One of the most undervalued groups of horsemen is the barn worker. These are the men and women, girls and boys who care for our horses and many do it to the point of utter pampering.
Some are barn owners. Some are hired workers while others are working off their board. Some have lived in the area all their lives, others are immigrant workers working hard to support their families the same way our ancestors did.
They clean our stalls, bring our Pookie Baby in and out of pasture and if we’re lucky change their blankets or sheets, wraps or boots. They water and feed our horses whether it be hot, cold, rainy or snowy. My horse’s worker, a full time employee, calls me to tell me of lost shoes or any other problems. Since I own a ‘delicate‘ Thoroughbred, this means he calls me regularly! He’ll jump into my trailer to add more bedding if I call him. He‘s my eyes when I‘m not there. Words cannot express how much I appreciate him and yes, even though he’s paid to be a barn worker by the stable owner.
I appreciate him because I used to be just like him.
When I was young I had to work in barns in order to be around horses. I did it for little or no pay, and often seven days a week. My reward was riding a bunch of different horses whose owners couldn’t make it to the barn, were afraid to ride or just didn’t want to.
This experience has left me with a bunch of different stories and here’s one of them.
One of the places I worked in was a high end barn with high end horses and boarders. Many of these horses were worth a lot of money and would routinely hit the big shows. Their riders, mostly teenage girls my age, would show up to the barn sporting the latest in equine fashion and sparkly clean equipment.
Meanwhile, I schlubbed around the barn working like a dog, a dirty, dusty, smelly, sweaty girl.
All the girls had these big beautiful custom fiberglass tack boxes in the stable’s colors with contrasting lettering of the owners initials. Those tack boxes were so very pretty, in grey and silver with flashy maroon accents. I coveted…. Yes coveted those tack boxes into my adulthood.
I would come to the barn with plastic bags for my stuff. I also did THAT well into my adulthood.
I’d watch these girls take endless lessons looking flawless as they did their thing, hair perfect, horses glistening but never them.
I once sat on a dead rat while watching them and didn’t realize it for half an hour. When I got up, it stuck to my ass from my sweat.
Their clothing was often custom tailored in various elegant color schemes.
Mine were second hand and during a show the zipper got stuck in the down position. Try showing with your hands trying to hide a busted zipper belly…. And jump!
None of them ever seemed to notice me much less talk to me as I was simply not on their radar. They would however bark orders and the few times one might talk to me for a moment, I would still somehow feel honored. It was as if the Gods had deemed me momentarily worthy to be spoken to.
You see, I was nothing but the barn worker.
So now years have passed and I’m the owner of a show horse. I don’t have a gray, silver and maroon monogrammed fiberglass tack trunk, but I do have a lovely custom wooden one though it bears no initials.
Now there’s a barn worker for my horse and I remember. I remember how it was for me. I remember when I see other boarders really take them for granted or take advantage of them.
So whenever the opportunity presents itself I try to be nice to my barn worker as he is, after all, my first line of defense. My horse’s first line of defense.
If it’s a Sunday morning I might bring coffee or donuts. I tip him very well at Christmas – VERY well. I toss him money for lunch from time to time. I do not make unreasonable demands.
For this, and because he’s a good guy, my horse is happy. They get along great and even when my horse is feeling perky and playful, I know he’s handled correctly and good naturedly – not coddled, but fairly disciplined or just laughed at whatever the situation requires.
Thank you to my horse’s dear barn worker!
(As a side note: In the future the subject of immigration reform in the US will become the topic of the day. I support fair immigration reform as I do not believe in the splitting of families and I know the impact mass deportations would have on agriculture and the horse world. Everything from the production of hay and foodstuffs for both horses and humans to the day to day care of our horses will be affected, something to consider. Securing boarders along with a path to citizenship seems a fair balance.)
Throughout the years I’ve been in all sorts of clinics and have usually done well in them. Part of this is the fact that psychologically I do not get overwhelmed by the whole clinic situation and I do not freeze up in front of people. But when it came to dressage clinics and even lessons, from the very beginning I was a lame ass. Not because of intimidation but rather because I was so very willing to be “molded” into something new by the instructor or clinician, as if dressage was a totally different entity from every other type of riding.
As I’ve mentioned before I’d been riding for decades prior to beginning my dressage journey. I had shown and even managed shows ranging from local shows to nationally rated ones. I even volunteered to judge 4H classes a couple of times, though I never accepted any money for it. The point is that apparently I possessed a certain level of competency.
But when I started riding dressage I fell prey to the idea that I had to throw out everything I knew and begin anew, an equestrian “virgin” of sorts. And so, when I started with dressage lessons and clinics I’d go into each experience very bubbly and excited, but then ride like a spazz. It was as if for every moment of every stride I’d do nothing, waiting for the instructor or clinician to mold me into some dressage diva. As a result, I sucked. I mean I really sucked.
My newfound incompetence lasted (embarrassingly) for years and cost both time and money. No one ever clued me in that I was doing it. Certainly the instructor or clinician didn’t have a clue as they’d never seen me in my prior days doing things like jumping 4 foot fences bareback. Time went on and I continued to embrace my stupidity and naivete with a passion and was completely unaware I was doing so.
Now none of this stemmed from a bad place really, other than I’d been taught that riding dressage was akin to finding some sort of equine Valhalla. I was willing to toss aside everything and anything I had ever learned to learn the lofty discipline of dressage. I was so sure that riding dressage was as foreign to riding other disciplines as foreign could be despite the fact that somewhere in my brain I knew better.
Then one day in a Zettl clinic something in my brain snapped back into place. The way he was teaching and the things he was telling me to do left me unable to be so dependant on his molding of me. He just got me to RIDE and I had to depend on prior knowledge and experiences to do so. He challenged me to do things I hadn’t learned to do. One of those things was a canter pirouette. I am sure he knew me incapable of it, but he wanted to challenge me and see how I would handle the situation. He wanted to see me RIDE. So I positioned myself best I knew how from years gone by, and gave it a go. In one direction it was not so bad and it ended up more to be a ten meter circle. On the other side, more like a fifteen meter circle. Thing is, at the time, I couldn’t do a ten meter circle nor a fifteen. But in RIDING the attempt at pirouette, suddenly the impossible was there.
That was my time of surprise and of entering Horse Nervana.
At that moment I had to rely on prior knowledge and after doing so he excitedly encouraged me with a “Yah Madam, now you are cooking!”
You could have knocked me off the horse with a feather!
From that moment I not only listened, but I RODE. I’d position myself the way I knew deep down inside that I should. I played with the reins the way I knew I should, not too much, not too little. I began to ride every single step and be in blessed harmony with the horse.
Now, when I ride, I keep a very open mind to what I am riding. I ride the body, not the face, very similarly to how I rode horsemanship classes oh so very long ago. I must have been good at it then because my former horse and I were capable of doing bridleless demonstrations.
The difference between riding the body and riding the face is EVERYTHING.
I’ve quoted before but cannot help once more reiterating a statement by Charles DeKunffy which states “the leg energizes, the seat modifies and hand verifies”.
Well dammit, I knew that but why on earth did I forget it? Why was I so willing to toss away wonderous ability and knowledge? Was it intimidation by the unkown?
I’ll tell you why…… because I “bought into” the bull that dressage is some lofty heavenly style of riding brought to us from the Gods of Mount Olympus. Dressage is just logical horsemanship, humane horsemanship, effective horsemanship. Horsemanship to partner with your horse.
I forgot that dressage is really two things: the abomination we see in the show ring at FEI levels and that which is necessary for the rest of us.
I will never make the mistake of forgetting that again.
I wasn’t always the saavy dressage rider that I am today (LMAO). I had to start somewhere. This story tells of one my “somewheres”.
Long ago and in the beginning of my foray into dressage, my girlfriend and I entered a large show with our two quarter horses. My horse at the time was old enough to both vote and drink but he was still sound enough and willing. We had both been to local shows and had decided to go to a big show, just for the heck of it and as something to do in the summer. Well not only did we pick a big show, we picked one with Olympic qualifying events. This show also offered training level classes as well as a dressage seat equitation class so we figured we’d enter into those.
In order to get better you must surround yourself with tougher competition, right?
From the beginning it proved an adventure. We packed up just about everything we owned for the trip which was long enough to warrant an overnight stop at a relatives farm. After we unloaded the horses from “the tampon” (our nickname for my long red horse trailer) we put the horses into stalls and made sure they were comfy cozy. But when we went to unhook the trailer, the landing gear ceased working and the wheel was stuck in the down position. We ended up having to remove the wheel and had to use a car jack to jack it up and down.
That should have been a sign for us, but in our excitement we were oblivious to the warning.
The next morning we jacked the trailer back onto the truck and loaded the horses up. My old truck did the best it could fully loaded with passengers, a heavy steel trailer, hay, two horses and equipment. When it had to pull up a steep hill I could swear I heard it cough. The day was going to be hot, and the trip to the show grounds found us switching the air conditioning on and off depending on whether we were going up hill or down.
We pulled into the show grounds and immediately realized that coming to this show may have been a mistake. The set up was spectacular with huge white tents next to multiple show rings. The barn was brand new and looked more like a palatial estate than a barn, and it came complete with a huge fountain in the entry.
My barns never had fountains.
Many of the people roaming around the grounds wore dresses and sported designer dogs and big floppy hats – the type you would see at Churchill Downs on Derby day. There were V.I.P. dining cafes and it was all topped off by the British announcer on the P.A. speaking the Kings English.
We had parked the trailer and settled the horses before we made our way to the secretaries stand to register and check in. The secretary had a line in front of her which had apparently made her cranky. Very cranky. When our turn finally came we approached the secretary who seemed to be a thousand years old. My girlfriend and her husband stepped up to the desk first.
The next part seemed to happen so quick. I’m not really sure of what was said but before I knew it there was yelling and lots of it on the part of the show secretary. My friends tried to talk to her and with the passing of some time and more yelling they were finally done. As they turned to leave my girlfriends husband decided to show his displeasure with the show secretary. Please understand that he was unfamiliar with the horsey set and protocol and so this woman meant nothing to him other than being rude to him. He decided to end their encounter by being rude back. Real rude.
So he turned to leave but instead bent over, backed up a step, artfully placed his buttocks on the secretaries desk and tooted the butt bugle. It was loud and it was bold and there was no mistaking what it was, and the secretary had a front row orchestra seat.
I had been looking down at my paperwork waiting for my turn when I heard it. I know I winced and thought “Please God, please don’t be what I think that is”.
But alas it was.
My friends dashed out in a hurry. I was still waiting to check in. I tried to pretend that I didn’t know them and I had not realized what had happened and that I hadn’t heard the butt bugle. But the jig was up when she saw I was from the same home town. I tried to smile awkwardly and was as friendly as I could manage.
Amazingly, the passage of gas seemed to have mellowed her some, and she finished my paperwork quickly and quietly. I’m astonished nothing more ever came of it.
This event also should have been a sign to me, but in my excitement I was oblivious to the warning.
I decided to do my best to preserve whatever dignity I had left from that point on, but that was not to be.
We returned to the trailer and began our routine to get ready. I was going to do my best to fit in so I wrapped ole quarter horse legs in brand spanking new white polo wraps and then began my warm up.
In retrospect it was like covering a car dent with a bumper sticker.
My girlfriend also started her warm up when we heard the familiar British voice on the PA announcing that due to the heat, jackets were waived. Cool.
Time for the first class. I went trotting in, all happy and focused, ready to give a spiffy halt at X. Instead, I was met with a whistle. I hadn’t expected it, and just sort of continued on to X and halted all snazzy like. I bowed, and again a whistle.
I looked to the judge hut and saw an elder man lift to his feet. Then he began to yell at me with a thick German accent. I couldn’t understand what he was saying and watched him then walk annoyingly over, scolding me to take the wraps off my horse.
Oops.
(Looking back, it would have been the perfect moment for comedian Bill Engvill to tell me “Here’s your sign”.)
I exited the ring and someone took the horses wraps off. I regrouped as best I could and came trotting in again, red faced, and managed to pull off an almost snazzy halt at X.
The rest of the test was uneventful, and I plodded through, looking no where near as glamorous as any other horse on the property.
Truly, I was the red dot on a black wall.
Next, my girlfriend. She came trotting in all snazzy and focused ready to give a spiffy halt at X. She too was met with a whistle. She too had no idea why.
She looked to the judge hut and once more an elder man lifted to his feet. Then he began to yell at her in a thick German accent. She couldn’t understand what he was saying and we watched him walk annoying over, scolding her to take off the stock tie, that when jackets are waived, you must also take off your stock tie.
Oops.
(Bill Engvill now gives out “sign” number two)
She exited the ring and someone took her stock tie. She regrouped as best she could and came trotting in again, red faced, and managed to pull off an almost snazzy halt at X. The rest of her test was uneventful too.
The class over it was clear neither one of us were going to place. Nope, not among all the fancy schmancy horses in this fancy schmancy show. We were truly two red dots on a black wall.
After she was done we just kind of looked at each other and busted out laughing. In the absence of dignity, there was still humor.
We entered the next class and at some point each of us went off course. And of course, once more the whistle blew.
I had the feeling that if the judge could he’d run us off the show grounds.
Except for both of us going off course, the rest of our tests were uneventful. Neither of us placed.
In the dressage seat equitation there were only the two of us in the class. The poor judge had the choice of me or her. You could tell it killed him to have to place either of us first. I ended up in first and won a trophy dressage whip. Months later, a fancy schmancy glossy booklet got mailed to me, and there inside was my name printed as the big bad winner of the equitation class. It felt absurd.
As we walked back to the trailer I turned to her and said “Okay, this is our story. We came here and it was a big class. We did good and held our own. In the eq class we got first and second out of ten. In the other tests we scored high 50’s and low 60‘s. Deal?” She turned and said “Deal”.
We bummed around for a few hours and then packed all our crap back up, looking again like the Beverly Hillbillies as we pulled out after once more jacking up the trailer to hook it up.
Two red dots on a black wall.
(Or would that be two dressage rednecks on a black wall? Here’s our sign!)
Show season is here again. We’re happy. Well you might be happy. As for me I don’t have the energy to do laundry much less run the marathon which is the essence of a horse show.
Think of it this way: you put in all the hours riding your horse and riding him well. You remember that “Practice doesn’t make perfect, perfect practice makes perfect” so you’ve been riding your horse in a manner to develop him, without force and using every ounce of skill and technique you can muster.
Now, what do you do for luck? Not just luck IN the show ring. Luck GETTING TO the show ring. Ever notice that no matter how well you prepare, or how experienced you are, the most inane thing could turn the show from a good show to a bad show? I‘m talking about “Murphy‘s Law“ in showing.
Let’s begin with the day before the show as well as show morning.
Good Show: You get to the barn to prepare. Beautiful trip with no traffic. Have lots of time to get the things done. Warm weather so you can safely bathe your horse. Truck already washed and gassed up. Your new diet has worked and you’re feeling supple, stretched and athletic. Dunkin Donuts coffee especially tasty this particular morning.
Bad Show: You woke up late. Can’t find your keys. Dog has “accident” on rug. Vehicle won’t start or tire looks flat. Rainy, cold day and looks like it will stay that way. Spill Dunkin Donuts coffee on way to barn on both you and your light gray velour truck seats.
Good Show: You ride your horse. He is suitably not perfect. You are happy as you’ve learned if the ride the day before the show is not so good, that the show ride will go well. It’s just always been like that so you’re confident. Bathe horse, both you and horse are very happy. Still good on time because he easily trimmed up prior to his bath.
Bad Show: Horse seems off. Ripped out part of mane or tail on unknown something. He’s cranky. You’re cranky. Loud thunder outside. You’re picking his feet when you remember that you forgot to wash and gas up truck. Decide just to gas it up on way home as it’s raining anyway. Too cold to bathe so you have no choice but to brush for an hour.
Good Show: You braid him up in twenty minutes. Horse stood like statue, braids are perfect and your fingers aren’t cramping. You put him in a nice, new high necked sheet and return him to his freshly bedded stall. He stretches and pees. Life is good.
Bad Show: It’s taking forever to braid him. He just won’t stand still. Braids end up looking like mutant growths. Fingers hurt as well as your ankle because while braiding you stepped off the upside down bucket by accident. Put new sheet on. Break nail trying to pry open new Velcro on sheet.
Good Show: Clean your equipment, pack in into neatly organized tack room in trailer. Pack hay and a bucket. Go over list in your head a few times, confident that you’ve remembered everything. And you have.
Bad Show: Equipment very dusty and you’ve forgotten your towel/sponge at home. Improvise with a dusty towel you found in your tack box. Go to get hay. Realize “string” on bale is actually “wire” this time. Takes half an hour to find something to cut the wire. You pack your stuff in truck or trailer. You double check and are happy you remembered to pack your bridle.
Good Show: You wake up ten minutes early and relax to a cup of coffee. All your things are already packed in your vehicle. You shower and slick your hair back into a neat bun. Spray hairspray and put on baseball cap. Jump into your vehicle, pausing to get Dunkin Donuts coffee.
Bad Show: You wake up half hour late and are running around trying to remember everything. Your nerves cause a lengthy trip to bathroom. You rush a shower then jump out. Can’t find hair spray nor a baseball cap. Spend another half hour looking for keys. Stop at Dunkin Donuts even though you’re so late because you really, really need that coffee or you‘ll forget your bridle.
Good Show: You get to barn and check on horse. All is perfect, not even a single shaving in his tail. He’s bright and alert and has eaten well. You hook up trailer on first shot. All lights and hookups work. Get horse from stall, put halter on as well as wraps. Load horse on trailer easily. Can now pull out as all equipment packed night before. Bridle is there. Day is sunny and 68 degrees. High temp of the day will peak at 77.
Bad Show: Still cool and rainy. Winds have picked up. You can hear distant thunder. You get to barn late and must rush around trying to get it all done like a NASCAR pit crew. You’ve broken a sweat and are filthy dirty already. So is horse. Neck on sheet has slid down so braids full of shavings and dust. Horse seems cranky and so are you. Trailer just won’t line up and you manage to dent the trucks bumper. Finally, after you’re soaking wet you’re hooked up. Trying to pull out of mud, your tires splat mud at friend who was checking your lights. She then tells you one side of the trailer lights are out. You go to put horse on trailer. Horse won’t load. Must pack bridle after loading. After twenty minutes of horse not loading find a wasps nest. Glad for first time it’s 52 degrees. Look for bug killer spray ten minutes. Finally, no more wasps or nest. Load horse in “only” fifteen minutes.
Good Show: Nice easy trip. Arrive ten minutes early. Park in a nice spot, not too far from office, bathrooms or food area. Horse comes off trailer nicely, settles in well. You go to check in with office, all paperwork runs smoothly. You return to sit by trailer with show program and cup of coffee. You have two hours to relax until you tack up.
Bad Show: Accident causes traffic. Arrive one hour late. Park in bad spot, far from office, bathroom or food. Rainy still, grass muddy. Will worry about that later. Horse comes off trailer sidewise, slips, falls to one knee. You go to check in with office and it takes time due to show secretary fighting with person in front of you. While you are waiting horse gets loose from trailer. You run out to grab him, dog nursing puppies bites you in ass. Find horse, see that lead line snapped near the clip. Bend over to grab horse by halter just as he swings his head up and clocks you square in the nose. Wipe away blood from nostril. Retie horse to trailer. Return to office, draw entry number 13.
Return to trailer, look in tack room. Realize there is no bridle.
I have come to believe that there is an invisible vortex in every pasture my horse inhabits. It’s a gateway to another dimension which comes and goes mysteriously. When its portal opens it will suck up a horse, simultaneously stopping time for a moment. After annihilating whatever the horse is wearing the horse passes back through the portal, none the worse for wear.
This other dimension is filled with single bell boots, twisted shoes, bits of halter leather, and the tattered shreds of what once was a sheet or blanket. Just like some people attract paranormal activity my horse attracts this pasture vortex.
There is no escape from the vortex. Resistance is futile.
It was Christmas Eve and I had just presented my horse with his treasured gift. It was a new winter blanket colored in bright pink and blue plaid. It was beautiful. I recall lovingly placing the blanket upon him and smoothing it gently as I admired the hot colors. Surely this was the prettiest blanket I had ever seen.
I kissed his forehead and put him back in the stall with a nice pile of fresh hay. The next day was Christmas so the horses would stay in and not be turned out until the day after. The morning after Christmas was cool and breezy and the horses were especially fresh when they were finally turned out.
It was that morning that a vortex struck.
A few hours later we heard a commotion in the pasture and went to look. The scene was one that I had never before seen nor dreamed of seeing. The thirty acre pasture had somehow managed to have white polyfill fluffs dispersed everywhere as if it there had been a winter’s polyfill snow. As it blew around in the breeze the horses were having great fun, like children after the snowstorm. There were horses with white polyfill tipped ears and noses. One big piece was being chased by an Arab gelding whose tail flagged to its snorts. Others had it entwined in their manes or tails and seemed content to look silly. There was so much polyfill it looked as if it had managed to reproduce.
In the center of it all was my bay Thoroughbred trotting the trot that I dreamed of one day getting under saddle. Dragged behind him was a tattered trail of fabric, some bright pink and blue plaid, some white polyfill. Yet more was of indistinguishable color. It formed a surprisingly long tail and reminded me of the movie Independence Day, when Will Smith’s character came in dragging the alien tangled in his parachute.
There was so much it would have been impossible to travel the thirty acres and collect all the polyfill. It turned out to be no problem as by the next morning, the vortex had struck once again and taken all of it away. Not a single fluff could be found.
I have since acquiesced to the fact that my horse is a divining rod who attracts the vortex and I have resigned myself to constantly having to replace items. I always buy the same color gummy bell boots so I don’t have to worry about pairs not matching. I use nothing but leather halters. Whether it is a fly sheet, regular sheet or blanket, I know I must buy multiples, and I’ve already told stories about all those missing “chuze”.
I have found out one secret though. The very expensive blankets must have some sort of minor force field as they seem to fight off the vortex for a little bit longer.
The bright side is nothing lasts long enough to get dirty so I don’t really have to worry about washing blankets. The vortex sees to that.
Somewhere in the vortex lives a little pasture gnome with a bell boot hat, tattered leather clothes and white polyfill hair who sits on a twisted horse shoe throne.
As I transitioned my ex racehorse to a riding horse I came across an interesting problem. It occurred only in the arena, and it was the seeming inability of my horse to pick up the right lead.
I tried every skill I knew to get my horse to pick up the right lead, but to no avail. However, what really perplexed me is that when out trail riding, if I asked for the canter without indicating any particular lead that a good 80% of the time, my horse would pick up the right lead. It should be mentioned that out on the trail, I would most often ask for a center on a wide straight trail. I began to think that the phenomenon was due to the fact that my horse had been a racehorse, and here in the States, the horses run on the left lead going counter clockwise and then at the top of the stretch for the straight away, switch to a fresh lead, the right lead.
I saw a connection.
I went to several instructors and clinicians, some of which rode FEI levels. They were all very nice people, and some I really liked. They would try all sorts of things. They’d get on and try to use their position. They would try with side reins and lunging. Some tried force and when they did I knew I would never go back to them.
But all of it was to no avail. No matter how hard these people tried they just couldn’t get him to make the connection. Despite his continued reluctance to pick up the right lead at the canter in the ring, he continued to pick it up on the trail.
I found myself repeating to each subsequent instructor the oddity of not picking up the lead in the ring but usually picking it up on the trail. Probably they didn’t believe me when their own attempts didn’t work. More than once I was told the horse must have some lameness or soreness issue, and when I asked why then he was able to pick up the right lead on the trail, they could offer no reason why.
It was about this time that I applied for a symposium with a world renowned clinician, a person who seemed to be highly regarded in magazines and on various posting boards and whose methodology included using exercises rather than force to develop the horse’s training. I liked the way that sounded so I was hell bent on going.
However, I did not get into the symposium because my horse had this lead problem, but I did make it into a subsequent clinic a few months later.
My first ride in the clinic found me warming up with this man’s gentle coaching. I really liked his style. When it was time to canter I explained my right lead dilemma to the clinician. I explained that since the horse would choose to pick up that lead on the trail, I was certain that lameness or soreness was not the issue. I told the clinician that the best guess I could offer was that the horse didn’t realize that he had a choice as to leads.
Then this clinician did the most amazing thing. Although having been an Olympic coach, the author of books and maker of videos and a recognized Master in the sport of dressage he listened to me. He listened to little ole amateur me, and he believed me.
Then he told me what to do. He had me trot off then began to issue commands in quick succession. Trot a few strides turn left, trot a few strides turn right. Trot and turn NOW. I was making the turns like 90 degree turns. This repeated again and again. Trot, turn left, trot, turn right, and on it went. After about the tenth time of doing this he told me to turn right and CANTER.
As if by magic, the right lead canter was there.
Just like that. It was just that easy. I was blown away.
We did the exercise again and again it worked every time.
It must have been with each shift of direction the difference of my weight coupled with the change in my leg position told the horse, in a manner he could understand, what I wanted.
From that day forward, getting the right lead was never again an issue. Even in counter canter he waits for my cue, so I have no trouble with that either.
All that time riding. All those frustrated instructors and all that money. In the end all it took was a little exercise that no one seemed to know except for this one man.
The man’s name? Walter A. Zettl.
When next I’d run across one of the other trainers the first thing they do is ask me how I was doig with that pesky right lead. When I told them it was no longer an issue, they would have this defeated look on their faces. Some I had to show as they were skeptical.
Like I said before, these weren’t bad people. They weren’t jerks for the most part. But they had never before learned this way to solve this particular problem and I can’t really fault them for that.
From that day forward I became a student of Walter Zettl’s. I’d look forward to each clinic like someone might look forward to a Hawaiian vacation. I’d be excited for months before. I was getting proper education and my horse developed well and couldn’t be a happier partner. I had chosen my religion. I would learn to use exercises to develop my horse’s training and force would have no place in my training program.
I learned that done right and with attention to the training pyramid each exercise builds upon another to achieve dressage’s various movements. And when one is steadfast to this method progress occurs without damage to previous training and it happens just like that.
Since the dawn of the time wherever there appeared the footsteps of man, the hoof prints of the horse were beside. Since time immemorial, horses and other equines have been there for us in multiple capacities.
First, we hunted and ate them. Some of us still eat them now. We have used them to pull our wagons, carts and coaches. We have put them into wartime use and untold millions of them have thus suffered, left in bloody messes on some battlefield to die. They have mined coal for us and journeyed across deserts and over mountains where only goats should travel.
They have pioneered the wilderness for us, and delivered our mail. They’ve earned us income and have fed our families through this income.
We have raced them, throwing them away when they couldn’t race to our satisfaction any more. We have whipped them, spurred them, cranked and yanked them. We have starved them and we have abandoned them leaving them to die. We have used them for medical research and have farmed medications and anti-venoms through them.
They have given us status, so much so that Kings and Emperors have ridden them for tribute and parade. We’ve shot them from helicopters and we’ve transported them in cramped quarters to their final demise. We’ve roped them and tripped them, and captured them sending a bullet across their withers. We’ve taken away their land and culled them cruelly offering excuses in the same breath as we issue a commemorative stamp.
We bring cold inhumane treatment, maiming and killing for the creature who would work for us until they drop.
And yet somehow, they still seem to like us, and we proclaim to like them too. We humans have a strange way of showing it.
Throughout history and continuing on to this day, we have used them up and spit them out, discarding them. They have been both essential and they have been expendable.
As far as partnerships go, they have been a far better friend to us than we have been to them. No other animal has so affected the history of mankind as the horse and perhaps no other animal has paid so heavy a price.
But now the time of our soiled betrayal of the horse must come to an end.
Now, given the fact that we consider ourselves civilized we are compelled to begin to act civilized, and so shall no longer forego the best interest of the horse for our own ego and profit.
This requires us to become mobilized and self aware. We must look outward and at the same time inward.
A serious reevaluation of all our practices, in every discipline is in order.
I ask all equestrians to now sit back and think of their day to day practices. Think of how you ride your horse and the cues and equipment that you use. Consider the bit you use and when you jerk on the reins the discomfort that bit will cause. Consider when you use the spur into a horses belly if you’ve used that spur sparingly or impatiently.
Consider if you as a rider could accomplish the same goal with your horse, but in a new manner, one brought forth with education, and with technique instead of force. Consider if you’ve hired a professional to ride and train your horse if perhaps your horse’s soul and spirit is the better or worse for it. Reevaluate every professional and watch what they do, and how the horse reacts.
For not only is each horse a living, breathing, feeling noble creature, it is a soul. And in our dealings with each of these souls we should consider if we are doing our partnership and friendship justice. We must consider if perhaps another path is the one bettered followed.
We must be self aware.
It is with like thinking that 41,000 horsemen have signed the petition to ban rolkur and hyperflexion from warm up arenas. So what does the FEI, the international body charged with equine preservation do? They say instead that abuse, in small doses, is fine.
Some would see FEI’s actions as a positive yet small start. I do not see it that way. It is beyond my comprehension that there are influencing pressures driven by money, prestige and greed that would override the FEI’s promise of commitment of preserving the best interest of the horses that compete in their events. The FEI must uphold their own rules.
Yet rather than upholding their very own rules (Article 401) which define and ban abuses such as rolkur and hyperflexion, the FEI has in effect determined that abuse for short periods of time is permissible, in the name of more dramatic and exaggerated horse movement.
This is insufficient.
We must continue to make our voices heard and speak for the horse who cannot speak for itself. We, as a civilized society, must finally act civilized.
I would also ask of you something further. In addition to examining the actions of the FEI I would ask you to go even further and examine your own practices and every aspect of what we do ourselves.
With open eyes I have evaluated my own equestrian history and have come to realize that I am not proud of some things I have done. This I cannot change, but I can change what I do from now on.
“The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.” ~Mahatma Ghandi
I woke up early today and found a glorious Sunday morning. The sky, cloudless, is that perfect shade of a light, yet deep blue which echoes the arrival of welcome warmer weather.
A cup of coffee or two later, along with a maintenance trip to Facebook found me clicking on the TV. I tuned to a country channel, RFD-TV or as I like to call it, “The Horse Channel”. No, it’s not totally horse, but with coverage of many different equine disciplines, including British CCTV, there’s often something equine on to hold my interest.
Sometimes, I’ll watch a British dressage instructor doing a fabulous clinic or lesson with someone. Other times it’s a natural horsemanship guru which either gets me to arch a brow wondering, or compels me to yell at the TV. My spouse has gotten used to me yelling at the TV for two types of shows: natural horsemanship and “Nanny” shows focusing with highly disobedient children and their pathetic parents who end up crying in frustration because they are getting “run over” by their kids.
Today though, after a visit with the Budweiser Clydedales and the cleanest barn I’ve ever seen, there was some iconic western bit connoisseur discussing the use of bits on a horse.
At first glance the show discussed nothing riveting. Then a line caught my attention when the interviewed man said “For most riders with uneducated hands it doesn’t matter what bit you get. You have to really have educated hands to understand and appreciate the nuances each bit has to offer”.
Now I’ve heard that bits which were more severe should only be used by those more educated since if you’re too hard with your hands you can ruin the horse’s mouth. Heck, we’ve ALL heard that.
But I never thought of it in this context.
Damn. Cowboy, you have my attention. Go on please.
“Well…”, he says. “It’s just like when someone takes a picture. If you’re an average picture taker you are going to get a pretty basic camera. However, if you’re a pro, you are going to get something more sophisticated and more easily manipulated by you. And you’ll know how to manipulate it because you are skilled and educated. It’s the same with bits”.
Then, the next line hit home. “And it’s not only the bit, it’s how you use it. It’s the refinement of your hands. Remember, slow hands are good hands”.
I sit back now and start thinking in my head, comparing my experiences with riding western where the horse is off the bit, to riding dressage where the horse is on the bit.
Now my Sunday morning exercise is reconciling this.
Heck, I can’t ride. A phone call last night told me my horse had thrown another front “chu”. A “chu” tacked on less than a week ago. I truly hate my horse’s feet. So, today’s learning will have to be this.
In dressage, does the nuance of differing bits affect your outcome? Sure, you have the snaffles with a single joint and the French link type. In upper levels you use two bits, the bridoon and a curbed type. But basically the choice is somewhat limited. How much could there be to know?
This man, as a trainer, had a collection of over a hundred different bits.
Enter the conversation in my mind, the voices in my head as it were. It went like this:
“A hundred bits? Really? A hundred? Well, if what he says is true would it also be true that in dressage slow hands are also good hands?”
Then my thoughts escalated. If a theory such as “slow hands are good hands” is relevant in one discipline, does it carry on to another discipline?
Well, he’s a western rider and western horses are trained to somewhat be off the bit and dressage horses are trained more to be on the bit. And in western, the amount of severity of the bit is as much as is needed to keep the horse off the bit.
So in dressage, since you want the horse to be on the bit, wouldn’t you use the least amount of bit in order to keep the horse on the bit?
Well yes, yes you would. If the horse was truly being trained to be on the bit and if the horse was being trained to be so much more than a headset.
And, if so, wouldn’t the logical progression be that the higher a horse is trained, then the less of a bit it should require? Why then the conformity that upper less horses must be ridden with two bits and one of those with a big ole port? What do they know that I don’t know?
Then it hit me. Again, it’s all a matter of sophistication. When we ride the body, then the hand can confirm, and it should never be the other way around. The hand should be slow to come into action because it should always come into action AFTER the body. And so, when the body rides big, like upper level horses ride big, the hands need a tool which allows for the smallest amount of “do” on the part of the hands.
Wait a minute, didn’t I, in the very beginning of this blog, post a quote by Charles de Kunffy which says “the leg energizes, the seat modifies and the hand verifies”?
I already knew this! Well, most of this. But that tiny nuance of individualizing bit type threw me off.
Damn! Now I know I have uneducated hands and I have yet another topic to go off and further study.
And just when I was about to get distracted by a fabulous singer.
I’ve always enjoyed competing. Well, I did back in the day when I actually had energy.
I remember a day in the late 1970’s when I entered a show on my former horse. It was a local show, but all the best people in the area would enter it, and winning a class or more would bring the rider some local prestige. You would also get your name in the local paper if you won a class. Win a bunch of classes and they’d do a little article on you. I wanted that, and I wanted that BAD.
Problem was, I hadn’t yet won a first place. No blue ribbon ever. But still I wanted to be competitive so I figured I’d psyche out the competition a little. To this day I do not know how it worked or why it worked. I only know it worked.
Now remember, I said it was a local show. This meant that everybody knew everybody and knew of their accomplishments, or at least should have known.
At that time it was in style to wear satin jackets or baseball caps with your horse’s name neatly embroidered on them. So, in wanting to fit in, I did the same. I came up with show colors and ordered a shiny satin jacket, a matching baseball cap and all my equipment bags, coolers, sheets and whatnot reflected my color scheme. I even went as far as to order pens and coffee cup holders with my horses name on it. I had a matching director’s chair and set up a little area where my wares would be displayed, my personal “show central”. Very neatly arranged it was to give the impression that I knew what I was doing and that I’d been there a million times before even though I hadn’t. I felt most “cool”.
When my first class was to go in I lined up with the others outside the show ring. It was a western pleasure class, so all the entries would line up and enter the ring together.
As I waited one of the competitors noticed me and said to me “Oh well, there goes my chance of winning now that you’re in the class”. I could only blink in disbelief as I’d never won a class! But guess what? I won that one!
Since that day I’ve taken the time to further study the art of “showmanship” when it came to competing and the skill of psyching out other competitors. The practice is done all over, but often we become so numb to it we don’t even realize what it really is we’re seeing, and so we may be psyched out too.
If you’re competing, this might be something you wish to explore, especially if your competitions are of a more local or regional type.
When it comes to competing, every little bit helps.
Continuing on this training sequence I’ll next discuss another exercise which is also most valuable. It was also taught to me by the same Master.
I’d like to first pause to mention something. Despite my horse having once been a racehorse when it came to riding he was “forward” challenged. When unsure of himself, or unhappy with a given situation he tends to shut down. I’m pretty sure he did this as a racehorse as well and I imagine that despite how many times they’d flail a racing bat on him, he’d would just go slower and slower.
So again I had to learn technique since I was precluded from using force. Additionally, at that time I had an instructor who insisted that I not wear spurs as I had developed this horrid habit of raising my heels way too high, and placing my leg way to back in order to engage the spur. It became too much of a crutch.
I had to learn to switch from crutch, to crotch as it were. Well perhaps seat is a lot more accurate. It was not easy to make this transition and it frustrated me. It took years before it became muscle memory and habit. And to this day, I do not wear spurs and these two exercises are why I am able to do that.
This exercise calls for changes within the gait, no matter which gait you are riding. Let’s start with the walk.
You’re walking your horse forward with good marching steps and a long and low neck. Slowly and gently you pick up the reins. You bring the horse to a working walk, still marching forward. Then you still yourself, your body’s subtle change of movement not as free flowing as it was before. The horse should then also shorten his stride. If done correctly the rhythm will be maintained.
It’s just the steps getting shorter, not the horse taking slower steps. Next, free up your body, have your mind think longer strides now and the horse’s stride should lengthen. When both you and the horse are in sync together doing this, continue on, but in circles and on both the long and short diagonal. Try doing it on a serpentine (large one where each loop brings you to the opposite side of the ring.)
Shorten the stride for the curve and lengthen again on the straight part. Lengthen and shorten strides again and again. See how light and subtle you can make your body. See if you can “think” it, and it happens. Now, let’s try trot.
You’ll begin in a nice forward working trot. You have a gentle contact and you’re still not worried about the head set. You are posting and you want to try and use your post to try and affect the length of the horse’s stride. To go longer you post bigger, moving your pelvis more to the pommel of the saddle. The rhythm is still maintained.
You’re not posting faster, you are posting longer. The arc your hips make is longer. If you need more forward, put more emphasis on the “down” of your post by making it heavier. Horsey should then engage another gear. You can feel it, and it’s awesome when you do.
(As an aside, back in the day when I’d flail my legs and try to use my seat I’d squeeze down and make a grunty noise. Once, with the instructor urging me forward in a rather loud voice, I squeezed so hard I dripped a piddle. When you’ve dripped a piddle, you are working way too hard!)
Now, we urge the horse to go shorter in his steps, yet maintain the same rhythm. We no longer post long, we post shorter, a bit more up and down as opposed to swinging towards the pommel. But not big up and down, low up and down. Longer, shorter, longer, shorter. Repetition makes you and your horse more in sync.
Rhythm and tempo must be maintained. Gee, I guess I need to define rhythm and tempo, don’t I? (Should have done that before!)
Tempo is the number of beats per minute. Rhythm is the regularity of those beats. Imagine a metronome (which incidently people do use when they ride): The tempo is the number of beats it ticks per minute and rhythm describes the period of time between each beat. Even rhythm means that there is the same amount of time between beats 1 and 2, 2 and 3, 3 and 4 and so on. You should also note that optimum tempo varies from horse to horse.
You should also do the exercise in a sitting trot. Personally, I find those far more fun. To go longer free your hips and imagine your hiney on a swing and you’re in the part of the swing where your legs are just about to go forward. It’s like sitting heavier, but down and forward. Often you see riders who exagerate this part too much and who seem to be leaning back. That’s too much and incorrect.
Think subtle.
As you do these exercises try and think of it as playing. You’re playing with your horse to see how subtle your aids can be and still get the reaction you want. Close your eyes if it’s safe to and you’re comfortable doing that. Just feel. Don’t complicate it and overthink it. Just do.
The same holds true for canter. Sit heavier for a slower canter. Be stiller. Let go of your hips more for a larger canter. Concentrate on just feeling.
As you do these exercises, slowly increasing the difficulty by coming off the rail, remember that it’s play. It’s a two way communication between you and your horse. Experiment. “If I do this, then you’ll apparently do that!”
You may end up practicing this for months. It’s quite alright. It’s the basis of dressage. It becomes part of your toolbox. Again, don’t worry about head set. The reason is twofold: first, you are doing an experiment to see how altering your body alters your horse’s body. You have to learn this and the best way is to play, without the pressure to be perfect at first. Secondly, when the horse is going naturally forward, and your position is correct, his neck and head should fall into their proper place and may only need an adjustment by a slight playing with a rein or two. Again there shouldn’t be a change in tempo or rhythm, just a change in the length of the stride.
When I started this exercise I didn’t have a metronome. So I’d sing. At first out loud, but then I had to chill it to brain. The reason was that the song that I picked which fit my particular horses tempo was “The Stroke” by Billy Squier, specifically the “stroke me stroke me, stroke, stroke” part which just didn’t seem fitting in dressage circles.
Please don’t focus on how you look. Focus instead on feel. How does it feel? You can feel it when your horse is rocking the gait because his back will come up and he’ll flow.
My goal is to get this horse as tuned to me as my last horse was. I rode in many a western equitation class and with my old horse all I had to do was to “think” a gait and it would be there. That’s what I want with from my current horse too. I just need to ride well enough first. If I get it right, he will be there because he wants to be there.
Be happy when you do any exercise and ride in lightness. Be in a good mood and ride with the idea that you actually LIKE your horse and that you and he can do this. Pat him often and if he’s a pansy puss like mine who gets off on sweet talk too, shower him with that. Be generous with your praise. It means a lot to them, it really does.
And remember, it’s baby steps.
The quotes on the bottom of this page should now be reread again, and read often.
Ride well my friends.