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!
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