The well laid plans of horses and women

This post was going to be about how I had discovered a new well of motivation that I planned to tap into for training the Sassy Black Horse.  She had other plans...

When I set out to ride the other day, I knew it was going to be a bumpy one. My work and school schedule have gotten a little out of hand as of late, and poor Syd's training has once again fallen to the way side. But, I was determined to gut it out, I was feeling good about my abilities, and I was ready to get started on a new chapter.

After our customary 5 trips back and forth across the busy road to desensitize her to traffic, I walked her up to the mounting block near the trail head, checked and double checked her girth, and hopped into the saddle. There are a few different directions to head out on the trails, and  I decided to take her in the direction that she has less problems with since she hadn't been out in a while. After our ride that day, I believe there are officially no directions we can go that don't have problems...

We got up onto a long grassy stretch and I asked her to trot out some of her anxieties, which normally gets her mind back online and helps her sort out trail obstacles later on. We trotted out a whole entire two strides before she decided to do her cast iron horse statue impression: not budging. Nope, nope, nope.

This is not a new tactic. I took a deep breath, relaxed, and urged her on. I ride with spurs and a dressage whip, but when that horse has decided she ain't doin' it, well, there's just not a whole lot you can do. Finally, after much squeezing and tapping and clucking, I got one step. I praised her, gave her a rub, dropped the reins. She apparently took this as a sign of weakness, because at that moment she decided to duck her right shoulder down, spin, and head for the hills.

Ah. We're playing the "Let me pretend to be nervous so I don't have to work" game. Ok, got it.

I got her turned around and pointed back towards the trail, and she resumed her statue position.

This is always the time where my fear, apprehension, and frustrations start oozing out. I know I need to stay calm and firm, but I can feel her tense under me like a coiled spring, ready to demonstrate to me how athletic 1500 pounds of muscle responding to a threat in unison can really be. I can feel the tiny electric charges when one or two muscles spasm in preparation for a big spook.  I'm not scared of falling, I've fallen before and I will fall again. I'm scared that I can't figure out how to connect with her in those moments, I'm scared that I will fail her and she will get away from me and get hurt herself.

More deep breathing.

I let out a long, deep sigh, took a moment to recenter myself and consider my boundaries. Took a moment to really take in the fact that I was certainly not going to get bullied by an animal that I pay to keep in orthotic shoes and on expensive human Zyrtec for her hay fever (yes, my horse is allergic to hay. The irony is not lost on me.) Time for plan B.

I decided the long grassy stretch would be our new arena for the day. We would work some patterns, some nice bendy turns with great emphasis on keeping the shoulder up. No barrel horse impressions.

Sydney decided that her plan B for the day was that bucking was an appropriate response to discomfort.

And so there we were for the next nearly 30 minutes. I would take a deep breath, keep chest up and heels down, and firmly demand we move in the direction of the scary things, she would give a little squeel, shake her head and hop while simultaneously stomping her feet like a tween who had just been told Justin Beiber can't sing.

Slowly, ever so gradually, she came around to the idea that we were working in our makeshift grass arena, and began to anticipate the forward, halt, turn. I did my absolute best to ask with the least amount of pressure possible, and release when she responded to me. Things were finally starting to come together...

And then the dreaded, killer cyclist burst out of the bushes.

Right as I asked for the turn, a kid on a bike flew out of a blind spot right at Sydney's hind end, and that's when my world slowed to crawl.

When she wants to, Big Mama can move! Before I knew it we were galloping full bore for the barn. Her normal reaction of "two spook strides, ok I'm over it spooking is hard work" had been soundly replaced for "GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!!"

Strangest thing about adrenalin, it does amazing things to the brain. I remember clearly having an entire soliloquy going on in my head that went about like this:

Hm ok, it appears I have no brakes. I should probably do something about that. Ok, one rein stop. Ha! Look at that, she is galloping with her head cranked to the side. I thought they couldn't do that. Why is she still running?? And uh, I wish we were at least on the trail, there could definitely be some gopher holes in these bushes she decided to run through... OK, well I have about 50 feet or so until that ditch we crossed, so I need to either get her stopped by then or get my hunt seat ready. Woops! falling to the left side of my saddle, sit back sit back... Ok, that ditch is coming up pretty fast actually, let me see if I can transfer both reins to one hand so I can get a better grip on this one rein stop. When I do this, she might lose her balance, so deepen that seat a little, ok there, ready, CRANK!!!! OK, awesome, got her nose to my toe, and looks like she is slowing down... Oh, hell yes! We stopped before the ditch! Go me!

When she finally came to a screeching halt in front of the ditch, we were both at the end of our nerves. I could feel myself and Big Mama shaking from that little adventure, but I knew there was no way we could end there. We had to go back.

After several minutes of standing still and calming down, we went back and did three pretty good loops in both directions of our makeshift arena and called it a day. I never did get her mind back with me, and so she piaffed like the most beautiful dressage horse you have ever seen all the way home. It was beautiful unless you knew what you were looking at, then you could see what a wreck we both were. I tried to give her her head, but she just kept her chin tucked behind the bit even with no pressure, and jigged the entire length of the trail back.

I didn't learn anything mind shattering that day, but I didn't fall off and I felt like we ended on the best note we could. I guess the next ride will be the litmus test to that. I got to spend a lot of time practicing keeping my cool and staying loose when she was tense, so that was good. I still can't ride her in the arena first because the footing causes her pain, so I will be spending some time thinking about the strategy for our next rides and how we can progress. Challenges!

Rubbing elbows with celebrities

It has been one helluva week.

My stress levels have spiraled out of control, my ability to cope has suddenly become non-existant, I'm terrorizing the people I love, and shutting out the people that support me. And I didn't even get to ride!

The one silver lining in all of this is that I got some much-needed horse wisdom to edify my soul this evening. Linda Kohonav, one of my all-time favorite horsewomen and authors, was scheduled to give a talk and do a book signing today, and I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to see her in person. As the coolest added bonus ever, two other amazing women were in the audience, as well: Meg Daley Olmert, the woman who pioneered the idea that the human-animal bond is based on a mutual production of oxytocin, and Linda Tellington-Jones, creator of the TTouch method. Too cool!

I learned so, so much tonight, and I'm sure it will take me a while to digest it all. I wanted to share a few of the more profound insights I learned so that I don't forget them.

Linda's new book, "The Power of the Herd," is all about learning to balance predatory and non-predatory power in ourselves. She believes that horses are the ultimate "non-predators" because they have prey animal wisdom, but are not victims, which is very often the image attached to the term "prey animal." Instead, horses draw on other, less overt forms of power that can be very useful to humans as well.

Something that really struck me about this idea when she broke out a list of characteristics that tend to generalize each form, predatory vs. non-predatory, was that I definitely tended to use many more predatory power techniques than non-predatory. The big ones that stuck out for me were a focus on goals over process, and a focus on territory over relationships.

Having just spent the drive up to this lecture in a tiff with my significant other over the phone, I felt a twinge of guilt at the realization of how important territory had become to me at the expense of relationships. I could almost see myself huddled down, crouched and ready to pounce at the slightest perceived invasion of my emotional territory. Ugh, how embarrassing. On the other side of the coin, horses are never territorial. They are pastoral, and depend on the other members of the herd for support regardless of where they are. This idea really got my wheels turning. Letting go of my "territory" is definitely something I will need to work on.

Also, with Sydney, I get so caught up on setting goals and reaching them, that I am almost annoyed that there has to be a process at all. Instead of creating an environment where we can both learn, I set us up for failure. Geez, emotions are hard.

The other idea that really impacted me deeply was a thought that I had only scratched the surface on previously: setting boundaries, but also being willing to open up and strengthen your heart empathetically to the suffering of others without judgement. Whew, just the thought raises my blood pressure a bit. Linda used as an example a pastoral tribe in Africa who has a kind of rite of passage ceremony wherein one male would challenge another, but the goal was not to see who could beat the crap out of the other. The goal was for the challengee to take the beating of the challenger with arms and heart wide open. In his outstretched arms, he holds a mirror so that his full attention is solely on his own reaction to what is happening to him.

An emotional interpretation of this is being able to stand, arms and heart wide open to other challenging situations in life, whether it be an aggressive, screaming, boss, a challenging argument with a loved one, or even, in Linda's case, an extremely aggressive stallion. The message is, "I am strong enough to hear whatever it is you need to say."

I am strong enough.

I had never thought about it like this. I always assumed I had to be on the counterattack, and always making sure the playing field was level so that I wasn't taken advantage of. Letting go of this need to hold on to emotional territory and being willing to open my heart to the pain and frustrations of others seemed completely counterintuitive.

I will definitely be spending some time digesting these thoughts, and thinking about ways to apply them to my relationship not only with Big Mama, but also the people I'm having trouble connecting with today. Thankfully, they all seem to have figured out this "arms and heart wide open" concept, and haven't all left me for greener pastures yet, so hopefully I can have a chance to show them the same kind of love and empathy.

If you made it all the way through this rather disjointed post, thanks for reading! There will be better posts when I am slightly less irritated and bleary-eyed :)

Afraid of Fear

There is one thing that I am almost guaranteed to hear whenever I mention my four-hooved beast to the non-horsey initiated.

"They're beautiful animals, but one time xyz happened to me while riding and now I'm terrified of them. They sense fear you know! They know I'm afraid and they will take advantage of it!"

I've spent a lot of time pondering this almost ubiquitous observation. Why is expressing fear such a bad thing anyway? Why is fear an emotion so closely linked to horses? And why does one bad experience turn us off to all other similar life experiences?

In all honesty, the maxim, "they can sense fear" can really be applied to almost anything. For instance, small children can sense my fear of all things sticky and snotty, and will often eschew entire gaggles of cooing, baby-feverish mothers to climb all over me like a sticky spider monkey, leaving a trail of boogers and peanut butter in their wake.

*Shudder*

Similarly, when we are out on a trail ride, every squirrel in the entire county can sense Big Mama's terror of small furry things with twitchy noses. You can almost hear their squeaky giggling in the trees when one jumps out at us and Sydney rediscovers her inner Derby winner.

So if we all feel fear, and can recognize it in one another regardless of species, why are we all so averse to it?

Even more importantly, why on earth do we think we can hide it?

For me personally, for a very long time I subscribed to the, "fake it 'till you make it" school. Pretend you aren't afraid and eventually you won't be! And so I wore my stoicism around proudly like a padded push-up bra: propping up and over-inflating my rather small, and jiggly sense of courage,  and misdirecting the eyes of those around me away from what was lying just underneath.

The biggest problem, though, was that it really wasn't working. My bottled up fears were finding new and exciting ways to make themselves known. They came out explosively, or shut me down entirely, or manifested physically as heart palpitations. I was so consumed with pretending not to be afraid that I was completely ignoring the fact that I could actually handle the situation just fine if I gave myself half a chance to do it.

In my riding, this meant that I spent so much time and effort focusing on not being afraid when Sydney spooked or bolted, that I was ignoring my chance to be a better rider and to learn more about my own inner workings. I assumed that if I just concentrated hard enough on not being afraid, that she would magically become this docile, husband-friendly horse that would plod happily anywhere I pointed her. And as long as that wasn't happening, I must therefore be a royal screw-up, right?

My opinion on this changed dramatically after a very enlightening riding lesson recently. My instructor took us out on a bunch of school horses for a trail ride. While this was pretty much a novelty for many of the younger riders in the class, I was disappointed that we weren't going to be doing something more challenging. As it turns out, though, I learned more in that one trail ride than I have in months of formal riding lessons.

What I learned that day, like so many other things in life, was so ridiculously simple that I was a little surprised I hadn't ever let it sink in before.

The instructor, a very experienced eventer, was riding a green OTTB out with us on the trails.

"Just remember," she called back to us calmly as her mount jigged and danced around with excitement at the prospect of getting a good gallop in, "our heels are down, our chests are up, and our knees are nice and loose. So that way when our horse does something silly, it's no problem! Just ride through it!"

Light bulb!

Holy crap! It was never about not being afraid, or forcing Sydney to not be scary. I'm not ruining my horse just because I haven't yet figured out how to help her get over her irrational fear of squirrels. Heels down, chest up, and you're ready for anything! How did I know this for so long, and yet not know it at all??

So, my homework for myself has been this: express how I'm feeling, and then have the confidence to know I have the knowledge and ability to deal with the situation. I tell Sydney, "I feel afraid that you will plunge us both into a ravine to our deaths when you see a squirrel, but I'm willing to work through this with you because I know how to keep my heels down and chest up. Also, you have tons of hair that I can cling to for dear life."

I still do occasionally feel afraid when we ride out together. Sometimes, very afraid in fact. But the very act of allowing myself to do this makes the feeling dissipate much more quickly, which also has the added benefit of allowing Sydney to switch gears from bat-out-of-hell back to plodding, lazy, fat horse again much more quickly. Win win!

We may never completely "get over" our fears, in that all scary things in this world will not suddenly cease to exist. But that doesn't mean we have to be paralyzed by them either, or pretend they're not there. Fear, just like any emotion, is one of the things that makes us living souls on this planet. Living life fully to me means taking it all in, even the irrational fears like small sticky fingers, or twitchy rodent noses.

Setting Boundaries by Getting Mad

I've never had a good relationship with anger. Growing up, there were only two things that I knew about it. The first thing is that you never under any circumstances allow that emotion to show itself, and the second was that raging out brings you a great deal of power. Needless to say, I grew up very confused about what to do with this very controversial emotion, so I ended up swinging back and forth between the two extremes. 

This was also why I never had any clear boundaries set for myself.  I grew up thinking boundaries were a thing for the selfish.  If I was to be a good person/Christian/friend/whatever, I would have to quietly (albeit, passive aggressively) sit and allow my boundaries to be repeatedly violated until I had mentally tallied up a sufficient number of violations to make raging out an acceptable alternative. It's not something I'm proud to admit to, but it's also very habit forming and tended to follow me in nearly every facet of my life.

Enter the Four-Hooved Diva.

I swear that mare made it her one and only job to find my buttons and push the shit out of them.

In our three or so years together, she figured out how to bully me pretty ruthlessly at times. She bit, shoved, bucked, pushed, and terrorized her way to the top of the food chain. I, like the good person/Christian/friend/whatever that I had learned so well to be, let her do it. I let her do it because, well, she had had such a hard life growing up as a PMU baby, and because she's so sensitive I couldn't discipline her, and because I loved her and wanted her to love me back. I told myself and others that I just hadn't yet learned the key to being a good leader for her, that she was just misunderstood.

Yeah, turns out that is all bullshit.

It's bullshit because when I finally decided to have boundaries and to get mad appropriately, I had an amazingly calm, obedient, and confident horse almost over night.

One of my favorite authors and horse people, Linda Kohonav, made an amazingly astute observation in her book, "Riding Between Worlds,"that I have tried to take to heart ever since I read it. She said that, "The fear of feeling blocks self-knowledge and true connection with others. Yet this particular fear has almost no chance of dissipating until people learn to treat emotion as information."

So, if this is the case, what message does anger provide? Linda believes that anger is a message that a boundary has to be maintained or rebuilt, and that if this message is not heeded right away it leads to rage, fury, and exploding at others initially, eventually turns to shame and guilt, and then finally to apathy. So, basically, by not setting my boundaries with my horse early and often, I was not only doing a disservice to myself, but to her as well.

Sydney and I had a "come to god" moment with this very concept very shortly after I got her home from our abbreviated training program. I was frustrated and feeling hopeless that Sydney was home, untrained, dead lame, and still a bully, but I was stubbornly determined to try to make the most of it. I decided to take some of what we had learned and implement it at the walk (the only gait that she was sound at) and in-hand to prevent any accidents. As it turned out, she had other plans, and 5 minutes into my brilliant training plan for the day, she gave me the proverbial finger (pretty sure I actually heard her tell me to fuck off, actually), spun around, ripped the rope clean out of my hands and at a dead gallop (quite spry for a horse in pain, I might add), took off through the park, across a busy street, and up to the barn where, as the very last straw, she ripped her expensive, custom, padded shoe off. 

(WARNING, RAGE ALERT)

When I finally caught up to Hell Bitch, I had worked myself into a lather that would make a rabid raccoon proud. As I grabbed the lead rope and let loose a barrage of profanity that would make a sailor blush, I also unleashed months of built up guilt from not knowing how to be a better horse mom, shame that others might find out my horsemanship skills were crap, and even the apathy I had felt by letting her languish in the pasture instead of getting up the courage to face the bad pony attitude head on. I backed her all the way up a 50 foot hill by swinging her lead rope wildly at her and screaming like mad woman. While I'm fairly certain I never actually made contact with her during the whole performance, I am pretty sure the neighbors believed that a crazy woman had escaped the looney bin and was running amok on their property. Sydney's eyes were the size of dinner plates, but she never once even made a move to rip out of my hands again.

I'm certainly not proud of how that went down, and as I drug Sydney back down to the barn to put her in her stall and call the farrier to come out and re-shoe her, a wave of guilt and shame came over me that I had once again let my temper get the best of me.

As bad as I still feel about that incident, it was definitely a turning point in our relationship. Partially, I think, because Sydney finally realized I had set a boundary and was dead serious about it, but more importantly because I vowed to never let myself be pushed so far that that level of rage would explode out again.

As part of my plan, I had Scott Purdum, a local natural horsemanship trainer, come back down and work with me on setting some proper boundaries with Sydney. (You can see the video of us practicing on Scott's Facebook page, Advantage Horsemanship, here.) 

During our training session that day, I learned a very interesting thing about getting mad. You can do it almost in passing, without it being a huge, hour-long performance. You can actually get mad, reset a boundary, and get back to your life in like 5 seconds. Holy crap!! What a concept!

It's been a few weeks since Scott came out for that lesson, and a few months since the Battle of Horsey Hill, and I'm proud to say that so far I have been able to approach my time with Sydney in a way that maintains my boundaries (no pushing, no biting, no rushing ahead of me, PERIOD), while also respecting hers. In fact, I've become even more aware of her state of mind, as well as the things that calm her and also make her fearful. She's more trusting of me, and while she does still push at times, she's pretty much dropped the bullying act altogether in favor of enjoying being around me. I am consistent with the boundaries I set, and I no longer view them as a selfish indulgence. This was quite an epiphany for me! Thank you, my dearest Hell Bitch, for being such an awesome teacher! :)