Mary's House Nostalgia

Rabbits...

Five years ago, I was still in Connecticut. I was getting ready to graduate with certification from a top-notch course in therapeutic riding after having met some of the most influential people in my mid-life career. It was here the first time I scribbled the word equu8 in a scrapbook, but had no idea where it would take me.

I was living in a house built in 1895. Mary's House was the kind of New England dream home sitting atop a knoll a short walk from the Connecticut River, surrounded by stone walls and a 9-mile equestrian cross country course through the woods on 500 acres of paradise. I would awaken in the mornings to gaze through blown glass windows out onto low lying fog blanketed pastures and wild turkeys gathering. My housemates (Katie from New York and Noem from Israel) and I avoided the basement of Mary's House, convinced that those stairs were meant for "don't go down there" scenes in horror movies. The creaks and groans of this old house was spooky enough.

Mary's House, Old Lyme CT

Um, no.

Stonewall heaven

Autumn is one of my favorite times of year and watching a New England summer transition through fall in to winter is an unforgettable check off my bucket list. It inspired me to read Thoreau's "Walden" and get my own words onto digital paper.

As Halloween 2018 came to a close, I was reminded of something I wrote while staying at Mary's House one restless night when I was certain I was being visited by a specter from Mary's heyday. Perhaps a levitating witch outside my window? As it turned out, my nightmare had a simple explanation.

Rasping window slapping, scratching
Sounds as if the door's unlatching
My heart pounds, can't say a word
Until I saw the midnight bird

All Hallows' eve is drawing near
New England's saints will soon appear
Startled awake and eyes are blurred
Awakened by the midnight bird

Turn on the lamp and catch my breath
This fear will certainly bring death
Go back to sleep, this is absurd
But then returns the midnight bird

Lying awake with shadows curving
The evening has been quite unnerving
In the dark again I heard
The flapping of the midnight bird

As much as I like to scare people, I'm not much for being scared myself. However, a little pounding heart is good for creativity...

Fears and Mirrors

It takes as long as it takes.

I've frequently ridden the lakebed this month, following the best winter in six years which has left the northern part of the lake still under a sludge of water. The south side of the lake is cracked like an arid desert, with the kind of footing on which you can let your horse stretch its legs far more than he could in an arena. The feeling of letting a horse loose brings back high school memories of racing my arab for uninhibited miles in the Murrieta Creek.

As opposed to the sandy wash of the dry creek, the lakebed can be a bit tricky, because the footing changes with the landscape. There are gopher holes in the areas with sage and meadowgrass, and there is some debris out there, so confidence in your ability to slow down is imperative. It can be a bit unnerving if your horse is in a dead bolt and you've got nothing by way of control at the end of the reins.

But before you go grabbing a bigger bit to leverage control over your horse, you might consider preparation before you go. Let's be fair, it should be fun for rider and horse.

It's a no brainer for me to take my numero uno to the lakebed. It's hard to explain with Drifter, but a silent mutual agreement has been formed. I can just about bet my life that those feet might as well be mine. There's just about nothing like having a horse you "made" on your own from the very first ride: you can't blame anyone but yourself for the bad things, but you can find a heck of a lot of peace in the good things. Trust is mirrored infinitely with Drifter. We've got each other covered.

So if your horse is light and responsive through all gaits in the arena, you shouldn't have any trouble in the great wide open. There's ample room to circle if you need to downshift, but you gotta bet on that too.

For those of you who haven't heard about my journey with Bravo, I've had a few falls. None of them were bucks (which he didn't do in the four rides before he came into my life). All of them were lateral launchpad escapes which left me so far out of balance, when my only choice was to hit the dirt. All of them were directly related to my decisions to climb on Bravo without proper preparation. Each fall left a stinging doubt...forcing me to question myself and take deep into my heart criticisms that aren't worthy of breaking it.

Stupid fear has lingered for years so I rode in fits and starts...but Bravo never asked for any of my baggage. He is quick and athletic, maybe even a bit insightful. He can move lightning quick and he's even more sensitive and touchy than Drifter, which in turn has given me some of the greatest gifts under saddle. At Paul's in December 2015. At the beach August 2016. Buck's 2017 clinic. Unforgettable presents.

Like today.

Drifter was the lucky guy to go on the past two days' trail rides. It was Bravo's turn, and I wanted to run far, fast, forever....

Yet the chicken within me already pecking away at all the reasons why I shouldn't. As soon as he was saddled, the wind kicked it up a notch.

Groundwork went well with the rope and the flag, so we rode over to Shay Meadow Ranch to check on our WTC transitions and ease the anxiety we both felt from Drifter's voice carrying across the valley (yes, it literally echoes). As Bravo's body quivered to respond to his brother's cries, I'd rub his neck, musing, "Drifter's bummed, Bravito!" Arenawork felt so darn good and it was far too tempting to head home.

Looking to the northeast at the brilliant white monolith peeking above the trees, I envisioned the accomplishment of reaching The Eye of the God. So we made our way across the ranch past a tractor, a giant scary tarp, and vocal horses, opened the gate and removed the barriers that held us within the safety of the property lines. It's wide open from here.

We carefully passed the fenceline toward the open lakebottom, where a few walk-trot transitions proved to be totally reliable. Bravo shifted gears into a lovely canter.

Sweet surrender.

There was no reason to stop at this point so we crossed Baldwin Lake Road and navigated through barking dogs, wind-whipped tarps, and dirt bikers on a Sunday ride to the trailhead. Comforting Bravo encouraged him to keep forging ahead until we reached the spectacular quartz rock.

It could have been too easy to stay there the rest of the afternoon, daydreaming that this day would be marked in history as the day Bravo helped me release self-limiting beliefs. But I've concluded that, too, will take as long as it takes.

After a few selfies and some deep breaths, we traced our steps back home.

Synchronicity — A true story

A flock of ravens nearly darkened the eastern twilight sky, their wingbeats thumping through my chest as a horse whirled along a round corral. 

An omen? I thought, never noticing so many in the same place and time…certainly not here. 

Whiskey objected to the loop of rope around his hocks and double-barrel fired his hind feet in protest. The last day of summer emblazoned the sky with the most spectacular post-rain sunset that evolved with each passing moment into vivid violet and electric pink clouds framing the sun and its white spotlight beams reaching for the heavens. 

And that sky was last most most beautiful thing to behold before I made a rash decision and quickly found myself in the middle of the wreck of a galloping horse and a lariat wrapping tighter around my torso, twisting around my legs like a serpent. Realizing my trouble, I began making decisions so quickly that I didn't have to think about it and found words to announce, "This is bad."

"Suzanne!" squealed one of two bystanders.

"This is not good!" I said bending and yielding to the maze of tightening coils rasping across my coat, dangerously squeezing my waist. That is going to burn if this gets worse, I thought while urgently seeking release from the horse's panicked retreat around the pen. Visions of being dragged, explaining what happened from a hospital bed, and worse clouded my mind, until Death's mysterious silhouette stepped in to take me to that dramatic sunset—yet I only relinquished the part of me that succumbed to my mistake. 

With no time to fear, I spun across the silty footing and slipping rope, and found the path to slow Whiskey's spiraling deathtrap, while staying upright and relatively balanced. And as the dizzying frenzy died down, I was guided through lightness and releasing ropes fully aware that there would be no hospital or funeral...not even a bruise. Without troubling the horse more than he was already troubled, I finally stepped out of the binding rope and found myself safe enough to ask Whiskey to move out again, this time adjusting what I was doing to support him better. We continued working with renewed attention toward a unified goal, while the sun slipped below the horizon for an equally reflective night.

Now that enough time has passed, the muscles in my back feel like granite, but I'm breathing and my heart is beating…and I feel so blessed for all of the messengers and universal lessons that have manifested before this fall, as well as the renewed opportunities to stay present and eternally grateful. 

A good day for groundwork.

A Tom Dorrance quote popped up on Facebook this morning. I read the words before coffee, before getting out of bed, before my eyes were really open.

"It's when a person rushes a horse's progress that people are inclined to make comments about that horse being what they'd call, 'a problem'."

This quote really made me think.

EQUU8's little trial horse, Malibu, is not afraid of much, but she is very easily distracted and is quite opinionated —in a negative sort of way — about picking up a trot. She'd much rather walk on her own terms and be allowed to look at the scenery. Her big goals for becoming an EQUU8 horse are getting soft, straight, and willing to move through walk/trot transitions. She has already exhibited complete acceptance and curiosity of all kinds of therapeutic riding equipment.

In the two weeks she's been at EQUU8, she's been exposed to groundwork and leading. She's been ridden three times, with the first two walk-only rides emphasizing softness and moving off leg pressure...which involved lots of one rein-stops. She was more spritely in her third ride, so deep ribbon candy serpentines were utilized, giving me lots of time to practice lifting a foot with the reins. It was during that ride that she offered to trot with little resistance (after maybe three walking strides) and maintained a fairly good attitude about it.

Which brings us to today. After a good groundwork session with an elusive pony and a nice ride with Kathy and Sis, I returned home to a setting sun and Malibu.

When being ridden, she's heavy on the bit and resists left flexions and moving off a left leg. But to be completely honest with myself, I'm aware that she's also heavy from the ground, so today was a good day for groundwork rather than pushing her to progress from the saddle.

A few key points of focus for today were getting her to follow a feel through the change of directions by tipping her nose, moving her hindquarters and then her frontquarters with a drape in the leadrope. In order for this to get pretty reliable, my focus was placed on releasing when she moved her feet. After some progress in the halter, I released her to move freely around the arena ended up directing her with the flag. By the end of the groundwork session, there was a change in her attitude and attention. Looking forward to carrying it back into the saddle.

Balance.

Horsemanship.

This is the path that led to my healing. The turning point that changed my life.

I am who I am today because of it.

So that brings us to the fun story of yesterday.

One of my teachers once quipped, "bareback riding is for children and porn stars."

Well, dangit, there's a child still inside my heart and I used to ride my old arab bareback all over the hills of Murrieta when I was a teen.

So yesterday, I rode in the shadow of mockery and found that it is sometimes utterly worth it to hop on my horse in his leather (bosal) hackamore, and dink around riding without a saddle.

In riding Drifter around cones placed in close proximity to one another (maybe 3 or 4 feet), I found an exercise that will be fun to try to accomplish with a little more feel, timing, and balance.

While carrying a soft feel, with accurate flexion,
can you jog a tight circle around the cones in both directions? 

If you can, then can you change directions 

through the cones while maintaining a jog? 

I couldn't do it. Not today. But I'm going to keep trying and plan to slow down first and get an arc going to the left. Drifter is slightly straight or even bent to the right while making a left circle. His ribcage bulges left. The good news is, the right arc feels nice and it will tighten up to make the turn before the change of directions.

Balance. I am currently lacking. But awareness is a good start.

And the herd gets bigger

The incredible, incomparable Bob

EQUU8's beloved 38-year-old therapy horse Bob is recovering from yet another proud-flesh-infested sore. As much as we all are hoping and praying that Bob will live another 38 years, his semi-retirement is precious and we cannot take his generosity for granted. So Scotty will be heading down to Murrieta to fill in for Bob, which might be better for him this winter with the forecasted killer El Niño season.

Introducing Malibu. She will be on trial for about 90 days, and we are hoping that life as a walk/trot therapeutic riding horse will best suit her needs.

Malibu: EQUU8's new horse on trial

The little rescue transfer has a few stories and a few scars in her short life. She's estimated to be about 6 years old. She's been treated for a tapeworm and has a splint on her front right leg and a scar above her hind right coronet band (potentially from a rope or wire). 

When I rode her last week, she was content to walk on a fairly loose rein and made a big deal when asked to trot. As pressure to accelerate increased, her complaints increased...where I assume most people might have relinquished their requests and she has learned to get her way. However, I slowly built on my request and she finally complied with a cute little crooked trot before quickly requesting that we walk again. 

This is why she has flunked out of being a barrel racer and why she came to us.

On my drive to pick her up, I made a phone call to a city councilman who was less interested about lies in the name of charity and more interested in motivating me on how EQUU8 can get better about getting our message out there, turning that message into donations, and finding alternative ways to make money for our charity.

He's probably right.

Yet I'm sad that the thousands of volunteer teaching hours, thousands of dollars in gas, thousands of dedicated volunteer hours, a dedicated board member who has donated her property, and hundreds of driving hours from one county to the next—all for an incredible group of individuals at EQUU8 Murrieta—doesn't equate to a grant. And it might never. It's hard to hear because that means we might need to make some new business decisions.

I suppose there's something to learn from Malibu. Just because you complain doesn't mean you're going to get your way. And maybe your way isn't the only way.

A Blogger's Journey...A Journal

The writer in me needs to write more. Hennybird is 400 pages into a book about her personal journey through kidney transplants and addiction. "Every Pill Has A Story".

So does every day. 

I'm not sure if anyone comes around here anymore, but my intention is to let my heart empty itself here. It could be a good place for self reflections as an instructor and as a student. The writer in me says I could be prolific. The sloth in me says it will be months before my next blog entry.

This journey with EQUU8 has been challenging to say the least. My inner Pollyanna wishes to share only the good things, while secretly hoping the bad things and near misses disappear in the darkness at the end of each day.

Tuesday was our fourth grant rejection and second rejection from the city of Murrieta. It's not because what EQUU8 is doing isn't worthwhile or worthy of a grant. There was only $40,000 to distribute between charities. $15,000 goes to the food pantry every year. City Council is pretty stuck on keeping monies going to the same charities year after year. Last year, we were too new. This year, we lost to a newer program. It's a very good program. We are all deserving of funding. But stretching the truth really scrambles my brain. 

Maybe EQUU8 is a hard sell. It's not easy to explain how healing horses are (except maybe to our participants who experience this healing), or how to convince city councilmembers that our relatively small program can double or triple in size in the next year and how their grant could help us achieve accreditation and apply for grants elsewhere. But maybe we were meant to stay small a little longer. I've always valued quality over quantity. 

Either way, it's challenging for me to abide by one of my mantras: everything happens for a reason.

Which brings me to the fall of the day. A talented pair of pre-teens take occasional lessons and I'll just call them Bema and Hapa. 

Bema fell off her own horse today while my back was turned. My attention was on Hapa riding Cherry, as my focus was on building confidence with her since she'd been spooked by a runaway horse. Bema has plenty of confidence and has never fallen off, but Tiny took to bucking and by the time I looked over my shoulder, her horse leapt over her body after it hit the sand. I called to Hapa to put Cherry into a one-rein stop as Tiny barreled across the arena.  You just never get over seeing a student fall off a horse. 

Once we'd determined that Bema was OK, other than a sore finger, and Hapa had handled the scary situation with full control over Cherry, we redirected the lesson to a roundpen session, where we were going to get back to the basics with Tiny. He's a pretty broke horse, meaning he gets along pretty well in the bridle and knows his job. However, he's a little rude and disrespectful and doesn't follow much of a feel. Foundation work, it is for these girls. 

As an instructor, each fall leaves a whipmark. This year, I've had a few falls and so have my students...and they never feel good. Most of the time, the falls come from doing too much too fast. A couple of times, reins are too long or the rider forgot the one-rein stop that could have saved them...even though my voice is straining for them to hear me. Sometimes, there are just plain accidents. And sometimes fear takes over. 

Every time, there is something to learn. 

And learning leads to healing.

Starting Over

I've always said Drifter teaches me hard lessons. They've always been valuable lessons (don't use your cell phone when riding a green colt, don't try to pull your socks up inside your boot when sitting on a green colt, don't get too excited and push him too hard or too fast on your first day at the beach).

I am in the middle of learning a hard lesson with his half-brother.

Asking for flexion, unaware he was mentally checked out.

Launchpad!

When reins are too long, one-rein stops are hard to achieve,
especially when you get out of balance.
Buck says more weight needed to be in the left stirrup.

It's been about four months now since I came off Bravo. It was maybe ride 50 or so.

This horse shook me...but thankfully he didn't hurt me. Not physically, anyway.

I have met, and still know, many people who are dealing with overcoming fear. My fear might not be as paralyzing as someone else's, but it's still filled my head full of doubt. If I am to help others with their fear, I have to deal with my own.

I've gone back to groundwork but have been on him a few times since then, with varying results. Deep, ribbon candy serpentines (timing the rein with the feet) helped on one squirrely ride but, even after decent groundwork, I've often failed in merely successfully stepping into the stirrup without a brace in him...without the tension. He's bucked or bolted out from beneath me several times. In case you were wondering, no, I haven't been the most calm and confident for these interactions.

The only thing I can do is start over and go slow. 

I'm taking my time checking everything out: haltering, grooming, leading, groundwork and saddling. I've roped his feet. I've revisited Paul's videos, asked for Buck's advice (regarding positioning after his horse made a very similar attempt to get away), and asked for Steffi's help with groundwork. And today, I stepped into the stirrup and lifted myself on my left leg...knowing full well I wouldn't be swinging my right leg over his croup.

Whoosh!

He shot out from beneath me, but this time I was prepared and stepped out of the stirrup and disengaged his hindquarters.

Sigh.

Sigh. Bravo replied, and my frustration melted. Its interesting that in all of my lessons, I can't allow my students to be frustrated with their horses...so I can't be frustrated when handling my own.

I rubbed his neck and thanked him for stopping.

My toe went back into the stirrup. I leaned against him and tried to relax myself while waiting for the brace in his neck to soften. When it did, I lifted myself up, counted one second and stepped down to pet him for keeping four feet in the sand. I repeated this process on both sides, sometimes requiring a one-rein stop before putting my foot into the stirrup. And then, he softened, just a little. And I found a good place to end for the day.

Buck Brannaman's 2015 New River Clinic

Over EQUU8's spring break, I sought to further my horsemanship education by attending Buck Brannaman's clinic in New River, AZ...hosted by my teacher, Paul Dietz. This year, two EQUU8 volunteers (Sierra and Hailey) joined me. This was my sixth clinic in New River since 2009, and I believe it was one of the best. The weather was great, if just a tad hot. The participants seemed to really be trying hard to apply Buck's lessons to their horsemanship and Buck was in a good mood, seeming genuinely happy that the participants were present and listening.

Suz & Drifter, Sierra (Junior not pictured), Buck & Arc, Hailey (Quincy not pictured), Paul & Cinco

As with all of the clinics, in the first hour, we listened to Buck's stories. Buck talked about the young snaffle bit horse he was riding and got him working some serpentines and circles. The first few minutes Buck was on Big Swede, the horse scooted out sideways in a nearly identical maneuver that chucked me off the back of Bravo in January. I immediately took note of Buck's balance and how short his reins were. My reins were too long and I didn't have the balance point that Buck had. I tried in vain to one-rein stop to the right, but found the ground instead as Bravo exited left. Buck told me to keep my weight in the left stirrup. "You'll need that right leg to help the hindquarters around, so you don't want your weight there." He added that I need to keep my reins short and very wide, but with my hands forward so contact isn't on the bit unless I bend the horse...until I know the horse is in a better mindframe. Sounds simple enough. (I was thankful for the advice for my post-clinic ride on Bravo, because I needed it and stayed in the saddle.)

Among other lessons Buck focused on this year was "the reach", which was used over the course of the clinic to help my horse wait for me (rather than tossing his head) when working a cow. The 2-part exercise has two positions. Its benefits include teaching a horse to wait (not anticipate), and teaches the rider to be more aware of the feet and positioning.

1. Ask your horse to bend his head around approximately 90-degrees (for this example, to the right). 

• When you reach for the horse's head, slide your hand down the right rein. Bring the rein out and around as your horse bends his head. Your elbow will end up at your side and your right hand in front of the saddle, to the right of the horn.
• Your horse shouldn't move his feet. If he does, wait and go back to step one.
• You want your horse's head and ears level. You want lateral and longitudinal flexion. If his head is uneven, he is unbalanced with too much weight on the outside shoulder. If the poll is too low, there is too much weight on the front end.
• You want to practice this (don't drill on it...get something good and then move on, but keep practicing) until you can "bet your life on it" with your horse light and willing to respond.

2. Ask your horse to reach his right foot out to the right.

• Bring your right elbow back and slide the rein and your hand to where your elbow was in position 1...about six inches away from your hip. 
• You will use the outside supporting left rein gently. A supporting leg can be developed when the horse is reaching properly.
• Your horse should take one step...a good reaching step to the right. Good timing would be for your horse to take the step as you are moving the rein out to position 2.
• You will release as the reaching foot lands. "Hook the rein to the foot...pick the foot up and move it, then set it down."
• If your horse moves forward after the first step, back him up, releasing when he's soft.

Sierra and Junior practicing "The Reach" from position 1...

The Reach position 2

Eventually, you will not need to bend the horse's head as much, but this is a start for developing proper flexion through a turn. I went back to step one with Drifter, teaching him to wait on me.

"You're gonna need this with that horse." Buck said to me, noting that Drifter was trying really hard to be in position on a cow, but he tossed his head and pushed through my reins to do it. I asked if I should move Drifter back to the snaffle bit, but Buck seemed to think I could get it done with where I'm at in the hackamore (bosal hackamore, to clarify). At the end of the four days, I had better awareness of positioning and much more focused horse when things got fast in cow working. Certainly room to grow, but it was much better. 

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

This year, Buck often mentioned "the rectangle" of real estate shared between you and your horse. His message is consistent with all participants from clinic to clinic (hearing the same messages when auditing Del Mar).

We had pretty good seats on a raised patio in Del Mar, sitting us right behind Buck's place in the cow-working rodear. He told participants when their horses were outside their rectangles. Sometimes the horse was ahead of the rider...sometimes they were behind.

I took a quiet moment to ask Buck a question about the rectangle.

"Is the rectancle nose to tail?"

"I'm not sure what you mean." Buck said.

"Is it the whole horse from nose to tail or is the rectangle the horse's four feet?" I tried to specify.

"It's the whole horse." He said. "When you get really good at this, you will be able to keep your horse within inches of your rectangle. Some people's rectangles are feet, or yards, or an entire arena."

My rectangle isn't as big as it used to be...but I remember needing an arena. Thank you for the reminder!

Next chance for continuing education will be Paul Dietz's clinic in July in Big Bear. Until then, I am going to practice reaching.

The Big Bang

I'm working on a report of the Buck Brannaman clinic in New River, but here's a short little story to share about EQUU8's trip to Arizona.

In years past, I've headed home right after the clinic. This year, Hailey and Sierra didn't need to be home Tuesday, so we decided to rest another night before heading home. This turned out to be a good decision.

On Monday, Junior cut his coronet band (the hairline above the hoof) pretty good while getting out of the trailer. He had also been dancing around in the trailer and scuffed his leg, so we were going to be extra cautious for the long haul home. I had picked up some ointment from Mike Bruce for doctoring Junior's coronet band and we wrapped him up for shipping. Soon, we were loaded and ready to head west. It was about 10:45am and the hottest morning of the trip. Hot air balloons peppered the skyline and we said our goodbyes before Paul and Maggie rolled out to go rope some cattle.

We drove to Surprise for fuel and I checked the trailer hitch, tires, and horses, while Sierra and Hailey made a Starbucks run before we made our way out Sun Valley Parkway toward Buckeye. We listened to music, talked about the clinic, teaching lessons, how to write lesson plans, and just general girl talk.

Outside of Quartzite, I decided to make another fuel stop before we hit California gas prices. We took a selfie in front of a giant highway-side American flag and got lunch and snack. I did a quick once over walk around the trailer.

Then it was off to California, where, for the first time ever, they checked our vet papers upon arrival in the state. We cruised outside of Blythe and headed up the slow westbound grade to Cheriaco Summit.

The trailer wobbled.

"Someone's dancing around back there." I said, slightly letting off the accelerator to try to stabilize the trailer.

Fleetwood Mac was playing through the iPod and then BANG!

"(Expletive!)" My heart pounded. "(Lots of expletives!) I hope a horse didn't go down in the trailer! Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod..."

I couldn't see anything in the mirrors so I turned on my hazards and coasted to the narrow shoulder in a painful minute-long deceleration. I didn't brake, but downshifted as the truck slowed. Before we rolled to a stop, Sierra jumped out the passenger side to assess the damage, yelling "It's a tire! It's a tire!"

Relieved, but my body shaking with adrenaline, I watched for traffic before exiting the cab.

The horses were alert, but calm. The trailer had seen better days. Ouch.

Still, it could have been much worse.

I quickly called Kathy to let her know what happened and we got to work. Hailey documented the process as Sierra and I got our hands dirty.

Thankfully, before we left for our trip, Travis reminded me to get the tire iron and some blocks. Kathy and Glenn had a ramp in the trailer tack room. We had everything we needed to get the tire changed, including a fluorescent yellow brush bucket to put behind the trailer to alert drivers of our precarious position on a very narrow shoulder.

No sooner did we get the new tire on and use Sierra's shoelace to tie a loose piece of metal to the trailer did the CHP show up.

"You ladies having fun?" He asked.

"We just got the tire changed." I answered.

"So you're good then?"

Uhhh. I guess. We're just girls. Just girls who survived a blowout, kept control of the trailer, changed a tire, and the horses are safe.

"Yeah. We're good."

GIRL POWER! 

Just another thing EQUU8 represents.

So now we just need to get this thing repaired. We might need some man power for that. :-)

One step at a time.

EQUU8 students have exceeded expectations the past couple of weeks. They cause me to think before I answer a question. They are making eye contact with me and the volunteers. They are laughing from that place deep down in your belly that generates a smile that cannot be made by your face alone. They keep me honest. And some of them, venturing their way toward independence, are exploring their own horsemanship...guided by EQUU8's philosophy.

Some of you may not know about our horsemanship philosophy. I've blogged about how it can change your life, and how sometimes you can get a little lost on your journey. No one is perfect.

Therapeutically, horses can give us limitless gifts and teach life lessons, if only we would pay attention. Others might receive self-confidence, balance, or self-awareness. Others may learn about respect, boundaries, or compassion. And then there are those who are given not just two working legs, but four.

Today, some great changes were revealed in kids who, when they started last fall, expressed discontent for even being around horses. Some hated the smell and the dirt. Some hated their classmates. Others were fearful. Today was lesson 6 and they all demonstrated that they had learned how to lead a horse, walk, stop, get a soft feel, turn left, turn right, and release. As a reward, they all  got to trot for the first time. And they all, sitting next to each other on the top bench of the bleachers, raised their hands when asked if they wanted to continue riding with EQUU8 when the school year was done.

One child today was frozen with fear of getting on a horse he hadn't ridden previously. He was afraid of heights and afraid of his horse taking one step. He was asked to breathe, pet his horse, think of a song, but nothing worked...he wanted down. So we counted to 10 and then dismounted him. We let him sit out for a moment and at the end of the lesson, he wanted to get back on, so he could experience what his classmates experienced...and he, too, trotted.

Just like humans, horses experience anxiety. They learn from from their experiences and (in my opinion) perform better for the release of pressure. We humans know that a lot of pressure can make us angry, irritated, or burn us out. If we are anxious, does pressure help us relax?

Yet pressure is often how people are taught to handle horses, and horses are often expected to be compliant regardless of being ridden by the inexperienced. If they don't perform,  they often face stud chains, harsh bits, spurs, or whips. They get blamed for their reactions to being pulled too hard or forced to do something they don't understand.

At EQUU8, we strive to pay attention to the needs of the horse...as much as the needs of the rider. And that requires training. Lots and lots of training. But I'm notsomuch talking about training the horses...it's the riders, instructors, and volunteers who need training.

I'm going back to Buck's clinic this year and I'm taking two prospective EQUU8 instructors with me.

EQUU8 is teaching me so much. And over 80 miles of white dashes on the highway can't replenish depleted energy and raw emotion at the end of a day.

As for tonight, how do I feel about EQUU8? It's beautiful. Imperfect, but beautiful.

Eek-What?

EQUU8 Horsemanship and Therapeutic Riding was listed on the screens above the council chamber. This is a strangely familiar dream, except this time I was alone.

A couple of hours earlier, lessons were finished and EQUU8’s reliable volunteers Elena and Sarah had loaded saddles and helmets into the bed of my truck. I don’t know if they realize how grateful I am that they do that for me. Each of the volunteers who surround EQUU8 are appreciated for the hours they spend mucking manure, leading horses, sidewalking with riders, and advocating for this young organization.

I tried to pay attention to the other applicants, and nervously texted Alisa and Travis each time my heart begins to pound in anticipation of public speaking without a horse.

“And now for our next grant applicant." The committee chair announced. "Eh-cue-wait...eek-what? 

“Equate!” I smiled.

“I’m sorry I just didn’t know how to pronounce….”

“That’s OK. It’s EQUU8 Horsemanship and Therapeutic Riding. And I can tell you why that's our name.” I began once I reached the podium. After introducing myself to the committee and other applicants, I nervously stammered my way through a five-minute story of EQUU8's short history and what we’ve accomplished in the past year, what we hope to continue to provide, and what we would use the grant funds for. I glanced around the room and tried to observe responses. There were a few smiles and nods, a few astute stares, and a few blank stares. A light on the podium changed from green to yellow to red as my five minutes ran out. The committee asked questions, but I was certain only one question had been knocked out of the park (yes, we're insured). A few faces appeared skeptical as I told them how we planned to use funds. I tried to be concise, but caught myself expressing too much passion for a number-crunching grant committee.

However, I was still optimistic and felt somewhat stronger about the presentation tonight versus my first attempt at applying for a similar grant last October, but had no expectations. I know it can be difficult to receive a grant.

This was last October...practicing accepting rejection at a different city council. 

After all the presentations were completed, we waited for the votes to be tallied. A woman from another charity, who was seated directly in front of me, kindly turned around and we connected. She expressed how animals have helped her and hoped that we would get a grant recommendation by the committee. She showed me a picture of her schnauzer. And she held my hand and thanked EQUU8 for what it's doing for the people we serve.

About a half hour later, the committee returned with their results, displaying it for all in the room to see. I scanned down the list and found EQUU8 with a recommendation for funding! But they were over budget. The committee bantered back and forth, with one committee member speaking up on our behalf...but it wasn't long before EQUU8 was knocked off the list for funding. I don't think I was the only one in the room who was disappointed that the committee decided to fund the city's own $10k application for a pilot program that included beautification projects in area parks. 

Eek...what?! Landscaping is more valuable than helping others find healing through horses?

I handed out flyers for our fundraiser (March 21 at Wiens Family Cellars in Temecula) and tried to stop the tears from welling in my eyes. I just believe in this. I feel it. I know it. It's hard to fight feeling as though others see no value in what EQUU8 is doing. 

The city council has to vote on this one. We are eligible. I'm not ready to give up just yet.

Carter's story

12-8-14

I saw a unicorn stopping traffic on the way to EQUU8 Murrieta today.

You thought I was crazy, didn't you...

I had a sneaking suspicion that the unicorn was just foreshadowing that something rare and magical was going to happen.

27 weeks ago, I met a six-year old angel wrapped in the body of a child.

Carter is a participant who has such a peaceful presence about him that he attracts volunteers who show up just because of him. He is quiet, but trusting. He has taken a liking to the activity of riding horses, but he also enjoys silly human noises, plastic keys to chew on, electronic noisemakers, and animatronic stuffed animals. His pupils are encompassed by indigo starbursts floating in arctic blue irises. Initially, we focused on getting Carter balanced on the horse and improving his trunk strength and posture, but it wasn't long before making eye contact with him became an objective of his lessons...with the goal being that Carter will communicate.

When the eye contact started coming, it was time to show him how to ask the horse to move.

"Carter, walk on." I'd say while demonstrating the hand signal (in the therapeutic riding world) for asking a horse to move forward. Since he started riding in April, Carter often would ignore our requests instead choosing the distractions of noisemakers or generally seeming unfazed. It will come, I thought. I don't know when, but I believe Carter will communicate with us.

Carter's mother beams when she shares stories about her son. Her assistance and support—and bag full of pacifying and stimulating toys—has helped far more than she will ever know.

So with Carter, the focus became to teach him to equate communicating with getting the horse to move. His lessons have always consisted of making eye contact, modeling communication, and also stops and starts and serpentines (which help him physically to build core strength). He always had the option to listen or reach for noisemakers during his lesson to keep his attention. But each week, we continued to pepper his experience with three steps. "Carter" (make eye contact). Hand signal (communicate). "Walk on" (result of communication) as the horse is led to move forward. Week after week. Lesson after lesson.

For three 9-week sessions, the goal has been communication, while the objectives have been to make eye contact, to encourage good posture through the horse's movement, and to attempt communication.

About 11 weeks ago, I thought I saw Carter motion his hands in a way that I felt was an attempt at the sign for "walk on". But it was once upon a time and I haven't seen it since.

Last week, Carter's eye contact was stunning. We reveled in longer stops with less distractions...and we were all amazed when the day came that Carter began to pet Smokey's mane...stroking her long black hair repeatedly and refusing to replace the hair in his hand with a toy. In his first 9 weeks, he somewhat balked at touching horsehair. He began to tolerate longer periods of time riding the horse while not being stimulated in other ways. He's not super fond of the noodle curtain (it's a bit too overbearing). He likes the friendly faces around him. He doesn't love it when we grab his wrists and demonstrate to him how to use his hands to ask the horse to walk.

"Carter (pause), walk on." (Volunteers move his hands.)

My horsemanship mentors have repeatedly reminded me over the years regarding young horses: it takes as long as it takes. Such is the case with these children and their therapeutic riding.

So last week, something changed during one of our stops. Carter rocked in the saddle as if to ask for movement.

He wants to ride! Excitement!

Today was the last day of Carter's third session, and he sat in a 10" children's western saddle above us, propped atop Smokey's back. At the beginning of his lesson, he rocked his small body as if to say "Let's ride!"

I reminded the volunteers what we are looking for with Carter. The tasks have not changed in all the weeks we have enjoyed with Carter. Eye contact, hand signal, lead the horse.

And as I called Carter's name, the eye contact followed. "Do you want to walk on?" I asked. He smiled and nodded, rocking gently in the saddle.

"Carter." I said, signing the cue to walk on.

He tolerated when volunteers Christa and Neal grabbed his hands, then smiled as Smokey carried his tiny body into the sunset. He squinted until he rode into the shade of the hay barn where I knew he would have the ability to look at me.

"Whoa," I said and attempted to communicate again. "Carter (pause), walk on (sign)."

This time, Carter smiled as he stretched his right hand down toward Neal and curled his hand in the subtlest cue to walk on.

I reminded myself to let Carter enjoy the moment and refrained from asking for one more try, as Smokey weaved around the cones, allowing Carter to enjoy what he'd been asking for the whole lesson.

His smile is pure, unrefined joy.

The green noisemaker his mother handed to me at the beginning of the lesson was pulled from my pocket long after they had gone home.

We never used it during his lesson today.

***

If you would like to sponsor lessons for a child like Carter, please donate to EQUU8, PO Box 703, Big Bear City, CA 92314 or click the Donate/PayPal link on equu8.org. EQUU8 is a 501(c)(3) non profit corporation.

For some people, the path to healing is found through horses.

Riding Hazard Peak

We trotted east to an unknown destination. Paul prefaced the trail ride that he'd done part of it and there were some spots that "make you pucker". Drifter, tired from two beach rides south of Morro Bay, extended his trotting stride and headed up the fire road where we passed Paul and his mare Sunshine, then veered to the right to catch a single track trail that pointed us toward Hazard Peak. I took note of a bell box kept at the trail entrance for bikers to alert equestrians of their presence. The trail switchbacked in tight curves, lined with brush and moss-covered trees. We climbed higher and higher until the trail straightened out along a hillside.
Drifter noticed a doe across the ravine rustling through the brush. The terrain she traversed was as steep as the slope we were on, except hers was covered in dense vegetation. When we reached the end of the canyon, the trail made a sharp right and curved back to the West. We were looking down into the valley, where our campsite awaited for our return. Karin and Alex, Paul's student from Germany and her son, would be there in an hour...but something told me we wouldn't be back by then. The ocean horizon from our viewpoint marked the nearest identifiable location, yet it was a couple of miles away. The sun moseyed westward as we leg-yielded our horses toward the upslope. Paul told a joke about falling. I don't remember the joke, but the punchline is "Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhh...!"

There's plenty of room on this trail.

I kept trying to stabilize myself in the saddle, ensuring that I was balanced, feeling my seatbones evenly. I steadied myself and inhaled the warm, salty air. Vertigo can get me in situations like this. But I couldn't tell if I was more bothered by the dizzying effects of vertigo, or that I was climbing trails unlike anything I'd ever ridden (and fear from the experiences of others was on my mind).
Paul casually commented that he was afraid of heights. It wasn't until later that I realized he was telling the truth.
The trail to Hazard Peak isn't totally stressful. There are places that are a little tight, but there are places where the grade in the hillside leveled, and we could look around or take a picture. Paul told me there were picnic tables at the top. Whoever brought those up here was pretty ambitious, I thought.
The trail had curved to the south, where ahead of us, I could see it against the hill heading West yet again, toward the summit. A bike dropped into the horizon, heading East. We were on a rare spot in the trail where the ground had widened a bit.
"I think we should wait here." Paul said, noting we had an opportunity to step our horses off the trail. The biker safely passed us. I asked if Paul wanted to lead, since Drifter is a slow traveler and wasn't as fresh as Sunshine. He told me he liked being in the back, as his mare was being pushy and he had a better opportunity to work with her behind Drifter.
We carried on toward the summit, where we rode directly into the sun as it was heading toward the sea. The silhouette of picnic benches and a small fence sat atop the mountain at 1,076 feet above sealevel. An arrow pointed westward. 3.4 miles to Spooner Cove (which is still another couple of miles to camp). If we go back, we can make it before dark. Not sure if we can do that going forward.
"Christine and I made it here, and then returned the way we came." Paul said and we both commented on how we don't care for riding out-and-back trails. But neither of us liked our choice from here.
We could: a) go back the way we came; or b) go forward...on this.

What happens around that bend?

I took Drifter as close as I was comfortable to try to see around the northfacing trail of Hazard's summit. It didn't look pretty.
Paul sighed. "Well, we could go back. I don't know if I'll ever see the rest of the trail."
Think, Suzanne. At this point, I'm a little scared, but I am on the trail of a lifetime.
I walked Drifter a couple of steps closer. He showed no signs of concern about the slope or that he couldn't see where the trail went either.
We stepped out to where our only choice to abort the mission was to back up...which had gotten pretty darn reliable at Paul's 2014 clinic the week before coming to the beach. Have you ever backed a horse with lightness? If not, it's something to strive for with your horse.
"Oh, we're going?" Paul acted surprised, and rode Sunshine onto the trail loop off of Hazard Peak.
I walked Drifter across a small reinforced section of the trail, where it might be possible to do a 180-degree turn on the haunches. I wanted to take a selfie. Not smart (see blog on Complacency), so I promised myself I would only retrieve my phone at a location where I could safely turn around if needed. I approached the bend in the trail and looked back, shocked at what I saw.
Paul was standing on the upslope of the trail with his hands on the saddle fork and cantle. He smiled and laughed, "I can't get my knees to quit knocking."
A few steps ahead of me was a place where I could slide off Drifter's back. I wasn't sure how I felt about it, because Drifter was holding me together a little. When my feet hit the dirt, we discussed making good choices in tight situations so we walked our horses to where the trail opened up a bit. Fifty feet ahead of us, another biker dropped from the summit picnic area onto the trail where we were headed.
"Wait, let's watch him and see where the trail goes." Paul said.
The biker went toward the sun before the trail took him South in the bluish shadow of a ridgeline. We watched as he made a very slight descent about 1/4 mile before turning west where the shadow met sunlight on the landscape. Seeing that the biker made it, we decided to go forward.
We kept conversation light, laughing about places in the trail that would make anyone pucker...except maybe his dad, Gene.
As we curved left, heading on the trail in the ridgeline's shadow, things got quiet. This had already happened a few times on the ride, but this time was different. The trail was narrowing, where the slope left no shoulder on the trail...not even plants. There was no place to get down and walk. There was no backing up from here. My muscles began to tighten and my chest clenched a pounding heart as my left stirrup hovered over a steep valley floor located some 800 feet below us. While the hillside was covered with light vegetation, there was nothing to stop a fall. Not that a tree or a rock would be consoling. Breathing was no longer involuntary. It became my priority. I've been making some mistakes in my life that have had some pretty nasty consequences.
God, are you here? Help me believe that I can do this. I am here and I do not want to be afraid.
Time screeched to a halt. Drifter's head was low as he carried me, placing one little hoof in front of the other in a slow four-beat rhythm. I felt safe. I looked down at the valley below us and smiled. I am here. On this horse I made! With our teacher!! This is amazing!!!
And after a long stretch of silence, and a few more minutes before we reached the next chapter of the ride, Paul spoke up. "Sunshine just settled."
I shared with him that I had just relaxed a little bit there too.
"You need to balance yourself." He advised. "You are pushing your horse's ribcage exactly where you don't want to go."
My saddle was clearly leaning to the right. I carefully adjusted my seat. With as stressed as I had been feeling, we might as well have been riding our horses on a tightrope.
We quieted back down and rode to where the trail curved right, toward the setting sun and the view was spectacular.

I saw a puff of mist. "Paul, there are whales out there!" I said. On an earlier trail ride, I had shared with him that a very good friend once gave me the worlds biggest birthday gift (a blue whale), when she took me to her office on a research vessel a few years ago, and taught me how to look for whales in a vast ocean. He passed me, and we both watched several puffs of water spraying in the setting sun. We were both distracted by the mist of the whales when our horses' heads shot up. No way they could see the whales, we laughed...until Sunshine launched to the right with Paul perfectly centered in his saddle. A biker was changing a tire on the other side of a bush to the left of the trail.
The topography was changing to more gradual slopes, although some of the ravines might have made us uncomfortable if we hadn't already ridden where we had just been. The worst appeared to be over. More rustling in the brush across the ravine caught Drifter's attention. I looked to my right to see a buck bounding through the thicket.
At this point, the ride was pretty surreal.
Paul informed me of the presence of a biker behind him. A few minutes later, we found a spot to move over so he could pass. He dropped down the trail ahead of us and it looked fun.

Paul and Sunshine

"Wanna trot?" Paul asked, taking the lead.
"Yep."
And we long trotted, our horses extending their legs on a softer trail that cut through waist high brush. Sunshine jumped down erosion-control logs leaving a wake of dust ahead of me and Drifter. I caught myself laughing out loud. Drifter was snorting, releasing tightened energy. We reached the sandy Cable Trail just after sunset, with a pink sky leaving shades of purple in the eucalyptus above us. We let our horses lope on the northbound trail, which we had ridden earlier in the day with Karin, and passed campsites on our way back to the horse camp.
We hopped on the Bloody Nose trail, this time riding it "backward" from our previous rides. We trotted up step-ups and down switchbacks, bending our horses and challenging their agility, as twilight blackened the canopy of the eucalyptus grove.
We don't know if "Hazard Peak" is a good enough name for what we rode and joked about leaving fingernail marks in our horncaps. And I don't know many people who would feel comfortable riding it. Except maybe Gene Dietz.
By the time we got on the last trail to camp, it was almost dark. We didn't talk much, but I noted how Sunshine looked relaxed as she extended her walk through the deep sand. Drifter was soaked with sweat but felt strong even still, with 2 days left for more beach riding and trails. He has a big heart. I'm looking forward to what kind of horse he will be as he ages, but I love where he is at right now.
The Dietz horses whinneyed as we approached camp. It was dark and the half moon was rising. Christine's exceptional food was ready for us when we unsaddled, and the melodies from Alex's ukelele rose with the smoke and the glow from the campfire.
We survived the Hazard Peak loop. There's no going back.
Thank you, Paul and Christine for an amazing experience at the Beach Clinic.

These are days that won't be forgotten.

Patience and Lightness

On Friday, I decided to be better prepared for Saturday's lessons with Cherry, so as a good instructor should, I spent a "schooling session" with her this afternoon I equipped her with a bareback pad and the hackamore (the jaquima, a bosal hackamore...not the mechanical variety that has flooded the horse industry). Due to her severe underbite, I'd rather not use a bit on her. She goes pretty well in the bosal, but last week she was heavy and a little unresponsive with one of my students. She was also in heat. But then she was amazing with another student, following her 5-year-old leader over a tarp.

Trust

I started with leading her and asking her to trot alongside me and transition to the walk when I slowed down. She was quite compliant and maintained a good expression. She picked me up from the fence without trouble. Once on her back, I began picking up a soft feel and waiting various spans of time for her to give to the pressure of my hands taking the slack out of the reins. Waiting with more patience than I think anyone has ever given Cherry, she eventually softened, and softened, and softened. I watched our shadow to ensure my timing was appropriate with my releases. She began licking and chewing after I gave her a big release for Cherry putting slack into the reins.

I rode her and worked on keeping her straight and centered, leg yielding, and bending...always conscious of the need to release when she complied with what I asked. And then I asked with less by opening a leg rather than squeezing her to yield from the other. Sometimes, she moved through the open door. If she missed it, I would bring the other leg to her side and lightly send her into the open space.

This isn't the lightest any horse has ever been with someone, but this is the lightest I've felt from Cherry, I thought.

I need to get Drifter out.

So I found a good spot to stop Cherry with softness. She didn't stop soft, so I waited for her to back off of my hands.  She is a good horse. Unbelievable she's a rescue. Her riders need to be respectful with her because I know she will respond.

Drifter was soon in hand and ready to go. I am certain that my groundwork can get lighter with him. I walked toward him and he stepped away, rocking back to sink a hind foot in the dirt while moving his front feet around. I pulled on the leadrope but immediately stopped and refocused, then stepped away from him and he followed, and then toward him while he kept the same distance stepping away from me.

The tarp has been sitting in the middle of the arena for a week. Drifter is not progressing very well to walking over it. He placed a quarter of a front hoof on it a few days ago, but hasn't offered since. I keep hearing my mentor's voice in my head, "don't make it about the tarp." So as I worked on maintaining this beautiful space between us, we floated around the arena in a dance, and edged our way closer and closer to the tarp.

I felt my own anxiety rise by getting too close to the tarp. I didn't want to ruin the moment, but as I looked at Drifter's soft eye and ear cocked toward me, I could see that he was not focused on the tarp. I guided him away from it and decided that in time, we will cross the tarp with complete trust. But this was not going to be that time.

I got on him with the same minimal tack I used on Cherry. My intent was to ride with "as little as it takes to get a change" and he responded with amazing lightness. But then I became aware of my own lightness. No sooner did I open a rein was he already meeting me at the intended destination. And again, we floated. Sometimes slowing down can really teach you something.

EQUU8's excited horsemanship lesson kids want to go fast and do all the things they see on TV or in the movies. But I think slowing down and letting them explore this is going to be very beneficial. And these early lessons are preparing me for my upcoming therapeutic session that starts mid-April.

On Saturday morning, I started my student with groundwork, then showed her how to get a soft feel and a one-rein stop. She could feel Cherry get light in her hands. She might not know exactly what that means yet, but she smiled when it happened.

I will let photos of Saturday's lessons speak for themselves. It was a good day.

Waiting for softness

A quiet moment

Responsibility and building strength