Neo

A couple of months ago, I spent a day in the sun picking up manure and riding horses. I had finally gotten back on Strega after a winter hiatus, rode Drifter in the arena and, despite my exhaustion, decided to finish the afternoon with a short stroll around Shay Meadow on Jake. As we rounded the bend of rocky trail to grassy meadow, we rode upon two people and their horses. The woman was grazing her buckskin paint horse and the man was mounted on a bay.

Courteous greetings were exchanged and when they asked how I was, my response was, "Tired. This is my last ride of the day."

"Do you train?" She asked.

"Not officially." I responded. "This is just my passion."

The conversation progressed to where we realized that we had met before, at Paul Dietz's Big Bear Clinic in 2008, and I recognized the grazing paint, Neo, as the same beautiful 3 year old from that clinic.

Neo in 2008 at age 3

"You're Maggie*, right?" I confirmed, remembering when I met her that she was just 3 months recovered from a horse-related broken arm. She came to Paul's clinic for confidence building and said he helped her tremendously.

She insinuated that they wanted some help with Neo, that there had been some changes in her life. Things were left open-ended, and Jake and I continued down the trail.

With Paul's clinic fast approaching, I've sent out flyers and emails and text messages, I got a response from Maggie asking about the clinic for her new husband and if I could indeed help them with Neo. So this week, we set up a time and they came over yesterday afternoon.

At a towering 17 hands, Neo was nervous, so I got him moving freely in the arena. He didn't appear spooky and was not bothered by the flag sending him in different directions. He was, more or less, distracted but eventually came back to be haltered. He crowded my space and wouldn't back up, was heavy when leading, and he was not interested in flexing laterally. As I spent some time figuring out how responsive (or unresponsive) he was, I was able to get a few things working for me a little better to move on to what was a bigger problem for his owners: saddling.

"He steps away. My ex used to sneak up on him to saddle him."

"Do you tie him?" I asked.

"No. He pulls back."

Hmmm. I thought. "OK, let's start from scratch."

So I decided to get myself in colt starting mindset. I carried my saddle and pad out into the arena and worked at swinging the pad up and off, repeating several times as he occasionally stepped away from me. I reached down, grabbed my saddle and swung it up.

"He never does that!"

"I believe you." I said as I pulled the saddle off. He wildly swung away as the saddle slid from his back. He planted his feet in cement as I asked him to step forward.

"Here's the horse that pulls back." I said. "He does not yield to pressure here. He should step forward."

So I changed gears from saddling to groundwork again, trying to build through pressure and release a horse that will lead properly. While working through this, Maggie gave me a little glimpse into Neo's past from 2008 where he was a colt with a lot of promise to the troubled horse he is today. He'd been to a few different trainers for 30 days here and there, but last year bucked off someone who had just offered to ride him. I'd heard the story previously and tried to keep my opinion to myself (gymkhana without quality, riding with legs draped over the saddle forks, riding in a mechanical hackamore are all observations I've had of this particular person).

I saddled him again, it wasn't perfect, but it was progress and cinched him up while he stood quietly. But then he became unglued and nearly ran me over (thank goodness I built in a smidgen of respect, because he backed off when I threw my hands up in defense). Neo bucked across the arena, flinching and kicking at the saddle strings. When he came back to me, I got back to groundwork again, confused by the saddle issue with an 8 year old horse that's had "professional training". After several passes of stepping hindquarters away and moving the front across to switch directions, I moved back to lateral flexion in a tense neck that couldn't bend without moving the feet.  Neo made me wait for minutes until his feet stopped and he could get soft to the pressure on the leadrope. This was not going to be easy. No wonder they've been having trouble.

Finally, he was in a place where I felt I could get on him. He bridled pretty easily, when asked to lower his giraffe head down to take the bit. I became the best contortionist I could to reach a toe into the stirrup and hopped on my right toe in several circles until Neo stopped his feet. I lifted my body and balanced on my left toe until I felt he was stable enough to swing my right leg over. His mouth gaped and fussed with the bit and he was not light to my hands. Serpentines later, he was moving a little better.

All throughout this process, I could not comprehend what happened to this horse. Maggie told me stories, but there is a massive hole in this horse's foundation and I can't quite put my finger on it. Thankfully in the colt starting video I shot with Paul in 2011, he caught me several times with my boot too far in the stirrup. I remembered and placed it as far out as possible so as not to get caught because when I dismounted, Neo bucked away from me.

There big black hole in his foundation.

They returned again this morning, where a few things were a lot better (including their walk over to my house), and I began to introduce to Neo that picking people up from the fence is another mounting option. I noticed a few vertebrae that seemed to be out of place and asked if they've had his back checked. Maggie said she has a chiropractor and would seek getting an adjustment for him. Understandably, with Neo's height, her small 5'2" frame cannot see that high. I really wanted to revisit mounting from the ground because, naturally, he should be able to do both. Saddling and mounting today was worse than yesterday. While not cinchy, when asked to first move when saddled his body twitched and flinched and he made an odd audible noise before taking a first step. I am no doctor and typically don't think about pain issues with horses that don't like to be saddled, but something is amiss here.

After some groundwork under saddle, I worked at mounting. Maggie shared with me a slicker story that sent a trainer to the hospital. I discovered that he oddly was almost more accepting of me trying to mount from the right than on the left, but his height made that attempt awkward for me so I didn't pursue it. After possibly 10 minutes of bending and releasing, flapping the stirrups, and fake mounting by putting the weight of my hand in the stirrup and hopping on one foot, I was able to climb onto the quietly standing giraffe. I rode him a bit, worked with trying to get him soft on the bit, and approached the fence to visit and build patience in him to let me dismount there. When it finally happened, it was uneventful.

But Neo is on my mind.

What happened to him and how can I help him?

And how can I help his owners, who seem very open minded and care about him, but currently lack the education and experience to help him break through his barriers.

It's hard to not pity a horse that seems to have some dark secrets.

Nothing is quite so destructive as pity, especially self-pity.

No event in life is so terrible that one cannot rise above it. ~ Robin Hobb

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.

Finding Direction from the Circle of Horsemen

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

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

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

A bit of history.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one stood up for Jake that day but Paul.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tragedy.

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

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

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

My relationship with Jake would crescendo at this 2009 clinic.

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

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

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

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

Sharp serpentine Buck Clinic 2009 - Photo by Mike Thomas

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

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

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

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

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

So let's try this again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sharp serpentine Buck Clinic 2010 - Photo by Mike Thomas

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

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

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

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

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

Moon over my horsie

I've been sick, but keeping up on suzandtrav.blogspot.com, but had a nice moment to share with my horses this evening.

I try to remain aware of my horsemanship even if I am just going out to feed. Jake and Drifter were out today while I was home with this stupid cold. Hey, I am not used to being sick, so I get a little dramatic about it.

Anyway, the full moon is awaiting tomorrow's eclipse and Drifter decided it was playtime before dinner.

Playtime is fine, but I wanted to ensure that he finished "with me" instead of "with food". So I snapped some shots while he did his thing.

Full moon fever

He sought refuge from Jake, who wanted none of it. I love the next picture because it is quintessential Jake & Drifter. Jake (ears back) clearly irritated by the presence of his kid brother and Drifter (ears forward) obviously oblivious.

Jake, will you at least smile for the camera?

So I sent Drifter off to find the good place to be and when he found me, we were done. Jake knows the drill all too well and keeps close to me or just doesn't move. He just wanted his dinner.

But my cute little palomino is coming along nicely. I know it doesn't seem like much, but every moment with him means something to me. I can't believe he's the same horse that took hours to come to me when I first started working with him in April. Now, it takes minutes.

He is just so willing...