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.

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.

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.

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.

C is for balance

Last year, I had a strange dream. I don't normally remember my dreams but this one was quite visual. I was standing on a cliff looking across a ravine to another cliff, with a rope bridge connecting the two sides. On the other side of the ravine, looking back at me was me. For many reasons, I was afraid to cross the bridge. I stood frozen still until I woke.

***

Sunday afternoon, I wanted out of Old Lyme, but had committed to volunteering a few hours at a hunter pace, where I saw, wait for it, a few western saddles.

This wasn't one of them.

As a "western" rider rode past, it was hard to ignore seasawing hands direct-reining a shanked mouthpiece in an attempt to obtain the almighty headset from her horse.

Sigh.

"Someday I want to learn to ride western." Someone commented, admiring the horse's overo markings.

I bit my cheek. People's riding reveals where they're at in life. I've been there. It's hard to watch, but I've been there and no one judged me. They just showed me a different path.

***

By the time we were done with our duties, we only had the afternoon to explore, so we decided on the nearby town of Mystic, CT, the home of Mystic Pizza...

Movie tourist Pizza Heaven

and a drawbridge (bascule bridge) that spans the Mystic River.

Marveled by "simple" engineering. 

Enormous concrete filled counterweights intimidate the roadbed of the southwest side of U.S. Route 1 (Main Street). Nearly 600 tons of road is counterbalanced when the bridge is raised.

***

I had my first lesson on Monday, and was evaluated while teaching. Oh boy, was it hard to walk into the arena and look past the obstacles (staff, clipboards, riders, horses, handlers, sidewalkers) in order to focus on teaching a measurable skill to riders who might rather be taught by their regular instructor.

It wasn't a complete disaster, but it wasn't a cake walk either. The mounts were all full-assist, including one—we'll call him JD—who needed to use a lift. Three instructors and a sidewalker all had input on whether or not JD was aligned properly above the saddle, as he hung suspended over his horse's back. I had the controls of the lift and, with input coming from all directions, I lost concentration of the location of the lift as I lowered JD onto the horse, knocking him in the helmet with the top of the rigging. Ooops. Thankfully, he was forgiving about it. My lesson in the arena had varying results (owning one moment, sinking the next) before we headed out on the sensory trail to make turn after turn through the trees. I fumbled a few times, but tried to roll with the punches.

At the end of the lesson, as I was lifting JD from the saddle, his mother asked him how I did for my first lesson.

"Ehhh." He commented.

"Oh, great." I said.

"I give you a C."

That's about what I'd give me, I thought.

"If I gave you an A, you wouldn't have anything to shoot for."

Touché.

***

There was something about the Mystic River Bascule Bridge that reminds me to balance and quit trying to be perfect on the first try. It's one of those things I do but don't realize I'm doing it. When it's brought to my attention, I get defensive.

But just because you are offended doesn't mean you are right.

My fear vs. my ability ended up perfectly balanced in the lesson and—according to JD—was measurable in the middle of the grading scale at C.

I've been seeking more balance. Tonight, a C feels just right.

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

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.

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?