Further Adventures with Bridget

How do you get a Bridget to go forward?

Answer #1:  If the Bridget is not used to a rider and legs, even a little amount of pressure will cause a Bridget to go, "Yikes! What was that?!" and walk forward.

Answer #2:  When the Bridget is used to the rider and legs, pressure will cause the Bridget to turn her head all the way around to inspect the leg closely, asking, "What is that annoying thing you're doing with your foot?"

Answer #3:  After you've spent several intervening days pondering the issues posed by Answer #2 and how you're going to induce the Bridget to proceed forward without resorting to Old Fashioned Means, the said Bridget will have solved the issue in her own little head and will walk forward on your first or second request.

Why does a Bridget approve of being ridden?

Because when the Bridget is being lead around, the human on the end of the rope is very slow and boring.

Because if a Bridget is turned loose into the wide world, it's TOO SCARY to go across the farm to the far side all by herself and See What's There.

Because when the rider is up, Bridget can go ANYWHERE SHE WANTS, and her buddy has no option but to accompany her at a reasonable pace and without being slow and boring.

When does Bridget's rider get to lay down the law?

Sometimes Bridget's rider says, "No More Eating!" Bridget will toss her head and maybe say a bad word, but then she's like, "Oh ok, whatever."

Sometimes Bridget's rider says, "Slowly please!" Or, sometimes, "Stop!" Bridget will accommodate such requests without demur.

Sometimes Bridget's rider will say, "Let's make a circle here, just for - y'know - like, practice." Bridget will get into the spirit of this somewhat willingly-ish.

Sometimes Bridget's rider dismounts, takes the saddle off, gives Bridget a shower and then tries to take her back to her pasture. Bridget usually says, "No, no, no, no, no, don't want to." So it might take a loooooong time to get her back there.

Why does a Bridget walk away when you appear with the halter?

Aha! We have a rather different answer to that now. Now what she's up to is getting away from George before she's confined at the end of a leadrope and at his mercy. (Mea culpa? Should I make Bridget feel safer?)

How do you know this?

Because, while I suspected this for some time, it was confirmed the other day when I appeared with the halter and she walked away from me across the field toward the other gate. When I caught up with her, she stopped. Then, just to check, I left her and walked the rest of the way toward the gate. She followed me and then was totally fine with me putting the halter on. And today, when I appeared ditto, she did the same thing and was thoroughly put out when I took George out instead of her.

Why does Bridget have a gash under her arm?

Because that George lunged at her, and she wheeled around to get away, and there was a fence in the way, and she reared up and came down with one leg in the fence. She is almost all healed.

Here is a fun item Bridget found one day while exploring with a rider.
(Sorry, I don't  think the video works - but you get the picture.)

Time and Trust

The much-anticipated workshop of November 15 has taken place! At Harmony Ranch in Van Vleck, Texas, I joined Christin Staszesky Harper, her five horses, and seven other students for a day of the Yoga of Equine Wisdom.

There's a lot to unpack from this workshop, and a lot to say, but I won't try to do it all at once. One thing - "Yoga" in this case has the meaning "Union," not a bunch of asanas.

Among the themes which emerged during the course of the day, trust and taking time were two which stood out. The issue of trust was introduced initially in human-to-human exercises, such leading each other and falling (not very far) backwards into a partner's waiting hands. Then as an exploration of horse/human trust, we took turns picking up a horse's foot. Most of the people at the workshop were not experienced with horses, and so this was something which might induce a degree of trepidation or uncertainty, perhaps on both sides. The human had to trust that it was safe to pick up the foot of the horse, and the horse had to feel confidence in the human in order to allow its foot to be picked up.

One horse had already picked up his forefeet a couple of times, and when the next human approached and asked for his foot, he refused. Very calmly and politely, but a refusal nonetheless. Then again, refusal is probably the wrong word. In humanspeak, we think of a refusal as a loud, or least emphatic,  "No!" The horse's No was more like the No of a rock that is just too heavy to lift. Our coach did not try to coach the human in a better or more explicit way to induce the horse to pick up his foot. And the student did not get flustered. The coach eventually questioned the student as to whether she perhaps could find some inner resistance on her part. No, she really couldn't. Then finally, our coach said, "You see - being with horses takes time!" And no sooner were the words out of her mouth than up came the foot.

Coincidence? Hmm.

Thinking back, there were many examples during the day of trust and taking time. And when I went to the barn today, I pondered the many examples I encountered there.

I bring some treats with me to the pasture. George, Rose and Bridget all come up and stand in a semi-circle around me, each waiting politely for their turn to receive a treat. Each one trusts that they will get their share and trusts that the other horses will not steal from them or bite them or drive them away. I trust them not to hurt me. It has taken a long time to reach this point - four years. Chloe still doesn't trust the others and stands in the background. But she trusts that I will throw her a treat and waits expectantly.

George is fearful of the cold; he doesn't trust the future food supply and feels he may starve. When I arrive he stands by the gate, trusting that I will take him out and let him graze. I take the time to stand beside him for an hour while he tries to satisfy his craving for calories.

Clover has carbs!

When it's Bridget's turn to come out of the pasture, I hold her leadrope and stand with her by the gate. George stands there too. It's hard for him to let her leave. At times, George comes between Bridget and me, his chest pressing against the rope. In the past this would have been a dangerous situation which I would have avoided at all costs, otherwise he would end up biting her and driving her away, possibly causing her to run me over in the process. Today, however, Bridget trusts George to control himself. She stands alert, but calm and patient, on the other end of the rope, giving George the time he needs to relinquish the gate. Which eventually he does - he ups and walks definitively away, allowing me plenty of time to open the gate, extract Bridget, and close the gate again.

Bridget, having been well-fed since birth does trust the food supply. While she is very happy to have snack breaks, she's more interested in exploring. Sometimes we run together.

Chloe has been giving me the Look since I arrived. She stands in the background, fixing me pointedly with her eyes and intention. The Look generally means, "Take (or let) me out." When I return Bridget to the field, George decides to stay near the gate, Bridget goes for a drink, and Rose tries to do what she always does when she wants to be in charge of where to go - she tries to gather Chloe up and shoo her ahead. I defend Chloe, who stands close by me, trusting that I will keep Rose away. Finally Rose, slightly huffy, walks off, and Chloe and I walk together to the far gate. Bridget follows us, but I convince her to keep her distance. Still Chloe trusts that I will keep her safe. When we reach the gate, I open it and invite Chloe to exit. She watches and waits for the right moment, then out she goes. When I first began allowing Chloe to say No, it took time - six months - before she trusted me enough to leave the pasture with me. And I trust Chloe to behave appropriately outside the confines of the fence, wearing no tack.

Chloe and I have a little walk, Chloe grazes, I sit down, and Chloe remembers her foot trick. She puts her foot on top of my bended knee and then looks for a treat, but I'm all out. She doesn't mind.

When it's time for me to leave, I realize that I have actually no way of getting Chloe back into the field. She doesn't buy me leading from behind - she knows I don't really mean it. I try taking off my belt and using it as a collar but that's about as much use as trying to move her by blowing at her. In the end, I run back and fetch a halter and leadrope (and apple). As soon as halter and rope are on, Chloe moves off readily, and we run together back to the gate. Rose is waiting, and the two of them stand trustingly side by side while I hand them bites of apple. Bridget comes up in time for the last morsel.

Sometimes Chloe lets me climb on her back. She trusts that I will not insist and will only go ahead with her permission. Today was not one of those days, but last week she allowed me the privilege. For me, that is the biggest leap (scramble!) of trust of all. Usually, I try to get up quickly, uneasy that she might take off or move. Then I realized that on those occasions when she decides it's ok, it really is ok. Last week, when Chloe stood still to let me clamber aboard, I think I managed to let go of my uncertainty and allow myself to take all the time I needed to climb up, allowing myself to feel her trustworthiness.

After Saturday's workshop, I feel I have a clearer mandate to continue waiting and trusting. Trusting not just the horses as individuals, but the whole process of unfolding. As Chloe and I were walking to the gate today, I felt a moment of anxiety - Will she come out? Will I fail? And then I realized that it didn't matter - that if I was serious about trusting the horses and trusting the future, I would accept with equanimity either outcome. There is so much to be grateful for; and so much in my life for which I am grateful was unplanned and unforeseen. Unexpected gifts can be better than the ones we hope for.

Talking Horse

It seems I never learn.

The horse I was working on earlier this evening has always been sensitive. He is a thoroughbred, inclined to be compliant, but gets nervous easily (which he shows by developing instant diarrhea if pressured too much) and is sometimes restless and resistant.

He always has a good reason. But with monotonous regularity, I come to the conclusion that this time his fussiness is just him being stubborn. I am always wrong.

Today, he kept on and on talking to us about something. He leaned over and nosed his foreleg repeatedly. When I didn't get the message, he moved to the other foreleg. I knew he was talking to us, but did not figure out that - omg duh - he was talking to us about ..... his legs!!!!!

After completing work on his LF, it became virtually impossible to work on any of his other legs. I noticed he kept stretching his LF out in front of him. So we walked him around, and sure enough he was limping. (Note to self: forgoodnesssake, remember to always see them walk first.) Didn't seem to be the foot, as he was squarely weighting both heel and toe. So, we figured somewhere in the leg was sore. The owner got some liniment, and as she was rubbing it on, he gave a strong ouchy reaction whenever she rubbed the inside of his left knee.

Mea culpa. I should listen better.

Of course, as soon as we said, "Poor darling, we'll stop work for today," he kicked up his little heels and galloped off to join the other horses, but, well, I guess even injured horses have to keep up with the herd to avoid the carnivores and such. Sometimes I wish they thought that untrimmed feet were the equivalent of a hungry puma.

Very different is his pasture mate. A strong, dominant, stoic buckskin mare. She has a sore LH stifle, and if you insist on holding up her foreleg too long, she'll rear (politely) to get away. But if you give her every consideration, and listen to all her requests, she will go out of her way to cooperate and make it possible for you to work on all her feet. It probably is uncomfortable for her, but she does it anyway. No way you could force her to do it. We didn't start out this way, her and me, but she taught me to listen to her, and rewarded me for doing it.

The Thoroughbred today was so much more calm than he used to be. He didn't get anxious - he just kept talking to us about the problem. So I'm glad that at least he feels encouraged to communicate directly, despite our obtuseness. And anyway, I'm always glad when it turns out that it's just me being dumb again. I'd hate to find out that there really was such a thing as a stubborn horse.

Bridget Refuses to be Bored

Bridget and I had an interesting excursion today, which reminded me again of the many dilemmas and questions in life, such as when - or whether - to compromise, when - and whether - to stick to an agenda, and of the perennial necessity to stay in the moment and just hope you don't mess things up too bad.

I've been finding the Bored Game to be very helpful in trimming. Just the other day, I was trying to trim a TB gelding, who was restless on account of I had interrupted his Very First Day Out On Grass this spring. A minute or two of the Bored Game was all it took to bring him mentally present and allow us to finish his feet. Most horses get the picture really quickly.

Bridget is another story. While Bridget and I were out for a walk today, I lead her off the road onto the verge to allow a car to pass. She has no fear of traffic, but as the car went by, she was very distracted and not paying attention to me, which made the situation feel unpleasantly unstable. If I'm going to start riding Bridget this year, we need to have an understanding that we must both be present in the same mental space. So I decided then and there to play a spot of the Bored Game. Over half an hour later, we were still at it.

Bridget is what, if she had been a little girl back in the days of my childhood, would have been termed "a proper little madam." Nowadays I would say she possessed a flair for the dramatic and displayed excellent leadership potential. Be that as it may, thirty minutes and counting of the Bored Game and we weren't getting anywhere.

She looked into the distance, pawed the ground, plunged, walked into me, stared at phantoms, tried to sneak past me, nudged me, bounced, and altogether refused to accept the fate of boredom. The good thing about this game is that it is non-confrontational, which means that the horse might be getting mighty ticked off, but the human can remain serene. However, when she started barging into me, I thought this might be a bridge too far and decided to whomp her on the chest with the end of the leadrope, which is sort of against my principles, but, hey, no one likes an ideologue, right? Then - which is where I took it too far, I think - I whomped her again when she tried to run around me. I think whomping is ok to stop her running into me but not to stop her running around me. I guess. Whatever. Anyway, I got my head back into the right place, but Bridget was still refusing to be bored, finding ever-cleverer ways to circumvent my plans. And I admit it might not have been the best idea to play this game half a mile from home.

Then, in moments when she was momentarily [note correct use of "momentarily"] still, I started feeling on the leadrope to ask her to relax her neck and back a little. And as soon as she did, she would go into this paroxysm of opening and closing her mouth and twisting her body and contorting her neck, and lifting her foreleg up underneath her - as if letting go of the tension in her neck and back was just too, too weird-feeling. At first she resumed her head-up tension almost immediately, but each time I asked for the release she maintained the paroxysmic (is this a word?) behavior for longer and longer, until she dropped her head completely and began rubbing her nose on the ground like a bloodhound.

None of this bore any resemblance to boredom, but I could sense Bridget coming in closer - that the focus of her attention was now on this weird experience she was having rather than on outwitting me. I asked her to walk forward while her nose was on the ground, and she did so. When her head crept up, I stopped, re-asked for release, whereupon she immediately dropped her nose all the way back to the ground, and we started walking again. She could even trot with her nose on the ground. After a few stops, she would automatically drop her nose without being asked and start walking again. And in this manner we walked all the way home.

When we were almost back, a neighbor stopped to talk to me, and Bridget immediately reverted to her toddler-in-the-supermarket-fed-up-because-mom-is-having-boring-conversation-with-boring-grownup-and-toddler-wants-to-go-home-already behavior.

Bridget's willfulness was in clear view today - it's a quality I like in her, but I think we'll have to continue this conversation. I really do want her to understand that if I say "Be bored," then that's the way it has to be. I don't think she even really knows yet what I'm asking for. She and I had a similar loooong conversation a few months ago about backing up, and as I re-read that blog entry, I recall that I used the clicker to help me clarify to her what I meant. She was calmer then because we were at home - but it still took about half an hour.

Later today, I was out in the pasture, grooming the horses and hanging out. I managed to teach Bridget (by dint of bribing with scratches) to turn 180 degrees away from me, and then I started teaching her to keep going and turn the rest of the 360. She stuck around for ages, letting me teach her silly stuff. She's a good kid.

George is a Genius

George is very capable of communicating. However, he does it in such a diffuse and sometimes distant manner, that I don't always notice what he's saying, or even that he's saying anything at all.

Bridget comes barreling over - she pushes me, prods me, sticks her nose in my face, slams her butt into my side to ask for scratches, tries to copy what I'm doing, and generally is like an enthusiastic, bumptious kid, who wants to talk and ask questions and get involved in everything.

George on the other hand - for example - comes toward me indirectly, passing to one side, makes no face-to-face contact, and stops with me in the general vicinity of his hindquarters, careful not to touch me. If I fail to take the hint, he turns around and looks at the spot  he wants to have scratched.

Today, he came over for a little scratching, but he wasn't really into it. He kept leaving and going to stand by a lone capped t-post, the remains of a manege I used to have. As he stood there, looking utterly woebegone, he would bite his legs and paw at the ground.

I thought to myself, "What in the world is the matter with George?"

I guessed he was frustrated because he wanted to go across the drive to the other field where there was a little green grass, and I'd already made it clear that this wasn't happening today. I decided that despite the piles of hay I'd put on the ground for his dining pleasure, George was just sad that there was no green grass in his field and his frustration was getting the better of him.

Later on, I was with the horses in a different part of the field, near an open gate which leads between two pastures. I noticed a stray piece of fence wire hanging down and wrapped it out of harm's way around the fence.

George went over and took the piece of wire in his mouth. If Bridget did that, it would be because she'd seen me wrap the wire and wanted to try to copy me. Not George. I offered him the end of the wire to see if he wanted to investigate it. No. He stuck his head over the fence. He stepped away, and right next to the gate post, he started pecking and pawing the ground and biting his legs again.

And then I understood. He's talking to me about fencing. That was the whole point of standing by the t-post, and then mouthing the fence wire, and then pawing beside the gatepost. Even though this particular piece of fencing and this open gate divides the two pastures he's currently living in, he's using the fencing here to make a point: He is frustrated by the fencing that is keeping him from the green grass.

It was getting late, but I wanted to do something for him and asked him to follow me across the field, where I exited and found a meager patch of green grass growing in a corner of the yard. I plucked the short grass and in the growing darkness gave George tiny handfuls of green through the fence. It wasn't much, but I hope at least he realized that I finally understood what he was talking about.

The complexity of his communication astounds me.

It's interesting that this happened today, because I've just been realizing that it's a long time since I tried to tap into George's special talents and gifts. Earlier today, I was trying to tell him that I was sorry about that, and perhaps looking for a word from him.

In my selfish way, of course, I now see I was hoping for something for me. Whereas right now, George has his own needs as a priority. Yet he perhaps sensed that I was listening again, and he talked to me.

Listening is hard. Hearing is even harder.

Freedom to Refuse

On Saturday I went out on two last-minute trimming calls. Two different barns but, coincidentally, two recent rescues who needed trimming, preferably before Christmas.

The first call was to a new mini, adopted a few days before by a man who already owns three. He has a lovely, neat set-up for his pets and takes very good care of them. He's a softie when it comes to dwarf minis, and he heard about this little one who was being fostered by a dog-rescue lady until a permanent home could be found for him.

His name is Bashful, and he is the teeniest, tiniest mini you have ever seen. Five years old and fully grown, weighing less than 60 pounds. It was obviously a very, very long time since his last trim - perhaps he'd never been trimmed before. Both fore hoofs were growing out to the side, and he was walking on the side wall of both hoofs. Both hoofs curved to the left. These dwarfs can have distorted joints, but he has mobility in the fetlock joint, and I think if his hoofs could grow straight, he might be able to walk on his heels. But HOW to effect the transition? This will require some thinking and consultation with others more experienced than I. On Saturday we settled for getting rid of most of the excessive over growth to get things started, but I didn't want to take it all away, as it wasn't clear what would be left for him to land on.

He was so little, his owner just picked him up and plonked him on his side. He didn't seem to mind, and when we were done, he stuck around being curious and friendly.

The second call was to a newly-adopted pinto Shetland pony. When we started, he was very distracted by his absence from his pasture-mates, and he reared away occasionally while I was working on his forefeet. I encouraged him to "ask politely" and pretty soon he got the hang of doing just that, and we were able work on his feet, taking little breaks when he wanted.

The hind legs were a different matter. He turned out to be a kicker, and when it comes to kicking, ponies are champs. At one point, he kicked out with both feet at once, and the stand went flying. So - time to back off and re-group. Seemed like he had had a bad experience in the past with his hind legs being worked on, which is turning out to be a not-infrequent experience, with ponies especially. The first thing to do was to ask him NOT to pick up his leg. I put my hand on his leg and asked him to leave it on the ground. Kick. Try again. Kick. But after several more tries, he left his foot planted.

At this point, the pony became pensive, calm, and inwardly listening. He turned to look at me sometimes. I started asking him to pick up his foot, and each time he refused. I backed off, asked again, he refused, I backed off, asked again, received a refusal .... and so on. I've come to see this as a powerfully positive experience for both horse and human -  this opportunity for the horse to respond to a request with a refusal. Klaus Ferdinand Hempfling talks about obtaining an almost immediate "healing" in horses when he works with them. I've always found this very puzzling, but in this dialog of "Will you?"-"No, I won't," I'm finding there is a balm and a peace for both species involved. Perhaps this is akin to what KFH talks about?

After a while, I started to put a little suggestive pressure on to his foot - not trying to make him pick up his foot, but to illustrate what I was asking. We set up a little quiet conversation between my pressure and his resistance. I was saying "Do you think you might shift your balance a little so that your foot could come up?" He knew it wasn't going to escalate to an argument, and so he was able to respond with, "Well, maybe, let me see, maybe I could, just a little."

And then, with no fuss, he picked his foot up; I plonked it on the stand, and there it remained of its own accord until I was done trimming. Work on the other foot proceeded more quickly.

The thing is - for this to "work," it can't be about getting it to work. I have to be willing to walk away with the work unstarted or incomplete. I remember Lynne Gerard saying something to this effect (I believe it was in response to a comment I left on her blog). I had succeeded in "getting" a friend's mare to take her medicine (which she normally resisted) by holding her on a loose rope, politely asking her to take the medicine, and by expecting her to take it. Lynne congratulated me but wisely reminded me that if my intentions were sincere, I had to be willing to not succeed as well.

This is the way we should treat our fellow humans too, I believe. Unless someone is going to cause harm to themselves or others, there is no cause for coercion. That is why I admire the special ed school where my daughter teaches. The kids are given ample opportunity to act goofy and play, but when it comes time to teach The Basics (manners, sharing, anger control, arithmetic, reading, etc.), the teachers do the equivalent of me standing with my hand on the pony's fetlock, waiting. My daughter has been punched, bitten, kicked, and cursed at. But she and the other teachers don't react; they stand quietly, waiting and suggesting. These children, who have failed at (been failed by) all the other programs they have attended, gradually blossom and improve. I wish all school children could be treated like this.

I am thankful to the little pinto pony for being present, for trusting for listening, and for communicating.

Call Me Crazy Again

All right, here I am going off the deep end as per usual, so bear with me while I expound my latest crackbrained theory.

Ok, so I've done something stupid to my sacrum, and for the last two or three days I've been hobbling around like an old crone. What I've done, I don't know. It's not trimming related. It may be yoga related. It's likely to be hefting bales of hay related. Whatever, it hurts.

As usual when I'm hurting somewhere, I try to figure out how I did it and what bad habit of use has lead to the problem. So far with the sacrum thing I've been coming up blank. Until this morning, when I realized that there's a point in standing up or sitting down which presents a particular challenge to, and puts an extra strain on, the sacral spine.

I then realized that I could counteract this strain by - instead of trying to spread my weight evenly on my feet - putting extra weight into the ball of my foot. And I do remember learning years ago that there's some kind of standing reflex which is stimulated by pressure on the ball of the foot. I experimented more and discovered that it's not enough to just give it a cursory thought, but that I had to focus hard on allowing the weight to sink deep into the ground.

And then I remembered: Who was recently talking to me explicitly about just that very thing? The mare yesterday.

Coincidence? I don't think so.

Talking

The other day when I was out with the horses, George came over. He didn't walk past and stop with me next to his flank as he does when he wants to be sociable. Instead, he sidled up, stopped a few feet away, stretched his neck out, and mouthed at my hand and arm. He interspersed this gesture with pointed looks back over his shoulder toward the fence.

Well, anyone with a toddler's command of language could tell he was saying: "Open the gate and let us out!" So, even though I hadn't been planning to, seeing as how he used his words so politely and clearly and cleverly, I had to do what he asked.

Today, I trimmed a donkey - a very sweet, gentle, helpful donkey. After I'd already worked on her in the barn, we moved to another area of the property to work on somebody else. While the owner was off catching the horse, the donkey came over to say hello to me. After a minute, she walked off and parked herself in a particular spot. She looked over at me, in what I'm coming to recognize as a characteristic donkey way. I suddenly thought: "Oh! That's exactly where she stood to be trimmed last time I was here!" I really think the donkey was reminding me of this. Apart from the serpent, donkeys are the only animals in the Bible which talk. I can't say I've ever heard a snake talk, but I think I heard a donkey talk today.

A Couple of Hoof Notes

1.  An Arabian mare with a dodgy LH - she finds it hard to keep her RF up as a result of the issue with her LH.

I notice that before she lifts her RF, her LH - which she likes to keep parked well in underneath her - has to be set out to the side in order to accommodate the change of balance. After a few moments, it gets to be too uncomfortable, and she moves the LH back in underneath her. Then - and only then - she finds it impossible to keep her RF off the ground, and she takes it away.

I think it's significant that she moves her LH in order to be able to raise her RF, and when it's too much, she doesn't snatch her RF away but only does so after moving the uncomfortable LH back into the position she favors, whereupon she finds that she has to put her RF back on the ground to keep her balance.

She and I develop a little routine. I ask (and do not require) her to lift her RF. She paws the ground a couple of times with the LF in complaint. Then she re-arranges her LH and picks up her RF for as long as she can stand it. When it's too much, she moves the LH back into the more comfortable position, and I'm ready to put her LF down.

The owner is not sure what's wrong with her leg, but says the mare has been having mastitis or something, and perhaps she's holding her leg funny in order to protect a painful udder .... ?

2.  A buckskin gelding, a retired school horse. He has a stifle issue. It's always a stifle issue, isn't it? Everyone wisely pronounces this, and I find myself doing the same thing whenever there's a leg problem: "Hmm, looks like his stifle." In this case, however, it really is his stifle, according to the owner.

The day before seeing this horse I'd been musing on our old Appaloosa mare, an extremely cooperative and intelligent character. She had soundness issues which made it difficult for her to stand on three legs.  When the farrier came to trim her feet, however, she helped us to figure out a way to accommodate this problem. She would rest her head on one person's shoulder, lean her hip against another person, and lean her tail against the wall. I'd been thinking that I hadn't yet come across another horse who so cleverly and obligingly figured out how to help in the trimming process.

Until this buckskin gelding. He was having a hard time letting me work on his RH, as this required him putting weight onto his painful LH. I suggested to his owner that she stand by his left hip to prop him up. He must have understood something of what we were trying to do, because lean he did - but onto me. Not a good plan. I thought it was clever, though, and suggested that we try standing him with his left side against a wall.

Right away he got the idea of using the wall to lean against, and I was able to work on his RH with no problems.

He's a very nice character, and it was pleasant to work on a non-reactive, mild-mannered, tolerant, wise, been-there-done-that kind of a horse. For a change!

Further Adventures with Chloe

After my little ride earlier today, I was out with Chloe again, and she seemed to express a desire for me to climb aboard. With which wish I dutifully complied.

After a few moments' reflection, she set off through a gate which I'd left open to the other pasture so that she could have access to water while out on the lawn. She stopped for a drink, turned to face the other side of the field, and thought some more.

I said, "Chloe, do whatever you want, as long as it doesn't involve any rapid changes of direction or fast speeds."

She headed down toward the creek. The horses always cross the creek (whether dry or muddy) at high speed, so when Chloe stopped at the edge of the mire to evaluate the situation, I slid off.

She immediately became very imperious and demanded that I get back on. How did she express this? She looked exasperated, and shoved me with her head. So I remounted.

After a few more minutes, during which time she listened to me explaining the extreme precariousness of my situation, she set off across the muddy creek. She speeded up a little, but not enough to make me lose my balance.

Up the hill on the other side. Where does Chloe want to go now? Aha. The shelter. So in we went, and I got off. I don't think she was frightfully pleased about me getting off, but it was ok, because I scratched her a lot, and she dozed.

After a while, I think we both were thinking it might be time to return. We weren't sure (at least I wasn't) if I should ride or not. As I seemed to be going in the direction of her choice, Chloe decided that she could just walk beside me.

At the creek, we both stopped and looked. Chloe came up right beside me to assess. I found two dry hummocks to place my feet on, and made it across semi-dry. Chloe followed.

She was ready to go back into the other pasture. After I let her in, she waited for me to come in with her. The other horses were out of sight, so I walked with her until she could see them, and then she was happy to set off towards them without me.

So - the ability to make someone get on your back gives you the ability to command the services of a built-in buddy, who will accompany you wherever you go when you want to set off by yourself away from the other horses.

Yee Haw

Driving home today, I hoped that Chloe would be by the gate so that I could let her out without the rest of the gang. As I turned in the drive, there she was, waiting by the gate. So I opened the gate, and out she came.

When I come out with treats to work on Chloe's tricks, she'll often walk away after a short while, or even before we've started. Today, I had no agenda and, leaving the groceries still in the car, I went over to crouch on the ground in front of Chloe.

She plonked a forefoot on top of my knee, which is one of her tricks. I expressed my appreciation, and then went to pick an apple off the tree for her. She ate it without much enthusiasm and walked off.

As I was starting to gather the groceries from the car, I saw that Chloe had stopped grazing and was parked in the middle of the driveway, apparently waiting.

I walked over, scratched her for a minute, and then stationed myself in mounting position. Chloe gave what I have come to recognize as her "up you get" signal, which is turning her head around and pointing at me with her nose.

So I kicked and flailed myself up onto her back. She is so small, there is no excuse for the kicking and flailing - I should be able to leap up like a gazelle; however, Chloe stood like a little Rock of Gibraltar throughout the process.

Once I was settled, she essayed a step. I wobbled precariously. She stopped. Another step, another wobble; she stopped again. Finally I was stable enough for her to set off towards a good grazing spot on the lawn. I sat comfortably while she ate.

So, what am I learning from Chloe?

I'm learning that tricks can be fun for horses too, and that perhaps they don't always want it to be a mercenary transaction - perhaps sometimes for them it can be that offering a reward takes the heart out of it.

I'm learning that having a plan is not always a good idea. But I'm also learning that sometimes a crazy plan can pop into your head and it might just be the right thing to do: Hey! You know what? I think I might just climb on top of this pony!

I'm learning the importance of trust. When I clamber onto Chloe's back, what allows me to do this is not training or practice but the fact that Chloe has decided to make it safe for me. The trust I feel in her far surpasses the trust I have in a horse whose training keeps it standing still.

I'm learning that "training" is a two-way street, but that, while the cues humans use are often arbitrary, horses state their meaning by simply using their words.

All Aboard

Today Chloe pretty much told me to climb on her back. She was pottering about, loose on the driveway, and I walked over to see if she wanted to go back in the pasture yet. She came up to me but didn't put me into scratching position as she often does. Scratching position is on her right side, near her neck. She put me on her left side, half-way between front and hind legs, and she waited. So I flung myself into potato sack position onto her back, and carrying her precariously loaded burden, she walked over to the gate.

At the gate, after I slid off, Chloe decided she didn't want to go back into the field after all. Once more she put me into what I can only assume is "mounting position." So this time I thought, "What the heck," and I scrambled onto her back until I was sitting astride. She stood immobile while this was going on and continued standing still after I was up there. Which is just as well, because it is very easy to fall off Chloe. I sat there for a while scratching her neck, while she stood relaxing, ears drooping sleepily.

After a little while, I dismounted. But she turned and looked at me and seemed to want me to get back up. So I did, in a manner as inelegant and unathletic as before. And once more she stood stock still during and after the maneuver. We stood/sat quietly for a while, Chloe every now and then turning as if to say, "Hey, those dangling legs of yours could be good for scratching my ribs."

When I slid off, Chloe seemed a little disappointed. She went back into the field when I opened the gate but then made as if to come out again right away.

I should make it clear that she wasn't wearing a halter or rope or anything while this was going on. How far we have come. What a lovely, secure feeling to know that your horse is standing still while you climb on, not because of your skill or agility or training, but in spite of your lack thereof - standing still because it's her decision. This is the little horse who always signaled loud and clear that she wanted no part of the foolishness of riding. It's not that she particularly minded carrying someone on her back; her disapproval was of the rider (or anyone else for that matter) telling her what to do. Now that I've pretty much given up that bad habit, she's willing to entertain the idea of carrying me.

We'll see what happens if and when Chloe decides to take a step with me on board. It'll be very good balance practice, that's for sure.

Later this afternoon, I took Bridget out for a graze and a wander. I found this birds' nest lying on the ground and told Bridget it looked like her mane had come in very handy.

P.S.  I am not in the habit of making 12:2 hh ponies carrying great gallumphing adults like myself - Chloe was ridden by lighter people back in the day. However, if she tells me to get up, I hear and obey.

Good Morning

My twin daughters graduated from college last weekend. One of them returned home with us for the summer, and yesterday - her first morning back - she was awakened by someone knocking on the window. That someone was George.

So she got up and sat on the kitchen steps, sharing an apple with the horses. After that she thought it would be nice to have a little pyjama ride on George. She added a helmet and a pair of boots to her ensemble, while I fetched the halter and leadrope. I was getting ready to give her a leg-up, when George backed away.

My daughter, who works with children a lot, spoke to George in what she calls her soothing voice: "Would  it be ok, George, if I had a little tiny ride - just while you eat grass? Could I just climb up for a little bit - maybe just two or three minutes - would that be ok?"

We tried again, and George stood quite still. My daughter said, "I guess we just had to ask nicely." True.

George was a little confused at first. There's someone on my back, but we're not doing anything - what's up with that? Then he cottoned on that we just wanted to hang out while he grazed. And he puttered about while my daughter lolled on his back.

At one point he went to investigate the electric strand on the fence. I've noticed before that he'll check it out with his lips to see if it's on. This was the first time I witnessed him discover that it was on. He was only a little startled.

My daughter, who had been feeling rather blue at the closing of her halcyon college days, said, "You can't get up in the morning and ride a horse at college." So, good job, George.

Time to get up, young lady!

Riding George

I still haven't quite figured out how this goes. The power-sharing thing, that is. George hasn't figured it out either.

If I say stop, and George says go, that's not ok. I guess. If I say go, and George says no, that is ok. I'm sure of that. We can just wait. If I say go this way, and George says, let's go that way, that might be fine. If I say go forward, and George says go back, that's ok-but-not-ok - in other words, I'll let him go back, but with an expectation that it's temporary.

It's ok to eat, but mostly that should happen when I decide. Mostly. If George decides to trot, that's fine, but he has to let me control the speed.

On Sunday, I felt like going for a ride. So, as is my new custom, I announced my intention by fetching out a saddle and hanging it on the gate; I then waited to see who would come over. Well, they all came, and I think they were actually hoping that I'd let them out to play in the yard. However, George touched the saddle with his nose, which is the signal for "Take me out and let's tack up!" It is highly likely that George didn't in fact know that this signifies any such thing, but if he'd objected to being tacked up, I'd've put him back in the field. In fact, he was a little angel, and didn't even make a face when I did up the girth.

I got my daughter to stand by his head while I hopped up onto his back with my newfound agility. (Some day I'll tell you about that.) George decided to go down the drive, and I agreed. At the end of the drive, there was a period of discussion, involving me saying, "Let's go," and George demurring. However, I waited, and pretty soon he decided to set off.

Once in motion, he got quite keen and even wanted to trot away from home down the farm lane. There were a lot of things to look at and wonder about, but he stayed with me. We had a couple of bounces and frights on the way back, what with the crazy mares running around the field, and the lawnmower, and such, but nothing too unsettling.

The thing I see with George is that he does not have an expectation that I'm going to be saying much to him, other than in very broad terms - stop/go/left/right. Whereas with Rose already, who is much "greener," I can feel an awareness from her that I might be communicating on a more subtle level - communicating things about her body and movement, input which she might consider taking into account.  I rode George with the bitless bridle, and I think he actually prefers the bit. He's never minded putting it on, and the wider straps of the bitless were causing him to want to scratch his head a lot. Perhaps he'd be more in listening mode if he were wearing the bit.

When we returned home, I was able to tell my daughter that George had been very nice. I reflected that there was a time when such a ride might have resulted in my saying that the horse had been annoying or difficult. But each time we had a difference of opinion, neither of us became irritated or fearful or resistant, and so I was able to truthfully say that George had been nice. Which he was.

Rose is Ready

What is this? Today, when I moved the horses across the drive to their day-time grazing, George presented himself first, as usual. Bridget always comes next, as befits her spot in the hierarchy, but today Rose put herself forward to be taken after George and before Bridget. She stepped up, clearly expecting to go next, while Bridget held back and allowed this strange turn of events to occur. For the last day or so, Rose has been coming to the fence occasionally and sticking her head over to say hello. Most unprecedented. The chain of command has not switched, as Bridget still reigns supreme at the trough, but it seems Rose is ready for a change.

Later, this afternoon, after everyone had had a turn being brushed out in the field, and handfuls of winter coat lay strewn over the ground, I went to the barn to fetch out a saddle and bridle. Rose looked interested but returned to her grazing.

I left the tack on the gate and went off to do other things, and waited. About 20 or 30 minutes later, as I was scrubbing the water trough in the other field, I looked over and saw Rose standing near the saddle, looking over at me, as I thought she might eventually, if I gave her time.

I dropped what I was doing and went to join her. When I arrived, Rose was ready to go - no playing hard-to-get this time. I put her halter on, lead her out, and tied the leadrope to a string attached to the fence. The first time I approached Rose with the saddle, she stepped away, so I stopped and waited. On the second attempt, she was fine. She put her head down for the bitless bridle - now that she knows there's no bit, she doesn't turn away as she used to.

When she was all tacked up, she turned her head back to me two or three times, and touched me with her nose very gently and sweetly - saying - I think - ok, we're ready, up you get. But then the other horses, who had arrived from the other side of the field, got all, like, "Rose, what's up? What's going on? Why are you out there? Oh no!" Which got her a little rattled. So I had my husband stand by her head while I mounted (yes! I managed to mount from the ground!), and then we were off.

We pottered about the yard, sometimes Rose deciding where to go, sometimes me. Once, early on, Rose was startled by George carrying on back in the field, and she bounced a few times, but we soon calmed down. At one point, she decided to set off down the drive, but she thought better of it halfway down and turned back toward the house. Later, she went halfway down again and just stopped. I dismounted and let her graze for a bit, before turning her loose back into the pasture. I hope another time she decides to venture further afield.

Rose can be quite stiff and fixed, but she's sensitive too, and I think she listens to what you're saying from up on her back and takes it into account. I wanted her to relax her neck a bit and come back up off her forehand. I'm trying to minimize what I do with the reins, so I tried to just "think" into her via my seat and legs mostly, and she really did respond.

I noticed something bad today, namely that my beloved Wintec Cair panel endurance saddle doesn't fit Rose as well as I thought it did. The gullet is not as high off her back as I remembered, and in fact I shouldn't use the saddle at all, sitting as low as it does. I wonder if I just wasn't paying attention before, or if the shape of her back has changed.

A friend of mine recently posted this on Facebook. I think Rose fits the description of a classic introvert.

The advice in nos. 3, 4, 6, 7, and 12 is especially applicable to the human-Rose relationship. When I brought the saddle out, although Rose was interested right away, it took quite a while for her to stop what she was doing and ask to play. She is definitely a still-waters-run-deep kind of a gal, and I'm looking forward to seeing more of her, as and when she chooses to reveal herself.

Saddle Up

Yesterday, when I got bored scratching Bridget, I decided to go to the barn and fetch out the saddle. Bridget followed me, but when she saw me re-appearing around the corner with an armload of rattly, clattery tack, she was startled and skittered off to join the other horses.

I walked across the field, hung the saddle on the gate, and went into the kitchen to cut up carrots. I'd decided only to do something with the saddle if someone showed an interest. I looked up from chopping carrots and through the window I saw Bridget, having crossed the field and knocked the saddle off the gate, pawing at it as it lay on the ground. I stuffed the carrots into my pocket and scurried out to join her before the saddle met an untimely doom.

Having ascertained that Bridget was in fact interested in the saddle today, I resorted to the un-pc step of tying her to the fence. It would be nice to tack up at liberty, but lacking a smaller space like a picadero or round pen, it's easier to tie her up, and if she's already signaled her interest, I reckon it's ok. As time goes by, I feel less conflicted about stuff like this, as I become clearer in my mind that my intention is not to force her into the venture, but to use tying (or whatever) as a convenience. If she says, "No," I can, after all, untie her.

Anyway, she was quite fine with the saddle going on. I gave her treats liberally. It's amazing to me how quickly they catch on about not grabbing treats if you just use your words (or your clear intention) and tell them. It only took a couple of tries before Bridget learned to quiet herself when a treat appeared and wait until I gave it to her. We wandered down the drive, stirrups flapping, and she grazed a bit. Then my daughter called, needing to be picked up. For fun, we charged full-tilt back up the drive, with me whooping my best rebel yell as we ran, and Bridget keeping stride enthusiastically, moderating her pace to suit my elderly, bipedal version of a mad dash.

I took the saddle off. Bridget was not happy about this. She walked over to where the saddle was laying next to the kitchen steps and pawed at it. Here she is saying, "What do you mean we're done? We only just got started."

Today, while she was waiting for me to come to the field, Bridget thought maybe she could climb out over the gate. She put one foreleg on one of the bars of the gate and then put the other foreleg on the second highest bar. She stood there hindlegs on the ground, forelegs on the gate, obviously pondering her options. I think she must have recognized that there was no obvious way her hindlegs could follow along and further her prospects of egress. Or it could be that she was trying to use her "hands" to open the gate, as she sees me do. What a girl.

The other day she had another psychic episode. The always-rewarding Journal of Ravenseyrie has a new link to another interesting blog, Horses and Humans, which has a link to these cool Youtube videos by Eva Roematt. The horse in these videos performs a gesture where he sticks one or other of his forelegs horizontally out in front, and he also executes a bow, where he stretches both forelegs out in front of him, lowering his chest, and bowing his head down to the ground. Shortly after watching these videos, I was out in the field with Bridget, and - in quick succession - she did both of these moves. She's always very expressive with her forelegs, but she'd never so explicitly stuck them straight out in front before. More striking was her bow, which is not something she's done before. Sometimes it's a little freaky.

I know what all y'all are thinking.

Buck

Ok, hands up everyone who's seen the movie Buck Brannaman. Cos I'd really like to know what y'all think of it.

Thanks to my internet having been fixed (fingers crossed), so that the download speed is now like 2.65 megawotsits instead of only 0.14, I was at last able to view the movie all the way through.

Buck is a documentary about Buck Brannaman, a real-life "horse whisperer," who helped Robert Redford with Redford's role in the eponymous movie.

Buck Brannaman is a real likeable guy who has some fine things to say about horses. For example: Don't be critical - Don't discourage them or they'll shut down. There's some other cool stuff in the movie, such as the lady who works cows with her dressage horses, as she says it brings "meaning and purpose" into the dressage training because the horses know it helps them with their cattle work, which they love.

There's a sad incident, however, involving a three-year old orphan stud colt, who had been bottle raised and then, when his owner had a bad accident when he was three months old, had been left to his own devices for the next three years. After his difficult birth, he had lain without breathing for some time until he was revived, and there was some thought that this oxygen deprivation had left him mentally impaired.

This youngster was extremely aggressive, to the point where he would attack vehicles and charge fences to bite people on the other side.

Nothing daunted, Buck brings him into the round pen to see what can be done. From his horse, Buck ropes the colt's ankle and starts to be able to control his movements. From there, Buck's cowboy assistant is able to go up to the colt, sack him out, saddle, mount, and ride him. So far so good.

But on the ground, the horse continues to be a menace. Buck blames the owner, for allowing the horse's behavior to escalate to this point, and for not having had him gelded sooner. Buck says orphan horses are the worst, because they're spoiled and not taught respect as they would be if they were with their mothers. He's in a pen with the colt and has to continually fend off his aggressive charges by flapping sticks at him.

Later, they bring him back to the round pen. The colt has a halter and rope on, and the cowboy is holding the rope in one hand and a blanket in the other. It's not clear whether he's using the blanket as a kind of goad to make the horse move forward or whether he's trying to sack him out some more. They move around the pen a little, the cowboy apparently having a little success in getting the horse to move forward on command.

Then - seemingly out of the blue - the colt leaps forward, bites the cowboy's head, knocks him to the ground, and leaves the scene to go over to the other side of the pen.

The cowboy is bloodied and needs stitches in his head. The owner is distraught and realizes her only option is to have the horse destroyed. Buck doesn't disagree. Someone - sooner or later - is going to get killed.

The horse's death sentence is sealed, and he is hauled off in a truck. The next day, Buck talks to the other participants in the clinic about what happened. He says that human beings let the horse down. He says that perhaps the horse was a little retarded after being deprived of oxygen, but that this doesn't mean he had to end so badly. With the proper training, he could have been a good little horse, quietly "packing" someone around, leading a life which would have been of use to himself and to others.

Life doesn't have the option of instant replay, but Netflix streaming does, and so I replayed these scenes over and over until I got a sense of what really happened.

First of all: Buck in the pen with the colt. He has driven the colt off to the far side of the pen, using his flag-ended stick. As Buck talks to the owner, the colt sidles up behind him, chewing and licking. Buck senses his approach out of the corner of his eye and instead of engaging the colt and acknowledging his pacific intent, immediately turns round and starts aggressively flailing the air with the stick to drive the colt away. The colt instantly reacts by returning the aggression, rearing, striking, and trying to get at Buck.

Later: in the pen with the cowboy. The young horse repeatedly gives the cowboy a chance. He turns to face him, stands his ground, expresses his displeasure at the blanket onslaught. Finally, the cowboy approaches him directly. The horse takes a step backwards and stops, looking at the cowboy (who incidentally is wearing dark glasses). The cowboy ignores the horse's gesture of retreat, as well as his intentionality to connect, and moves in closer in an unmistakeably predatory manner, holding the blanket like a weapon.

Faster than you can blink, the horse leaps forward, mouth open and lunges toward the cowboy's head.

The humans present at the clinic, observing the terrifying attacks, presumably saw what I saw on my first watch-through of the scenes - chaos and fury being unleashed with no prior warning. It took me many re-plays until I could see more clearly what was going on. I imagine horses are able to see at that speed all the time. 

The first thing that comes to mind is that you can see the limitations of technique here. Any one method is going to come up against a situation where it is not the best method. This young horse was clearly far too dangerous to work with in a confined space, never mind at the end of a short rope. John Lyons would have fared better with his liberty work in a 60' round pen, working the horse from a safe distance. Mark Rashid's "Old Man" would have done even better with his technique of leaving the horse - for weeks if necessary - alone in a large pasture, visiting him twice a day only to feed him and dictate the terms under which he may eat. And where is it written that you must go from three-years-with-no-handling to sacked-out-and-under-saddle in one weekend clinic?

Secondly, far from being weak-brained, this horse is clearly extremely intelligent, extremely proud, and extremely courageous. Many times he expresses his willingness to work with Buck or the cowboy. But he has zero tolerance for any show of aggression on their part, meting out retribution with lightning speed. He tolerates the cowboy saddling and riding him on their first encounter, because the cowboy's behavior is very different when he knows that Buck controls the horse by means of the ankle rope. Because the cowboy is reassured that someone has control of the horse, aggression is absent from his demeanor.

Thirdly, I don't buy the orphan horse theory, which I have heard before. Here's my theory, or rather my working hypothesis: the problem with orphan foals is not that they are spoiled and fail to learn respect from their mothers. The problem is that they learn fear-aggression from being turned out with older horses without the protection of their mother. The two dozen nurse mare foals at Twelve Oaks in Mississippi were mollycoddled and coochycooed like you wouldn't believe, but they all turned out mild-mannered and pleasant, without anyone having to "sort them out." And here - according to my hypothesis - is why: they were all babies together, with no mean old grownups to chase them or steal their food.

The colt in the movie fit the bill - he had been turned out at the age of three months in a field with a bunch of adults and left to fend for himself. He could have become a wretched doormat, but because of his strong personality, instead he became a spitfire. If Buck or the cowboy had acknowledged his pride and his sense of self, I think they could have ended up working with him. 

Now, that's not to say I'd ever be willing to work with such a horse, or that it would have been safe for his owner to take him home. But, as Buck himself said in his post-incident talk to the clinic, your horse is a mirror of yourself - and Buck, for all his kindness, is unable to see something in the horse, perhaps because he can't see it in himself. 

This renegade colt was close to my heart as, of course, Bridget is an orphan foal, and George was/is fear-aggressive and studdish. I believe that given a large paddock, a lot of time, and a willingness to stand down, someone (not me, thanks!) could ultimately have turned that horse into a super star.

I turned to Youtube to see Hempfling at work with aggressive stallions, to compare that with what I'd seen on the movie. Two things stick out - Hempfling's willingness to stand down and back off, and his laser-like awareness of the horse as a unique individual in that moment. Compare that to Buck's cowboy's approach to the horse as a dangerous object.

Finally, I think, it all gets down to still - despite the kindler, gentler ways - treating the horse as an object of use to be controlled. When you look at the faces of the horses in the movie, you don't observe the stress, the anxiety, the pain, the sorrow that are so often seen in horses who are supposedly doing magnificent things. But neither do you see anything in the way of sparkly-eyed engagement.

(OK, yes, Buck's horses can canter side-passes, and I can get on my horse, period. Thanks for pointing that out.)

The View from on Rose

When I emerged from the barn today carrying saddles, Bridget and Rose both clustered around - "Me! Me!" they seemed to say, and Bridget nuzzled the saddles.

Rose was first. I plonked the tack on a gate outside their field and went back in with the halter and rope. Rose was hovering expectantly by the gate, waiting to be caught. Despite a little interference from Sir George, we extricated ourselves pretty smartly, and I gave Rose a quick brush before tacking up. She now has no initial reluctance to accept the bridle, as she knows that there is no bit involved.

I mounted from the picnic table (Rose is so nice to mount - so patient and solid), and waited to see what we had today.

Rose's first notion was to walk around the yard a little and check things out.

She headed back to check on the the other horses, stopped about 20 feet away, and then walked off again in the opposite direction.

All told, she returned about five times to check on the others. The third time, she and George had to have some nose-to-nose reassurance.

The fifth time, Rose also went up to the fence to smooch, only this time George started pulling on her bridle. At which point, I put a stop to the interaction.

In between each return to make sure the others were still there, Rose wanted to go around to the other side of the house, out of sight. Sometimes she wanted to graze.

Sitting on a grazing horse is a very good exercise - I found I had to concentrate hard on keeping my seat dropping onto the saddle and my heels dropping while my hand and arm were pulled far forward as Rose lowered her neck to graze.

I found quite a big improvement in communication since yesterday. As I'd hoped, the hamfistedness of the bitless began to give way to a little more subtlety. We did a couple of much nicer halts, using the seat and a much lesser amount of rein. The turning was greatly improved too.

I gave Rose a lot of latitude in choosing where to go. But each time she up and moved, I made sure to connect with her and establish a collaboration - asking for a little faster walk, or reminding her to lighten up, or asking for a slight turn. I think she gave some nice responses.

One time (my mistake), we were grazing under a tree, and the other horses hollered for her. She suddenly decided to go over to say hello, and there was much crackling of twigs on my back and helmet as we exited from under the tree. Startled, she started trotting - but quickly relaxed back to a walk when I asked.

A couple of times I suggested returning to our tacking-up spot to dismount, and she emphatically disagreed. I think she enjoys the independence of being away from the others, choosing where to eat, and having the security of a built-in buddy who magically accompanies her wherever she decides to go.

Finally, I decided it was time to quit. I must have in fact made some sort of stronger inner determination, as she agreed this time to return to the tacking-up spot. I think horses know the difference between "Oh well, I suppose it's time for .... " and "Right, gotta go."

Once she was untacked though, she didn't want to go back in the field.

You can't make me.

But I insisted, and back she went.

Bridget was next. Put a saddle on and thought maybe she'd like to graze for a little while. Not a bit of it. She was quite clear that we were supposed to be doing weird things - preferably in return for treats, or - failing that - at least to the accompaniment of loud praises from June. So that's what we did.

We even practiced stopping in position by the kitchen steps in preparation for some potential future time when I might want to, I don't know, do something crazy like maybe mount.

When the time came to stop, it was Bridget's turn to refuse to walk back toward the field.

Can't, won't, shan't

I felt very happy about what we did today.

In a Mood

Today I took Bridget for a saddled walk. Before the walk started, things went rather well, I thought. First of all, she was on the lawn and saw me coming across the field carrying the saddle from the barn. I disappeared around the corner of the house to put the tack on a gate, and then came back around to find my husband in a state of some consternation as Bridget was hitting the house with her feet. I, in my naive optimism, think maybe she wondered where I'd gotten to and was trying to attract attention.

I've shelved the clicker for her and worked on standing still without the clicker, but still offering a treat reward. For example, every time I tried to move down her side to fiddle with the girth, she moved to keep me by her head. It took very little time and effort to show her that I was asking for her to stand still while I moved away from her head and back again, a little longer each time, giving her a treat when I returned to her head. I really don't think the clicker would have added anything.

We started out on our walk fine. But Bridget is in heat right now, and her behavior got more and more pixellated as we proceeded. First, she was all bent out of shape about a fly. I was sure it had to be a jumbo-jet horsefly, but it proved to be a couple of very regular-sized ordinary flies. Then when the cows came into view in the distance, Bridget became more and more agitated, to the point where she was plunging a little and contemplating a small rear.

And then there was the fact that I'd spaced out and put the wrong saddle on her, and it kept slipping out of position, and it was probably quite annoying for her.

When we turned for home, she would not walk beside me and wasn't interested in anything I had to say about it. We stopped about 1,000 times to re-arrange ourselves. Then I remembered that on our very first walk at Raintree in Mississippi, I'd had the notion that I should insist that she walk politely beside me, a notion which I quickly abandoned without regret. It's just that lately she has been quite happy to walk nicely, and I was getting frustrated at her refusal to cooperate.

Then we reached the pasture fence, and I let her go up and greet George and Rose, which involved a great deal of squealing.

And then we went home and I let her go.

As I walked back to the barn with the tack, Bridget followed me and kept nosing the saddle. Which I guess meant she hadn't had a totally horrible time. But I was feeling a little downcast. When I emerged from the house a little later, however, Bridget marched over and gave me a Bridget-hug. This involves her extending the Foreleg of Greeting, which you grab, and then she puts her head over your shoulder and then you squeeze her round the neck as hard as you can and rub her neck with your head while she rubs her head on you. The human can initiate this interaction by squeezing her neck, but this afternoon it was Bridget who started it. Which definitely made me feel better.

Bird Whispering

We returned late this evening from a long day in Washington, DC with my daughter, her friend, and the exchange student, to find the dogs in a high state of pent-up agitation from their lengthy confinement. There was blue ink on the paws and nose of one of them, traceable to a mangled pen and further ink stains on the carpet of the downstairs bedroom. I hope that stuff I saw at Home Depot the other day works.

There was also a bird in my daughter's bedroom. My daughter and her friend went up stairs, and immediately came screaming down again. My fears of Something Gross were allayed when the cause of her alarm was revealed. She doesn't like birds at all - hence the over-reaction.

The exchange student, who displays an admirable and gratifying animal-craziness (she even tried to pet the DC squirrels today) ran up into my daughter's room, and I heard her say, "Cool!"

I grabbed a towel, which usually works really well for subduing and removing panicky birds, and went in to the room to catch the bird, which turned out to be a starling. We don't know how they get in the house. But they do.

I made several attempts to put the towel over the bird, but it kept evading me, and it began panting. So I decided maybe I could just treat it like a horse.

It was perched at the back of the bookshelf. I reached a finger up towards it, saw the bird tense, and removed my finger. I kept talking in a high voice, as I think birds are quite attuned to the sound of voices.

I kept this up - advancing, and retreating at the first sign of anxiety, and I kept up the baby talk. The bird moved position maybe once or twice, but it wasn't long before it was letting me pet it and scratch its chest. At first it drew the line at me touching the top of its head, but then I was able to stroke its head and beak and back. Finally it let me pick it up without struggling.

I called to my husband to immobilize the dogs, and to the exchange student to come and see the bird. We took it outside onto the kitchen steps, and I opened my hands. It sat quietly for a little while before flying away.

I didn't take any pictures, as I didn't think the bird would like that much. But here is one of its relatives.