prayer. We identified a couple issues—one being that I’m trying to make my aids too subtle for where she is, so I need to be stronger and more definite. When I do that, she’s great and picks up the lead I want. And good lord—her transitions are fabulous when we’re both together and on the ball.
I’m very, very pleased. We’re planning on a schooling show in December—the October one was nixed because of budget issues with the new saddle purchase. But it’s just as well—she’ll be that much more prepared by December. I’m also a little hopeful that I’ll be so concerned about giving her a good experience her first time out that my show nerves won’t be an issue. I think it’ll help that the score will be a total non-issue next to goals like “stay in the ring” and “don’t spook on top of the judge.”