George Softens Up

A couple of days ago, the sun was shining cheerfully. It was still cold, mind you, but armed with new (thank you, Santa) insulated gloves and various other items of warm clothing, I decided to spend some time out with the horses while they were eating hay.

They were intent on eating and did not interact with me, except for Bridget, who always can spare a few minutes to play. At the moment, her favorite thing is to have me hold one of her forelegs while she chews and tugs at various parts of my clothing in the vicinity of my head and neck. At this time of year, there are plenty of bits and ends to chew on - the drawstring of my anorak hood, my hat, my scarf, my collar.

Later on, I came out and found George unmistakeably asking to be taken out, something he hasn't done for weeks.

So on with the halter, and out we went. We wandered around, George finding enough green grass still available to make the excursion very worthwhile.

For some time now, he has had his prickly aura. You just know if you touch him, he's going to stiffen and look sour. But this day he was emanating a much warmer, more inviting vibe. I could put my arm around him and lean on him, and he placidly kept on grazing.

For the rest of the day he kept it up. Maire posted a blog entry the other day, where she talks about experiencing an urge to hug her elderly pony mare. It's hard to know sometimes where the feeling is coming from, as there are two psyches involved, and the present situation sometimes is at odds with the past.

Yesterday the day was much warmer - all the way up into the high 40's - and George was very mellow again. Every time I saw him, I felt the desire to make physical contact, and every time I would feel a twinge of reluctance just before touching him - a feeling conditioned by his recent aversion to being touched. But in this case, my attraction toward touching him was the "truth," while my anxiety was an out-of-date hangover from a past situation - because once contact was made, he remained soft and receptive.

However, if I went ahead and petted him on days when he was not in the mood, then my decision to touch him would be an untimely attempt to change the "truth" of his current distaste for contact.

Yesterday, I could have interpreted the slight anxiety before touching him as a signal from him, and I really had no way of ascertaining which it was until I made contact. Except that in the moments when I was most aware of the anxiety, I believe my attention was turning inward on myself and away from George.

He stayed and was cozy with me for a little while yesterday. It was nice.

George has been playing with the dogs. Here's a blurry picture of him fence-running with them.

My daughter's miniature schnauzer is staying with us for the holidays. He and George are making friends and sniff noses through the gap in the gate. I need to get a photo of that.

And speaking of photos, here is a marked-up photo of Rose's hoof, showing the slit where the abscess erupted. New wall will grow down above it, but the slit will remain, as the hoof wall grows, until it reaches ground level. Apparently this won't cause problems. She's still a little sensitive around the coronet band area, which will make it hard to hold her foot for trimming - something she really needs.

Pretty wide, huh?

Work

In the last few days I've been over to my friend's house twice to trim hoofs. While I was there both times, a third friend, of suitably diminutive stature, came over to work with a pony brood mare, the idea being to polish her up into a riding pony to keep her from the fate of returning to her less-than-ideal prior living situation. She was supposed to be "broke," but it's not clear that she ever was.

So, from upside down underneath a horse's belly, I observed Chicky being worked with on two consecutive occasions. She was lead, lunged, saddled, and mounted on both days.

The first day, you could see she was thinking that it was all rather unprecedented and random - being pulled and pushed (gently, mind you) all over the place, and then having this person sit on you. She looked stiff and confused. The second day, her expression was different - softer, more inward looking, more tuned in, more thoughtful. A light seemed to be glimmering in her face, as if she was becoming aware - "Oh, there's actually something meaningful going on here."

Lately, I've started training our two dogs. They know how to sit and be polite and all that, but I want them to know a little more. I think it's good for them. My previous experience with dog training was in Chicago, where our friendly neighbourhood dog trainer was of the Koehler school, a teutonic and draconian method, which delivers remarkable results. I am using a much watered down version of this with Malcolm and Lucy.

The first few days I took them out, they were like Chicky on the first day. They had no clue something meaningful was occurring, although they submitted to my strange behaviour as best they could. Then something clicked. Their eyes became brighter and more focussed, their responses sharpened, and they became eager to participate.

This got me thinking. There is being with horses, and there is working with horses. The two can overlap; but while the horses know all about the former, only I know about the latter. And I think it's an activity that can be fruitful for both horse and human. How are they going to find out about it if I'm always being apologetic and never present it to them as a thing but only tiptoe around the subject?

With this in mind, I took George out of the field today and said, "Before we graze, we're going to do some practicing for, hmm, let's see - fifteen minutes - well, no, maybe ten."

For starters, he was very distracted and alert about Something Going On on the far hillside. I was confused as to whether I should just let him look as long as he wanted or ask him to pay attention to me. I pretty much opted for the former. (I had the disloyal thought: "Hmm, I bet once you start grazing, you lose interest in what's going on over there." But, in fact, while he was grazing later, he kept stopping to look up at the hillside.)

Despite the distraction, we got in some practice backing, moving hindquarters, and relaxing the head down on request. This all went rather smoothly. Next we turned to the prickly topic of turning towards me while releasing the shoulder away. After the second successful attempt, I decided he could graze. Six minutes is long enough to practice, right?

Again, whilst grazing, I periodically asked George to return to me and relax for a moment. He does it quite nicely now. Not that he says, "Oh what a great idea, June - I feel it will be so good for me to centre myself for a moment!" No, he says, "Ok, here we go again, I get it, this is what you want, right?"

In none of this is there a sense of George awakening to a realization that we are engaged in an interesting project. But I'm hoping that will happen eventually. (Um, maybe if we actually do something he considers interesting .... !)

He is such a prickly character. It would be so easy to work him in a round pen, at a safe distance. I'm sure he'd do great. I know he would, as I've worked him in the round pen before. And maybe, eventually, he'd soften and become trusting. Maybe I'm doing things backwards - I'm starting at a soft position and trying to build up something dynamic. But, backwards or not, this is the trajectory I'm committed to.

I also feel that to some extent, I'm making myself more vulnerable by working close to George. I mean, look, I got bitten already. Sometimes, when I'm next to him, I can almost feel electricity coming off him, like you could get a shock just by getting too close. It's not that he "misbehaves" - for example, he behaves well with my daughter. I've been wondering about that, and I think it's because she's very business-like, and he can maintain his armor undisturbed when she works with him. And if I'm in a hurry and just want him to get on and do something, it's not a problem - but in that situation, he also can preserve his protective shell.

However, he knows that I know his weakness. I can put my finger right on the nerve. He trusts me, but is still very reactive and self-protective, and we're working around an acute awareness of that exposed nerve. Do I even know what I'm talking about? Good question.

George gets on with the important business of the afternoon.

Communication

When I went in to see the horses today, I was expecting a phone call which might call me away; so I didn't want to take George out to graze, only to have to return him a few minutes later.

He badgered me about going out, tugging on my jacket, and nudging me. It was a bit aggressive. So I said, "I don't really want to be with you when you're like this." He walked off in a bit of a huff. Bridget came over, and George shooed her away.

She soon returned, and we played together. She got the hang of pulling my jacket zipper up and down with great gusto.

Eventually, George came over, and Bridget left. George planted himself beside me, somewhat grumpily, as if to say, "Well, ok, I'm still your friend, but I'm not in a good mood." We stood; I scratched him a bit. Finally, he pawed the ground and snatched with his teeth at the paltry bits of grass still growing: "Do you expect me to eat this???"

It was clear and communicative, and reasonably polite, so off I went to get the halter and rope. We got some grazing in before the expected phone call.

In the late afternoon, after I'd fed them dinner, I went back and took George out. Every so often, I asked him to stop and be still for a moment before resuming his eating. At one point, he reached out in frustration and nipped at me. Without thinking I whacked his nose, and was surprised at how almost instantaneously calm returned to me. George was not offended.

I felt a certain clarity about what I was trying to do. During one grazing pause, George pawed the ground. I said, "I know what you want, and you're going to get it, but I want something too, and it's something I want from you." I want him to be able to let go of whatever it is that's bothering him - in this case the desire to eat, which is a great anxiety producer for George. He is very afraid of being denied access to food. I wonder if perhaps he was weaned too early or had to fight for his share of food as a youngster.

George himself has shown me a place of peace and calm. And now I, in turn, need him to trust me and come to that place when I ask him. For another horse, asking them to do things might work better to distract them from their worry and help them center themselves. But with George, I feel we need to turn down the volume on all fronts and bring ourselves back to stillness before moving forward. It's too easy to lose the connection; busyness pulls it apart, whereas quietness re-establishes it.

It was cold, and the mares were careening around the field in response to some obscure commotion on the distant slope of the mountain, and George was distracted. But I felt he was beginning to be more accepting of what I was asking. With George, it's generally three steps forward, two steps back--so I'm not looking for straightforward linear progress. But, with his help, I feel I've identified a way to work together. I don't think he fully understood the real import of what we were working on, but I think he could feel it a little bit.

 He wasn't in a great mood today, but we managed to have a conversation nonetheless.

An Afternoon's Activities

A new record - George and I hand-grazed for two and a half hours, at which point his grazing didn't stop but became much more desultory.

After I put him back, I went to retrieve Chloe, who had been out with us. George hardly moved from his position by the gate when I attempted to return her to the field. I opened the gate, however, and Chloe (who knows what George is thinking) proceeded to enter confidently. Sure enough George just stood there.

He was nice and let me take Bridget out. When I returned her, he moved aside, but Bridget didn't trust him, and wouldn't go in through the gate. George returned to his troll-under-the-bridge post, and I had to wait several minutes until he decided to get out of the way again. This time, Bridget believed him and went through. George was nice and left us alone to get the halter off.

While I had Bridget out, she trotted along with me several times, doing her pretty Arab trot, tail high, neck arched. I just hold the very end of the lead rope and give her space so she feels unimpeded as she moves along. It's fun. We ran down the driveway together to greet my daughter coming off the school bus.

I'm conscious, when I write about George "letting" me do things, that such a viewpoint is anathema in most circles. I think even KFH would not approve. However, the way I see it, it's not so much that I'm allowing George to control me. It's more a case of just giving him enough time to choose to do the right thing. I'm not willing to be prevented from going through the gate - but I am willing to go through later rather than sooner.

A new way of leading Bridget

Another Hour (or Two, or Three) with George

This morning, George resumed his fence-standing, which means that there's no longer enough grass in the pasture to keep him happy.

So I took the hint and brought him out to graze. I decided that we would graze for just as long as he wanted, and then, when he was satisfied, I would work on his hoofs.

I sipped a cup of coffee while he grazed, and time passed pleasantly. He enjoyed eating the dandelions, as well as the lush grass, and also this plant:

The dogs hung out with us, and George even managed to sniff a tail before its owner realized what was happening. Lucy was busy with her bone and didn't care when George came close.

Kitten was brave too:

Last time I let George graze for as long as he wanted, he changed the subject after about an hour and went exploring. Not today.

After an hour and fifty minutes, I thought he was finally interested in something else:

but he only wanted to scratch his nose.

Good grief, my humanoid brain cannot take any more grazing. Two hours after we began, I have to go inside to the bathroom, and it is time to take George back to his field.

"No! I need three hours of grazing!"

I get George back inside his pasture and take the halter off. Whereupon he walks way. "Hmph," I think, "how heartless!" But I was mistaken - he walked off a few feet to drop some manure and came right back. It then became apparent that he really was quite satisfied with his feast after all.

Sleepy George

I leave the field, intent on my own lunch, but George says, "Where are you going?" So I come back and scratch his head for a while.

Well, maybe I can put off going inside and just run and get the trimming stuff. When I get back he's waiting for me.

When I introduce the idea of maybe picking up a foot for me, he gives me a stinky look, but I persevere politely, and pretty soon he's quietly giving me his left hoof. I get a little bit of both front feet done, but he's not very keen on holding his foot up for more than a few moments at a time.

He looks very alert when he sees the mares come cantering over from the far side of the field, but he stays with me, physically and mentally. At one point he walks off, and I think we're done, but again it's because he's headed off to the poop corner to drop some more manure, and he comes right back. Don't get much more done after that, and he starts off toward the mares. He stops, though, and looks back at me a couple of times. So I start running toward the mares, passing George, and then wait. He rejoins me.

Now it's way past my lunchtime, I really have to go to the bathroom, and it's starting to rain, so I say goodbye to George. I thought he got the message, but after a moment he turns and follows me back toward the gate. He stops half-way, realizing that I'm going off into that other world whither he cannot follow.

It's a good thing I don't have a job.