The Importance of Wiggle Room

… March 17, 2013 …

Last week, thanks to Bear, I learned a valuable lesson on the importance of wiggle room.

In truth, I believe he’s been trying to reach me on this one for a while. I guess sometimes we just don’t “get it” until, well, push comes to shove.

I’m not going to go into all the boring details.

Remember the ice falling off the roof and his little temper tantrum a couple of posts ago?

Well, we had very much the same kind of experience again, only without the catalyst of ice. Bear was simply being unbearable, and I was getting more and more frustrated until Coach mentioned one seemingly insignificant, but ultimately important, detail.

“You need to move your shoulders!”

I what?

“You’re riding stiff as a board and Bear can’t move freely. He’s telling you to get out of his way!”

The thing about riding horses is, of course, that they are acutely attuned to body language. How I am in the saddle translates into how Bear is as he moves. If my mind is wanting one thing and my body language is saying another, he’s going to give me what my body dictates. He’s not a mind reader.

And if I send him mixed messages … well, I may as well just go home. He will not tolerate it.

Do you like it when someone is sending you mixed messages? I know I don’t.

So, he called me on it last week. I wanted him to move more athletically but my body — my stiff, immovable shoulders in particular — were getting in the way. So much so, in fact, that at one point we stood at an impasse in the middle of the arena for several seconds (seemed like an eternity at the time) and I almost had a meltdown.

I could not understand what was going on.

“Trust me,” Coach said, “we will get through this, you just need to move your shoulders.”

Could it be that simple?

Gathering my wits and my reins, I pressed my legs against Bear’s side and sent him forward again into canter.

Move my shoulders … move my shoulders … move my shoulders …

It was a struggle, at first, like giving birth to a new idea, but then it clicked. Instead of the fight, we had detente. A gateway to a new way of being was opening … and it felt wonderful.

But, oh, the battle to get there. And not the battle with Bear, necessarily. The battle within my self.

I’ve had plenty of opportunity to digest this incident.

Within hours I was sent into a 24-hour emotional tailspin as I processed the implications of this exchange, not just as a rider blossoming in her skills, but as a woman rising out of dysfunction.

Bear had shown me a new way and the importance of wiggle room — of releasing the strangle hold of old ideas and learning to live more fluidly in the flow of new ones.

With respect to riding, somewhere in the back of my psyche lay the notion that being still in the saddle equated to the perfect ride. In fact, as with all rigidity, it produces the opposite effect, causing angst for the horse which in turn produces angst in me which makes me more rigid which makes him more angry … and on.

At some point during my post-ride ruminations it finally dawned on me … if Bear moves his shoulders, shouldn’t I, then, move mine?

Duh!

I’ve mentioned this in a previous post, but when you see someone riding seemingly effortlessly on the back of a powerful, athletic horse, it is not effortless at all. Not only must the rider’s mind be attuned to the mood of the horse that day, but the body must follow as athletically and subtly nuanced every step the horse takes. When we don’t, sensitive horses, like Bear, will call us on it.

There’s no question my boy can deliver what I want in terms of athleticism and connection. He’s simply demanding that I deliver what he needs in order to achieve it. That means I need to be more finely tuned to his movement and allow some wiggle room so the terms of our engagement are more fluid.

We all know what it’s like to feel constrained in a relationship. Something’s got to give. When push came to shove, Bear had no trouble telling me he needed more wiggle room. When I found a way to give it to him by becoming more consciously aware of what I was doing to impede his movement and then changing it, magic was created once again.

I believe this can be applied to life in general.

When I’ve felt stuck in my life (often without being fully aware that this was the case), it’s been my experience that life has had a way of creating more wiggle room.

I can think of several times when I was shaken, rattled and rolled out of a debilitating malaise.

Twenty years ago, a boss shook me out of the trance of an unhappy, beleaguered secretary and helped me to discover my aptitude as a writer, communicator and leader. This changed my life, giving me the freedom to see myself from another more expansive angle. I probably would not be writing this today were it not for her giving me a kick in the pants.

A few years later, my grandmother’s sudden death rattled the chains that had tied me to an emotionally empty matrimonial life and stultifying career in public relations. Within months I’d thrown off my career to pursue a dream of working with horses. This engagement with my passion ultimately became my greatest teacher. Within years I was divorced and negotiating the highs and lows that inevitably line the path to self-awareness.

A trip to post-war Sarajevo just four years ago proved to be the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, rolling me right into the therapist’s office where I’ve been examining and releasing early childhood trauma ever since.

Truth be told, there were many years when, as survivor and victim, I stumbled along the pitted road of self-pity. All that got me was even more stuck in a downward spiral of worry and despair. Paying attention to the wake-up calls has taken me off that debilitating path and given me a new way of being, one supported by the no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners attitude of my beautiful horse.

So, when I consider the wake-up calls Bear gives me once in a while, I believe he’s creating wiggle room for the next growth spurt. I just need to make sure I’m paying attention … and enjoy the ride.

Has something in your life taught you about the importance of wiggle room? Please feel free to share …

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

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Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

A Dream … Some Luck … and St. Patrick’s Day

I remember the moment I first saw Shakespeare.

Tall, dark, and handsome, he was standing quietly amidst a flurry of activity whilst being readied for our meeting.

The first thing I noticed was how much he seemed to love the attention.

I liked him immediately, but guardedly.

Buying a horse just because it tugs at your heart strings is never a good idea. Think with your head; go with your gut, but leave the heart out of it. At least at the beginning of the purchase process. Horse shopping requires due diligence.

As this was my first horse shopping experience, I was doubly cautious about keeping an emotional distance.

By the time I’d met Shakespeare I’d already looked at three horses. All disappointing in one way or another. Misrepresented mostly. That wasn’t their fault, of course.

Finding Shakespeare happened out-of-the-blue.

A fellow member of my dressage club, whom I’d never met, overheard at the club’s AGM that I was in the market for a horse. She entered the conversation and kindly suggested that I not look at anything else until I’d checked out this “beautiful boy” she and her daughter had just seen while on their own expedition in search of a brood mare.

She excitedly went on to describe him — dark bay, four-year-old, German-bred Hanoverian gelding by Shakespeare in Love. She emphasized that he was one of the sweetest horses she’d ever met, and gave me the contact information for the farm.

Three days later, after setting up at appointment, I made the two-hour drive to see Shakespeare.

I was cautiously optimistic. He sounded so lovely and he was named after one of my favourite writers. I’m a writer. Surely that was a sign!

Neverthless, the caution button was switched on. I was still dealing with the notion of horse ownership — something never to be taken lightly — and wanted to make a good decision based on facts, not fantasy. A horse to call my own had been a dream for so long tucked away that the dust of doubt had layered on pretty thick.

Was I really ready for such a commitment? For my dream to come true?

And why now?

One day, not long after the death of the horse I’d been part-boarding and while I was struggling with what to do next Lloyd, my loving partner, broached the subject with this statement:

“Perhaps it’s time you had your own horse.”

I was sort of dumbstruck, at first. A horse to call my own? Was it possible that a dream I’d held since childhood could come true this far along the road (I was in my early 40s) of my life journey?

Six weeks later, I was standing next to that cute and chunky four-year-old, his big soft eyes and enormously expressive, floppy ears a sure sign that he was, overall, a happy horse. Did I dare to think this gorgeous creature might be “the one?”

I watched intently as he was put through his paces in the arena, warm breath streaming from his relaxed nostrils with every breath. His movement was sublime.

Worth noting is that he’d been trained by one of Canada’s top Grand Prix dressage riders. I thought of my own training and the fact that I was nowhere near Grand Prix level. Shakespeare was being sold as a good amateur prospect. Even so, would this talented horse prove too much for me? And, worst of all, deep down inside me a niggling voice taunted … “Are you even worthy?”

When it was my turn to climb into the saddle I did my best to push that negativity aside. I would never know until I tried Shakespeare on for size.

Holy horsefeathers!

Walk … trot … canter — forward and laterally he felt so powerful, fluid, engaged. So solid. I’d never ridden a horse like him. It already felt like a fit, so much so I didn’t want to get off!

It was while Shakespeare was being put away that my then coach mentioned a slight hitch in his stride coming from his left hind leg. My gleeful, yet still guarded, heart sank just a little as we lingered outside Shakespeare’s stall. He hung his head over the half door, pulling faces and looking for attention, as if he was part of the conversation. So calm and engaging. Yes, so sweet.

I secretly hoped there was nothing wrong with that leg.

At home, our barn manager, an excellent horse man and my current coach, studied the video of my ride. Something was going on with that left hind leg but nothing, he thought, too serious. I was to make another appointment to see the horse in 10 days, after he’d been rested. Maybe whatever it was ( he could have pulled a muscle tripping in the icy paddock) would be cleared up by then.

Ten days later, we returned. Shakespeare had been rested so the first order of business — to check his movement and get rid of some of that extra energy … was some free jumping.

This was fun to watch. Shakespeare floated about that arena with unfettered joy, guided through a chute of three or four small jumps made gradually bigger by one of the trainers as the exercise progressed.

He was clearly enjoying himself and such a show-off! … And, he was obviously sound.

After watching him go under saddle again, it was my turn to pop on. The time passed too quickly. … Oh, he was lovely.

So, with the soundness issue cleared up, it was time for a big decision. Was I interested enough in this horse to go to the expense of a full veterinary examination?

What do you think?

The appointment was arranged for a week later. Since I was eager to see Shakespeare again and how he was under the stress of a close inspection, I went too.

For almost two hours he was poked and prodded, yet he couldn’t have cared less. No fuss. No muss. He actually seemed to enjoy the attention. Legs and feet x-rayed. Blood taken. Teeth checked. Eyes examined. Heart and breathing monitored. It was no big deal.

I could feel my heart beginning to open up, but I was still one “yay” or “nay” away from the “all clear.”

At home the wait was excruciating. I walked around numb inside for several days just waiting for the test results to come in.

It was while I was at the barn, one day, that the phone rang. I paid no attention until my then coach sought me out, threw her arms around me in a big hug and whispered in my ear:

“He’s yours.”

For a moment my head swam in disbelief. Could it be true? Was that beautiful horse really to be mine?

It took 24 hours for the wonderful news to find its rightful place in my heart. After that, it was all systems go as we prepared to bring Shakespeare home on the luckiest day of the year … St. Patrick’s Day!

Our very first photo together, taken just before Bear was put on the trailer to come home. … What do you think? Do we look happy?

And here we are, seven years later, still learning, growing and having fun together.

As we mark St. Patrick’s Day, I’m reminded of the luck that brought Bear and I together — a chance conversation with someone I’d never met and have seen only a couple of times since.

Perhaps that’s what luck is …  a simple opening of the heart and mind and the ability to welcome the manifestation of the longed-for dream no matter how unusual the timing or unexpected the circumstances.

When it’s meant to be, it will be.

Believe in your dreams, no matter how far away they seem, and keep your heart and mind open.

But first of all … have a dream.

Happy Anniversary, Bear!

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

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Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

A Dangerous Game

I love my horse.

Shakespeare is friend, teacher and therapist all bundled up in own big, brown, furry package, and a dream come true.

Occasionally, however, he’s an opinionated, demanding, obstinate [insert expletive here]. I don’t like when he leads me doe-eyed up the garden path and then unleashes his evil twin. It’s not nice.

And so we begin …

*

… Who knows what evil lurks …

When I arrived at the barn on Tuesday morning I was feeling good. Temps were hovering around zero; the sun was shining and I was looking forward to spending time with Bear and having a coaching — our first in more than 10 days.

At the paddock gate I called for Bear who was lingering at the far end of the two-acre pasture. Hearing my voice, he sauntered over all relaxed, and evidently happy, following a morning spent lolling in the sunshine and eating hay with his buddy, Sam.

As I groomed him I chanced to look through the barn window and across the driveway to the arena. Snow on the roof and the milder temps portended the risk of falling ice, the downside of a sunny day in February. However, with my half-hour lesson scheduled for 11:30 I figured it was early enough in the day for this not to matter. Early afternoon seems to be the tipping point for ice melt.

Besides, Bear was mellow yellow. He’d been ridden the two previous days, so was in good shape to handle a bit of extra stimulation. As a precaution, however, I turned him loose in the arena before getting on him. Just as I thought, he was fine — no drama. Ice toppled from the roof in a gentle cascade at one point and, while he flinched, he held his ground.

So, we were good.

I got on. We started our warm-up walk. Ice fell now and then. No big deal. Coach arrived and as things were going well I asked to extend the lesson to an hour.

“Sure!”

Great!

Bear and I went into our trot warm up. Coach worked his magic. He is the best kind of teacher for me. Technical, intuitive, patient and keenly interested in our progress. My skill set has been reinvented since I started working with him three years ago. Miraculous would be the word for it, especially since I’ve also been negotiating the pot holes of adrenal fatigue during this time. A couple of rounds of golf for Christmas hardly seems enough of a thank you for the difference this man has made in my life with Bear.

Still, I think he gets satisfaction from seeing the progress Bear and I are making. He likes Bear; sees he has talent and that he’s smart, and he wants me to ride him well and have fun with him safely.

So, yesterday Coach put us through our paces, the focus — connection.

Bear is savvy enough to know that connection means hard work — engaging the hind end; rounding through his back; being in the moment with me every step of the way. It’s challenging — for both of us — but we are at a point in our development where a consistent connection is integral to our progress and, on a day when ice is toppling off the roof at an ever-increasing rate, vital to our safety.

A good connection means that when Bear goes off the rails, for whatever reason, I can make the correction within a step or two instead of floundering through ten. He feels the weight of a secure connection to the bit through the reins and his body through my seat and legs and is confident I can get him through the spooky stuff. In turn I feel confident I can get him through it too.

At the trot we did this to brilliant effect.

Then it was time for canter work.

Canter, in general, has proven more of a challenge. My big-strided horse covers a lot of ground and synching our rhythm has been difficult, especially in recent years while I’ve been battling anxiety. During the past several weeks, however, things have started falling into place. With a lovely round of canter on Monday under my belt I was optimistic for our chances. Surely we could command a repeat performance, especially with Bear appearing so relaxed.

Perhaps you can imagine where this is going …

About the time we started the canter work, just after noon, the sky started to fall. One great crash of ice and my seemingly placid Bear lost his grip on reality.

Enter Mr. Hyde.

I was surprised. He’d been such a good boy and had suddenly turned into a brat!

“He’s not afraid of the ice — his timing is off,” said Coach noting the cool expression in Bear’s eyes, “He’s toying with you. We’re asking more of him now and he’s using the falling ice as an excuse to throw you off your game. … Who’s going to win?”

Enter Mrs. Hyde.

As conditions around us became more volatile, I confined our work to a 20 metre circle. Coach stood in the middle and called out a continuous stream of instructions to help me weather the storm of Shakespeare’s tempest and set him right.

Bear’s claws came out — first in the form of a mighty four-foot-off-the-ground twisting buck (the first of several free chiropractic adjustments ), followed by a scoot, a spook and then, the final straw — an abrupt stop and propulsion backwards.

Going backwards is difficult for a horse. Bear was making my life difficult by making his life difficult, when all I wanted was for him to go forward into a nice, sympathetic connection.

He was determined to test my determination.

Fine!

“You want to go backwards buddy … have at it!” I put my leg on and kept him going backwards (which is what he’d told me he wanted) until we almost backed into the kickboards. Then I tapped him sharply behind my leg with the whip to remind him who pays the bills (I always use the whip sparingly) and, while maintaining the connection he was so anxious to avoid, pressed him into the forward canter I wanted.

He was not happy about it, and tested me some more, but Bear’s bloodymindedness only made me more determined. There was no way he was getting away with this obnoxious behaviour.

The whole experience was exhausting both mentally and physically, but in the end Mr. Hyde receded into the shadow of Bear’s psyche and once again my boy was putty in my hands all achieved, I hasten to add, with a commitment to the integrity of the process and the help of a good coach.

I’m proud of this accomplishment even if marginally annoyed that he’d lulled me into a false sense of security in the first place. This experience has left me with the profound sense that if I can manage the importunate demands of a 1,200 lb horse flying off the handle, I should be able to handle pretty much anything.

As a horse mom it’s my responsibility to see that Bear engages appropriately with the world around him. Establishing boundaries and laying down the law in a horse-friendly way is part of that responsibility. Bear’s a honey but, like the testy child, he took advantage of my good nature, dragging me into a dangerous game in the process. It was a game in which I simply had to outsmart him. It was a game I had no choice but to win.

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

*

Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

The View from the Other Side of the Fence …

And now for something completely different …

Some time ago I started a blog dedicated to the sonnets of Shakespeare “The Equine.”

Poet’s Paddock was born of my love for the work of William Shakespeare and the crazy coincidence that my horse, Bear (his barn name), came into my life with the registered name of “Shakespeare,” (his father being “Shakespeare In Love”). The fact that I enjoy writing poetry also factored in.

The idea was to try to see the world through my horse’s eyes and write it down in verse. Since his name is Shakespeare, the sonnet seemed the natural form for the poetry to take.

(There is a little free verse and other rhyming schemes thrown in for good measure …)

It’s all very tongue-in-cheek and has proven to be a wonderfully fun outlet for my poetic inclinations.

So, when you have a quiet moment and an inclination to catch a glimpse of life on the farm from the other side of the fence , feel free to visit Poet’s Paddock.

Shakespeare will enjoy your company.

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy

*

Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

The Happy Place

Strange weather, here in southern Ontario. A veritable roller coaster ride of temperatures and precipitation.

Last Wednesday, following a week of brutal sub-zero temperatures, we experienced a record high of 12C. With it all the snow of the previous week melted away, and the accompanying rainfall reduced the paddocks to a mass of mucky chaos. There’s nothing quite like negotiating a bog at the paddock gate and trying to extricate your horse without letting his paddock buddy bully his way out at the same time. It can be quite the dance. (Note to self: wear your wellies …)

Then on Thursday temperatures plummeted again.

The once sloppy mud holes by the gate froze into menacing rock-hard craters. Fetching Bear was an entirely different experience. The gate, which usually swings freely, had to be lifted over this quasi moonscape in order to clear a gap wide enough to squeeze Bear through. Meanwhile, he’s tripping over the unforgiving terrain while I’m praying he doesn’t wrench an ankle in the process.

And then … the mighty wind …

Before bringing Bear in I checked the wood and corrugated steel arena to see how noisy it was in there. It’s wont to rattle and hum under the stress of buffeting elements. The exposed northwest corner is a particularly spooky spot.

The winds were battering against its sides with a consistent drone and the occasional crash. Still, I figured if Bear had a chance to run about and get acclimated on his own, we might be able to have our lesson as scheduled. With this in mind, I groomed and tacked him up as usual and hoped for the best.

“Are you going to ride today?” a fellow horse mom asked uncertainly as she watched me getting ready.

“It depends,” I replied.

With horses it’s always useful to have an open mind. Decisions depend on what’s happening in the moment. In this case, everything hinged on Bear’s reaction to the whirlwind whipping wildly just beyond the arena walls.

With helmet on head, and Bear in hand, I trudged from the small barn through the gale to the arena. Once there I removed Bear’s sweat sheet, tied up his reins and set him loose. As expected, he bucked and reeled and snorted and flew in giant galloping strides from one end to the other. This continued for a couple of minutes until he finally stopped, faced me and, with a nod of his lowered head, indicated he was done.

“Hmmmm … Perhaps I can ride after all,” I thought optimistically.

I started to walk over to him. Bear looked relaxed enough. His neck was outstretched; his head, as I said, low. He’d found his happy place.

Then a crash of wind belted those corrugated walls and changed everything. A spike of adrenalin plunged with force through Bear’s prey animal veins — his head shot up; eyes bulged; ears pricked; nostrils flared; tail agitated; feet restless.

He eyeballed me for assurance.

“It’s okay, Bear,” I called gently while quietly continuing to approach.

I halted some 15 feet in front my snorting Bear and, with a gentle tilt of my shoulders in the quiet way of the horse, encouraged him to return to his happy place. His big, brown eyes softened as he began to relax his neck and back and lower his head again. In horse body language, head level or lower is a happy place.

… Bear in his happy place …

I stepped up and, with a pat on the neck and a sugar lump, reassured him that everything was okay. Then we walked hither and yon around the arena, Bear following me of his own free will like a giant puppy dog.

Meanwhile, the winds continued to roar their chaos. Violent gusts shocked the arena — rattling doors, whistling through cracks, banging the walls and quaking the roof … over here … over there … everywhere! Bear flinched a few times but, feeling safe in my presence, remained in his happy place as we continued our walk.

To test our progress I stopped near the spooky northwest corner and had Bear stand with his hind end to it. I walked on a further 10 feet and then turned to face him. My goal was to have Bear keep his focus on me, and his happy place, regardless of how agitated the arena became in the grips of Mother Nature’s fury. I’ve done this before when ice is  crashing off the roof. It works like a charm.

He managed well. When he became rattled he responded right away to my signal for the happy place. At one point a gust of wind banged against the wall nearby with such ferocity it even made me jump. Bear responded by side stepping over until he was standing beside me. We became each other’s port in a storm.

Our riding lesson turned into an unexpected session of ground work, but in the end it was exactly what we needed. There’s more than one way to ride out a storm. Finding, and being still in, your happy place is perhaps the best way of all.

Besides, there’s something magical about a horse choosing to stay when his flight instinct could so easily chase him away.

I must be doing something right.

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

*

Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

“Bear … what have you done?”

Somewhere out in Poet’s Paddock (for that is what I lovingly call Shakespeare’s playpen), there is a chunk of skin — about 4″ by 1″ — with my horse’s hair on it.

Alas, a horse is a horse, of course, of course …

I noticed as I was grooming him yesterday afternoon that his right foreleg below the knee was puffy. I felt around with my fingers. He flinched a little.

“What have you done, Bear?” I asked him in as stern a voice as I dare.

He gave me the wooly eyeball and stretched his neck out as he yawned.

I moved around to his left foreleg and crouched behind it to get a backward look at the afflicted right leg.

“Oh, Bear!” I wailed, the stillness of the frigid barn air amplifying my misery. “How did you do that?”

He bobbed his head up and down. Not complaining just … miserable. He’s not used to injury.

I reached out my hand and gently touched the area around an ugly red, but now dry (because of the cold), scrape that stretch from just below his knee to halfway down the inside of his cannon bone and neighbouring tendon and ligaments. It was puffy with inflammation. He flinched again, slightly.

I felt his left leg to compare. It was nice and smooth and tight. I patted it and stood up.

Bear didn’t need to tell me how he’d managed to hurt himself. I had a pretty good idea of  my own.

He and his buddy, Sam, had likely been play fighting to keep warm. I imagine Bear had been rearing at one point and as he was coming back to earth his left foot, with its metal shoe, came scraping down the inside of his right leg, tearing a chunk of his beautiful skin right off.

We’re lucky, I dare say, that the damage isn’t any worse.

I took a deep breath and wondered what to do next. In all the years I’ve had Bear he’s been an incredibly easy keeper. First aid has become fourth aid I use it so rarely. Trouble is now that particular nurturing muscle is, to put it lightly, weak.

I decided to summon Paul, the go-to guy at the barn, who was busy bringing horses in from the cold.

“What do you think I should do?” I asked, slightly bewildered.

He thought a moment. He is a gentle man of few words.

“Wrap him up. The cold weather will help.”

Now, I haven’t applied a stable wrap in years and I wondered, as we stood in the barn braced by the cold, if I would even be able to find my set of bandages. For a moment I felt frozen in time. Then, while Paul mulled where he might find some extras, I strode purposefully to the tack room and dug through the storage bin above my locker.

It didn’t take long to recover the four white cottons and bright red stable wraps neatly packaged and protected in a clear plastic bag at the bottom of the container. Thank goodness! It was like greeting an old friend you hoped never to see again because their presence always spells trouble. I had not looked at them, literally, in seven years, but in that moment I was relieved to have renewed our acquaintance.

But now I had to remember how to use them?

It’s important to wrap a horse’s leg properly so as not to cause any [further] injury. And not just one leg, but two! Both front legs needed to be wrapped to create stability. Horses, beautiful as they are, are full of design flaws. Two much stress on the compensating leg will mess it up too.

With cottons and bandages in hand I crouched down beside Bear’s right front leg. After some basic re-orientation with my tools, I began the unwieldy task of securing a cotton around Bear’s boo-booed leg. Then, carefully, I wound the wrap around it, at an even and firm, but not tight, tension. It should support the leg, not cut off circulation. When I was finished and satisfied with the result, I secured the bandage with masking tape. I surprised myself … the quality of the bandage was, I dare say after so many years, good.

Bear, bless him, was a brave boy. He stood quietly the entire time, only looking at me askance when the intervals between carrots were becoming too long.

When I was finished grooming, (and as is our usual daily routine because, I’ll admit, I spoil him rotten,) I soothed his spirits (and mine) by giving him a lavender aromatherapy facial massage. He loves that. And, once back in his stall, Bear happily indulged in his pile of precious hay and impatiently whinnied for his treat bucket as if nothing was amiss.

For my part, I guess, I shall have to stop by the tack shop on my way to the barn today and pick up some turnout boots. If I can’t trust him not to hurt himself he’ll need to wear suitable armour.

And, I dare say, I shall need to give my little darling a few more days to rest, relax and recuperate.

Truth be told, I have a feeling Bear knows exactly what he’s done …

*

The miserable quality of the photograph says it all …

Poor baby …

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

*

Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

The Party Animal

So, apparently, Bear is a party animal.

When Christine entered the small barn early one morning last week to feed the hungry hordes their morning hay ration, she was greeted, quite unexpectedly, by the blanketed derriere of an escapee … my Bear.

“How did you get out?” she asked astonished.

It was a good question.

Now, it’s not unusual for the bored and resourceful horse to pop his head over the half-door and fidget with the fastened latch. Their lips, practiced at maneuvering edibles, are strong and flexible and easily grab hold of all kinds of [forbidden] objects.

Several of the 10 horses living in Bear’s cozy barn have proven adept at unfastening their stall doors and so are now on lock-down at night.

My “butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth” Bear happens to be one of them.

This is because a few years ago he made his first, and supposedly last, great escape. He was discovered, one morning, chowing down on the contents of a 50 lb sack of carrots, evidence of his one-horse aisle party littered all about him. You could tell where he’d been and which of the other horses he’d visited by the trail of hay and manure left in his wake.

Thus, to curb his lust for channeling Houdini, a stall security system was devised that could not, under any circumstances, be manipulated by wandering equine lips.

So, it was, indeed, a great surprise to find, once again, that he’d been making the rounds as the quintessential party animal – feasting upon the morning’s stored ration of hay, fertilizing the poured concrete floor and fraternizing with his barn buddies. He was enjoying a conversation with his old pal, Doc, when Christine intervened.

But how the heck had he escaped in the first place?

Later that day a small herd of barn mom’s congregated around Bear’s stall door and studied the latch for several minutes.

One enterprising horse mom, Bears “gammy,” took a step stool into his stall, climbed upon it and, when we had closed the door behind her, proceeded to pretend to be Bear by leaning over the door and a) reaching for the latch to fiddle with the lock with her fingers as a horse might with his lips, and b) rattling the door by leaning her body against it repeatedly and thus some how releasing the mechanism.

We deduced, after a good laugh, that it would have been impossible for him to tamper with the latch. No amount of door rattling or lip gymnastics would have given him an out.

The only conclusion we could reach was that the door must not have been properly latched in the first place. Bear, being the rich opportunist that he is, would have noticed this when leaning on the door some time during the night and taken full advantage of the situation by pushing it all the way open to let himself out.

Party!

Still, no harm done, except that Bear was rather dopey that day, standing in the paddock catching up on zzzz’s instead of voraciously eating, which is his usual habit. Something, I think it can safely be said, that is true of party animals the world over.

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

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Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

So you think the horse does all the work …

“So you think the horse does all the work …”

It’s easy to understand how someone unfamiliar with the way of the horse might get this impression.

First of all, when we observe a horse “at work” the effort he’s putting in is obvious. His powerful legs stir the air beneath him as he prances and leaps in airs above the ground. His nostrils snort with every breath, a healthy foaming froth coats his lips, his ears are pricked and attentive, and his tail flies loosely and wildly in his wake.

Yes, his animation certainly would give the impression that the rider, perched on a leather lily pad and stylishly attired, is doing seemingly nothing of any great consequence to contribute to the overall picture.

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Thoughts such as these crossed my mind today as I sat in an exhausted, collapsed heap upon Bear’s back following a lengthy turn astride his powerful canter.

My legs, my hips, my abs achingly reminded me of my mortality, and the fact that I must be patient with myself as I re-establish my form following a six-week hiatus.

And my head echoed with the voice of my absent coach:

“Lift your left hand up and your right heel will drop.” … “Sit more on the front of your seat bones.” … “Bring your left hip forward a quarter inch.” … “Bring your outside shoulder forward.” … “Push him round the corner with your outside leg.” … “Move your hips through the whole cycle of Bear’s canter stride.” … “Post the whole trot stride; you’re only covering 80%.” … “Use your inside leg for the bend.” … “Sit down!” … “Sit up!” … “Lean back!” … “Not that far back!” … “Relax your thighs.” … “Ride the next step.” … “Ride athletically.” … “Ride with intention.” … “Bring your right leg more underneath you.” … “Put more weight in your lower leg.” … “Look where you’re going.” … “Shorten your reins a couple of inches.” … and my personal favourite … ”Stop trying so hard.”

All of these things (and more!), were I able to organize them in such a way that made sense to my middle-aged grey matter, would help me to create and maintain consistently a forward pace with Bear’s energy in front of my leg, a steady rhythm, straightness and independent seat (i.e. balance), all of which would have the desired effect of making Bear look good … effortlessly.

Bear, to his credit, is surprisingly tolerant of my attempts to do him justice.

I, on the other hand, and often in spite of the ongoing encouragement I receive from my ever-patient coach, experience the self-loathing and frustration one feels when, for the 1000th time, the sequence of cues gets jumbled in my head and my body position won’t cooperate, sending Bear mixed messages which he patiently endures, most of the time. Self-awareness on the back of a 1,200 pound four-hooved power ball takes a lot of concentration.

When I do get it right (and this is happening more frequently, thank goodness) and Bear is moving like a dream (which is what keeps me coming back for more), he likes to test me to see if I’m really paying attention. For it must be remembered, he is a sentient being with a mind of his own and when all is said and done I must continuously earn his complete and abiding trust, don’t you know …

Of course, his questions are conveyed by his body language, so I must be paying attention.

Here’s an example.

Bear’s feet planted; eyes bulging, staring into the distance, ears pointed straight up and body braced could mean (there are so many meanings …) “What are the sequence of aids required to prevent me from spooking at that barely discernible shadow on the wall beside letter marker “A” 100 feet away?”

Or, how about this pop test: “Hey! Sit to this!” — as he suddenly and without warning executes a half pirouette to the left in response to ice crashing off the roof to his right. (This is a trick question with no warning. Ice crashes right; Bear spooks left; I grab his mane, close my legs and sit back holding on for dear life. The trick is my ability to stay on board. … Fortunately he doesn’t test me with this one too often.)

To avoid these impromptu examinations of my equitation skills, not only must I ride the step we’re in but I must be aware of the next step as well, making sure my body language is consistent with what my brain is telling me it wants Bear and I to execute next, all while being prepared for just about anything as we go. In fact, I must be several steps ahead in my thinking while riding in the moment, and be as aware of our surroundings as Bear if we are to avoid any of his off-hand, high-headed, high jinx.

The irony is that what I’m really trying to achieve is the ability to stay out of my horse’s way so he can look brilliant and I can look like I’m just sitting there.

Bear’s powerful extended trot; his elevated, relaxed, round-backed canter; the stretch through his top line — all of this he can achieve on his own. I’ve seen him do so in the paddock and when he’s free lunging in the arena. So really, all he needs me to do is find my balance athletically and stay centered in his motion while he does what comes naturally … on my cue, of course. It should look effortless for the rider, but effortless takes a lot of work!

Still not convinced?

Never mind. … I’ll nurse my aching back and hips with yet another visit to the chiropractor and leave you to marvel in the glory of the horse and wallow in your little fantasy world.

You’re right … the horse does all the work.

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

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Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012

Good Vibrations

My cellphone rang almost as soon as I’d posted my last blog entry. Okay, it vibrated.

(I’ve turned the ringer off as I don’t care to hear every ping and horn blow that emanates from incoming messages. … Of course, this means I’ve missed a few phone calls … )

They were good vibrations, to be sure. Bear was being an absolute star in his new surroundings. Christine’s note read:

“Bear was fantastic and settled sooooo well no need to lunge he was nice and melo.” (Don’t you love cellphone slang.) “[Coach] is really happy with him! Tomorrow should be really great and Sunday in our lesson even better.”

Feeling my heart swell with pride, I texted my well wishes and relaxed. Everything was going to be alright. My boy was fine … and I would be too.

Then yesterday I witnessed this for myself.

It was Bear’s chance to shine in the clinic.

Christine rode him beautifully, so confident and sympathetic in her manner. In response, Bear’s ears were pricked forward and attentive. He was forward and enjoying his leaps and bounds over the jumps. It was obvious he was thoroughly enjoying his experience. He’s such a scopey horse … powerful, athletic and with a reasonable enough mind that he can tackle happily pretty much anything asked of him under the right leadership. Christine demonstrates the appropriate leadership.

So, yesterday morning, while I toasted my tootsies in the viewing lounge and took pictures through the window, Christine put Bear through his paces.

He warmed up well on the flat and then over fences. The clinician focused on what Christine could do to get the best from Bear and Christine made it work. Bear was totally responsive and jumped like a charm. I felt proud all over again. Don’t they look fabulous? Pretty good for a dressage horse, don’t you think? He loved being a jumper for a day.

When all was said and done, Bear and Christine had a great experience. I’m so happy for them both.

And I’m happy for me and the way I, as Bear’s mom, handled him being out of my control for 48 hours.

First of all, his happy personality and good behaviour while in the care of another off property confirms, yet again, that I’ve done my job as his steward. It tells me he has matured well.

It also tells me that my personal evolution during the six-plus years Bear has been in my life has been a positive growth experience for me too. He reflects to me the grounded, happy person I have become.

Who could ask for more? …

Bear gets to hang out in the paddock and be a pasture ornament for the next couple of days. On Wednesday it’s back to our old routine. He’ll need to shift into dressage gear once again and be patient with his (old) mom as I return to the saddle after a five-week hiatus and get my mind and muscles back into riding mode.

What a prospect.

Still, I’m looking forward to finding our rhythm again and creating our own good vibrations. Our training ended on a good note before I left for Australia … so I’m hopeful.

But that’s a story for another day …

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

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Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012

I Wish The Silly Phone Would Ring …

It’s been more than a month since my last post on this blog. This has everything to do with the fact we’ve been away to Australia (by way of Hawaii) for a family wedding and I’ve had, by choice, no access to a computer to do blog posts. When I go away it is AWAY!

While we were travelling my young friend, C, horse-sat for me.

Bear is familiar with C and trusts her so I always know when I’m away that he’s in good hands and will be just fine.

And he has been just fine. So much so, in fact, that C texted asking if she could take my boy to a hunter clinic at a beautiful farm about an hour from home, over-nighting him for two nights and riding him in the clinic on Sunday morning. She would spend the first couple of days orienting him to his new surroundings. As we already know, Bear does not like surprises.

After giving it some thought I decided “Why the heck not?” C’s been taking good care of him. The training has been going well and it’ll be good for him to get off property. The last time I took him to another barn for some coaching was more than a year ago.

How time flies.

So, for her Christmas present I’m paying for C to ride Bear in a clinic featuring one of Canada’s top hunter/jumper riders, Ryan Roy.

As you already know, if you’ve been following this blog at all, Bear’s primary discipline with me is classical dressage. For fun, occasionally, C will put him through his jumping paces for me. C is 22 years old and her passion for riding over fences is intact. I lost mine several years ago following a freak accident.

But never mind about that right now.

At present, C is getting Bear and her horse, Riley, settled into their temporary digs. My cellphone is poised by the computer as I type this and I await word on how Bear’s enjoying this new adventure. I don’t want to appear to be an over-bearing mother so am resisting the urge to call or text, but the waiting is pretty close to crazy making.

Still, I am confident that both he and C will have fun and enjoy this experience together. On Sunday morning I’ll watch them be put through their paces for an hour, a proud horse mom with camera in hand and heart on her sleeve.

This is the first time I’ve let Bear out of my sight off property.

Hmmmm … I’m guessing these feelings of anticipation and, dare I say, worry are pretty much akin to how a mom must feel when she sends her child off to school for the first time … … At least it’s as close an experience to this as I’ll ever have.

I wish the silly phone would ring …

Nurture what you love …

Dorothy
Horse Mom

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Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012