The Day I Fell Off (A Story about Trust)

          Anyone who has spent any amount of time knows what I’m talking about – falling off.  When I first learned to ride, that’s pretty much what I thought riding was – climbing on, clinging as long as possible, falling off, rinse and repeat.  Literally:  rinse the dirt out of my mouth, climb back on and do it again.  Eventually, falling off got to hurting more, and staying on got to be a goal.  Now that I’m older, falling off hurts A LOT more, and I spend quite a bit of time thinking about staying on. 

          Last spring, I fell off in a big way.  We were riding in the outdoor arena, working on our stops.  If you’ve watched reining, or ridden reining, you know what that’s about.  It’s about running the length of the arena at top speed, and then asking your horse to stop.  If all is right in the world, the horse will tuck his hind legs under and slide to a stop.  Really cool if it’s right.  Really scary if it’s not. 

          On this particular day, we were taking our game to the next level.  I had been going to shows and getting scores of 69.  I wanted 72’s.  To get there, we had to take a risk.  We had to push our maneuvers to the next level, which means going faster, running harder, and trusting more.  That’s what we were doing on that Saturday morning.  I was running him harder to his stops, and he was trying harder in his stops.  Unfortunately, I mistook trying harder for doing more.  I thought that I needed to push more with my body, to sit back farther, to steer with my hand.  Inadvertently, I took away the trust I had with Sergio.  Going slow, I trusted that he could perform the maneuver with me aboard as a passenger.  Going faster, suddenly I was grabbing the steering wheel, pushing the gas pedal and working the clutch.  Sergio was confused.  In fact, he looked back at me a couple of times as if to say, “What are you doing?  I don’t understand this new language you are speaking.”

          The ultimate result was that he came into the ground crooked, his back end slaloming off to the right, his front end jarring into the ground.  I popped up out of the saddle and off to the right.  I had a moment to clutch at the saddle, but all I saw below was dirt.  So I fell off.  It was not pretty.  I left my own slide tracks with my butt and hip.  As I crawled around, alternately pressing my forehead into the dirt in pain and fumbling for my glasses, I wanted to quit.  I was pushed beyond my limit, and scared.  Truly scared, and this is not something I enjoyed one bit.  But I knew that I had to get back on, to try the stop again, and do it quickly before the fear really set in.  I didn’t need to worry about Sergio’s fear, he understands forgiveness, and offers it up most of the time.

          As I climbed back on, knowing I was going to have a beautiful bruise and maybe some swelling, my hands were shaking.  My heart was pounding, my thoughts were racing.  Even as I readied myself to do it again, I was coming up with excuses not to.  Instead, I pointed him to the other end of the pen and kissed.  Or at least I pursed my dry lips together and squeezed my shaking legs.  Sergio took off for the other end of the arena.  As we loped, I told myself that I absolutely had to trust Sergio to do his job.  I had to let go of driving and be the passenger (or I would die).  It worked; we stopped bigger than we had all day.  We quit on that one, but the lesson was learned.

          The tricky thing about trust is that it is easy to give when I am in control.  When Sergio is providing the impulsion, locked in and doing his job, it’s a lot harder to trust.  I noticed, too, that the trust can quietly erode away when we don’t challenge ourselves as a team.  If I get in the habit of riding the maneuvers at home at a medium pace, I lose the trust I have in pushing ourselves to go faster.  Then we are right back in the same situation, I’m trying to drive and he’s sitting in the driver’s seat. 

         The thing about the stop is that you absolutely cannot Flinch.  As you are flying down the length of the arena, you must remain calm.  Your middle must be supple, your legs relaxed, your hand down.  I repeat the words of my coach – your hand down.  No really, you must put your hand down.  If you pick your hand up, it is equivalent to putting your foot on the clutch.  The engine revs but the car slows down.  If you are focused on the end of the arena and your jaw is set, your eyes are up, your body is flowing with the horse, and the pounding of his hooves fill your head … then, whoa.  The horse (who is now one with you) drops out from under you, your body rocks from side to side as he powers to hold on to the ground.  You can hear the friction of his sliders on the arena base, and it is a deep moan that echoes in your chest.  There is no thought at this time, no worry or wonder, and no doubt.  It is simply, “Whoa.”

Competitive Heart

 I once knew a horse who loved to compete.  You could ride him in the warm up pen for hours, but when he entered the show pen, he was a different horse.  He loved the run in patterns best.  I think it was because he could make a big entrance and wow the judges with a huge stop.

         I loved to cheer for him.  I would chuckle as he stood before the gate with his eyes half closed.  He was just waiting, confident that today he would get applause, today the judges would love him, today he would win.  It was so much fun to watch the judges sit up in their chair when he came in.  Here was a horse who wanted to compete, here was a horse who tried hard, here was a horse with heart.
         What is a competitive heart? When looking at horses, can you see it? A competitive heart is hard to define, but easy to spot.  Horses with heart come in all shapes and sizes, but they are the ones that people remember.  They are the ones who overcame odds, who tried the hardest, who never doubted - even when their rider did.  Secretariat, Sea Biscuit, the Black Stallion, and now War Horse; our stories are filled with tales of heart. A horse with heart draws an audience.
Riding a horse with a competitive heart, on the other hand, isn’t as easy as it would seem.  These horses will run until they’re hurt, will give too much, and end up broken.  Their desire to win is greater than the pain they feel.  

Not trying hard enough is equally dangerous.  Holding back a competitive horse by not showing seriously, by showing tentatively, or by making mistakes too often can frustrate the horse.  He will express his frustration in a variety of ways, many of them destructive in the show pen.

"The rider must know when to guide and when to ride."

         A competitive heart requires a bold rider.  The rider must know when to guide and when to ride.  There has to be a trust relationship between the rider and the horse. The rider has to be definite in his actions, and confident. The confidence is important, because the rider has to trust the horse. When it is time to compete, the rider's role is to guide the horse through the maneuvers, and let the horse do the showing.
If you have ever had the opportunity to ride one of these special horses, you understand what I'm talking about. Horses with heart will change you, they will challenge you to be better. They ask us to rise up to their level, to trust their desire, and to be their partner in the win.


What is your story about an extraordinary horse?

To Forgive is Equine

Definition of FORGIVE (Merriam-Webster Dictionary)transitive verb
1a : to give up resentment of or claim to requital for <forgivean insult>

Resentment is a surly word.  Someone who feels resent is called resentful.  As if you can’t be just a little, you have to be full.  To resent is to fail to forgive, to carry around bad feelings, to be full of bad feelings.

          Contrarily, forgiving is to let go of the resentment.  Is it to empty oneself of the surliness?  Maybe.  Certainly it is to move on, to go forward, and to accept a change in attitude.

 A forgiving individual definitely carries the lighter burden.

          Last year, I learned a lot about forgiveness.  I learned that the act of forgiving benefits the giver much more than the receiver.  As I said above, to forgive is to lay down a burden.

          My mom's big, beautiful buckskin mare, Belle, gave me a lesson in forgiving.  In riding, forgiveness is a constant transaction.  As I ride, my heavy hands offend my horse’s sensibilities.  A quick jerk, an accidental spur, an unintended shift in weight – these are all transgressions in the partnership I have with my horse.  

          Belle has her trespasses against me, too.  A slow response to my leg cue, a pulling on the bit rather than softening collection, and not speeding up during the run down to the sliding stop; she is an individual with an opinion as well.  

       However, Belle has the superior trait of forgiveness.  She lets me know when I cross the line with a flick of her tail, shake of her head, or unwillingness to follow my direction.  Once I quit the offensive behavior, she relaxes and we are a team again.  She’s not anticipating the next time I make a mistake, or lecturing me for the last one, she’s just riding with me, in the present.

I've been working on that as a rider.  

To start with, I used the breaks in riding to check in.  Belle has learned to sigh during these breaks (thanks, Mom!), and after an intense transaction, she will look back at me as if to prompt me to sigh, too. 

So I do.

I use the sigh to relax my muscles and my brain.  As I worked on this, and I got more comfortable with the forgiving attitude, I was able to shorten my time from the mistake to letting go.  Belle might have a different opinion, but I think that I am able to forgive on the fly, which clears us for the next maneuver and challenge.  Someday, I hope to be like her and forgive right away.

Should I Geld Him?

          Sergio (Itsgoodtobeapepto) is a son of Peptoboonsmal out of a big, beautiful daughter of Doc O Lena.  I have owned him for four years, having purchased him from Todd Crawford's place when he was four.
          I am a Nonpro Reiner.  I have been riding and showing reining horses for over 10 years.  After owning a couple of confidence-breaking geldings, riding Sergio was a breath of fresh air.  I enjoyed riding a horse who was interested in my thoughts and opinions only after he checked out the mares in the area.  His confidence has given me confidence.

          He has always been a gentleman, and never so stud-ish that I was afraid.  My twelve-year old daughter has ridden him, and she leads him around safely.  Again, he is always well-behaved, keeping his head down near her and walking quietly to wherever she leads.  Unfortunately, as a stud, my daughter cannot show him.
          He has performed well in the show pen, for both of my trainers and for me.  He has grace and beauty.  He has been shown in cowhorse a handful of times, where he has been a great competitor.  He has won a couple of buckles, and he clearly enjoys it.  He has also done well as a reining competitor.  One of my trainers won the Intermediate Open year end award in our affiliate on him this past year.  The prior year, I won third in the Novice Horse Nonpro division.
          My trainer has advised me to geld him.  He thinks that my daughter would be more competitive if she showed this horse, and he says that if I am not going to breed or promote him, I do not need to own a stallion.  He also thinks that Sergio would be worth more if he were a gelding.
          Sergio's semen have low motility, making shipping it near impossible.  I have attempted to promote him in the past, but I have a full-time job and my trainer has other more successful studs in his barn.  So Sergio's exposure is limited.
          I am in conflict.
          I am afraid to cut him.  The way he is now is wonderful.  He's engaging and fun, he is in beautiful physical shape, and we are competitive in the show pen.  It seems a waste of great bloodlines to take away the opportunity to breed him.  My vet is confident he could settle a mare if the mare were inseminated on site, with fresh semen.
          I am afraid of what he will become and what I will lose if I geld him.
          Does anyone have experience with this?  What is your advice?

Barn Time

Photo by Johnny Magnusson via Freestockphotos.net

          Whenever I go to the barn, I find that the passage of time changes.  My sister calls this "being present."  What she means is that she is fully in the moment while she is in the barn, even if it's cleaning stalls.  
          C.S. Lewis says that living in the present is the closest we will ever come to eternity during this lifetime.  Reflecting back on the times I have been in the present with my horse, I agree.  When I spend time with Sergio, I focus only on him, and the effect is meditative.  When I am done, I feel refreshed and ready to face the world again.
          How I get there is simple now, but it wasn't always easy.  The pressures of life and the long list of things to do always seemed to come between me and my joy.  By following these three steps, I am able to enjoy my time at the barn (most of the time).
1)  Give myself permission to spend all the time I need.
2)  Schedule this time and stick to it.
3)  Do not hurry, and follow a routine to prepare my mind for this time.
          Something about spending time with Sergio fills me with joy.  Time stretches out, and I am not hurrying anymore.  In the couple of hours it took me to ride and groom him, time seemed to be a friend.

Spending that many hours in the saddle gave a man plenty of time to think.  That's why so many cowboys fancied themselves Philosophers.  ~Charles M. Russell