What my horses have taught me

As inspired by Viva Carlos, the lessons that my horses have taught me.

Terry (Open Gate Secretariat)

Terry gets a special mention because while I didn't own him, he was my very first equine partner.  From the age of five to the age of ten, this pony was my nemesis and my best friend. 

• You can do more than you think
• You have to do it yourself, no one else can do it for you
• Never, ever look down at a fence
• When in doubt, kick
• Some days you're going to lose no matter how hard you worked for it and that's okay
• Quick Silver should not be left on for an hour, it won't work better

Allen (All In Good Time)

My very first horse who arrived at the same time that I was discovering horse life as an adult.

• Don't be afraid to let go of control, he's better at this than you are
• You will get there when you get there
• Schoolmasters are worth more than diamonds and gold
• You don't dominate a horse, it's a team sport
• If you get the chance to do something big, just go for it, you won't regret it 
• Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway
• Go.  FORWARD.
• Never, ever pull to a fence 
• If you get dumped in a fence, you probably deserved it
• When the old man says he's done, let him be done

Fiona (Can't Drive 55)

My princess.  A Craigslist find for $800 that taught me all about taking chances.

• Sometimes you've just got to take that leap
• Listen when they say they don't want to do the job
• Don't rush talented horses
• The horse is more important than the discipline
• Galloping down to a big fence is freaking amazing with the right horse
• Chestnut TB mare is not profanity
• Dressage is fun
• Selling a horse is hell

Theo (Expect the Unexpected)

The former school horse turned show horse.

• Things are not always as they appear
• Experts can be wrong, horses don't read the training books
• Inside leg to outside rein is more than something my trainer yells at me at random
• Great mind > fancy moves
• Amazing tails are overrated
• People will never forget the past
• When you know you've found the right horse, freaking buy it
• Dressage is not about checking moves off a list
• Don't forget why you started
• Positive reinforcement works
• Make time for random trail gallops, jumping, and hour long curry sessions; the dressage arena will still be there tomorrow
• Black bay horses look amazing in every color

Deja vu

Allen was the first horse I ever owned.  I did a write up about him in a previous entry.  The short version was that he was a big, black, loud TB gelding that was nicknamed the Hellbeast.  I adored that horse and lamented that I came into his story so late.  Of course, I probably couldn't have handled him when he was in his prime.

Me and Allen, a long time ago

Today I was riding Ben and doing some jumping.  We're still around Beginner Novice height, but that's mostly because I'm enjoying my returning confidence and want to take it slow.  It just so damn nice to go out and jump around with no fuss, no drama.  I point, I kick, he jumps.  At this low level, that's all there is.  I know when I move up to something bigger it will take more work to lift him up off of his forehand, but for now, I feel like I'm riding a hunter again.  I was ready to cry today after jumping around.  It's just that much of a relief to have it all be so easy again.  I was happy and relaxed and smiling the whole time.  We did have a bit of an argument about one line.  It went something like this:

***

Hey, we're going to jump the cross rail.
Something in the door is trying to kill me.
Focus, we're going to jump the cross rail.
Okay, okay, we're jumping the cross rail.

- jump the cross rail -

And now we take the bending line to the one stride!
No, we bend to the green and white vertical.
No no no, I can see the one stride.
It's the vertical!
One stride!
Vertical!
One stride!
So help me, horse, I'm the one with opposable thumbs and I know the actual course!
Fine, you stubborn human!

- jump the vertical -
- walk -

. . . want to try that again?
Sure, sounds like fun.

***

Smart ass old men, thinking they know the course better than I do.  But you certainly can't complain when the only downside to your ride is your horse locking on to the wrong fence.  The entire conversation between the cross rail and vertical took about six strides, so not a major issue.  He can be such a meathead, but he's cute so it's okay.

So what does this have to do with my horse Allen?  After I made a stupid mistake, I heard myself say 'sorry, Allen'.  Wait, what?  Ben jumps nothing like Allen, what was that about?

Aside from the fact that Ben is almost Allen's twin in terms of build, Ben is in that same group of horses:  wise old men that will take care of a rider when necessary.  He's only fourteen, but he's definitely got the same feel.  He's been there, done that, and is now looking out for the less experienced rider.  He's not perfect, he's certainly willing to argue with me about something.  It's the same feature that will keep me safe on cross country in the future.  Allen would sigh and take charge when I did something stupid, Ben does the same.  Galloping down to a fence and you suddenly have that sinking realization that you've ridden your horse down to no spot?  Put your hands on the neck, put your leg on, and thank your lucky stars that the old man you're riding knows his job better than you do.  He may not make it comfortable for you, but you will land on the other side safely.

The conversation I had while jumping was one that I could have easily had with the Hellbeast.  With Ben nuzzling at my neck, I couldn't help but think of Allen, doing the same thing a long time ago.  It gave me a sense of deja vu.  I think I'll go back and watch videos of my beloved jumper tonight and think about what we did together.

Memories

A long, long time ago (or so it seems to me), I had a horse named Allen.

I loved every hair on that horse. From his scarred face to his very expensively shod hooves, I adored him. As far as I was concerned, he was perfection. He was black bay and had no white, seventeen hands tall, and all Thoroughbred. He was too big for me and too strong for me, to be honest, but that didn't matter. I loved him from the day I saw him to the day I lost him.

Like all horses in my life, he just kind of showed up. My trainer at the time pulled him from the kill pen, thinking he'd make it as a school horse. That same weekend the horse I'd been leasing bowed a tendon and was looking at six months off. My trainer joked that she'd bought him for me, and I anxiously wanted to meet this horse. He arrived while I was teaching lessons and some teenagers rode him first. I didn't get to meet him until he was resting in his stall and the first assessments were in. He had all the buttons, was well schooled, but horribly out of shape. He was very skinny, badly cut up, and old. Mostly old.

I want to say that I saw a future show horse, or that I knew he was going to come back to being an awesome jumper, but I didn't. I saw some of the saddest eyes I'd ever seen. Just sad eyes that wondered what he'd done to end up like this. Skinny, cut up, and wondering when he was going back on the trailer. I fell in love with him standing in his stall. He had three cuts running across his face that were infected and earned him the nickname Scarface. He was clearly someone's show horse, he knew everything right up to half passe. In hindsight, he was someone's eventer. At the time I couldn't figure out why anyone would clip his tail along the tailbone, it took me forever to grow that out. Knowing what I do now, he was someone's event partner, at least at preliminary considering his dressage knowledge and jumping skills.

None of that mattered. I loved him. I renamed him Al, for Al Pacino in Scarface. That evolved to Allen when he needed a full name for being naughty. When he started getting the food he needed and started to get his energy back, it was apparent that he wasn't going to make it as a school horse. He had the alarming habit of taking off or bucking when beginners made mistakes. Hell, he took off with me on a regular basis, but I still loved him. He never scared me. When it came time for him to get expensive shoes to make him comfortable, someone had to buy them since he wasn't going to be a school horse. I declared that I would buy him and his shoes, even though we never thought he'd jump higher than 2'3" and would never make it to a show. I couldn't let him go back to auction, I knew what would happen. I named him All In Good Time.

This is what he became.



He became my open jumper, my equitation partner, and my teacher. He taught me how to ride a Thoroughbred, how to laugh when I'm being taken off with, and how to accept being dumped in an oxer as 'well, I done screwed up' rather than 'stupid horse'. I took that kill pen horse to the New England Equitation Championships and rode him in the coliseum. It was the highlight of our time together.

He was sixteen when I got him, and at nineteen, he was ready to retire. He was probably ready to retire at sixteen, but he gave me a couple years because that was the kind of horse he was. He retired not long after I found out that he was the Open Jumper champion for the year. His navicular finally caught up with him. He was retired to pasture and spent several years in the high demand position of babysitting Thoroughbred mares that were being let down from race track life. He got fat and shaggy, living in a pasture with his mares and bare feet. He was put down when he broke his leg in a freak accident after four years of retirement.

While going through DVDs recently, I found the video clips of us together. It's still hard for me to watch these, remembering the first horse I ever owned. But at least I have these reminders of him, and everything he taught me Fiona is benefiting from. I couldn't have handled her without the lessons he taught me. As electric as she can be, she was nothing on the Hellbeast.

Here's to the old, arthritic, sometimes grumpy schoolmasters in the world. May they all be happily retired to a harem of mares.

Enthusiasm

I shouldn't complain about enthusiasm. I really shouldn't. But then again, enthusiasm usually lands me with a sore back. At least when it's coming from Fiona.

Fall weather continues, and Fiona continues to show me what a big girl she thinks she is. Yee. Haw. It's not dirty or scary most of the time, it's just head shaking and trying to grab the bit when she just feels like going for a run. I'd be more concerned if I couldn't stop her with that loose ring snaffle, but it can be a bit unnerving. Today was her first day jumping the cross country obstacles. The expression on her face when I asked her to jump out of the ring over the logs was pretty classic.

"Mom, are you drunk?! I can't jump out of a ring! Next time, I drive!"

But after she did it once, she decided that was fabulous fun. Cantering toward the barn where she just knew dinner was being served? Let's just say that turning away was a bit of a challenge, and the princess threw a temper tantrum. My trainer is more amused by her antics than anything, so she's clearly not that scary. At least not for spectators. She was a good girl, though. Jump all three of the logs that were set up and dropped off of the bank a couple times. We worked in the field until she settled and could handle cantering around without deciding to make a break for home. Height will not be an issue for the little girl come summer. Not at all.

It's very different for me. I've ridden green horses. I've ridden young horses. I've ridden athletic horses. I've never ridden a green, young, athletic horse. I've only owned one horse before Fiona, and that was Allen. I only had Allen as my partner for three years before he had to be retired (at the ripe old age of nineteen). Other than him, I've always been a catch rider. I would ride whatever other people didn't want to. It's good for giving someone a really strong foundation and getting them used to riding a wide variety of horses, but you don't build a lot of strong bonds that way.

I have to thank Allen for the fact I can handle Fiona's shenanigans. He was a big boy, 17 hands of TB that could get very big and hot when it was time to jump. He had a bit of a roar, so when he would enter a ring way up on his toes, tossing his head and sounding like a freight train, people got out of our way. His nickname was Hellbeast. He was a handful to jump at the best of times, but he taught me a lot. We did the 3'6" jumpers, adult equitation, and tore around the property bare back. He baby sat me through my first cross country fences and hauled my butt around the Coliseum for my first medal final. Of course, he didn't bother to bend his knees when jumping a four foot fence.



Sometimes Fiona reminds me of him. When she gets way up on her toes and starts snorting because she knows it's time for jumping, it makes me giggle. But there is a major difference. Fiona is seven with next to no experience. Allen was a school master that would take care of me if I made a mistake. He knew his job better than I did. We used to joke that we felt bad for whoever rode Allen in his prime, considering what a handful he was at eighteen.

I'm starting to think I know exactly how that person felt.