More Stuff

George, as I have recently related, has been acting agitated at dinner time as the cold weather makes him anxious about food. He's too polite to try and stick his head in the bucket while I'm carrying it, but I've been feeling pressured by him. I always point to his bucket and say (hopefully), "Go on over to your bucket, George."

Today I went in when it was almost dark. George met me at the gate. I didn't say anything except, "Hi, buddy," but George went ahead of me to his bucket and nudged it with his nose.

Earlier today, Lucy the pitbull dislocated her shoulder. Don't ask me how she did it, but the dog gang is together for Thanksgiving, getting up to all kinds of energetic highjinks together. As I was carrying Lucy to the car to take her to the vet, George came to the fence. I carried her over to him, and he sniffed the bad shoulder.

Recuperating

Dog cousins

We have human family visiting for Thanksgiving too, including my oldest daughter and her husband. My daughter has a characteristic which her husband and I find at once admirable and galling: she is always right. She has never liked "ground work" with horses and has always said that you just tell them what you want them to do and they understand it. And of course I always used to extol the value of ground work and thought she was just being impatient. Well, I'm used to her telling me I Told You So.

(Having said that, and also having resolved not to do any more "training" with George, I yesterday discovered that I could get Rose to move her hind legs by doing something with the halter and leadrope and that in Rose's case this might actually be the sort of thing we enjoy doing together.)

Yesterday my daughter and her dog came out into the field to visit the horses with me. After interacting for a little while, she informed me that our horses are like children who have grown up in a household where they are treated as if their opinions are important. She didn't mean it as a compliment. She said, "They keep coming over and trying to tell me what they think about stuff." I reminded her that this was the way she and her siblings were raised, but she reminded me that at least they were shy with adults outside of the immediate family. She likes Rose the best.

It was amusing watching her and George. He wanted to put her into a position of his choosing, and she was having none of it. He didn't get irritated though, cos that's the thing about her - she's bossy, but you don't mind. I should know - she's been managing me for 25 years. Having failed with her, George plonked me into a position near his tail. When I moved, he turned around to look at me with the most comical expression on his face: "Excuse me? Where do you think you're going?"

Anyway, in light of my recent cogitations about George and the thoughts I've been reading from K at Song of the Black Horse, I wonder if his positioning maneuvers aren't perhaps in some way significant. I'll have to think about it some more. But today I was aware of a residual mistrust of George in myself as he put me near his hindlegs, and I know he used to not trust people to be in that position. So maybe he's trying to work on us both.

My next plan is to take my daughter who doesn't like horses to visit George, hopefully tomorrow. My son-in-law yesterday was talking again about how when he was getting George ready to go for a ride, he felt that George was telling him what to do. Daughter-w-d-l-h doesn't like them because she doesn't want to have to be in control of them cos they're big and scary - but if she lets one of the horses take care of her, then maybe she'll have a different experience, and that's the sort of thing that George will like.

Why are you like that, Bridget?

George greets Roger.

Positive Reinforcement

My husband is reading a book called Dog Sense, by John Bradshaw. He shares interesting snippets as he reads along, but the main gist of the book is as follows: We have all been sold a bill of goods with this idea of the dog as a sort of domesticated wolf, whose social life is rigidly controlled by a dominance hierarchy, and who will feel most comfortable if you "show him who's boss." Firstly, the latest research shows that wolves aren't pack animals who live within a military-style pecking order - they live in family groups, where trust and cooperation and flexibility are the norm. Secondly, dogs aren't really at all like wolves anyway. Thirdly, forget dominating your dog - positive reinforcement is where it's at.

Our first exposure to serious dog training was with a Koehler method trainer in Hyde Park in Chicago. All the neighborhood dog owners took this guy's class, and let me tell you we had a neighborhood of dogs who behaved with Teutonic precision and orderliness. Everyone came when called, everyone could heel off leash, everyone sat at the kerb. Oh yes, we were an impressive bunch, and for me the Koehler method has always been the gold standard of dog training. As Koehler himself said - reliability off leash is the standard by which you should judge training methods.

There was only one naysayer in our neighborhood - a Hungarian professor, whose family had been wiped out by the Nazis. He just couldn't stand all this barking of orders and rigid discipline. He was known to dive in to the middle of a training session, scoop the trainee up into his arms and commiserate loudly.

Now it looks like Hungarian Guy was right, as along comes the "latest research," and we find that all this yanking and yelling and pinching and showing who's boss is just not an effective way to train your four-legged friends. Sounds familiar.

Anyway, my husband and I have been on a campaign of playing Mr. and Mrs. Nice Guy to the dogs. And we've seen quite impressive results. Malcolm likes to run after trucks, and he's fond of heckling the horses. Since I've started lavishing praise and sweet talk upon him for everything he does, there's been a big improvement in his response if I call his name when he's off yelling at a horse or vehicle. You can see him trying to withstand  the magnetic force of my voice; but he can't resist it, and he turns and comes over to me. My husband has also noticed that the dogs come over to elicit affection more often - which is especially noticeable with Malcolm, as he is not a particularly outgoing dog.

Now, I can't compare this to a full-blown course of Koehler classes, which I'm sure would yield much more impressive results. However, the off-leash part of the training culminates in using a "light line" to fool the dog into thinking there's no leash attached when in fact there is. The dog disobeys - yikes! - and (barring Hungarian intervention) wrath descends. But the positive reinforcement also seems to set in place a force of action-at-a-distance. You can see it reeling the dog in, and it never gets tangled or caught on bushes.

Good Dogs

So ... I had occasion to think of all this today when I was riding Rose. Which I was doing because my husband and daughter started to complain that we have NO horses who are dead broke (as the unfortunate expression goes). Plus also, I just really had an urge to get up on a horse. Rose was very sweet about getting tacked up and seemed to enjoy the process. Plus also she's a lamb about mounting.

Once up, however, I realized that what we do in fact have is GREEN. This is only the second (I think) time I've ridden her, and the first time was with a halter and two thick, clumsy ropes for reins. This time I had the bitless and was prepared to be a little more fine-tuned.

I rode her in the yard with the other horses milling about - usually at a distance, although they did come over and interfere a couple of times. Rose was quite willing to listen, very blocked in the shoulders, and got a little irritated sometimes when I wanted her to do something she hadn't planned on. She's used to just riding out with George, which involves very little in the way of steering or direction on the part of her rider.

Whatever it was or is that people are supposed to do when they're training horses or whatever it was that I used to do, well all of that is kind of out the window for me these days. I started out not knowing exactly how we were going to proceed.

The positive reinforcement thing came into play, when I realized that the little tap on the horse behind the girth was no longer a resource I could fall back on. A few times Rose refused to move forward. And became a little cross at the idea, as it involved moving away from the other horses. So I just asked her to wait, pointed in the right direction. And eventually she moved forward, and we didn't come to an argument, which is the main thing.

I realized she's very blocked in the shoulders and that we could profitably have a very short ride, focussing on that issue. She's hard to "steer", and I discovered that rather than going straight to working on the bending while moving, it was helpful to come to a halt and draw her attention to her withers, which seemed to be all out of synch with her head and back. Once she felt herself a little more connected at the halt, she was able to move off into a more comfortable walk.

We worked for maybe 10 or 15 minutes, and then I let her go again. I think she sort of liked it and that she is so very clueless that any amount of work we do together will make a big difference. Right now, the idea that I'm communicating with her and making helpful suggestions is a totally novel concept to her. Hopefully as she becomes more accustomed to working, she'll start out with the expectation of a conversation.

The bitless does feel like rather a blunt instrument, but on the other hand, I can afford to be hamfisted and blunt, as I can't cause nearly as much discomfort as I could with a bit. Once Rose is tuned in more, I think it'll be possible to be quite delicate with the bitless bridle. The only other problem with the bitless is that you have to have a noseband, and I can see that, even loose, it constrains the movement of the jaw.

After untacking Rose, I left the saddle hanging on the gate. Bridget came over and knocked at it with her nose. So I put it on her, and then realized - hey presto! - I'd saddled her at liberty, which was something I'd been berating myself for not doing yesterday. It fell off again before I got the girth on, and I didn't bother putting it back, but Bridget and I worked (with treats) on backing, turning, and standing still while I move away from her head.

Then it was George's turn, as my daughter got him to take the foreign exchange student for a ride. Or I should say tried to get him, as he wouldn't be caught - most unlike him. She finally asked for my help, and I went over to him with my arms spread wide, halter dangling in one hand, saying, "George! This is your lucky day! You get to take the girls out!" He came right up and dropped his nose for the halter. Go figure.

He then adopted a rather resigned, martyred, but gentlemanly demeanor, and my daughter got the foreign exchange student situated on his back, and off they went for a nice long walk, nice for the girls at least.

And later, in the beautiful golden evening, I went out to visit with all the horses.

A Wrong Decision

Susie has gone.

Susie, the Westie, beloved of my oldest daughter, who came into our lives one rainy afternoon two summers ago.

We knew when she first arrived - a bedraggled, scrawny, half-blind, half-deaf, elderly castaway - that we wouldn't have her for very long.

There were ungracious people who took her dignity to denote a lack of personality, but by those who knew her best she was dubbed "deep thinker," "old soul," "Doctor of the Church," "Angel sent by God;" and to the other dogs she was a supreme being.

She was rescued several months ago from a severe bout of pancreatitis, but despite the home-made food and the doting care, old age became too hard to beat.

My daughter has been wondering for some time if it would be necessary to put her to sleep. She'd bounce back for a few days, showing a little more interest in life, and then fall back into a befuddled, weak state.

Finally, on Friday, both my daughter and my son-in-law called at separate times to ask what I thought. Susie was having a hard time breathing at night, she'd lost interest in her food, she couldn't really stand up by herself, she had become incontinent, and no longer lit up at the sight of her mistress.

I said it was up to them, and maybe they should consult the vet, but that whatever they decided, it would be ok. My daughter seemed to have resolved that today was the day.

I went to the Adoration Chapel and prayed. I heard nothing but a heavy silence.

On the way home in the car, however, I had a feeling of Susie, finding her own way toward death, as she found her way around the yard - not seeing, but sensing - a little confused, but not worried. I stopped the car. There was a text message from my daughter saying she didn't want to take her to the vet. I replied that she didn't have to.

But there was the fear of Susie's pain. She was such a stalwart little dog, a real soldier, never complaining. She must be suffering a lot. Surely it would be kinder.

Later, my daughter called me in tears. Susie had been euthanized. It had been a terrible mistake. My daughter realized when it was too late. Susie, the needle in her leg, had shown fear for the first time in her life.

I didn't try to say that it hadn't been a mistake. Because it was. I sensed beforehand and should have told my daughter clearly. She said she didn't understand why she hadn't known.

It was a mistake. But it wasn't a terrible mistake. We have learned something. Words are overpowering. They roll over you like rocks tumbling down a hill. They are noisy and pushy and brusque. But the truth is a still, small voice which enters your mind by stealth - you have to quiet down, stop speaking, and listen.

I know from experience that it's not always wrong to euthanize an animal. But in this case we knew. We knew, and we didn't listen. In our fear, we clattered and banged about with words, words which with their own inexorable, soulless logic lead us away from the truth.

Susie was sent in answer to a prayer. In her death she has also given us a gift - if I had followed my intuition, I never would have known how important it was to follow it. I might even have felt smug. But now, faced with the sorrow of having thrown something valuable away, I realize how important it is to push aside distraction and listen to the still, small voice. It's like the voice of the horses.

Susie the bridesmaid, July 2010

And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice. (Kings 19:11-12)

Intrepid

That's what my daughter was - to take George out for a ride in the chill wind of the late afternoon when she got home from school.

I came upon them grazing on the front lawn.

My daughter explained that after tacking up, she'd let George graze for a while. Then he had been rather disgruntled when the subject of mounting came up. Presumably he resented having his grazing interrupted, and she reasoned that if she let him go right back to grazing after she got up, he would have a less dim view of the matter in future. Makes sense to me.

This is his you-are-a-mean-girl-to-make-me-stop-eating face. However, he cheered up quickly and they set off down the drive.

There were no further arguments, and she let him stop for a quick nibble half way down to the road.

Then off they went for their ride. My daughter told me afterwards that he had been a little jumpy and kept wanting to canter, which I reckon is about normal for a young horse on a brisk windy day. They looked relaxed when they returned.

George is Still Worried About Food

Today, I took George out to graze again.

He is once more giving off an aura of raw vulnerability. I really don't feel I can approach and touch him except on his head. His defensiveness has returned, brought on, I believe, by the onset of winter weather and a fear of starvation.

My husband was out with us, chatting with me. At one point he was heading towards George's hindquarters, about eight feet off - not actually intending to go towards George, but going in that direction by happenstance. George stiffened and pinned his ears. Oh my!

As I did yesterday, I practiced occasionally  asking George to stop eating, raise his head, and be quiet beside me. The first couple of times he was pissed off. He really wanted to nip me. Then he turned his head away and tried to walk into me with his shoulder. I avoided getting annoyed, and persisted. He quieted fairly quickly.

The third time, I thought I would really just ask and not tell. I kissed to him as usual, and tugged gently on the lead rope, but waited for him to respond when he chose. It took a few moments, but he did stop grazing, and quite kindly brought his head towards me.

The fourth time took longer and was a little grudging, but he didn't get angry, and he stood quietly in a resigned sort of a way for a moment, until I invited him to eat again.

I don't understand what's going on with the horses' eating habits. The grass is down to bare bones, but they're not finishing their hay. It's the same hay they've been getting all along, and they start out eating enthusiastically when it first appears, but they soon lose interest and wander off to pick at the meagre grass. A couple of weeks ago, they were inhaling three bales a day between them. I wonder if the new feed I'm giving them is actually filling them up quite well. I've gone from giving pelleted feed to a much larger portion of non-molasses beet pulp and chopped forage. We switched a couple of weeks ago at least, but I wonder if it's taken this long for the extra nutrition to really make itself felt ... ?

With George in this don't-touch-me mood, I was happy to hear that while I was out, my daughter had taken him out, saddled him up, put one of her friends on him for a walk around the fields, and that he had comported himself in a gentlemanly manner throughout. Go figure.

An Anxious Few Moments

I was sitting at the hairdresser's, quietly reading People magazine while waiting for my husband to get a haircut, when my daughter texted me. (Her phone has malfunctioned, and she can't actually use it to make voice calls.) Her message read: "All the horses are lying on the ground and Rose is making really weird noises. What's that about?"

Now anyone who has read Zamba: The True Story of the Greatest Lion That Ever Lived (and if you haven't read it, you should), knows that overnight, all your horses can just, like, drop dead, so her message was not calculated to enhance my hairdresser waiting experience.

I texted back, asking her to go in and see if they got up. No, they didn't get up. People magazine by this point had totally lost its charm.

I texted back: Throw something at them. I waited for a reply, and then, unable to stand the suspense, finally called the phone of one of her friends who was with her, and asked her to put my daughter on:  Yup, we threw sticks at them, they got up, they're fine.

Pumping my daughter later for further information, I found out that Chloe had not been lying down, but that the other three had all been sacked out within three feet of each other. The weird noises Rose had been making were probably like the noises George made the other day when he was lying down. Kind of snoring. My daughter and her two friends had gone in and stood by the horses, who had been quite happy to lie there despite the girls' presence, until the stick barrage ruined their beauty sleep.

So. Wow. What's up with all this lying down? I've seen Chloe lying down in the distance once. George was lying down the other day. Rose and Bridget lay down when they had gas colic. But that's it. And today three of them were lying down together. On the one hand, we have a whole new level of food competition going on between them, and on the other hand they're all having a cosy nap together. You just never know what's going to happen next.

Straight Toes

Our yoga teacher is also a reflexologist. She returned from her latest reflexology conference ready to "read our toes."

Apparently the big toes can say a lot about a person. Toes which point straight ahead mean that you are on the path, not easily distracted or influenced. Guess who has toes like that? Not me. If you guessed my youngest daughter, you'd be right.

She likes to put George into her schedule. She'd pencilled him in for today. Sure enough the weather was fine when she got home from school, and off she went to get him.

Here they are getting ready, while I lurk, as usual.

I happened to go outside just after she'd mounted. I heard that George had been a bit cranky about mounting. I figured he was cross because he just wanted to eat all that green grass. I was filling the trough while they were heading down the drive - or rather trying to head down the drive, as George was refusing. When I saw my daughter hauling on his mouth, I broke my vow of non-intervention and told her she couldn't do that. She thinks I'm a hippy weirdo, so I assured her that even the most traditional riders frown on mouth hauling. (Good grief, what would Jill Crewe think of such a thing?) I told her to just find another way, and that he was refusing because all he wanted to do was eat.

So - she got off, lead him down the road a little way, brought him back, remounted, and then set off again - this time he went willingly, and they had a good half hour's ride before returning.

Ride over, George sees me and heads toward the fence to remind me that it's dinnertime.

My daughter told me that on their travels they'd encountered those dreaded beasts known as cows. When George saw them, he got so tense that my daughter said it was like he was "pulsating." However, they survived the ordeal together.

So my daughter made a plan, set a goal, dealt with the obstacles, accomplished her aim - bingo.

Yours truly here has big toes which are just wonky. It's not from tight shoes. Although the reflexologist says that the shoes you wear reflect your choices, so you can't use that as an excuse. She also says the way you feel about your feet reflects the way you feel about your life. Ask someone what they think of their feet, and you'll find out a lot about how they view themselves. (Only don't tell them why you're asking!)

I am now on a mission to think very positively about my toes.