Cardinal Rule Broken: Complacency

Yesterday, the first day of Fall, after a quick run and a session with the Arab filly, I joined my neighbors, Bill and Wendy, on a trail ride in Holcomb Valley. We would pass through the abandoned boomtown of Belleville, an old mining area (and the largest goldmining site in Southern Californa) just north of Big Bear along the Pacific Crest Trail.

Bill and Wendy

They have been borrowing Jake for trail rides for the past few months. Bill and Jake seem to get along really well. In fact, when I was booting Drifter's feet, Bill came around the corner into my yard and Jake nickered at him. A slight pang of jealousy was immediately replaced with a smile. Since I haven't had time for Jake lately, he seems to have found a new buddy with Bill.

Anyway, we loaded up and trailered three miles up a dirt road to a trailhead that winds through a canopy of towering pines, twisted junipers, and ancient oaks. The weather couldn't be described as anything but perfect. An occasional gust of wind sang a song through the tree branches and released a few leaves to swirl in my peripheral. It was beautiful.

The horses were all in a great mindframe. Wendy's Peruvian Paso is a fancy, dust-free parade horse...the kind of horse that doesn't appreciate organic forest-floor footing. Still, the ride was calm and uneventful.

We reached a turnaround point and headed down an old dirt road that now looks more like a wash. We crunched over pinecones, fallen branches, manzanita, and dried sagebrush as we neared Belleville. A few tourist vehicles were visiting outbuildings as we crossed a meadow and headed back the direction of the trailer.

I got my camera out and snapped a few photos. We rode through a meadow and worked our way back toward a wooded area, when I raised my camera to snap another shot of Wendy and Bill.

And that was when Belphegor stabbed Drifter with his pitchfork.

With my focus completely on the photo I was taking, my world violently shook beneath me. Drifter launched straight up. Oh. Sh*t. (If you make it through this unscathed, you better start to pay attention, Suzanne.)

It took me an eternity to find where I was as Drifter launched again and again. I don't think he moved at all laterally. Ow. I hit hard on my launchpad. Ow. Ow.

Once I was mentally back in the ragdoll of a body flailing in the saddle, Drifter's triple-buck moment winded down with a hi-ho-Silver rear. And he stood calmly. Quietly. As if nothing had happened at all.

"OK, I'm awake. I'm awake. I am here."

I assessed the damage. My sunglasses were in my lap, camera (sans battery) in my right hand.

They must've heard my Ows.

"What happened?" Wendy asked.

"A three-year-old moment."I answered sheepishly, not wanting to admit how bad I was hurting.

As I dismounted to search for my camera battery in the haystack of pine needles, I momentarily berated myself and then smiled. I know exactly what happened before what happened happened. I abandoned Drifter to take pictures. And for my complacency, I was punched in the gut and smacked in the tailbone. My helmet made contact with Drifter's neck, and shoved my sunglasses into my forehead.

"What spooked him?" Bill asked.

"Nothing." He was reminding me that he's still here...and he's still 3.

I took for granted that we have been doing great. It's not just Drifter's job to be a "good horse" all by himself. Not yet anyway. Gone are the days when my horse does something for no reason.

Bruised, swollen and battered (and in a great deal of discomfort today), I am grateful for the lesson. It answers many questions that I made assumptions about. And now more than ever, Ray Hunt's words as repeated by my mentors have become crystal: You go with your horse until he can go with you.

Somewhere in this bed of pinecones is where I learned my lesson

The Way

Can't sleep tonight even though I am exhausted.

I have been wondering the last few days what Ray Hunt really meant when he said "Think." Thinking got me somewhere to begin with, but I couldn't think my way there again.

For a while I had been stuck in a moment. It was a profound experience that I blogged about last year in "A Case of Circles". That moment in time sent me on a quest. An unquenchable thirst for answers. Science couldn't explain it, but neither could religion. In the nights of research and reading books, I found experiences that sounded familiar, or touched me in some way, but there was still a gaping hole in a dark abyss with neon letters spelling out WHY?.

An opportunity arose for me to start a filly late this summer. Strega is a petite Arabian with a great mind. To be back on an Arab experiencing funny Arab quirks is a great feeling.

The first three lessons were foundation-building consisting of groundwork, saddling, flag work, moving her out of my space, and teaching respect while building her confidence. Each of these foundation days, she taught me something while I was teaching her. She showed me when I was doing too much or not enough.

I was going to leave the first ride up to her, but when she allowed me to lead her up to the fence on which I was sitting in Lesson 4, and let me step into the stirrup and lean over her body, that day became the first ride. The next few rides were in a halter just getting her to move. Fast forward through bridling (not one of the easiest things to do with her just yet), dabbling with side passes and leg yields, walk, trot, lope, and lots of serpentines and bending to ride 10 and we ventured out on the trail today.

Riding Strega

As I continue down this path, the horses seem to be showing me the way that I didn't think I could find on my own. But the answers seem to have been here with me all along.

And the answers are within you.

There is no time like the present. And its up to you to decide what you are going to do with it.

Finding Direction from the Circle of Horsemen

And someone you never meet
Signs a check you get every week
You try and you still can't forget
All the strangers that you have met
~Patty Griffin "Florida"

I have a job. Grateful in this economy to be sure. I get a couple of paid weeks per year to do with as I please. Certainly half seem to go toward my horsemanship. I try not to get sick so I can ensure I have days to ride and learn. At times I will stare at my computer screen...the programming codes and fields fill each pixel with strict data, but my mind is in the dust amidst the cattle, horses, herringbone vests, and vaquero hats.

It's a passion that has lead to growth within my own tiny orbit within this universe.

A bit of history.

Discovering personal integrity
I met Paul Dietz in 2006. Jake was 3. Looking back, I was inadvertently a horrible horsewoman by my own present assessment. I was a hack; the kind of rider that makes me cringe now. It wasn't that I meant to be that way, it was just the way I had been taught. I was the queen of cracking a whip when lunging my horse in endless mindless circles that merely taught him to tune me out and build up endurance for plenty of trouble when I sat on his back. And that's not even touching my heavy-handedness.

In the clinic, Paul spoke of his mentors. Not just Buck, but Ray and Tom. I knew the names from Kathy, but back in those days she gave me bits and pieces and then waited to see if I would eventually find it. I went through the motions of the foundation class, not really understanding why we were doing it. The explanations were foreign. My hands clumsily fumbled with the leadrope, switching hands...moving hindquarters...walking the horse along the fence and back. It was foreign. And all I knew when I met Paul is that things had to change, as I had recently bought a horse that I had committed to start myself. I was one of two people who left that first clinic with enough information to know that I needed more.

What I remember most about that first clinic isn't something I am proud of. But it was a necessary experience that sent me down this path. Jake gave me some trouble as I went to get in the saddle on the second day. It was somewhat of a buck or a kick, but I'd had it with his behavior and I removed myself from the clinic to go out to the back lot to lunge him. With a whip. Aggressively. He wasn't moving fast enough. I knew what I was doing...I was being vengeful and spiteful and "showing Jake who was his boss". After I was satisfied that I had wore him out to the point where I felt I could get back on him, I returned to the arena. During a break, I complained to Paul about Jake's behavior. Paul asked me what I was trying to accomplish outside of the arena.

I insecurely argued, making excuses that Jake tried to buck me off. Paul didn't take my side.

"I saw what you did." He said frankly.

End of conversation. I shut down. I was mad, but he was right. And I had to chew on that for a year or so. When Paul says he is there for your horse, he means it.

No one stood up for Jake that day but Paul.

And for a couple of years to follow, there were many times I needed Paul put a mirror in front of me ("Why do you have him in a twisted-wire snaffle?" he asked me once)...to end my bouts of vengeance and whip-cracking, which only brought out a fight in Jake. That horse was not one to submit to spur, whip, or lungeline.

People didn't like Jake. Comments that he should have been dog food...glue...or shot were not uncommon. He was described as intimidating. I called him Turd. I had been praised for having the patience of a saint. Looking back, Jake was the one with patience.

It's hard to hear the truth sometimes, but only when you are open to it, can you grow.

The sponsor that year packed the arena with the best of intentions in trying to get a good base of clientele for Paul in our area, but it was overcrowded to the point that people felt as if they didn't get enough "time" for their money. Some students badly misbehaved against their horses. That had to have been hard for Paul to see. Despite taking a hit from that clinic, he returned.

The first couple of clinics, Paul seemed a bit stoic to me. Perhaps he was wary of me (as I certainly didn't make the best first impression). But as I got to know him as a teacher, and eventually as a friend, he really is just trying to help people's horses get a better deal.

And over the next few years, I kept coming back as a student who was looking for information...but came out the other side with something more profound than just horsemanship. You won't believe what you might believe if you put enough energy into something. And that goes for positive and negative energy.

In 2008, Paul called and asked, "So...are you coming to Buck's?"

"No, I'm still trying to understand what you are teaching."

Paul's 2008 clinics came and went, and things were slowly getting better with Jake. But they definitely weren't consistent. I still had a lot of force (the "get after him" mentality that was ingrained in my head as a teenager learning to ride) that I was trying to tame within myself. At times, I would walk out to the corrals where Jake was pacing and rearing, wild-eyed as a caged tiger; it was an easy decision to grab my old Arab, Buddy. Some days, I just didn't have it in me to get Jake out. I couldn't go to war every day, but if I had been able to comprehend that war shouldn't have even been in the lesson plan to begin with, I might have had better luck.

In 2009, Paul called and asked, "So...are you coming to Buck's?"

"No, I'm still trying to understand what you are teaching."

But then Kathy called and told me she was thinking about going and asked if I wanted to join her. Road trip! Of course...and with Travis's blessing, the check was sent and the time counted down until...

Tragedy.

News hit that Ray Hunt had passed away on March 12, 2009. A man who had become legendary while he was still alive, Buck and Paul were among Ray's close friends and family who were there for Ray's funeral. There was concern that the clinic would be canceled, but Buck rode into the New River, AZ arena on March 27, 2009.

Being the first clinic of Buck's I had attended, I quickly observed that his presence filled the arena when he rode in.

As the morning session began, one of the riders asked Buck how he was doing since Ray's passing. His reply made me wish I had not missed out on seeing Ray in person. Heartbreak in his voice, a lump in his throat, Buck spoke softly and respectfully about the man who inspired and taught him.

My relationship with Jake would crescendo at this 2009 clinic.

The wind was sharp and aggressive that weekend. It cut through horses' coats and humans' clothing. Jake was buddy-sour to Kathy's mare, Chic. I could barely keep him bent to disengage his hindquarters to save myself from flying over the arena railing. He was being difficult, at best. Sharp serpentines were on the agenda for much of the mornings.

Saturday, things went from bad to worse. There are videos shot by Mike Thomas (a longtime friend of Buck's and Ray's, www.mikethomashorsemen.com, video here) where a screaming horse can be heard over Buck's voice. That, my friends, was Jake. Being with me was the last thing on his mind. I couldn't make him want to find comfort in me. And my frustration was mounting, a migraine was looming, and I was missing out on the clinic.

Melissa, who had come to audit, ran to get the Excedrin Migraine. I was trembling and crying. She reassured me and I went back to working with my horse.

Buck got me (and the rest of the class) back to doing sharp serpentines...freeing up Jake's feet, directing them, moving them...freeing up my frustrated mind, directing it, moving it.

Sharp serpentine Buck Clinic 2009 - Photo by Mike Thomas

But every step felt like battle to me. He whinnied and called for Chic for most of the day. He would fake spook and go scooting 20 feet across the arena. Head tossing and more screaming. I felt broken. Jake would win this war and I had it in my mind that starting a colt was the worst decision I had ever made. In my mind, I'd been working at this horsemanship stuff for almost three years now and should have been at a different level. But in reality, I'd been incorporating it into my agenda. Trying to mix and match what I thought was working for me with what I thought I had been learning from the clinics. And to answer Dr. Phil's question, "How's that working for ya?" It wasn't.

So that evening, I had confessed that I wasn't sure if I wanted to ride Jake on Sunday. Paul Dietz and Hal Coker offered. Steve offered to bring his horse Gator for me. But in the morning, when Gator wasn't receptive to being caught by me, I realized that maybe the problem was me and not my horse.

In the morning as I drove down 7th Ave./New River Rd. to go feed the horses, Trace Adkins song came on the radio...

You're gonna miss this.
You're gonna want this back.
You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast.
These are some good times,
so take a good look around...
You may not know it now, but you're gonna miss this.

...and (yes, from a country music song) I realized I needed to slow down and pay attention to every moment in Arizona. I am glad I did.

So let's try this again.

The clean slate after overnight tears and broken ego, I walked up to Jake on Sunday morning.

Jake wasn't receptive to being haltered, but I haltered him anyway. I asked Kathy and Chic to walk with me to the arena, so as not to cause stress first thing in the morning.

Buck reminded me that the more frustrated I got with my horse, the less likely he would want to be with me. And he also told me that I had broken through a wall with my horse on my worst day of the clinic. And although I may not see it (I didn't), I had made a change and things would be different with me and Jake.

On the last day, the wind kicked it up a notch. It was miserable, but even one of the clinic participants commented, "Well, look who finally calmed down on the windiest day of the clinic."

Yep, it was Jake. Cool and calm. Responsive. But it wasn't magic. And the weather no longer mattered.

I had a big year ahead of me in 2009. Lots of tools to work with. Buck sent Kathy and me home with homework to break the buddy-sourness. And it worked. On day 1.

It would be almost a year before I saw Buck again, at Ray Hunt's Memorial Clinic in Fort Worth (along with Paul), and then again at his clinic in Phoenix. The 2009 homework and subsequent (and amazing) Paul Dietz VIP and Big Bear clinics had eventually progressed me and Jake into the hackamore. I was proud of my hard work and to be able to ride him in Buck's 2010 clinic and have him (and myself) in a much better frame of mind.

Sharp serpentine Buck Clinic 2010 - Photo by Mike Thomas

So, to Trace Adkins, I don't miss that time in my life. It happened for a reason, I was present enough to remember it vividly and I love that I experienced it.

It's hard to unlearn what has become habitual in your life. But habit doesn't mean what you are doing is right. And it's unfortunate that so many people ride the same, year-in and year-out. I was one of them when I first started hearing about these clinics. I thought, I don't need to do attend a clinic because I can ride. 

But then it was recently explained to me that many horsepeople who have "20 years' experience", instead might have one year of experience repeated 20 times over.

And there is something so incredibly beautiful that is being lost in all of it. The message is so profound that it's no wonder most people miss it. It's no wonder I missed it for 20 years. In the last few years, it has begun to unfold and I am continually amazed at this progressive horsemanship.

My journey is just beginning. All I can think to do is share it so others might be able to find it.

Paul Dietz - Day 1 Big Bear Clinic

Travis and I went for a run one evening this week. We ran a very quick mile (for me) that felt faster than 8 minutes (my previous fastest), but I didn't bring my Garmin to prove it.

As we walked back to the house, he commented that if Bubba Watson were to come to Big Bear and want to stay at our house, eat dinner with us, and golf with him for a weekend, he would be ecstatic. He realizes that this is how I feel when Paul comes to town.

Paul arrived in the wee hours of the morning on July 5 and parked their "toter" home alongside the house and put the horses in the arena. I commented that that planets were aligning for his clinic. The Pleiades, Venus and Jupiter, and the moon were grouped together in a bright display at 4:30am. 


In order to get out of the Arizona heat and get some filming done for a groundwork video, they came to Big Bear for some R&R. We all rode in the cow sorting jackpot. Alisa took us out on her boat. We went on a trail ride. It was a nice week pre-clinic. 

Megan & Frankie, Moo & Zoey, Gene & Gray, Paul & Rey, Alisa & Pinot,
Suz & Drifter, Chey & Rocco, Sharon & Gen, Heidi & HD, Mo & Josey

Friday, July 13, kicked off the clinic with a full day of horsemanship. Familiar faces were Alisa, Melissa, and Mo...and new to the clinic this year were Heidi, Sharon, Jana, Kelly and Cheyenne. We started with groundwork, as some of the new faces were confused by what they saw at the demo (how do you move a horse's hindquarters from the ground? how do you get them bent? how does it relate to riding?). My initial reaction was to avoid groundwork and get to riding, but as the morning settled into a routine of Paul helping each one on how to get their horses to move, I saw how much people were benefiting from this crucial step of horsemanship.

Kelly sat on the sidelines as Megan worked with her new horse, Frankie. After groundwork got a little better for him, he was left to "soak" on what Megan had done with him (forward, backward, leading, driving, hindquarters to the left and right, front quarters to the left and right, and stop). The horse came with little information (kids can ride him!) but it soon became clear that Frankie had some baggage and needed help.

The groundwork session was interrupted briefly when a gasp from the bleachers revealed that Frankie had gotten himself into a bit of trouble. He was fidgeting with the breastcollar and had gotten his lower jaw completely stuck. He panicked and promptly threw himself to the ground to wait for help. Gene unbuckled the collar and Frankie took to bucking.

The class was talking with the exception of a few observers. I grabbed Kelly. "You have to watch this. You are going to see something incredible. Just watch."

Frankie bucked and turned and looked for a way out. Paul patiently moved forward or back, depending on Frankie's positioning. If Frankie wanted to leave, Paul would quietly send him. If Frankie showed interest in Paul's help, he would take pressure off the horse. For those who were watching, it was tense.

Paul said, "Everyone needs to breathe. He can feel your energy too!"

Once the air relaxed, Frankie soon came to Paul. I've seen him work with horses like this and it's really amazing if you pay attention. He sets it up to let the horse make a choice to come to him. And when a troubled horse relaxes and takes that step, it can bring tears to your eyes.


Sadly, many in the class missed it. There was even judgment of "roundpen work" when maybe, just maybe, they have never seen roundpen work like this.


We rode briefly before lunch, working tight serpentines around cones, trying to "attach a rein to a foot". 


On our lunchbreak, Kelly expressed her concerns for what she was getting into as a new horse owner with very little (almost nil) horse experience. She didn't understand what she saw in the roundpen when Paul worked her horse, but she saw something special. She was open to learning as much as she could. If there were a book of terminology, she would have needed it.


In the afternoon, slickers were needed for about an hour, and Megan rode Frankie, the class rode serpentines, and Paul worked at planting the seed for removing tie-downs from some movement-restricted horses. A tie-down is often a compulsory piece of tack for gymkhana riders. Riders learn to rely on them with a false sense of security. It's just something that is embedded into the brain when you are taught to ride, rather than teaching the rider to teach the horse where to carry his head. Heidi stepped out on a limb and said she would take of the tie-down Saturday. Her apprehension was obvious, but she was willing to take a step. 


That step turned out to be huge...

Heidi and HD, sans tiedown

More to come on another amazing clinic by Paul Dietz.

Moody Fog and Ride 3

After a mentally tough day at work, I went out to my yard and took Drifter's blanket off. He was a bit standoffish which was a big indicator of my energy. A storm was rolling in and a better backdrop would have been a cemetery, instead of my arena.

I saddled him and let him buck free across the arena for a few minutes. He still wants to do that sometimes and it makes me laugh. He came back to me and let me bridle him.

Immediately, I began working on my timing with the feet in my serpentines. Keeping my hands as light as I could and finding that perfectly timed release. Shortly thereafter, we were floating through our serpentines. I am fascinated by the release as the horse gives (not after).

The rain began to fall so I got my slicker. This was the first time I had ridden with it. Drifter let me on his back and we rode around the yard: the front, the back, the arena. Slicker or none, rain or shine, good day or bad, this seems to be sinking in with both of us. I have to trust and believe it will.

And I began to think that no matter what happens, this will always be there for me.

It's not about riding. You cannot train a horse or a human to find this. I feel myself pulling back and that scares me, because I don't think that is the answer. Out of the goodness of camaraderie, horse people try to relate to each other in the "ride". But horse people can be terribly "cliquey" as well and I don't want to be cliquey because I want other people to experience this for the sake of their horses.



Now, you are not going to believe this (unless you read my previous entry)...

This week marked my third ride with Travis in 15 years.

After work on Tuesday, I immediately started asking if he would go riding with me. His repetitive no turned into what's it worth to me. I had my boundaries but I wanted to find a place where it could work. I wanted to give him a chance to ride Jake, because I think Jake could use a human right now. After working out the details regarding our next dog(s) that we may end up with after Quincy goes into the light, Jake was saddled and we were on our way.

I showed Travis how to move Jake laterally and how to round out his back for a smoother trot. We discovered Travis has a good seat (which I would have guessed anyway considering his natural athletic ability). It was nice to hear him later comment that at first he didn't see what the big deal was, but the more he rode interactively, the more tired his legs became.

Jake and Drifter had one minor spook, which Travis was able to stop with one rein. And he had become comfortable trotting that he energetically decided he was just going to trot out on Jake and Jake let out a woo-hoo kick. One-rein stop again and we walked home.

This made me a happy girl.

Where from here?

"When we come into the present, we begin to feel the life around us again, but we also encounter whatever we have been avoiding. We must have the courage to face whatever is present — our pain, our desires, our grief, our loss, our secret hopes, our love...everything that moves us most deeply."

- Jack Kornfield

On Friday, I came into the present. I felt it. I felt feel. 

Junior showed me where it is. Drifter stayed there with me.

When I had exhausted the moment to the extent that I feared taking advantage, I went into my house and 4000 words manifested. Must keep going…

On the heels of the third ride ever with Travis (more on that later)...

I am crawling out of my skin today at work. I've been trying to find a good frame of mind, but I can’t make that happen either. A small forced smile seems to lighten the weight, but with the end of a smile comes the weight of uncertainty.

I try to practice what I preach. I try to find the good in everything, but today it feels like finding the good is a façade. In order to find some authenticity in myself, I have quickly realized that it's not all perfect. And that has to be OK. I’ve reminded a few friends recently that they should fill their lives with things that fulfill them and quit wasting time on that which does not fulfill. Easier said than done.

A visit to my place of employment was both a blessing and a curse. A lightbulb was turned off. It was a minor setback in surrounded by encouragement (but at what cost). Momentarily, I am focusing on the lightbulb instead of silver screen.

Am I encountering what I have been avoiding? If I were to skip tomorrow, would that mean I lack courage? If I check out tonight into a glass of wine, will this be waiting for me in the morning?

So why post this entry? A little redheaded bird said "are you blogging about it?" Good idea.

It is a part of my journey and there is purpose. Maybe some of you have encountered it…or maybe you will.

This too shall pass and I will understand later.

If you haven't yet heard "head full of doubt/road full of promise", you must.


I am off to the arena...

One more question for Buck

The nice thing about riding in Buck Brannaman's clinic in Arizona is that a couple of weeks later, he is usually somewhere in Southern California.

On Saturday, April 7, I was up with the sun to head down to Del Mar in order to catch him before he is gone until 2013.

I tried to make arrangements to get someone to go with me, but people were busy with overbooked weekends and daily lives, so I relented to be OK with following my dreams solo. My experience won't be the same as another's anyway, so I was going for my own experience. At the bottom of the hill, I made one last call.

"Hi, you've reached Alisa. Leave a message and I will call you back."

"I will be passing by your house in about an hour. Call me if you want me to pick you up."

I drove to the sound of tires on the highway. Alone.

My phone rang when I was nearing Temecula. "If you're not too far out of the way, I will go with you." Alisa's sleepy voice said. I turned around.

We were back on the road in about 45 minutes so we were going to miss a bit of horsemanship. When we arrived at Clews Ranch, it was clear that there were lots of spectators. Cars were spilling out onto the road. We drove partway up a quarter-mile long driveway and turned around. Good thing we didn't bring the Ford or her Tundra. I squeezed by a trailhead and we walked up the driveway.

There were several hundred spectators around an arena that looked just about as overbooked as the New River clinic. It worked out OK in Arizona, but Del Mar seemed to be a troubled group as soon as we approached the arena. It was a blend of english and dressage saddles, trail and ranch saddles in the arena.

Alisa got a phone call that her mom's purse was stolen, so she immediately was on the phone trying to get things sorted out.

The class was in an awkward silence. They were apparently working on something from the ground...I assumed he was having them get their horses light by grabbing the slobber strap and picking up to see how soft you can get your horse to give and get back. But many people were standing along the rail. Some were in a dust cloud. Some were clearly doing their own thing.

"Oh my god, Suzanne?!" a voice called from inside the arena.

"Alex! Hi!" It was Alex, who leased Buddy from me when Travis and I moved to Big Bear. She leased him and rode him for 5-6 years until I brought him up the mountain. I haven't seen her since 2003.

Suzanne and Alex

We set up our chairs and Alisa was quietly making calls.

No sooner did Alisa hang up the phone and ask, "what are they doing?" did Buck call the class in for a talk.

And it became clear to me why he doesn't allow video taping at his clinics...because what happened could clearly have been taken out of context.

He gave the class a piece of his mind. He was disappointed that people didn't do their homework from the first day, which is why he never gave them additional homework. Without calling anyone out individually, among other disappointments: he was understandably upset that some people were hitting their horses to back them; he was angry that some had grabbed both reins from below the neck, collapsing bits up into the bars inside their horses mouths.

Buck was clearly upset. He never once directed the offenders to do such things.

A participant even argued with him about it.

How sad that many of these people were missing an amazing opportunity, but showed up to an arena and did their own thing instead.

How sad for some of those horses.

Over lunch break, Alisa's mom's purse was found in a gas station trash can, cash missing, but everything else seemingly intact. She decided to put her phone away for the cow working class.

Buck's opening statements were among the best topics he discusses. He spoke of riders being "contrarians" who will come up with an excuse as to why their horses might misbehave in any given circumstance, rather than getting their horses to want to be...with you...which in turn will make any obstacle or reason not to ride irrelevant.

He showcased Arc, his bridle horse's great cow cutting abilities. To me, watching him ride and knowing how he starts his horses without shortcuts is the most impressive part. He never puts a bad habit into them. He doesn't use a bit because he failed in the snaffle or hackamore. His horses have been promoted to wear a badge of honor. The bit is used as a signal, not as leverage. There is almost nothing more beautiful to me.

Buck and Arc

After the cow working, we stayed to watch the autographs and photo opportunities. We lingered and observed. We watched Shayne Jackson teaching how to tie a tail knot. And we waited for our chance.

I had one more question for Buck.

"I'm playing a bit of a waiting game with Drifter on my backup. At this stage, do I continue to wait or take a firm hold?"

His answer, as close as I can recall, was: "You've got pretty good lateral flexion on him. Get on the ground and take a hold of a slobber strap, get him soft and help him back. Really work at that. Make sure you get that release in there. You better be quick with your release. The timing will show him when he's right. That's real important."

Alisa, Buck, Suzanne

As Buck was leaving the arena, Alisa asked Buck how she can help Pinot with one of her problems, namely how she reacts to the flag. She will put it in her mouth and play with it, but she won't yield to it very well.

Buck told her that she still needs to respect it, which means Alisa is going to have to firm up. And she might have to firm up a lot to put some respect in there. On our drive home, she openly reflected on how Pinot's comfortable-but-disrespectful behavior overflows into other areas (riding, groundwork, other horses, other animals) and not just with the flag.

Very good observation. I am glad she went with me.

Taking it to the Arena...

So on Sunday, I dragged the Vaqueros arena and trailered Drifter over to try to make sense of the quiet groundwork that Buck insisted will help my backup.

I couldn't believe how quickly Drifter's response was getting after a few minutes. Resonating from Arizona was the theme of never stopping short of being successful, so I spent about 20 minutes...one side, then the other...releasing as quick as my peabrain could remind me to release.

Then I got on and worked tight serpentines in an all-out effort to avoid pulling Drifter through the turns. Release. Release. Release.

Sorry for the crude point of focus...self timer, self portrait

An enormous arena. Birds chirping in the crisp spring sun. Quiet arenawork. Amazing arenawork.

Who needs chicken soup for the soul?

I long trotted around the arena, picking up softness and settling into a nice transition to walk. Transitions up and down from the walk to trot. Getting them smooth...working toward seamless. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

As I was trotting out, I picked up a soft feel but didn't slow my body. We trotted with softness. I decided to try something. I moved to position 3 (on the back pockets of your jeans). Drifter crushed the dirt with his hind end in a tiny sliding stop.

I immediately rubbed his neck, dismounted, untacked and sat down in the dirt to "soak". Drifter departed to explore the arena, bucking and whinneying.

As the sun burnt my back where I couldn't reach with sunscreen, I watched him and smiled.

And then Drifter did the unexpected....

And he stayed here...

Was it a display of trust? Comfort? Contentment? All I know is it was not coincidence. Whatever it was, it astounded me.

How's that for an answer to my question?

Tranquility

On Monday, the drive home felt "different".

Monica & Bullet; Suzanne & Drifter; Buck & Gidget; Kathy & Junior

Buck Brannaman's New River, AZ clinic atmosphere was different from previous years. People were lined up with books, DVDs, and hats to get Buck's autograph. When we might have had 40 spectators before, there were hundreds this year. The spectators were lively and interactive. They applauded for riders who had success with their horses working cows. They cheered when Buck said Facebook was for people who have too much time on their hands and nothing productive to do (...which is kind of funny, because I know some people were "checking in" to Facebook that morning). They laughed when Buck was helping an individual student and would say to the rest of the class "and the rest of you honyockers better be listening". At one point, I was slightly unseated from the saddle when Drifter let out a little kick while working cows. I heard a unanimous gasp from the bleachers, and realized the spectators thought I was going to be a lawn dart. Buck explained to them that Drifter had just realized that he is superior to the cows. (He's at the bottom of the pecking order at home, so he must have felt pretty good. It makes me smile.)

Last year, after Buck's clinic, I cried on the drive home, trying to make sense of what had happened with Junior. I sought answers which were nowhere to be found. I felt mentally lost until a few days later, Mike Thomas told me to "Never let anyone try to convince me that it didn't happen. You will now hear differently and learn faster." It's very clear that it is a big secret.

Mike was right. I heard Buck differently this year. It's almost as if he speaks in a code that only those who know the secret can hear. And you work at it with so much dedication that you might as well be the only one in the arena. And it certainly doesn't make you any better than anyone else...you just work at it. And you think. Those who don't know the secret work freeing up their horses...moving them better...and open themselves up to a different approach. Maybe, just maybe, to make things better for the horses.

  

This year, as we departed New River, Sis was immediately down for a nap in the backseat. We drove in silence for a bit. Exhaustion demanded coffee. A conversation with Hen in the mare motel at Paul's resonated with me. But for miles of stretches, Kathy and I didn't speak. I know where I was, and I assume she was there too.

Reflecting.

"The horse is a mirror to your soul..."

from the documentary Buck

This gift has opened my mind to the mental over physical side of "riding". Like all horses, Drifter is open to it. And because he's so new and I have been working very hard to remain fair with him when I work with him, he is responsive in ways I've never experienced before. When horses are closed to it, it has become clear to me why. And it's not the horse's fault. I don't have answers, but I do have some comprehension. All I can do is keep learning and keep working at it.

 

Buck said he is looking forward to the day that he can teach us what he knows, instead of what he thinks we need to know.

I want to be there.

If you take any activity, any art, any discipline, any skill,
take it and push it as far as it will go, push it beyond
where it has ever been before, push it to the wildest edge of edges,
then you force it into the realm of magic.
-Tom Robbins

Insomnia

Across the room, Sis makes noises that sound like she is talking in her sleep. I can't make out what she is saying.

Moo and Hen are a floor up, likely talking until their voices fade to slumber.

I said goodnight to Travis and have been in bed for over an hour but I can't sleep. I thought this might happen, but didn't realize how wide awake I could be after watching the clock, counting sheep, staring at the ceiling, and changing positions from stomach to side to back.

We have to be up early tomorrow. Drifter has settled into his stall at Paul's. He traveled well. It was cute when I spoke with Travis this afternoon to hear Jake vocalizing over the phone. He wasn't too thrilled that we left without him.

I am looking forward to what will happen in the arena with Buck. My mind is flooded with memories of last year and I wonder how it can possibly be topped.

There's a level of intimidation to set foot in there—but it isn't a competition. I am here to learn and not to show. Everything is for me to gain if I leave my pride to disintegrate into the wind that blows through the saguaros.

Four More Rides of Growth

Last weekend I rode Drifter on Saturday and Sunday. This weekend I did the same. His "marathon" is in seven weeks, so it would be in our best interest to build some endurance.

Last Saturday was his second trail ride and 14th ever ride. Jenn and I were cutting it close, as when we arrived, Kathy and Sis were on their horses. I barely got any groundwork done and hopped on so we could head over to Monica's to get her and Bullet. While at Monica's, Drifter needed some work. It was a new place with new smells and monsters.

He doesn't normally look like this.

But once we all rode out, the rest of the ride was pretty uneventful. He really only had a few spooks and, even though his spooks are big, they're fairly easy to rein in and he comes right back to reality when reassured.

Jenn & Jake

Jake wanted to move to Newport Beach with Jenn.

On Sunday, Drifter was so tired, he was basically a grandma-safe horse. Nothing alarmed him. Not even Kathy's six-month old puppy bounding through the sagebrush and darting around the trail.

OK, so this was also taken on Saturday, but he looked like this all day Sunday.

Yesterday, I threw down 11 miles in the morning (and finally felt great about running again) and immediately hooked up the trailer to go for a ride. Kathy on Chic, Lisa on Oakey the mule, and I on Drifter rode over to Monica's to pick up Bullet, to be ponied, while Monica rode Toy.

The ride was great. We climbed a pretty steep hill, rode along a fire road, dropped down into the National Forest, and looped back toward home. All went well until we came upon a couple who were wenching a tractor onto a flatbed trailer. They were parked across the road on which we were riding, so we had to ride around them and onto their property.

The couple kindly brought to our attention that there was a cable laying across the dirt driveway that we had to ride across. The mule and Kathy's two horses crossed it fine.

As Monica and Toy walked over the cable, Toy's back toe dragged across the cable. This, of course, startled him and as he lunged forward causing the cable to fly up, flipping a connected metal "No Trespassing" sign into the air.

Toy spun.

Drifter spun with full force and intent to head to Nevada.

Although startled, I impulsively reached to stop him with one rein, as has been ingrained in my brain as the emergency brake to save all wrecks.

But in the midst of a terrified horse tornado, out of the corner of my eye, I saw impending doom.

A barbed wire fence directly in the path of our escape route. I envisioned the two of us entangled in that deathtrap...and a one-rein stop at that moment would have sent his hindquarters and my midsection straight into it. Tachycardia raged in my chest as adrenaline surged through my body and I veered Drifter slightly away from the property line in order to finally engage the one-rein stop.

As the dust cleared, I looked down, envisioning entrails strewn across the hillside, but was relieved that there was no blood. We lived to see another ride.

[Google horse barbed wire injuries...I dare you.]

I dismounted and walked Drifter across the cable. He cautiously crossed, but trusted my lead. My core was shaking so violently (I was cold before the spook, and I felt frozen afterwards) that I continued to walk down the road a while before getting back on.

Today, I've laid low. Worked on a colt starting DVD for Paul and helped Travis put up more fence. When Travis left to watch the Super Bowl, I went to the safety of my backyard arena and quietly worked with Drifter, inspired by the video I am editing.

So, today, ride 17 in seven months, I asked Drifter to canter for the first time. He seemed as apprehensive as I was about going there, but then we both relaxed and let it happen.

This was a nice speed

A little fast, but controlled. He's still a bit of an overachiever.

First

On the first day of this new year, Kathy had asked if we could go on a trail ride. I didn't drink in the new year because I was overcome by a deep chest cough (yes, sick again for the holidays), but I decided to bundle up and take Drifter on his first trail ride. This would also mark his 13th ride.

Candace decided to start off the new year right with Willow, and after mulling over the idea of taking him on a trail ride, committed to joining me.

I hooked up the trailer and loaded the tack, and we headed over to Kathy's where she and Sis were saddling Toy and Chic. Kathy put Sis on Chic (which is amazing because Chic has quite a motor for a 5 year old) so she could be on Old Reliable Toy in case I needed some assistance with Drifter.

Groundwork with Drifter in Kathy's arena marked a new experience for him...Tasha the border collie likes to counter-circle any horse being worked and Drifter's tolerance for dogs is not one of his best qualities. So it took a little bit of work to get him to focus on me and not on Tasha.

Once that got better, I got on, did a little bending, one-rein stops and we were ready to give it a go...

Our Trail Boss

With Sis leading the way as the "trail boss", we headed out. At first, Drifter wasn't sure what speed was appropriate. A few scoots forward into a trot that were shot down by an easy one-rein and we were able to make it a couple of properties down were we walked through the trees and snow. At this point, both Willow and Drifter needed to be shut down a couple of times. The road was a mix of slick mud, thick ice, and puddles of water...lots of terrain for Drifter to consider. He began to focus on where he was putting his feet and settled in nicely. In fact, it seems we might have found a good match for Toy's easygoing, slow walk.

I had a great opportunity to give him an opportunity to walk nicely along the road, rather than taking over and squaring up to barking dogs protecting their property lines.

I am looking forward to every ride with this little horse.

Overjoyed...

Thank you Kathy, Sis and Candace for being a part of my great day...it was a great start to a new year.