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.

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.

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

Seeing improvement...

Since my last post, I passed an exam and officially became an Instructor in Training. I still believe that I can make something of combining my passion for good horsemanship with therapeutic riding; yet I still worry about the hows, whens, and wheres...

My lesson with J.D. this week gave me a glimpse of why. He's the one who gave me a C last week. While I was lowering the lift to get him out of his wheelchair, I learned that he's gone skydiving, twice. We got to share stories about that since I went once upon a time. I was more cautious this week so as to avoid hitting him in the helmet with the lift. He needs to ride around the arena a while before we begin the lesson. His atrophied legs are too spastic to reach for the stirrups when he first gets on. The rhythm of the horse's movement slowly relaxes tightened muscles. When I approached him to help get his feet into the stirrups, I asked him to talk me through it. He said, "You can't hurt me. I can tell you're worried about it." This kid lives in a wheelchair and he's helping me understand how much he wants to be here and how much he can do. So I set up a lesson that allowed him to affect a measurable change with his horse. He became infectiously engaged in the activity. He seemed to really enjoy seeing the changes he could make in his horse using just his body.

After the lesson, I told him I wanted to start writing lesson plans that take into account what he wants to get out of his lessons. I told him to dream as big as he wanted to. His goal: to be able to trot all the way around the arena. Once.

That's a lofty goal for him. Puts things into perspective, doesn't it. I am talking to me. And you.

Travis and I FaceTime regularly and they are bittersweet moments. The other morning, he answered my call with his face still buried in the pillow. I think he was on my side of the bed. He has put the animals on the screen for me from time to time. Drifter's body language tells me that he misses me as much as I miss him. Travis says he acts like Eeyore. No matter. What's good about it?

When I can start to look at what's good about it...every day, every ride, every time, everything...then I will be making some real improvement within myself.

What's good about your life today? What are your goals? Dream big...

In Transition

I have a dozen unfinished blog entries. But my plan is, starting late next month, to blog regularly...as my life will be heading down a different path.

Two weeks ago, my friend Al called and asked if I could take her horse Jack for a month. She had tried to sell him, but the sale fell through and she just didn’t have the time or resources to deal with the problems he had. She bought him about 8 months ago, he was supposedly a dead-broke “beginner” horse, but she had some trouble letting friends ride him. Then when she invited a friend, who is a capable rider, to take him cattle sorting with her, Jack had a major meltdown. Al knew he had issues with being buddy sour, but when the cows came out, he was uncontrollable. They left him tied to the trailer to throw a fit while Al sorted on her horse.

Al decided to give Jack one last chance. Either get a tuneup so he is worth keeping, or get tuned up enough to sell.

I’d ridden Jack twice before…at the Murrieta Equestrian Center and again to shoot a video of him to post for sale. In that short amount of riding time, I discovered he moves off your legs pretty responsively, he can do a 360 degree turn on his hindquarters, and has a slow lumbering lope that feels like he is counter cantering or cross firing. But that afternoon, I was warned that his arena manners were limited to the arena, and if they had left with their horses, he would have another dangerous meltdown.

Jack

 So Saturday, June 22, she trailered him up and I decided to take him sorting that night. Siri joined me with Bandit and we arrived early to ride a bit before sorting started. Jack was very alert to the cattle while tied to the trailer, but his warm up was enjoyable. Since I was unsure how he’d react to the cattle, I informed all the sorters that evening that I couldn’t help gather the cows to move them to the sorting pens. I am glad I remained cautious.

He balled up like a gymkhana horse ready to race speed poles, coiling back and sideways, refusing to bend. I teetered on a thread of popping him up with the reins, working a block and release, and just tried to keep his feet moving in some direction other than up. Once the cows were on their way to the pen, he freed up and cautiously followed, but felt pretty unstable. We watched a few riders sort, then I asked Siri to support me and Jack and we rode into the sorting pens.

Jack flattens his ears when he gets focused on a cow. Pardon the mule ears.

The goal was just to get Jack to get the feeling of moving the cattle. He was uncertain, but Siri and Bandit rode alongside us and helped encourage him to move forward. We used our two minutes to transfer the herd from the east pen to the west pen. We repeated this several turns, and when we exited the pens, Jack was pretty attached to Bandit and went back into gymkhana mode when Siri rode across the arena. I worked at bending him in serpentines until he would relax somewhat and give him a release. The fourth time in the pens, Jack sorted a cow…then another…then another, while Siri and Bandit blocked the gate. The fifth time, we were sorting as a team, switching of as gate and sort horse and Jack seemed to get the hang of it.

Good boy!

I suggested to Siri that we make Jack a winner and not separate him from Bandit that evening. Dealing with the buddy-sourness could be done later. We loaded up and headed home. I suggested to Siri that it would reduce stress for Bandit, who was going to his new home at Siri’s house that night, if we unloaded them, and let them settle, then load Bandit again to take him to her house. Siri unloaded Bandit and began to head to the barn. Jack was looking over the divider of the trailer and when I went to untie him he impatiently  raced backwards to exit the trailer to be with Bandit. When he hit the end of the leadrope, he went into fight mode, thrashing with his hind feet out of the trailer. I watched silently and fearfully as he fought the pressure on the halter as he thrashed between the closed left door and the right wall of the trailer, thankful that the left door was closed to provide me with a safe place to stand without being beheaded.

As soon as it started it was over and Jack stepped back into the trailer for me to help him. I worked the tightly wound slipknot loose and backed him out of the trailer. Travis told me his hind legs were underneath the trailer at one point.

Noted. He is reeeeeally buddy sour.

So Sunday, I decided I needed to face that problem. One that I have had experience working through personally on Jake (my homework assignment coming home from Buck's 2009 clinic was how to completely rid your horse of buddy sourness), but was able to witness Buck work his young horse Gidget through it in 2011. It was a perfect display of patience and it worked.

So Sunday, I asked Jack to leave my arena, which is attached to my corrals housing Jake and Drifter. As they called, his anxiety increased and he wanted to turn back. I let him return to the arena where I worked him at the trot and lope, letting him choose to stay or leave. When he decided to leave, I let him walk quietly. When he wanted to return, I picked up the pace and let him be near Jake and Drifter as long as he was moving and busy. I made a couple of passes around my house, where he could not see Jake and Drifter, but could hear them. And we repeated the process of stay or leave, Jack's choice, but staying was going to be more difficult. After about a half hour of this, he decided we could walk off the property on the far side of my house, where he could hear my horses, but was ok with leaving. We rode down the street and returned after about 10 minutes and before he could change his mind and get upset.

Jack's choice was eventually to head down the road. (I know I said I would quit taking pictures while riding...oops)

I let him soak on his success on Monday, but got him back out on Tuesday to try again. This time, he only wanted to return once and then was ready to go for a ride. We went out on the lakebed and walked, trotted, and lumberingly loped.

The beautiful lakebed, with miles of area to lope.

Wednesday, I decided to try cows again with Jack and trailered him alone to the arena. He cried in the trailer as we left the house, but he wasn't too bothered when we got to the arena. Still alert at seeing cattle, he let me saddle him and warm up with little trouble. The big difference from his previous sorting night was that he was totally ready to work cows, and did not act like gymkhana horse. He sorted great, got some great blocks, and really seemed to enjoy the job.

Yes, I understand I am a pig farmer for riding him like this.

I anticipate I need to spend a few more sessions on his buddy sourness until that is resolved, but this 15 year old horse can learn a few new tricks.

Anniversary Ride...

In other news, Travis joined me on a horseback ride to celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary. Drifter was a squirrel when we first headed out, but settled once across the lakebed and we rode up to The Eye Of God, which is a quartz rock formation that stands out in the arid forest with its bright white crystals. Travis seemed to enjoy trotting Jake and figuring out whether Jake was trying to pull one over on him by pretending to be exhausted.

We were out for about 3 hours (Travis will add an hour to that estimate) and I planned on washing them off, when he came out and asked how to bathe Jake.

"Just point the hose at him," I said.

I can't tell if they bonded over this experience, but it was worth it! For me, anyway.

Last day at Buck's

In a few hours, I will be getting up to feed Drifter. It will be the last day of a challenging Buck Brannaman clinic. I had a tough day mentally yesterday, and it poured on us all day and into the night. This left us with snotty muddy conditions today, but today was much better for me to ride with a better outlook.

A full report will follow upon my return.

Until then, reach for your horse until he can reach for you.

The calm before the storm

Car and trailer eating muddy parking lot

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