Woolly Monsters

Today I took first Bridget, then George, out for a walk. About half a mile down the road, a neighbor keeps sheep. We've never ventured that far in this direction before, but today was the day.

Here is what Bridget thought of the sheep:

Her neck felt as tense as it looks. But then she started to get the hang of it:

She even got comfortable enough to start grazing within view of the alien creatures:

Then there was an order of evacuation issued among the sheep, and they all bustled off through a gate into the next field, where they turned to look at the Bridget Monster from a safe distance.

George spotted the sheep from further off than Bridget had. His initial reaction was similar:

But then, where Bridget had tiptoed after me in the direction of the sheep, pausing often, ready to retreat at the first sign of trouble, George's approach was different. He would stop to stare, then step forward in front of me towards the danger, ready (I guess) to go deal with it if necessary. 

On the way home, he kept stopping and look off into the distance, all on the alert.

We've been doing quite well with the duckling walk. On the way out today, he maintained that relationship unasked. On the way home, I frequently asked him to return to the "nice soft spot" beside and slightly behind me. When Bridget and I walk, we do very well shoulder-to-shoulder, but I feel better with George in the duckling position - his reaction today shows me that he takes a lot of responsibility on himself, and I would like to show him that it's ok to put some of that onto me.

When we got home, we grazed in the hay field, while Bridget and Rose looked on enviously.

We've had so much rain, that there's water in the dry creek bed in the front pasture. It rarely runs, so it's fun when it does:

Teenagers

Today my daughter brought home two friends and asked if they could go for a ride - the friends on horseback, my daughter attending on foot. I said yes, and faded into the background, watching from a distance.

After retrieving the tack, the girls brought George and Rose out of the pasture, tied them up to the fence, and set to. I lurked in the house, peering out the window every now and then.

I trusted my daughter to be on top of things, but I didn't know how much experience her friends had with horses and riding. So I was relieved when I peeked out and saw one young lady, already mounted on George, looking very much at home and in charge. My daughter stuck close to the other friend (who was less experienced) on Rose.

I don't think those girls once agonized over what the horses were thinking/feeling/saying. George's rider did remark that he was a bit "antsy," and then I think I overheard her say he was "stubborn." And my daughter and Rose's rider were not dealing with the fact that Rose was spending way too much time with her nose in the air. However, the whole thing went rather smoothly, and after the horses were back in the pasture, Rose gazed after the girls, rather longingly I thought, as they walked back to the barn with the tack. And although George threw out the odd cranky glance, he seemed to just get on with the job at hand.

Sometimes I'm grateful for my daughter and her no-nonsense approach. It shows me that their sensitive equine souls don't immediately shrivel up and die if you just ask them to do something. Also - these girls have been inculcated with a certain confident expectation of how things are to be done, a confidence which I think is transmitted to the horses and is perhaps somewhat reassuring to them.

I'm glad my approach has changed (I would say improved), but there's something here I could learn from, I'm sure.  And how nice it is to have someone else take the little dears out and entertain them.

Different Strokes

It's been raining for about 12 hours straight. I finally took pity on the horses and moved them into the pasture with the shelter. I even put hay in there for them. But they had no interest in getting out of the rain and immediately settled down to grazing the new grass that has emerged since the end of the drought.

Not so the dogs. They had fun running around, and then they said, "Yikes, let's get out of the rain!" and they went to dry themselves off on my duvet. Thanks, guys.

Make Way for Duckling

Well now, looking at things squarely, George really doesn't like to be asked to move his feet. I mean, he'll do it, and he'll do it on the slightest hint of a request usually. But he just always looks a little resentful. Now KFH points out that horses sometimes look a bit off when they realize you're going to start telling them what to do, but I just don't like his not liking it.

However .... if I tuck him into the soft spot, just behind and to the side, and get him to walk along with me like the good little duckling he is, he doesn't mind. And he doesn't show annoyance if I re-position us when he gets ahead.

And since I've started doing this, he's moved my duckling position from his left hip to his left shoulder, which may mean something, good or bad, or may mean nothing at all. Anyway, I think the forward movement of this leading practice sort of shakes out the kinks of resentment. Standing still or working in a small area, the negative chi can build up, you know? (Not that I have the slightest idea of what I'm talking about.) Besides, the leading thing is maternal, whereas the "move-your-feet-please" thing is more straightforwardly dominating.

Also, I've been thinking - showing annoyance to George should be resisted, because that's the last thing I want him to copy. So, like, today I was trying to do that KFH thing where you stand still in yogic serenity for minutes on end, while your horse gazes at you, transfixed. Well, George is just all up in my grill, and if I don't let him chew my face, he'll turn his attention to my feet. So then I stand further away and keep putting him back when he moves. But then it's Goodbye Yogic Serenity. So sometimes I just really want to kick him. But that wouldn't be a good idea at all.

So while I plan to keep on with my insistence of a moment of peace in between doing things, I think the best way for now induce George to pay some some kind of attention to my views, is to practice leading.

Cute Overload

Oh my gosh, I just trimmed the feet of two 5-month old miniature horses. They were the most adorable creatures I ever did see.

When I say trimmed, that is an overstatement, as they've never really had their feet handled before. Their owner is really nice, and we agreed that the important thing was to make the whole experience a pleasant one, rather than to focus on git-r-done.

They were both very cooperative, and I got the front feet of one of them more or less trimmed. The other is more self-protective, and so we were satisfied with his becoming comfortable with picking his feet up for me, and letting me hold them for just a millisecond. His heels are curling under, though, so I hope that quitting while we were ahead this time means that next time we'll be able to get those heels down some.

If I had those little cuties, you know they'd be in my house in about two seconds.

What Does It All Mean?

George has promoted me. Or maybe I've been demoted. Or maybe it's a lateral move. Anyway, he's moved me. Lately he's taken to putting me here, by his left shoulder. (The ear scratches are a bonus and did not affect his decision.)

Does it mean something? Who knows.

Time to Fill

The other day I found myself in Hagerstown, finished with one thing, but without enough time to get home and back before the next thing. So I hied myself over to Borders, scene of last year's Spilkerization.

I sat down with a book of heart-warming horse stories, only to put it aside in frustration upon reading that Secretariat died of "laminitis, an incurable foot disease." A glance on the back cover revealed that the authors had written a whole series of heart-warming books and, one presumes, had no particular interest in the horse stories over, say, the stamp-collecting ones.

A second visit to the horse shelf (is there another shelf in Borders?) produced much better results: Mark Rashid's Whole Heart, Whole Horse.  Over the next hour and a half, I skimmed through the book and found it to be full of wisdom.

Lately I've been thinking about koans, construing not only George's bite to be one, but also a host of other questions involving either/or, this-or-that, yes-or-no.

So I was delighted to find that Rashid's book opens with a dream question that came to him. A voice in his head asks - Which is stronger - the water in the river or the rocks of the canyon? The answer comes to him - The water of course, because it has worn away the rock. But, later, a different answer presents itself: The rock is stronger, because it has remained, while the water which shaped the rock has long since disappeared. And then finally, he realizes - neither is stronger, it's a draw. He concludes that this dream was a response to the constant either/or training questions with which he is bombarded. Is it better to use a bit, or not? Is it better to do this, or that?

As I wasn't planning to buy the book (yet!), I copied out a few noteworthy passages and herewith share them with you.

I believe a mistake in the training or handling of a horse isn't wrong[.] A "mistake" just doesn't get the result we were expecting; it does, however, get a result. If we didn't get the result we were looking for, we try again. We need to remember that what the horse offers in response to our request is simply information - nothing more nothing less. It's not good or bad, it just is. The response to a request is simply a compass pointing us in the direction we should be traveling. It's not the end; it's often just the beginning. What we do next, not what we just did, will determine whether or not we make forward progress. (p. 20)

 A behavior that's caught when it's in the form of a thought takes much less energy to redirect in the first place. Consequently, once the thought has turned into an action, that action becomes increasingly more difficult to redirect and often requires much more energy, to boot. (p.33)

Most of the time when we talk about establishing boundaries we are referring to making sure the horse is comfortable enough with himself that he doesn't feel like he has to be on top of us all the time. However, sometimes boundaries are also about opening ourselves up enough to let the horse know that being close isn't all that bad either. (p. 44)

A couple of other points he makes which are worth remembering and repeating:

  - When a horse runs, it exorcizes trauma; when he runs because we're chasing him, the trauma is exacerbated.

- With a horse, an emotional reaction immediately becomes a physical reaction. So a horse's behavior is always an indicator of how he feels.

Rashid, like Widdicombe, is a down-to-earth kind of a guy. Ok, so he does Aikido and stuff, but he's a cowboy at heart, and reading his books makes you feel maybe this whole thing doesn't have to be quite as complicated as you've made it. Or does it?  Another koan.

To conclude, here is a nose. Bridget's to be precise - checking out what goes on inside that thing the humans like to get into all the time.