Lights, Camera, SHOWTIME! Pt I

Well, I had no manageable canter but that did not deter me: our farm had a schooling hunter show coming up and danged if I wasn't going to enter! Surely I could canter in a circle, even if Solo WAS falling all over himself I could at least control him by staying in tighter circles at all times.

So another dream was about to come true, to show my very own glowing steed and gallop a victory lap, blue ribbons streaming from our bridle as the crowd roared.....or at least a couple show moms clapped halfheartedly?

About three days before the show, you could feel the atmosphere as the farm change. The ring was dragged, jumps were moved and decorated, lessons intensified as we all prepped. Tack was cleaned and horses bathed. Solo felt it too. By Friday night, his barely controlled canter had disintegrated into a half-bucking bolt of a transition that became a haul at Mach 7. Brakes? What brakes? My quiet, mostly obedient horse had been overtaken by his TB half and become a hot, snorting, running ball of fire. Basically, he was unrideable.

I scoff in the general direction of your show-related aspirations!

My heart crumpled Friday night as I was forced to admit to myself that there was NO WAY I could navigate him safely around a hunter course the next day. Here I was, with a perfectly good, immaculately clean horse that I couldn't even freaking ride. I sat in front of his stall with my chin in my hands in utter dejection with doubt and depression battling it out in my head.

You should just sell him, you can't even ride him properly, you've completely messed him up, just give up." (Doubt can be cruel and quite persuasive.)

Now wait just a minute! I said.This is Solo's farm -- all he knows is that tension is in the air, trailers are coming in, I can't really blame him for being nervous. After all, he's never been to show before as far as I know.

And then it hit me. He'd never been to a show as far as I knew. Well, duh, of COURSE he was spooky and nervous and crazy, he had no idea what was going on. I had a new plan.

Saturday morning, instead of putting on my breeches and saddling up, I took my (immaculately clean!) horse out of his stall, put on his halter, and proceeded to spend the day leading him around the warm up area and arena, just taking in the sights.

Yes, he was spooky. Yes, he was jumpy. But I just let him stand and stare and blow and examine it all. I had learned by that point that he was the kind of horse who needed to look at things and think about them. Once allowed to do that, he would be fine. And by the end of the day, he was relaxed, grazing near the arena, nostrils returned to normal size and whites of eyes put away for another, more worthy occasion.

That day, I learned the value of mileage. I learned that we cannot expect our horses to fearlessly forge right into everything like a seasoned pro. A seasoned pro gets that way by seasoning and not just with paprika (oh, I crack myself up!). What at first seemed like a lost day, on examination afterwards turned out to be a priceless training opportunity. Solo had just learned that all the hustle and bustle and noise and dust and speakers and trailers and pennants were harmless. Now we could take that positive experience and use it as a stepping stone to the next one. And that, my friends is mileage!

Next goal: to actually RIDE my horse in the show!

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I'm Looking For My Missing Piece

Clearly, I was a genius.

I had just put together a rig for less than $12,000 TOTAL. It was safe, sturdy, reliable and even PRETTY! I had a newfound foolproof method for communicating with my horse and now had him self-loading onto the trailer with a tap of my finger. He was going well barefoot as we practiced enormous jumps*.

He developed better condition every day and I was sure nothing would stop our meteoric rise to stardom. Even my helmet acquired its own cocky tilt of confidence, see?

The only eensy weesy teeny tiny miniscule problem was we could no longer canter. It was gone; we had lost it, misplaced it somewhere along the way. We could pick up the canter, just fine, but within five strides or so, it disintegrated into a front-heavy, hauling, freight train of a speed demon mad rush. Not so much fun really and I feared my shoulders might actually separate from their sockets sometime in the very near future.

And it scared me a little -- as a child, I'd been thrown from a runaway horse and knocked out for a bit (even though I WAS wearing a helmet, if I hadn't, I'd be dead!) and as a result, any hint of loss of control still got me a bit short of breath and twitchy.

Discouragement began to lurk in the corners of the arena, whispering in its nasty lilting voice, "Look at you, Ms. Fancy Awesome Rider, can't even canter your own horse can you? 25 years of riding and you are afraid to canter around the arena? Nice work, genius."

Ok, maybe I wasn't a genius. I had somehow lost an entire GAIT. Who does that?

Clearly, I was an idiot.

*I promise very soon the pictures get better as a new camera made an appearance!

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A Tale Of Two Trailers

As I intimated in my clinic post, trailering had suddenly become an issue in the winter of 2006. At the time, I had my cherry red 1987 WW which stood at a whopping interior height of 6'6". As I mentioned, Solo technically fit in it. As long as he did not raise his head or want to move. At all. It had mangers and a solid divider too, so his feet had to STAY PUT. But he'd ridden in it quietly the three hours up when we moved and we had gone on a trail trip or two.



When I went to load him up for our PNH clinic, his reaction went something like this:

Walk walk walk walk, oh, the trailer, hmmmmmm, I don't really want to OHMYGODHELLNO I AM NOT GETTING IN THAT THING SCREWYOUI'MOUTTAHERE!!!!!!!

Yes, he stood up on his hind legs (I had put a butt rope on him for gentle encouragement), hopped over the rope and galloped off down a fenceline.

Leaving me standing with a longeline and ropeburn in one hand (note to self: gloves are a good invention) and a dumbfounded look on my face. Well, crap, now what?

I went and got my horse again and recruited two helpers from the barn and with a little coercion (which included me smacking my head on the escape door, gah!) we got him in and slammed the door. It would get us there.

At the end of the clinic, dear, wonderful Carol spent two hours with me and Solo showing how to properly load a horse onto a trailer. I use that method to this day: keep their feet moving forward. Life outside the trailer SUCKS REALLY BAD and life inside the trailer is awesome and full of pets and treats.

My conclusion: 6'6" trailers are for cows and small ponies. Not for 16 h beefcake horses. It had to go. AND since my Expedition had broken down on the way home from the clinic and was quickly revealing itself to be a problem ridden BEAST, it HAD to go, I was tired of fixing it.

New rig requirements:

-7' tall!!!!!!!!!!
-stock sides (Horses need ventilation! If they are sweaty when you pull them off the trailer, "ur doin' it rong!"
-straight load (My horse just didn't fit in any slants I tried, he was too long)
-bumper pull (I still wanted an SUV)
-steel steel steel (I like my horse haulers heavy and strong)
-dressing room (I am a charter member of the club I Have Too Much Crap Even Though I Only Have One Horse )

Voila!!!

It had 150,000 miles but it purred like a kitten and had a brand new transmission. I <3'ed the Tahoe!


2007 Adam Special 15' -- brand new on the lot!


Open, airy, inviting, just the way I wanted it!

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Gratuitous Photos

I have been hard at work this weekend! Ok, ok, I have been sitting in the barn, soaking up the aura into every fiber of my being. The Solo Saga shall continue but this evening finds me to tired to write. However, that doesn't mean I can't share a few of my favourite pictures from that period of time. We had moments, mere moments of improved movement, but we had to WORK for each one. There were HOURS of saddle time for each brief SECOND of yessssssss. It was HARD! And I couldn't string the seconds together, I couldn't find any consistency in it. But all the same, I was riding MY horse and that was enough for me! Winter 2006 and spring 2007, practicing, relaxing, and just plain horsing around...






It's hard to focus when that cold wind hits.


I'm too sexy for my pasture...


Portrait

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Work, work, work, OOO CLINIC!

We kept practicing. Slowly longeing became less about torture and Solo became less convinced that I would beat him to death. We could walk and trot in both directions, with and without side reins!! He was still reduced to a quivering, blowing mess by the sight of a longe whip and canter was out of the question but...baby steps.

Oh yeah, I'm still watching you closely, lady...

I also stumbled upon, of all things, a Parelli Natural Horsemanship clinic not too far from me. Yes, yes, I hear your groans, but just wait a moment. All these programs have, at their heart, some very useful tools. I also thoroughly investigated the instructor, Carol Coppinger -- the only female four star Parelli instructor in the country -- and she came with GLOWING reviews, even from the skeptics.

It was my first winter with Solo -- we were getting to know each other but I still felt like something was missing. So I sent in my check, loaded up (with some difficulty to be discussed later) the trailer and drove out.

IT WAS FREAKING FREEZING-ASS COLD. On the way home afterward, my truck blew a radiator and broke down late on a Sunday night in the middle of nowhere. Did I mention it was FREEZING-ASS COLD??? But it was also an invaluable experience. Carol first had us team up to play horse and get a feel for how the horses view our cues and some feedback from other participants on how clear our cues actually were.

Look, honey, I'm a prancing pony!

The next day and a half were spent putting it into practice both on the ground and in the saddle with our horses. What impressed me most about Carol is that she truly understood what the POINT of it all was, which is clear communication and a good baseline partnership with your horse, on which you can build other training. She emphasized multiple times that "I don't give a damn if your horse can do a perfect Sideways or Circle, what I care about is that he understands what you are asking of him, i.e. moving his feet as directed. Once he gets it, MOVE ON."

We both listen intently.

It was REALLY neat and rewarding to see Solo watching me, thinking, trying. You could almost hear him going, "OH! You finally figured out how to talk to me!" I, on the other hand, really struggled at first with being clear with my body language. My signals were muddled and as a result, my horse was muddled. Carol wasted no time taking me in hand and showing me how to be clear, fair and consistent to my horse!

Not that way, THIS way!

And what a difference it made. Those two days did more to cement the relationship that Solo and I were building than anything I had ever encountered before. I saw little value in the higher levels of the program, they just had no application to what my goals were. BUT that initial level of effective groundwork really changed the way I looked at horse training, at communication with our partners, and would stick with me forever. I still use the exercises today as a refresher of "hey, yield your hindquarters" or "please keep moving until I tell you to stop."

So thank you, Carol, for your insight and patience! And for all you Parelli-haters out there, just remember, hate the playa, not the game. Because at the core of the game, there is much truth. And that truth is a good many useful tools I keep in my horsey toolbox that came to me in an easily accessible format!

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