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.
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| Sharp serpentine Buck Clinic 2009 - Photo by Mike Thomas |
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.
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| Sharp serpentine Buck Clinic 2010 - Photo by Mike Thomas |
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.
