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?
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.”
Eddo Hoekstra Clinic Part II: Video Snippet
After chomping at the bit to get a hold of the clinic video, I was able to pick it up today.
For some reason, I thought having half a dozen media players—most of which claimed to have editing capabilities—plus a stand-alone program or two would mean I could, you know, do some editing.
Two hours later, I managed to get a very short clip with video quality that didn’t completely suck (the DVD is great—clipped-out versions, not so much).
I give up, give in, and generally never want to go through this again. This clip may be all you get from the clinic.
She’s been under saddle (somewhat inconsistently) for about six months now, and this is only her second time off the property. Watch the difference in her trot from the first 3-5 seconds and the rest of the time—towards the end, she really starts swinging and moving like a real horse.
She’s such a good girl!
Eddo Hoekstra Clinic Part I: Obervations
Sonesta Farms held a clinic with Eddo Hoekstra this weekend. I audited some sessions on all four days (Thurs - Sun) and had sessions on Ro on Sat/Sun. I had video taken of my rides, and I’ll put the highlights up once I get it.
Some general observations:
He wanted the riders to do less but do it correctly and allow the horses to figure things out for themselves. He told several riders to use less or quieter aids, and he was very consistent about asking riders to keep their hands upright and close together. Most riders who wore spurs were told to use them less. On Ro, I was told to use only my leg right below the knee when asking her to straighten and move into the outside rein—not my entire lower leg. You could see all the horses respond to this. As the riders got quieter and softer, so did the horses.
The word of the weekend was “rebalance.” There was some discussion among the auditors early on about what he meant by that, and the general consensus was “half halt.” I don’t think so. When he said “rebalance,” you could see the riders fixing their position first and, sometimes, also half halting. The few times he said just half halt, the riders would half halt without fixing themselves. By the time I rode on Saturday, I was pretty sure that rebalance meant “fix yourself first, then the horse,” and that held true through my session with Ro—every time he said “rebalance,” I had crept out of position. A half halt might be part of the overall rebalancing, but the two are not synonymous.
The phrase of the weekend was “If you were in a car, you’d be in a ditch right now.” He very much wanted riders to maintain the pattern no matter what the horse did. They could miss a transition, get a transition late, or just flub everything up entirely, but he wanted them on whatever line the exercise was supposed to be on. If you were on an octagon, you needed to stay on the octagon. If you were on a circle, stay on the circle. If you were going down the long side, you needed to stay on the long side—not wander into the quarter line.
If the horse offered something unexpected to the riders, he wanted the riders to differentiate between “no” and “not now.” He never wanted the horse punished for breaking into a canter. You let them canter on and then come back to the trot. If you ask for the canter and get the wrong lead, you continue on—especially if it’s counter canter and harder for the horse. If you are at the walk and the horse trots, you continue the exercise in the trot—but make sure it is a connected, purposeful trot. You didn’t go on and on in the unexpected gait, but you went on long enough to acknowledge what the horse wanted before saying, “But this isn’t what *I* want, so we’re going to try again.” It was the difference between constantly shutting a horse down so they would be afraid to offer more later and negotiating with the horse so that things did not go entirely off track.
But it did not mean the horse could blow through the riders’ aids and do whatever they wanted. On horses that were consistently blowing through the aids, he often turned to a series of rapid-fire exercises designed to get the horse and rider thinking and back together again. Although horses may be naturally good at some things and those things are fun to work on, you can’t entirely ignore the things that are hard for the horse just because the horse doesn’t want to do them.
He also wanted riders to take risks and make things more like fun and play. One of the first comments he made to me was that Ro wasn’t a baby horse and I needed to sit back and ride her like a real horse. With other riders, he wanted them to push for more in the gaits. Or he wanted riders to just try something for the fun of it. He thought Ro could be doing flying changes in a couple weeks—not schooling them routinely, but he bet that if I asked just to see what happened, she would give them to me.
The idea of risk tasking goes back to the rider doing less and negotiating between no, not now, and yes—the rider needs to keep doors open for the horse to do things. Maybe unexpected things—he likes a forward horse who isn’t afraid to be a little naughty and test what it can do with the open doors.
And if you take a risk and things go wrong? You rebalance and reconsider the situation—maybe repeat the exercise, maybe find a different exercise to achieve the end you originally wanted. As he said to several riders when things went wrong: “You are just as close to something you do want as something you don’t want.”
Some of the best rides to watch were not the riders who were finessing things at whatever level they were working at, but the ones who had things going “wrong” all over the place—very energetic horses, horses blowing through the aids, etc. He had the riders work with that energy, or he had them focus on the horse/rider communication, and by the end of the session there were some very dramatic changes in their way of going. Whatever went wrong could also go right—and he got the horses and riders there by never shutting the horse down entirely. Make sure the rider is correct, make sure the horse is balanced, straight, and forward, and everything else is variables you can play with from moment to moment until you get to the place you want to be at.