Need to catch up?
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
______________________
"Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven’s thunder;
The iron bit he crushes ’tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with." (William Shakespeare)
Not long after Jake's first horse show, I was asked to work with him at a party on Carousel Farms. As a commercial barn, Carousel took pride in being the biggest (and most expensive) location for children's "pony parties". It was Jake's turn to suffer through a day of Torture By Children, and Donna and Shannon wanted me there to deal with him in case anything went wrong.
In case was pretty much a joke. At pony parties, horses have to deal with babies wailing in their ears, kids slamming down on their backs and inadvertently kicking their sides, and ignorant adults who stand in their blind spots or decide to employ flash photography inches away from their faces. Jake could hardly tolerate another horse within twelve feet of him; this was not going to be good.
Five minutes before the party began, Jake was pulled from a riding lesson in the back ring so Shannon could slap a western saddle on his back, stick a carrot in his mouth to keep his teeth occupied, hand me lead line, and say, "Go for it." He hesitated a little when he saw the party area, with its big balloons and bright colors, but he had his carrot to chomp on, so he graciously walked along. Donna was waiting there to give the workers their final instructions and collect the check from the parents. She told us what we already knew: that we could lead each kid once around the short trail once until everyone had gone, and then they could come back for more; that the horses couldn't graze at the party; that we should keep the horses away from each other; and that the kids had one hour and not a minute more with the horses before they had to move onto to the next activity in the barn. And then she turned the party over to one of her riding instructors and headed to the refuge of her office. As she passed Jake and I on the way out, she threw us a dirty look and warned, "Watch him."
I just rolled my eyes as she turned her back and slipped Jake another carrot.
The party went just as expected. Jake and I walked the monotonous, square bridle path: walk ten yards, left turn, walk ten yards, left turn, walk ten yards, left turn, walk ten yards, left turn. Children ran, squealing, behind him. A little boy almost threw up in his face. Parents snapped pictures left and right, turning on the flash as the cloud cover grew thicker. Jake's mane was pulled, his sides were kicked, and his back took a beating. Jake grew more and more irritated. He began pinning his ears and flashing his teeth. I ran out of carrots, so I let him start licking my arm to keep his teeth away from the children. Towards the end of the hour, Jake stopped short and a little girl (more from being startled than by a loss of balance) slid slowly, sideways off his back. As she hit the grass with a thump, the staff decided to call it a day.
As I tried to lead him out of the party area, Jake, who had his mouth around my arm, licking me, simply tilted his head and chomped down on my forearm. I swatted him swiftly, and he backed off, looking at me with what can only be called an apology on his face, but I was still stung: both physically and emotionally. It was the first time he had dared to bite me. I could tell then how much toll the day had taken on him.
As I untacked Jake and put him back in his stall, he looked a mixture of emotions: frustrated, irritated, confused, melancholy, upset. I worried then that the party had been too much for him, that we had pushed him too far with the noise and sights and stress of it all. But, in the weeks to come, I began to suspect something more. That party was only the beginning of it: an emotional vortex from which I would never see my horse recover, a blackhole that would doom his fate at Carousel Farms.
[To be continued]
Part Seven
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Horse Show Strategies: Lull them into complacency, then strike.
I've had a video that I've been wanting to share on this blog for quite some time. I came across it a couple of years ago, when my trainer showed it to us in the office at our barn. I can't remember quite why she thought we, as hunter/jumpers, needed to watch it, but I think the story goes as follows:
Two years ago, I was riding with a trainer named Maura who had her background in equitation and hunters. Our barn is primarily a lesson barn, with a big gap in the clientele: there are a handful of very advanced students, and then a whole slew of beginners. The experienced riders spent a week or so over the summer in an advanced training camp, where Maura could experiment with us. We spent a day on each discipline, covering everything from English pleasure to jumping, and, finally, dressage. We had some serious jumpers in the camp who were then training with a Grand Prix show jumper; they were full Jumper Mode, and the most alien thing in the world to them at that moment was dressage. And so, they did what teenage girls are known to do sometimes: whine. And complain. A lot.
Determined to demonstrate the beauty and sport behind dressage, Maura dragged us all in to the office and pulled up a video. It was, to say the least, breathtaking. It was a video that has ever since left me in awe of the sport, and certainly inspired our jumpers to put their hearts into our dressage lessons that day.
Today, when I went to find that video to share with all of you, and I found, in addition, a video that complements the first. I find the footage together shows a great, simple technique for horse showing on any discipline. I'll keep you in suspense no longer: the videos are of Andreas Helgstrand and Blue Hors Matine, from the World Equestrian Games 2006.
The Warm-Up
The Real Thing
The difference between these two videos astounds me, and it proves (for those of us who still don't believe it) that a good warm-up is the key to a great performance. But it also shows exactly what a good warm-up is, and displays, in the process, a great new strategy for horse show success: lull them into complacency, then strike.
Helgstrand's warm-up is focused and simple (mind you that what is simple for a Grand Prix horse and rider is not simple for the rest of us). He guides Matine through the basic movements of her test and does not attempt any flashy, in-your-face things to throw off his competitors. Rather, he gives them a false sense of security; his warm-up looks good, but it only very subtly hints at the fabulous performance that is to come. Andreas saves the energy and the emotion and the drama for the show ring, blowing everyone away in a performance bigger than anyone could have guessed.
As horse show season approaches remember this technique. Have a good warm-up, but play it close to the vest. Keep calm and hold your cards--don't play them until the exact right moment. Then, throw your heart into it and give a performance that you and your horse can be proud of.
Two years ago, I was riding with a trainer named Maura who had her background in equitation and hunters. Our barn is primarily a lesson barn, with a big gap in the clientele: there are a handful of very advanced students, and then a whole slew of beginners. The experienced riders spent a week or so over the summer in an advanced training camp, where Maura could experiment with us. We spent a day on each discipline, covering everything from English pleasure to jumping, and, finally, dressage. We had some serious jumpers in the camp who were then training with a Grand Prix show jumper; they were full Jumper Mode, and the most alien thing in the world to them at that moment was dressage. And so, they did what teenage girls are known to do sometimes: whine. And complain. A lot.
Determined to demonstrate the beauty and sport behind dressage, Maura dragged us all in to the office and pulled up a video. It was, to say the least, breathtaking. It was a video that has ever since left me in awe of the sport, and certainly inspired our jumpers to put their hearts into our dressage lessons that day.
Today, when I went to find that video to share with all of you, and I found, in addition, a video that complements the first. I find the footage together shows a great, simple technique for horse showing on any discipline. I'll keep you in suspense no longer: the videos are of Andreas Helgstrand and Blue Hors Matine, from the World Equestrian Games 2006.
The Warm-Up
The Real Thing
The difference between these two videos astounds me, and it proves (for those of us who still don't believe it) that a good warm-up is the key to a great performance. But it also shows exactly what a good warm-up is, and displays, in the process, a great new strategy for horse show success: lull them into complacency, then strike.
Helgstrand's warm-up is focused and simple (mind you that what is simple for a Grand Prix horse and rider is not simple for the rest of us). He guides Matine through the basic movements of her test and does not attempt any flashy, in-your-face things to throw off his competitors. Rather, he gives them a false sense of security; his warm-up looks good, but it only very subtly hints at the fabulous performance that is to come. Andreas saves the energy and the emotion and the drama for the show ring, blowing everyone away in a performance bigger than anyone could have guessed.
As horse show season approaches remember this technique. Have a good warm-up, but play it close to the vest. Keep calm and hold your cards--don't play them until the exact right moment. Then, throw your heart into it and give a performance that you and your horse can be proud of.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Story That Never Was: Part Five
Need to catch up?
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
______________________
"But when someone is on a winning horse, and everything looks wonderful, it's very hard as an outsider to persuade them something is wrong." (James Wolfensohn)
It was Jake's first horse show, and already things were going wrong. I was nervous, he was irritated, and we'd started off the flat warm-up by kicking another competing horse.
And now I was staring down the in-gate of the show ring, struggling to remain calm as my trainer dropped her hold on my reins and said, "You're up."
My eyes swept around in a hurr
y to process the ring. It was open, practically barren. I stared down the stark white poles of the jumps, my first blessing of the day: simple, nonthreatening, and best of all, tiny. Whoever called that "Trot X" seriously needed to reconsider their definition of an X. They weren't even cross-rails, really; they were speed bumps. If I had been on any other horse but Jake, it would have been boring.
But with Jake, things were never boring.
He seemed confused as we gave our courtesy circle for the judge. The ring had been slightly altered in size and content for the show, and, of course, there was no other horses in their with us. He seemed to feel the change in atmosphere as we headed toward that first jump. All eyes were on him, and he knew that. He was Super Star pony; the world revolved around him, and he would prove that it was for a good reason. But Jake's version of showing off wasn't leisurely trotting over what were only glorified cavaletta. In his rush to prove he was the best, he committed the cardinal sin of beginner's equitation: breaking gait. That first time around the jumps, he insisted on cantering boldly out of every line we went in to, and I was not strong enough to stop him. We managed to recover in time to trot our closing circle and walk out of the ring in shame.
As I dismounted, I didn't have to face anyone, really. Shannon was the trainer for half the people on the show grounds, and I wouldn't see her again until it was time for him to enter the arena for my second round. I tried mostly to keep my head as I watched the other riders compete and counted down the seconds until I had to enter that ring again. The moment came only too soon.
In case I haven't stressed this enough, Jake was moody. Super Star Show Off Mode was no longer. As I entered the ring for a second time, he already bored with this song and dance. Thankfully, though, it was easier to perk him up than to slow him down, and now that I had him going at a steady trot, we could easily bounce through (or step over) the tiny cross-rails. When I finished the round, I felt confident that we had done better. Lack of interest was better than breaking a gait. In a hunt-seat show, you never break from your gait.
And then, finally, it was the time for my last class: Equitation on the Flat. It was the one rough spot I'd been anticipating since the warm-up that morning: six horses crammed into one ring. As I followed Kim and Handsome (the horse Jake had earlier kicked after he and his rider ran up our tail) through the in-gate, I whispered to him, "Jake, this is it. Do it for me, okay? Go out there and show 'em what you got."
It was as much of a pep talk for me as it was for him (more so, really, as I actually speak English). But it worked. Jake was a gentleman as we passed other horses in the ring. He looked content, swiveling his ears to take in the sights and sounds of our last class: our last chance for redemption. He moved his feet to the rhythm, and best of all, he didn't once break from a gait. I left the ring with a smile on my face, and slipped a peppermint to my favorite horse, the Super Star.
All in all, it was a good show. Our class was small (only six people), which meant that I got a ribbon even if we trashed the class (as we did our first round). We got fifth out of sixth for breaking to a canter that first class, a third place ribbon for our improved second round, and claimed second place for our fabulous flat class. For a green horse at his first show in a completely new discipline, I think Jake did great.
I felt accomplished as I put Jake in his stall later that evening and tucked him in for the night. My family and friends were proud of us, and I told them that I was looking forward to the day when Jake and I would come home from a show with a big tri-color Champion ribbon, because I knew he had the potential. On the ride home from the barn, I started easing my parents into the idea of me leasing him.
If only I'd known, after that triumphant, dramatic day, that Jake and I's future together would not be as magnificent as I imagined. In fact, it would be coming to an end all too soon...
[To be continued]
Part Six
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
______________________
"But when someone is on a winning horse, and everything looks wonderful, it's very hard as an outsider to persuade them something is wrong." (James Wolfensohn)
It was Jake's first horse show, and already things were going wrong. I was nervous, he was irritated, and we'd started off the flat warm-up by kicking another competing horse.
And now I was staring down the in-gate of the show ring, struggling to remain calm as my trainer dropped her hold on my reins and said, "You're up."
My eyes swept around in a hurr
y to process the ring. It was open, practically barren. I stared down the stark white poles of the jumps, my first blessing of the day: simple, nonthreatening, and best of all, tiny. Whoever called that "Trot X" seriously needed to reconsider their definition of an X. They weren't even cross-rails, really; they were speed bumps. If I had been on any other horse but Jake, it would have been boring.But with Jake, things were never boring.
He seemed confused as we gave our courtesy circle for the judge. The ring had been slightly altered in size and content for the show, and, of course, there was no other horses in their with us. He seemed to feel the change in atmosphere as we headed toward that first jump. All eyes were on him, and he knew that. He was Super Star pony; the world revolved around him, and he would prove that it was for a good reason. But Jake's version of showing off wasn't leisurely trotting over what were only glorified cavaletta. In his rush to prove he was the best, he committed the cardinal sin of beginner's equitation: breaking gait. That first time around the jumps, he insisted on cantering boldly out of every line we went in to, and I was not strong enough to stop him. We managed to recover in time to trot our closing circle and walk out of the ring in shame.
As I dismounted, I didn't have to face anyone, really. Shannon was the trainer for half the people on the show grounds, and I wouldn't see her again until it was time for him to enter the arena for my second round. I tried mostly to keep my head as I watched the other riders compete and counted down the seconds until I had to enter that ring again. The moment came only too soon.
In case I haven't stressed this enough, Jake was moody. Super Star Show Off Mode was no longer. As I entered the ring for a second time, he already bored with this song and dance. Thankfully, though, it was easier to perk him up than to slow him down, and now that I had him going at a steady trot, we could easily bounce through (or step over) the tiny cross-rails. When I finished the round, I felt confident that we had done better. Lack of interest was better than breaking a gait. In a hunt-seat show, you never break from your gait.
And then, finally, it was the time for my last class: Equitation on the Flat. It was the one rough spot I'd been anticipating since the warm-up that morning: six horses crammed into one ring. As I followed Kim and Handsome (the horse Jake had earlier kicked after he and his rider ran up our tail) through the in-gate, I whispered to him, "Jake, this is it. Do it for me, okay? Go out there and show 'em what you got."
It was as much of a pep talk for me as it was for him (more so, really, as I actually speak English). But it worked. Jake was a gentleman as we passed other horses in the ring. He looked content, swiveling his ears to take in the sights and sounds of our last class: our last chance for redemption. He moved his feet to the rhythm, and best of all, he didn't once break from a gait. I left the ring with a smile on my face, and slipped a peppermint to my favorite horse, the Super Star.
All in all, it was a good show. Our class was small (only six people), which meant that I got a ribbon even if we trashed the class (as we did our first round). We got fifth out of sixth for breaking to a canter that first class, a third place ribbon for our improved second round, and claimed second place for our fabulous flat class. For a green horse at his first show in a completely new discipline, I think Jake did great.
I felt accomplished as I put Jake in his stall later that evening and tucked him in for the night. My family and friends were proud of us, and I told them that I was looking forward to the day when Jake and I would come home from a show with a big tri-color Champion ribbon, because I knew he had the potential. On the ride home from the barn, I started easing my parents into the idea of me leasing him.
If only I'd known, after that triumphant, dramatic day, that Jake and I's future together would not be as magnificent as I imagined. In fact, it would be coming to an end all too soon...
[To be continued]
Part Six
Monday, February 22, 2010
Gary Sanderson and Amigo: When you say ENDURANCE, you mean it!
Today was not a good day for me. I have some emotional things going on that I'm, um... working through... and to be honest, this afternoon, I just came home and cried. But it's like that Christmas special--you know, The Island of Misfit Toys? "Remember: it could always be worse!"
Gary Sanderson, for example, and his horse Amigo have certainly seen better times, and I'm sure my little problems are nothing compared to what they have been going through. I came across this story (and this shocking picture) last night on The Equestrian Vagabond.
This was how Gary Sanderson found his nine-year-old Arabian endurance horse at his barn earlier this year on January 17.
Gary's summary of the event? "I said, 'what are you doing up here?' He whinnied at me. I walked around to the side of him and saw the stick in his side." The stick, as Gary simply calls it, was a tree branch nearly two inches wide that had impaled his left side, snapping two ribs and penetrating the inside of his chest. It had already piercing Amigo for some twelve hours.
Amigo's vet came out to euthanize the horse, but Gary wanted to give him a chance to live. "His gums were already blue," Sanderson remembers. "His breath was toxic." But that horse, he explained, was like family. He had bought Amigo from his girlfriend five years ago, for only a slice of cheesecake and a Mountain Dew. Amigo instantly took to endurance racing, finishing consistently in the top ten; he even won 'best time', finishing 50 miles in just 3 hours and 40 minutes. But after being punctured by a tree branch, Amigo faced a much more challenging race: the race for his life.
Despite being told that Amigo's chances of survival were only 2%, Gary Sanderson had his horse brought to the Large Animal Clinic of the University of Tennessee. Amigo kept his courage, loading into the trailer and braving the 45 minute drive with a 35 inch stick protruding from his side. He even managed to eat some hay along the way.
At the clinic, Amigo stood through an hour-long surgery to remove the branch, as well as damaged and rotting tissue in the wound. His left lung collapsed during the operation, but it was repaired. Now, with the stick gone and his lung reinflated, Amigo's future was still grim. He had an incredible road to recovery ahead of him, and the risks of laminitis, colic, and bacterial infection were life-threatening.
But Amigo is an endurance horse by nature, and endure he will. His odds of surviving slowly increased from two percenty, to twenty-five percent, to the fifty percent that are today. As for the endurance races themselves? "I don't know if he will [race again]," his owner says. "I don't really care. I just want him to come home."
And he truly does. Despite the bleak original prospect and the steep vet bills (around $15,000-20,000), Gary Sanderson and all of Amigo's family have fought for his life. "I'm willing to go into debt for him," Gary says. "He wants to live. I am not going to give up on him." And its paying off; Amigo continues to pull through.
Now that's what I call an endurance horse!
____________________________
Want more information?
You can follow Amigo's progress here.
If you want to donate to help ease this amazing horse owner's vet bills, you can do so through paypal using katpirate@comcast.net or by sending a check payable to University of TN Large Animal Clinic Patient #211197 Amigo
Address:
University of TN c/o Business office
2407 River Drive
Knoxville, TN 37996
Any money raised over the amount of the vet bills will be placed in an Amigo Fund at the hospital to help other horses in need.
*Images by Kara Disbrow.
Gary Sanderson, for example, and his horse Amigo have certainly seen better times, and I'm sure my little problems are nothing compared to what they have been going through. I came across this story (and this shocking picture) last night on The Equestrian Vagabond.
This was how Gary Sanderson found his nine-year-old Arabian endurance horse at his barn earlier this year on January 17.
Gary's summary of the event? "I said, 'what are you doing up here?' He whinnied at me. I walked around to the side of him and saw the stick in his side." The stick, as Gary simply calls it, was a tree branch nearly two inches wide that had impaled his left side, snapping two ribs and penetrating the inside of his chest. It had already piercing Amigo for some twelve hours.
Amigo's vet came out to euthanize the horse, but Gary wanted to give him a chance to live. "His gums were already blue," Sanderson remembers. "His breath was toxic." But that horse, he explained, was like family. He had bought Amigo from his girlfriend five years ago, for only a slice of cheesecake and a Mountain Dew. Amigo instantly took to endurance racing, finishing consistently in the top ten; he even won 'best time', finishing 50 miles in just 3 hours and 40 minutes. But after being punctured by a tree branch, Amigo faced a much more challenging race: the race for his life.
Despite being told that Amigo's chances of survival were only 2%, Gary Sanderson had his horse brought to the Large Animal Clinic of the University of Tennessee. Amigo kept his courage, loading into the trailer and braving the 45 minute drive with a 35 inch stick protruding from his side. He even managed to eat some hay along the way.
At the clinic, Amigo stood through an hour-long surgery to remove the branch, as well as damaged and rotting tissue in the wound. His left lung collapsed during the operation, but it was repaired. Now, with the stick gone and his lung reinflated, Amigo's future was still grim. He had an incredible road to recovery ahead of him, and the risks of laminitis, colic, and bacterial infection were life-threatening.
But Amigo is an endurance horse by nature, and endure he will. His odds of surviving slowly increased from two percenty, to twenty-five percent, to the fifty percent that are today. As for the endurance races themselves? "I don't know if he will [race again]," his owner says. "I don't really care. I just want him to come home."
And he truly does. Despite the bleak original prospect and the steep vet bills (around $15,000-20,000), Gary Sanderson and all of Amigo's family have fought for his life. "I'm willing to go into debt for him," Gary says. "He wants to live. I am not going to give up on him." And its paying off; Amigo continues to pull through.
Now that's what I call an endurance horse!
____________________________
Want more information?
You can follow Amigo's progress here.
If you want to donate to help ease this amazing horse owner's vet bills, you can do so through paypal using katpirate@comcast.net or by sending a check payable to University of TN Large Animal Clinic Patient #211197 Amigo
Address:
University of TN c/o Business office
2407 River Drive
Knoxville, TN 37996
Any money raised over the amount of the vet bills will be placed in an Amigo Fund at the hospital to help other horses in need.
*Images by Kara Disbrow.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
More Reasons Why Women Love Horses
A few days ago, I had to cut off on a post that was getting way too long. Today, I'll continue on the topic of Ten Reasons Why Women Love Horses, based on information found in Mary D. Midkiff's great book She Flies Without Wings. The last post covered the first reasons: a natural affinity, sensuality, commitment, creativity, and danger. Now it's time discover the other five ways that horses touch women's souls.
6. Power
Midkiff's section on power starts off with a quote by Anette Foglino: "I get this small surge of power as this giant, loveable beast bends to my whim." The power that horses offer is deep and multi-faceted. There is, of course, the physical power surge. A woman on a horse is equally as powerful as any other person (man, woman, or child) on a horse--and much more powerful than a person on the ground. Women are generally not brawny, brute creatures, but horses to us are like spinach to Popeye. They give us an extra boost of power and strength. There is also mental strength: both the intangible "horsepower" and self esteem. For someone who was never physically talented, I found a certain power in my riding lessons. I wasn't a natural-born rider, but I learned from the horse, and with small steps, I came to the realization that time and effort could make up for my lack of athleticism. This gave me confidence in myself, confidence in both the power of my mind and my body. And of course, there is the strongest power of them all, what I call "horsepower". Horses have this uncanny ability to console and nurture, to reveal things to you about yourself, to push your limits and help you grow, to bring people together and forge bonds. That kind of horsepower is not something we will ever be able to get from a car.
7. Nurturance
"Students as they are of nature, Native Americans looked to the horse as a model of how to lead. ... Time may have passed since those days, but the horse continues to teach us all about nurturing and leadership and how the relate to one another." (She Flies Without Wings, p. 150) It is a horse's instinct to care for themselves. They know how to eat (and eat well!). They are attentive to danger and possible threats. They can keep themselves in shape. Horses can sustain themselves perfectly well, but more than that, they can pamper themselves. Midkiff offers the image of a grazing horse, an "innately self-satisfying" animal. They do not eat whatever is in front of them; they do not consume the needed calories and move on. They search out the best grass, and add some variety with flowers or leaves. As humans, we've fallen into the habit of eating whatever we can get our hands on soonest: from fast food to frozen fish. We put work and family and friends at the top of our lists in both noble and ignoble ways. The problem is that we can't fully take care of other people or problems unless we are taking care of ourselves. A good horse will not only nurture you emotionally, he will teach you to nurture yourself.
8. Transformation through Compassion
To paraphrase She Flies Without Wings, a princess breathes within every broodmare. Surely, we have all known mean horses and mean people. But the bond between women and horses allow for one powerful transformation to occur and bring out the better side of both people and animals. Midkiff has "seen horses transform humans and humans transform horses. ... For most of us, transformation is pretty much a matter of chance or luck. We discover the transforming power of an experience only after we've inadvertently stumbled through it. Horses give us a chance to seek transformation by giving us a partner so challenging and engrossing that it is difficult to be involved with the horse and not be touched in significant ways." Horses can inspire personal growth; they can make us braver, more confident, more trusting, and more understanding people. We humans can also shape a horse; we can show love and compassion to a horse that is not familiar with it. We can rehabilitate neglected horses and teach them to trust in us. We can soften the angry nature of a broodmare to find the "princess" inside them. We can grow courage in a shy, skittish colt. Whether horses are transforming you or you are transforming horses, it is a powerful experience for both human and equine.
9. Spirituality
"In womanhood, horses do seem miraculous" (p. 189). They straddle the line between physical reality and spiritual. Being with horses is meditation, a time to quiet the mind and focus on the soul. The soothing rhythm of hooves, the rocking movement of the canter... They are naturally meditative. In an indoor arena, you are in touch with nature: you can feel the sand under your feet or the breath of an inhuman being on your neck. In an outdoor ring, and especially on a trail, you are even more in touch with nature and the great forces of life--whether you call it God, Gaia, Mother Earth, or simple the Universe. The twinkling stars overhead or the bright sun in the sky look different on horseback. The songs of birds sound different. The wind that hits your face is a different wind than the one that fluttered your skirt as you walked out of the office yesterday. Everything has new meaning, new significance. Horses are ritualistic and spiritualistic. They "[lift] us out of our material word and [carry] us so high above it that we begin to see the threads that connect us to the rest of the universe" (p.195).
10. Acceptance
"Acceptance matters to all of us," Midkiff truthfully states. "It matters because we feel happiest and most comfortable when we are wanted and included... It matters because we have to accept ourselves to reach contentment. Our horses do it innately; we have to work at it." Horses are herd animals, but not every horse is accepted by its herd. Midkiff, in her chapter on acceptance, tells the story of a colt named Bandit, who had to make a place for himself in a pasture herd that rejected him. Bandit did not give up and withdraw like a recluse into the shadows, but he did have to be smart in how he approached the other horses. Instead of living as a reject, he dealt with their initial rejection, and began deliberately easing himself into the herd. By accepting himself and letting go of any fear of rejection, Bandit found a place for himself among the others. As humans, we do not all bounce back from rejection like Bandit. But horses offer us a place to flee when we are rejected, because we know that horses will accept us. They will not reject us because we are poor or ugly or stupid or lonely or confused; and if, for some reason, they do reject us, we know that we can always come back with a treat to gain their good grace. But, as Midkiff points out, "even then... horses aren't enough." We need a human herd, too, even if the people we face aren't always so nice. And as horses teach us to accept ourselves, finding acceptance with others isn't so hard. As the chapter closes, Midkiff relates, "It took a good long while, but I finally claimed for myself what Bandit knew all along: that we have to believe in our worth, that we can work our way into a herd, that there's no sense in beating ourselves up when we fail, and that the ultimate acceptance for any of us is found beneath our own skins. Only then can we truly belong."
____________________________________
What I've touched on in this post, and in the other, is only the tip of the iceberg for Mary D. Midkiff. Her book is filled with a few more reasons that I did not cover, as well as much more in depth and insightful looks into each. She tells great stories and has uncovered truths that apply to every horse-woman, universally. Her prose is interrupted with beautiful poems (both by her and other writers), wise quotes, and meaningful short stories. It is a touching book, and possibly the most true thing I have ever read. I think every equestrienne should read this book at least once in her lifetime.
6. Power
Midkiff's section on power starts off with a quote by Anette Foglino: "I get this small surge of power as this giant, loveable beast bends to my whim." The power that horses offer is deep and multi-faceted. There is, of course, the physical power surge. A woman on a horse is equally as powerful as any other person (man, woman, or child) on a horse--and much more powerful than a person on the ground. Women are generally not brawny, brute creatures, but horses to us are like spinach to Popeye. They give us an extra boost of power and strength. There is also mental strength: both the intangible "horsepower" and self esteem. For someone who was never physically talented, I found a certain power in my riding lessons. I wasn't a natural-born rider, but I learned from the horse, and with small steps, I came to the realization that time and effort could make up for my lack of athleticism. This gave me confidence in myself, confidence in both the power of my mind and my body. And of course, there is the strongest power of them all, what I call "horsepower". Horses have this uncanny ability to console and nurture, to reveal things to you about yourself, to push your limits and help you grow, to bring people together and forge bonds. That kind of horsepower is not something we will ever be able to get from a car.
7. Nurturance
"Students as they are of nature, Native Americans looked to the horse as a model of how to lead. ... Time may have passed since those days, but the horse continues to teach us all about nurturing and leadership and how the relate to one another." (She Flies Without Wings, p. 150) It is a horse's instinct to care for themselves. They know how to eat (and eat well!). They are attentive to danger and possible threats. They can keep themselves in shape. Horses can sustain themselves perfectly well, but more than that, they can pamper themselves. Midkiff offers the image of a grazing horse, an "innately self-satisfying" animal. They do not eat whatever is in front of them; they do not consume the needed calories and move on. They search out the best grass, and add some variety with flowers or leaves. As humans, we've fallen into the habit of eating whatever we can get our hands on soonest: from fast food to frozen fish. We put work and family and friends at the top of our lists in both noble and ignoble ways. The problem is that we can't fully take care of other people or problems unless we are taking care of ourselves. A good horse will not only nurture you emotionally, he will teach you to nurture yourself.
8. Transformation through Compassion
To paraphrase She Flies Without Wings, a princess breathes within every broodmare. Surely, we have all known mean horses and mean people. But the bond between women and horses allow for one powerful transformation to occur and bring out the better side of both people and animals. Midkiff has "seen horses transform humans and humans transform horses. ... For most of us, transformation is pretty much a matter of chance or luck. We discover the transforming power of an experience only after we've inadvertently stumbled through it. Horses give us a chance to seek transformation by giving us a partner so challenging and engrossing that it is difficult to be involved with the horse and not be touched in significant ways." Horses can inspire personal growth; they can make us braver, more confident, more trusting, and more understanding people. We humans can also shape a horse; we can show love and compassion to a horse that is not familiar with it. We can rehabilitate neglected horses and teach them to trust in us. We can soften the angry nature of a broodmare to find the "princess" inside them. We can grow courage in a shy, skittish colt. Whether horses are transforming you or you are transforming horses, it is a powerful experience for both human and equine.
9. Spirituality
"In womanhood, horses do seem miraculous" (p. 189). They straddle the line between physical reality and spiritual. Being with horses is meditation, a time to quiet the mind and focus on the soul. The soothing rhythm of hooves, the rocking movement of the canter... They are naturally meditative. In an indoor arena, you are in touch with nature: you can feel the sand under your feet or the breath of an inhuman being on your neck. In an outdoor ring, and especially on a trail, you are even more in touch with nature and the great forces of life--whether you call it God, Gaia, Mother Earth, or simple the Universe. The twinkling stars overhead or the bright sun in the sky look different on horseback. The songs of birds sound different. The wind that hits your face is a different wind than the one that fluttered your skirt as you walked out of the office yesterday. Everything has new meaning, new significance. Horses are ritualistic and spiritualistic. They "[lift] us out of our material word and [carry] us so high above it that we begin to see the threads that connect us to the rest of the universe" (p.195).
10. Acceptance
"Acceptance matters to all of us," Midkiff truthfully states. "It matters because we feel happiest and most comfortable when we are wanted and included... It matters because we have to accept ourselves to reach contentment. Our horses do it innately; we have to work at it." Horses are herd animals, but not every horse is accepted by its herd. Midkiff, in her chapter on acceptance, tells the story of a colt named Bandit, who had to make a place for himself in a pasture herd that rejected him. Bandit did not give up and withdraw like a recluse into the shadows, but he did have to be smart in how he approached the other horses. Instead of living as a reject, he dealt with their initial rejection, and began deliberately easing himself into the herd. By accepting himself and letting go of any fear of rejection, Bandit found a place for himself among the others. As humans, we do not all bounce back from rejection like Bandit. But horses offer us a place to flee when we are rejected, because we know that horses will accept us. They will not reject us because we are poor or ugly or stupid or lonely or confused; and if, for some reason, they do reject us, we know that we can always come back with a treat to gain their good grace. But, as Midkiff points out, "even then... horses aren't enough." We need a human herd, too, even if the people we face aren't always so nice. And as horses teach us to accept ourselves, finding acceptance with others isn't so hard. As the chapter closes, Midkiff relates, "It took a good long while, but I finally claimed for myself what Bandit knew all along: that we have to believe in our worth, that we can work our way into a herd, that there's no sense in beating ourselves up when we fail, and that the ultimate acceptance for any of us is found beneath our own skins. Only then can we truly belong."
____________________________________
What I've touched on in this post, and in the other, is only the tip of the iceberg for Mary D. Midkiff. Her book is filled with a few more reasons that I did not cover, as well as much more in depth and insightful looks into each. She tells great stories and has uncovered truths that apply to every horse-woman, universally. Her prose is interrupted with beautiful poems (both by her and other writers), wise quotes, and meaningful short stories. It is a touching book, and possibly the most true thing I have ever read. I think every equestrienne should read this book at least once in her lifetime.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
That's One Big Sorority House!
It's been a very long day for me. I'm going on four hours of sleep, and I've spent the day traveling, placating children, and dealing with relatives. But even on a day like today, the horse world is inescapable.
I treated myself to a spur-of-the-moment shopping spree after the Day That Would Never End, and as I walked the outlets, I passed a woman carrying at least six shopping bags. But more than the loot, I noticed her outfit: breeches, Ovation Zocks, and paddock boots. I laughed, because I could picture how her afternoon had went: squeezing in some relaxing time at the barn before putting her horse away and rushing off to hit up the sales rack. She hadn't even had time to change, only to slip off her half-chaps and stow them in her car.
I see women in breeches, and though I've never met them before, I know who they are. And I smile, like there's some inside joke between us, because although we will never speak, there is a bond that connects us. A common thread that makes us the same.
When I see a woman shopping in breeches, I see a sorority sister.
"These are the years, these are the girls, and this is the Sorority."
I treated myself to a spur-of-the-moment shopping spree after the Day That Would Never End, and as I walked the outlets, I passed a woman carrying at least six shopping bags. But more than the loot, I noticed her outfit: breeches, Ovation Zocks, and paddock boots. I laughed, because I could picture how her afternoon had went: squeezing in some relaxing time at the barn before putting her horse away and rushing off to hit up the sales rack. She hadn't even had time to change, only to slip off her half-chaps and stow them in her car.
I see women in breeches, and though I've never met them before, I know who they are. And I smile, like there's some inside joke between us, because although we will never speak, there is a bond that connects us. A common thread that makes us the same.
When I see a woman shopping in breeches, I see a sorority sister.
"These are the years, these are the girls, and this is the Sorority."
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Story That Never Was: Part Four
Need to catch up?
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
______________________
Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from any direction. (A Cowboy Saying)
I was going to compete in my first horse show in two years-- and I was going to have to do it on a green horse.
Shannon recommended that we set our sights low. After all, it was Jake's first show, and she wanted it to be a learning experience. We wouldn't push him too much, and we certainly wouldn't show him against the $25,000 hunters that grace the lower levels of the LHJA circuit. It was a rated show, and Jake and I were way out of our league. Shannon made sure that was clear.
So, tails between our legs and eyes cast to the ground, we set our goal to compete in Hunt Seat Equitation over X's. It was a reasonable goal for a green horse new to the English world; he would get to experience the sounds and feel of a horse show without actually being judged in his class. I, on the other hand, was expected to sit pretty while riding a green horse over fences in an unfamiliar environment. However, Jake was not the typical green horse, and I was not the typical equitation rider. The concept of "Trot X" bored us both, and there was a feeling of discomfort between us as we geared up for the big show.
In my head, I was ready for the "big league" (by which I jokingly mean Mini-Stirrup), but in truth, I was still very young and very inexperienced. It was my first rated show, and when Shannon said we were out of our league, she meant it. I discovered that the moment I arrived at the show grounds.
Carousel Farms was buzzing with Louisiana's Finest-- huge sporthorses for the jumper classes and pristine little hunters tailored for the show ring. The equitation ring was reserved mostly for riding students from Carousel Farms and other riding schools. There, I felt a bit more comfortable, but the huge gap between myself and the real riders was still obvious. When I look back at the pictures from that show, I laugh and wonder who let Jake and I attend an LHJA show looking like that? My hair is a mess, my boots are dusty, my helmet barely fits... and Jake isn't in much better shape. His mane is long and in his face, and his tail is not braided. He does, at least, have a healthy shine to his coat that most Carousel horses lacked. And in the pictures, neither of us look very happy to be there.
It was time to warm-up, and I was very nervous. Jake wasn't holding up well, either, and I knew I needed to calm down for his sake. He seemed irritated and on edge, more annoyed to be there than overwhelmed. I entered the warm-up ring and tried to breath deep breathes. I told myself that it was no big deal; I only had to trot around the ring and jump four Xs. Hardly difficult. But needless to say, the atmosphere of a rate show is completely different than that of a schooling show, and I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I didn't belong in that ring.
The warm-up helped settled Jake and I as we trotted a soothing rhythm around the ring. I was just beginning to calm down and relax into my horse when something happened that shook us both up for good.
It is understood as horse show etiquette that, if your horse kicks, you tie a red ribbon around its tail for the warm ups, to let everyone know to keep their distance. It shouldn't be necessary, as riders should automatically keep their distance from other horses in the ring, but it is polite. Jake was a kicker. Why Shannon did not think to put a ribbon on his is beyond me (and I only don't hold myself responsible because I was at the most twelve years old, and Shannon was probably twenty-five). Anyway, I don't know why we lacked the proper manners to warn the others that he was a kicker, and, knowing the circumstances, I don't think that red ribbon would have made much of a difference, but I bet you can guess what happened next.
My friend Kim (like Shannon and Donna, this is not her real name) was competing in the same class as I was, and she was warming her horse Handsome up in the ring with him. If their is such a thing as a gay horse, Handsome was it. He was very prissy, and hated getting dirty, which made him a pain to ride, but he was Kim's baby. Unfortunately, Kim had just about as much brains as Handsome (maybe less) when it came to riding. She always rode at this trot that, I think, aimed to run the horse straight into the ground, and she gave very little consideration to others in the ring. I distinctly remember Handsome trotting along at this ridiculous pace, fighting not to break into the canter. When riding at such a pace, you will eventually need to pass up every other horse in the ring or learn to slow down, and when Handsome got stuck traveling behind Jake, Kim tried to pass.
Everything might have been fine, except that Jake and I were currently trotting past the outside line of jumps, and Kim had to cut in between my horse and a jump standard. To Jake, this was way too close for comfort. As prissy Handsome slid by us, my spunky pony turned his haunches out and launched a swift kick before I could rein him in. Luckily for us, Handsome was going so fast that Jake's kick didn't make contact, but Handsome certainly got the message. There was some squeals of disbelief, some pinned ears, and stuttering hooves, and then the episode was over. Handsome kept trotting along his merry way, and Jake was given the elbow room he wanted.
Still, it was one of the first times I had been on a horse that kicked, and I was a little shaken up. The action had been minor and short-lived, but it was enough to set off my nerves again. It seemed like a bad omen going in to the show ring, and it was a bad first impression to leave the judges with.
Our class started and my number was called; I walked into the show ring knowing for sure that Jake and I had started off on the wrong foot.
[To be continued]
Part Five
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
______________________
Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from any direction. (A Cowboy Saying)
I was going to compete in my first horse show in two years-- and I was going to have to do it on a green horse.
Shannon recommended that we set our sights low. After all, it was Jake's first show, and she wanted it to be a learning experience. We wouldn't push him too much, and we certainly wouldn't show him against the $25,000 hunters that grace the lower levels of the LHJA circuit. It was a rated show, and Jake and I were way out of our league. Shannon made sure that was clear.
So, tails between our legs and eyes cast to the ground, we set our goal to compete in Hunt Seat Equitation over X's. It was a reasonable goal for a green horse new to the English world; he would get to experience the sounds and feel of a horse show without actually being judged in his class. I, on the other hand, was expected to sit pretty while riding a green horse over fences in an unfamiliar environment. However, Jake was not the typical green horse, and I was not the typical equitation rider. The concept of "Trot X" bored us both, and there was a feeling of discomfort between us as we geared up for the big show.
In my head, I was ready for the "big league" (by which I jokingly mean Mini-Stirrup), but in truth, I was still very young and very inexperienced. It was my first rated show, and when Shannon said we were out of our league, she meant it. I discovered that the moment I arrived at the show grounds.
Carousel Farms was buzzing with Louisiana's Finest-- huge sporthorses for the jumper classes and pristine little hunters tailored for the show ring. The equitation ring was reserved mostly for riding students from Carousel Farms and other riding schools. There, I felt a bit more comfortable, but the huge gap between myself and the real riders was still obvious. When I look back at the pictures from that show, I laugh and wonder who let Jake and I attend an LHJA show looking like that? My hair is a mess, my boots are dusty, my helmet barely fits... and Jake isn't in much better shape. His mane is long and in his face, and his tail is not braided. He does, at least, have a healthy shine to his coat that most Carousel horses lacked. And in the pictures, neither of us look very happy to be there.
It was time to warm-up, and I was very nervous. Jake wasn't holding up well, either, and I knew I needed to calm down for his sake. He seemed irritated and on edge, more annoyed to be there than overwhelmed. I entered the warm-up ring and tried to breath deep breathes. I told myself that it was no big deal; I only had to trot around the ring and jump four Xs. Hardly difficult. But needless to say, the atmosphere of a rate show is completely different than that of a schooling show, and I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I didn't belong in that ring.
The warm-up helped settled Jake and I as we trotted a soothing rhythm around the ring. I was just beginning to calm down and relax into my horse when something happened that shook us both up for good.
It is understood as horse show etiquette that, if your horse kicks, you tie a red ribbon around its tail for the warm ups, to let everyone know to keep their distance. It shouldn't be necessary, as riders should automatically keep their distance from other horses in the ring, but it is polite. Jake was a kicker. Why Shannon did not think to put a ribbon on his is beyond me (and I only don't hold myself responsible because I was at the most twelve years old, and Shannon was probably twenty-five). Anyway, I don't know why we lacked the proper manners to warn the others that he was a kicker, and, knowing the circumstances, I don't think that red ribbon would have made much of a difference, but I bet you can guess what happened next.
My friend Kim (like Shannon and Donna, this is not her real name) was competing in the same class as I was, and she was warming her horse Handsome up in the ring with him. If their is such a thing as a gay horse, Handsome was it. He was very prissy, and hated getting dirty, which made him a pain to ride, but he was Kim's baby. Unfortunately, Kim had just about as much brains as Handsome (maybe less) when it came to riding. She always rode at this trot that, I think, aimed to run the horse straight into the ground, and she gave very little consideration to others in the ring. I distinctly remember Handsome trotting along at this ridiculous pace, fighting not to break into the canter. When riding at such a pace, you will eventually need to pass up every other horse in the ring or learn to slow down, and when Handsome got stuck traveling behind Jake, Kim tried to pass.
Everything might have been fine, except that Jake and I were currently trotting past the outside line of jumps, and Kim had to cut in between my horse and a jump standard. To Jake, this was way too close for comfort. As prissy Handsome slid by us, my spunky pony turned his haunches out and launched a swift kick before I could rein him in. Luckily for us, Handsome was going so fast that Jake's kick didn't make contact, but Handsome certainly got the message. There was some squeals of disbelief, some pinned ears, and stuttering hooves, and then the episode was over. Handsome kept trotting along his merry way, and Jake was given the elbow room he wanted.
Still, it was one of the first times I had been on a horse that kicked, and I was a little shaken up. The action had been minor and short-lived, but it was enough to set off my nerves again. It seemed like a bad omen going in to the show ring, and it was a bad first impression to leave the judges with.
Our class started and my number was called; I walked into the show ring knowing for sure that Jake and I had started off on the wrong foot.
[To be continued]
Part Five
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Ten Reasons Why Women Love Horses
When I created this blog, I had to think about a name. I take naming things very seriously, and so it was hard for me to come to a decision. Clearly, "Flying Horses" is not the most amusing name, nor is it very literal. After all, this is not a blog about carousels or a Pegasus. But I derived the name from two great sources: one, the Koran ("Horse, thou art truly a creature without equal, for thou fliest without wings and conquerest without sword."); and two, a very memorable non-fiction book.
Now, I generally prefer to read fiction, and I think most people feel the same way. After all, no matter how many great non-fiction books or articles you read, the word itself has negative connotations. Non-fiction. Prosaic. Maybe didactic. Boring? And, God forbid, true.
But non-fiction has to be none of these things. (Okay, except for true. It does have to be true. Mostly.) In fact, there is some non-fiction that is more captivating than any novel ever written. And for those of you who know me and my obsession with novels, you know that for me, that is saying a lot.
But Mary D. Midkiff's She Flies Without Wings has made a lasting impression on me. Enough so that, three and a half years after reading it, it inspired the title to this blog. There are pages within that book that I can quote by heart, as well as words and phrases from it that have subconsciously slipped into my everyday language. Whenever I talk about horses, I pull from the ideas presented in that book. And I have only ever read it once.
She Flies Without Wings is subtitled "How Horses Touch a Woman's Soul," and I think those words just about some up the book. It is that theme right there that makes the book so special. Because many of us know our passion for horses, but we can't explain the why. To someone on the outside, it all seems so strange. But Mary D. Midkiff gets it. She breaks down the magnetic force and passion these animals have on us into ten compartments, ten reasons why women are so drawn to horses.
1. A Natural
Affinity
We are drawn to horses by our very nature. More than puppies or kittens, little girls always wish for ponies. As we get older, our wishes mature, but the attraction to the horse remains the same. To paraphrase Midkiff, a hungry soul is always looking for a horse. Their very nature inspires us from the first encounter; we are filled with awe and respect and wonder.
2. Sensuality
I was watching The Nanny the other night, and Fran turned to Niles and said, "Yes, but Mr. Sheffield thinks Miss Babcock goes horseback riding for the exercise." Despite such innuendo, Midkiff focuses on the difference between sensuality and sexuality. The smells of horses and barns are comforting to us horsepeople; they are sweet and familiar. The shine of leather, the feel of horsehair beneath your fingers, the sweat of both you and your horse- riding is a very sensory experience. Horses teach us the difference between pop culture "sensuality" and true sensuality. Horses "simply live fully in their bodies and their surroundings." They are fully aware of their bodies, and teach us to be the same. This sensuality is a great freedom to women who have had the media's image of sexuality shoved down their throats.
3. Commitment
Let's face it: in today's world, there are few things that are certain. Divorce rates are up, the meaning of friendship is ill-defined, and attention spans are shorter. And one phrase has come into popular use, "commitment issues." There is a certain commitment that women can get from horses that we can't find anywhere else. They may fight with us, they may ignore us, but at the end of the day, they are always there. The relationship between women and horses is very codependent. We rely on each other, and we learn to be fully committed to each other. In a world where commitment is scarce, this bond with a horse is even more valuable.
4. Creativity
"The horse is a catalyst for a woman's creativity because it carries us through the doors that stand between the familiar and the unfamiliar... and introduces us to experiences we might otherwise miss." (p. 75, She Flies Without Wings) I think I've already covered how horses inspire artistic creativity, but they bring out creativity in more than artists. They are a break in the monotony of life; they inspire us to be adventurous. To push our limits by raising the bar of that vertical, by attempting that upper level movement. We have to be innovative in our approach with horses, we have to think on our feet (or on their feet), and we have to be able to lift ourselves to new heights and set our eyes on higher horizons.
5. Danger
In every human is that small craving for danger, the liking of adrenaline. We're
not all Evel Knievels, but there is part of us that is attracted to the dangerous. With horses, that level of danger is always present; that we are able to overcome our fears and the possibility of danger to truly free ourselves and be riders speaks volumes about our trust in our horses. But admit it. There is part of you that, even when you're scared, loves the adrenaline. When I'm rushing toward an abnormally large oxer in one of my jumping lessons, I get scared- but I love it. And when I'm over the jump, I feel brave for having overcome that danger. Whether you're a jumper or not, there is always some threat with horses. But the danger speaks to us. That is why we are able to fall off the horse, and get right back in the saddle again.
_______________________________________
This article is continued here.
Now, I generally prefer to read fiction, and I think most people feel the same way. After all, no matter how many great non-fiction books or articles you read, the word itself has negative connotations. Non-fiction. Prosaic. Maybe didactic. Boring? And, God forbid, true.
But non-fiction has to be none of these things. (Okay, except for true. It does have to be true. Mostly.) In fact, there is some non-fiction that is more captivating than any novel ever written. And for those of you who know me and my obsession with novels, you know that for me, that is saying a lot.
But Mary D. Midkiff's She Flies Without Wings has made a lasting impression on me. Enough so that, three and a half years after reading it, it inspired the title to this blog. There are pages within that book that I can quote by heart, as well as words and phrases from it that have subconsciously slipped into my everyday language. Whenever I talk about horses, I pull from the ideas presented in that book. And I have only ever read it once.
She Flies Without Wings is subtitled "How Horses Touch a Woman's Soul," and I think those words just about some up the book. It is that theme right there that makes the book so special. Because many of us know our passion for horses, but we can't explain the why. To someone on the outside, it all seems so strange. But Mary D. Midkiff gets it. She breaks down the magnetic force and passion these animals have on us into ten compartments, ten reasons why women are so drawn to horses.
1. A Natural
AffinityWe are drawn to horses by our very nature. More than puppies or kittens, little girls always wish for ponies. As we get older, our wishes mature, but the attraction to the horse remains the same. To paraphrase Midkiff, a hungry soul is always looking for a horse. Their very nature inspires us from the first encounter; we are filled with awe and respect and wonder.
2. Sensuality
I was watching The Nanny the other night, and Fran turned to Niles and said, "Yes, but Mr. Sheffield thinks Miss Babcock goes horseback riding for the exercise." Despite such innuendo, Midkiff focuses on the difference between sensuality and sexuality. The smells of horses and barns are comforting to us horsepeople; they are sweet and familiar. The shine of leather, the feel of horsehair beneath your fingers, the sweat of both you and your horse- riding is a very sensory experience. Horses teach us the difference between pop culture "sensuality" and true sensuality. Horses "simply live fully in their bodies and their surroundings." They are fully aware of their bodies, and teach us to be the same. This sensuality is a great freedom to women who have had the media's image of sexuality shoved down their throats.
3. Commitment
Let's face it: in today's world, there are few things that are certain. Divorce rates are up, the meaning of friendship is ill-defined, and attention spans are shorter. And one phrase has come into popular use, "commitment issues." There is a certain commitment that women can get from horses that we can't find anywhere else. They may fight with us, they may ignore us, but at the end of the day, they are always there. The relationship between women and horses is very codependent. We rely on each other, and we learn to be fully committed to each other. In a world where commitment is scarce, this bond with a horse is even more valuable.
4. Creativity
"The horse is a catalyst for a woman's creativity because it carries us through the doors that stand between the familiar and the unfamiliar... and introduces us to experiences we might otherwise miss." (p. 75, She Flies Without Wings) I think I've already covered how horses inspire artistic creativity, but they bring out creativity in more than artists. They are a break in the monotony of life; they inspire us to be adventurous. To push our limits by raising the bar of that vertical, by attempting that upper level movement. We have to be innovative in our approach with horses, we have to think on our feet (or on their feet), and we have to be able to lift ourselves to new heights and set our eyes on higher horizons.
5. Danger
In every human is that small craving for danger, the liking of adrenaline. We're
not all Evel Knievels, but there is part of us that is attracted to the dangerous. With horses, that level of danger is always present; that we are able to overcome our fears and the possibility of danger to truly free ourselves and be riders speaks volumes about our trust in our horses. But admit it. There is part of you that, even when you're scared, loves the adrenaline. When I'm rushing toward an abnormally large oxer in one of my jumping lessons, I get scared- but I love it. And when I'm over the jump, I feel brave for having overcome that danger. Whether you're a jumper or not, there is always some threat with horses. But the danger speaks to us. That is why we are able to fall off the horse, and get right back in the saddle again._______________________________________
This article is continued here.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
The Story that Never Was: Part Three
Need to catch up? Read Part One and Part Two.
__________________________________
You and your horse. His strength and beauty. Your knowledge and patience and determination. And understanding. And love. That's what fuses the two of you into this marvelous partnership that makes you wonder, what can Heaven offer any better than what you have here on earth? (Monica Dickens)
Handling a horse on the ground is completely different than actually sitting on its back. Whether you're walking said horse in a circle or warming it up for four foot fences, there is a difference between the horse you have encountered on the ground and the Horse you will encounter in the saddle. Now, I loved Jake-the little Quarter Horsepony that Donna had brought to Carousel Farm- but I only knew him from the ground.
Riding Jake was a much different experience. Not inherently being a school horse (or even an English horse for that matter), his gaits were not something I was used to. Horses that have not been beaten thin by years of mediocre students learning to ride have much more impulsion than those who have. They are also much more sensitive to the aids. And as a Western-trained horse, he moved in a perceptibly different way. It was like switching from a used Toyota Corolla to a brand new Subaru sedan.
Jake's vices on the ground held up under saddle- but only so far as the other horses were concerned. He wasn't particularly interested in being a hunter/jumper, but he did have a natural talent. In the ring, my trainer Shannon no longer called him the "SuperBrat" but instead "Super Star." And Super Star he was. He could be stubborn in the beginning of lessons, but once he got warmed up, he really shined. He seemed to dance over ground poles and leap over jumps like a graceful strike of lightning. Jake could make the most inexperienced rider look fabulous. He was green, to be sure, though; he could overreact at a shadow or a misplaced aid, he could get bored and act up. If the lesson lasted longer than he liked, he would simply stop (sometimes from a nice, even canter), toss his head, and stamp his foot. I've had enough, he seemed to say. Could we please leave now? He could be temperamental and he still had volumes to learn, but there was some instinct in him to do his best (and have fun doing it) that made him a pleasure to ride.
It was obvious to everyone that I loved him. I patiently put up with his mood swings on the ground and his misdemeanors in lessons. He had a lot to learn about English riding; I had a lot to learn about riding real horses. Our lessons were what you could call an educational experience. We worked well together. Sure, we had our missteps along the way, but we always ended our rides with some profound knowledge gained- and this at a barn where even a superficial lesson was rare.
It had been a few months since I had started riding Jake when Donna decided that it was time: the school horses had settled in, the riders had returned, and Carousel Farms was back in business. Only one thing would make it official... A horse show.
And thus Jake and I began training towards our next goal: competing in a hunter class at his first show.
[To be continued]
__________________________________
You and your horse. His strength and beauty. Your knowledge and patience and determination. And understanding. And love. That's what fuses the two of you into this marvelous partnership that makes you wonder, what can Heaven offer any better than what you have here on earth? (Monica Dickens)
Handling a horse on the ground is completely different than actually sitting on its back. Whether you're walking said horse in a circle or warming it up for four foot fences, there is a difference between the horse you have encountered on the ground and the Horse you will encounter in the saddle. Now, I loved Jake-the little Quarter Horsepony that Donna had brought to Carousel Farm- but I only knew him from the ground.
Riding Jake was a much different experience. Not inherently being a school horse (or even an English horse for that matter), his gaits were not something I was used to. Horses that have not been beaten thin by years of mediocre students learning to ride have much more impulsion than those who have. They are also much more sensitive to the aids. And as a Western-trained horse, he moved in a perceptibly different way. It was like switching from a used Toyota Corolla to a brand new Subaru sedan.
Jake's vices on the ground held up under saddle- but only so far as the other horses were concerned. He wasn't particularly interested in being a hunter/jumper, but he did have a natural talent. In the ring, my trainer Shannon no longer called him the "SuperBrat" but instead "Super Star." And Super Star he was. He could be stubborn in the beginning of lessons, but once he got warmed up, he really shined. He seemed to dance over ground poles and leap over jumps like a graceful strike of lightning. Jake could make the most inexperienced rider look fabulous. He was green, to be sure, though; he could overreact at a shadow or a misplaced aid, he could get bored and act up. If the lesson lasted longer than he liked, he would simply stop (sometimes from a nice, even canter), toss his head, and stamp his foot. I've had enough, he seemed to say. Could we please leave now? He could be temperamental and he still had volumes to learn, but there was some instinct in him to do his best (and have fun doing it) that made him a pleasure to ride.
It was obvious to everyone that I loved him. I patiently put up with his mood swings on the ground and his misdemeanors in lessons. He had a lot to learn about English riding; I had a lot to learn about riding real horses. Our lessons were what you could call an educational experience. We worked well together. Sure, we had our missteps along the way, but we always ended our rides with some profound knowledge gained- and this at a barn where even a superficial lesson was rare.
It had been a few months since I had started riding Jake when Donna decided that it was time: the school horses had settled in, the riders had returned, and Carousel Farms was back in business. Only one thing would make it official... A horse show.
And thus Jake and I began training towards our next goal: competing in a hunter class at his first show.
[To be continued]
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
A Post from the Parade Grounds
In case you are unaware, tomorrow is Ash Wednesday (the kickoff of the Catholic Lenten season), which makes today a very important holiday in certain parts of the world: Carnival. Better known as "Mardi Gras"*, Carnival is the one time of year when I truly feel bad for the horses. Parade horses are not happy by nature. And who can blame them? With The Marching 100 blaring their instruments, flashing lights, screaming masses of people, and packs of beads flying through the air, parade horses have a lot to deal with. No doubt, our prancing steeds will take a huge sigh of relief tonight, when they can go back to their mundane lives of munching hay and riding lessons.
And what is a better topic for this very special day than the historic, ever-famous Horse Guards Parade?
The Horse Guards Parade is an old parade ground in central London that dates back to the 16th century, where it was used as a tiltyard. The grounds have been used parades and other ceremonies for about five centuries now. Horseguards has truly seen the good, the bad, and the ugly, as far as events go: it has been the site of royal birthday celebrations, as well as a parking lot for civil servants. It is also the official residence of the Prime Minister.
The Horse Guards Parade was the site of the first ever London Polo Championships in 2009. It is also set to host the beach volleyball competitions in the 2012 Summer Olympics.
The typical Horse Guards "parade" can be witnessed every hour, as the changing of the guards occurs. While there may be no floats or Mardi Gras beads at this parade, it is just as culturally rich for Londoners as Carnival is for New Orleanians. And much more pleasant for the horses.
_______________________________
*Cultural Note: There is never an article, such as the or and, in front of Mardi Gras. And the s is never pronounced.
And what is a better topic for this very special day than the historic, ever-famous Horse Guards Parade?
The Horse Guards Parade is an old parade ground in central London that dates back to the 16th century, where it was used as a tiltyard. The grounds have been used parades and other ceremonies for about five centuries now. Horseguards has truly seen the good, the bad, and the ugly, as far as events go: it has been the site of royal birthday celebrations, as well as a parking lot for civil servants. It is also the official residence of the Prime Minister.
The Horse Guards Parade was the site of the first ever London Polo Championships in 2009. It is also set to host the beach volleyball competitions in the 2012 Summer Olympics.
The typical Horse Guards "parade" can be witnessed every hour, as the changing of the guards occurs. While there may be no floats or Mardi Gras beads at this parade, it is just as culturally rich for Londoners as Carnival is for New Orleanians. And much more pleasant for the horses.
_______________________________
*Cultural Note: There is never an article, such as the or and, in front of Mardi Gras. And the s is never pronounced.
Monday, February 15, 2010
The Story that Never Was: Part Two
Click here to read Part One.
_______________________________________
For the day’s work was done and in the peace of the evening there seemed to be a quiet understanding between the girl and her horse, who watched her with a dreamy and trustful gaze. (Marjorie Stace)
It was there, slaving away at my barn after Hurricane Katrina, that I found him (cliche as it sounds), "my perfect horse."
His name was Jake. He was a Quarter Something: whether a Pony or a Horse, I'll let you decide. He straddled the line at exactly fourteen point two hands. But whatever he was, he was packed full of muscle and young foolishness. He was a green Western horse being retrained as a hunter/jumper, and I watched as Donna and Shannon worked like scientists, running their experiment with a ruthless determination to force their desired result.
Now, those months after "the storm" are a bit blurry, and I can't remember exactly what happened when. But I do know that sometime after Jake arrived, Carousel Farm officially reopened for business. Many of the school horses had been sold to out-of-state farms because Donna couldn't afford to keep to a keep her riding team of a dozen horses when there was no one to pay for lessons. So the arrival of Jake, and two or three other new horses, symbolized the new era of Carousel Farms Riding Academy.
The consensus around the barn was that Jake was a pony. That horse could've been eighteen hands tall, and everyone still would have referred to him as "that pony." It was a title he deserved; he bit and kicked and cribbed and generally behaved like the SuperBrat. I'm not saying his vices weren't a result of bad training or the bad conditions he was in (in fact, more often than not, I blame Donna and Shannon for all their horses' problems), but his modus operandi was certainly that of the "pony mentality". And oh, was he spoiled! That gelding was the horse equivalent of a three-week-old banana. Horse-starved little girls swarmed like fruit flies around the cute, bright Quarter Horsepony with his four perfectly stockinged legs and a chestnut coat that shone like the skin of a fresh apple. He even had a bright blaze of white that read like an exclamation point on his happy, little face.
I had worked with him briefly- maybe less than a week- and I got along with him easily. We came to an agreement: If he wouldn't bite me, then I wouldn't bite him back; I might even give him a treat. He knew better than to nip or kick me. The most I would get was a harsh flick of the tail. He would lick my fingers after I fed him peppermints, and though I didn't see him on a regular basis, he would sometimes nicker when I approached his stall- as if he remembered who I was and was happy to have me there.
When my regular riding lessons resumed, I put in a request to ride him. The schedule of who would ride whom was always made up a week in advance, but after each lesson, I would request to ride him the next week. And then that "next week" came, and I was told "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot, and the roster's already made up for the week now." I remember that there was always a girl who rode him during my lessons. I'd see her in the ring next to mine, and it seemed like an poorly told joke to watch those two together. I don't remember if she was less or more advanced than I was, but I do know that she had not put any time or effort into helping Donna rebuild Carousel Farm. All my hard work, and I was stuck riding every school horse but the one I wanted to be on.
And then, one day, I arrived at the barn, glanced at at the roster, and bit back a gasp. There it was: my name, and next to it, Jake's.
Maybe the poor woman who worked the front desk got tired of my whining, maybe the girl who had been riding him moved on to a different horse... I don't know what happened to make Carousel Farm finally honor my request, but they had. I had finally received my wish: I would get to ride Jake, the horse I knew only from the ground, but whom I had come to love, nonetheless.
[To be continued]
Part Three
_______________________________________
For the day’s work was done and in the peace of the evening there seemed to be a quiet understanding between the girl and her horse, who watched her with a dreamy and trustful gaze. (Marjorie Stace)
It was there, slaving away at my barn after Hurricane Katrina, that I found him (cliche as it sounds), "my perfect horse."
His name was Jake. He was a Quarter Something: whether a Pony or a Horse, I'll let you decide. He straddled the line at exactly fourteen point two hands. But whatever he was, he was packed full of muscle and young foolishness. He was a green Western horse being retrained as a hunter/jumper, and I watched as Donna and Shannon worked like scientists, running their experiment with a ruthless determination to force their desired result.
Now, those months after "the storm" are a bit blurry, and I can't remember exactly what happened when. But I do know that sometime after Jake arrived, Carousel Farm officially reopened for business. Many of the school horses had been sold to out-of-state farms because Donna couldn't afford to keep to a keep her riding team of a dozen horses when there was no one to pay for lessons. So the arrival of Jake, and two or three other new horses, symbolized the new era of Carousel Farms Riding Academy.
The consensus around the barn was that Jake was a pony. That horse could've been eighteen hands tall, and everyone still would have referred to him as "that pony." It was a title he deserved; he bit and kicked and cribbed and generally behaved like the SuperBrat. I'm not saying his vices weren't a result of bad training or the bad conditions he was in (in fact, more often than not, I blame Donna and Shannon for all their horses' problems), but his modus operandi was certainly that of the "pony mentality". And oh, was he spoiled! That gelding was the horse equivalent of a three-week-old banana. Horse-starved little girls swarmed like fruit flies around the cute, bright Quarter Horsepony with his four perfectly stockinged legs and a chestnut coat that shone like the skin of a fresh apple. He even had a bright blaze of white that read like an exclamation point on his happy, little face.
I had worked with him briefly- maybe less than a week- and I got along with him easily. We came to an agreement: If he wouldn't bite me, then I wouldn't bite him back; I might even give him a treat. He knew better than to nip or kick me. The most I would get was a harsh flick of the tail. He would lick my fingers after I fed him peppermints, and though I didn't see him on a regular basis, he would sometimes nicker when I approached his stall- as if he remembered who I was and was happy to have me there.
When my regular riding lessons resumed, I put in a request to ride him. The schedule of who would ride whom was always made up a week in advance, but after each lesson, I would request to ride him the next week. And then that "next week" came, and I was told "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot, and the roster's already made up for the week now." I remember that there was always a girl who rode him during my lessons. I'd see her in the ring next to mine, and it seemed like an poorly told joke to watch those two together. I don't remember if she was less or more advanced than I was, but I do know that she had not put any time or effort into helping Donna rebuild Carousel Farm. All my hard work, and I was stuck riding every school horse but the one I wanted to be on.
And then, one day, I arrived at the barn, glanced at at the roster, and bit back a gasp. There it was: my name, and next to it, Jake's.
Maybe the poor woman who worked the front desk got tired of my whining, maybe the girl who had been riding him moved on to a different horse... I don't know what happened to make Carousel Farm finally honor my request, but they had. I had finally received my wish: I would get to ride Jake, the horse I knew only from the ground, but whom I had come to love, nonetheless.
[To be continued]
Part Three
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Love is in the air.
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! If you're single, don't feel lonely: I'm sure your horse has a big Valentine's Day treat planned just for you. And if you're not single... Well, then maybe you're getting a shiny new engagement ring today? If you're planning your vows, you may want to check out these cake toppers that I found on Etsy. (Yes, I've been window shopping again.)
This cake topper from Amy's Clay Critters is whimsical, and
(not to mention) completely adorable.
This cake topper from Amy's Clay Critters is whimsical, and
(not to mention) completely adorable.
But if you're looking for something a bit more classic...
Paty's Clay can custom make a fine, personalized topper
for any equestrian bride.
But whether you're getting a ring or not, may today bring you much love and joy- and always remember, your horse loves you completely and unconditionally... no matter what day of the year it is.
Paty's Clay can custom make a fine, personalized topper
for any equestrian bride.
But whether you're getting a ring or not, may today bring you much love and joy- and always remember, your horse loves you completely and unconditionally... no matter what day of the year it is.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
The Story that Never Was: Part One
After reading the blog "Dressage Mom" (http://dressagemom.blogspot.com/), I have been inspired to tell some of my own personal experiences in the horse world. I've read nearly all of the stories posted on the aforementioned blog, and I must say that it's an eye-opening experience to see the horse world a different point of view. There was also something comforting about those tales- the realization that no matter how different we are, we horse people everywhere are alike. There is a core emotion in us all that drives us toward the horse.
And so I begin my first story, The Story That Never Was. It is a detailed example of the fatal attraction between girl and horse, a tale of loss and love and growth, and a lesson to us all about the power of greed and the inevitability of fate...
__________________________________
I heard a neigh. Oh, such a brisk and melodious neigh as that was! My very heart leaped with delight at the sound. (Nathaniel Hawthorne)
If Hurricane Katrina was a dart sailing perfectly toward its target, then Carousel Farms was part of the bulls-eye. Seven feet of water wrapped around the large farm like an anaconda, crushing its victim and then moving on. I won't get in to the details of that awful storm, but I will tell you that the Big K was comparatively merciful on Carousel Farms. Walking through the deserted, rain-rotted stalls was an out-of-body experience. The mud sucked at my feet like quicksand, and the smell of saturated cedar and mold stung my nose. The paddock fences had been stripped of their paint, and in the rush to evacuate the horses, there hadn't been enough time to move the jumps inside; standards and poles had been demolished, reduced to mere wood chips scattered across the floor of the outdoor ring. I remember thinking, 'It looks as if someone took one giant, stuffed trash bag and dumped it out across the ground.' The whole farm was covered in debris and litter. Still, Carousel Farms had fared well. The buildings' foundations had held, and a mixture of time and hard work was all that was needed to set things right.
In the beginning, I was one of the few riders who returned home, and so I became one of the few riders who actually worked on the barn. The "trainers" and the barn owner, in theory, supervised us, but the lack of true leadership at Carousel Farms is a story I will save for another day. It is also the reason that I chose to change the actual name of that establishment, and most people connected to it, for this blog. I don't want to ruffle any feathers.
However, all in all, it was myself and two of my friends that found ourselves indentured to Donna, the stable owner, and Shannon, her head trainer. I'm not going to say I didn't enjoy it. Regardless of setting or circumstance, spending all day around horses is always something I'm up for. At first, there were only Donna's horses there: a big bay gelding and a chestnut miniature who were kept in one of the paddocks; but as the stalls were repaired, the riding school horses, and eventually some boarders, were brought in.
There was still no place to ride (none of the rings were fully repaired), and the conditions of the barn weren't exactly first class. There were only about half a dozen boarders in a barn built for two hundred, and the owners of those six were never there. In retrospect, this looks bad; but I don't blame any of them for the fact that I showed up every morning to help paint their barn and muck out their stalls and water their horses. It was such a disorienting time for everyone. They had no other option for their horses, and they had much more pressing things to worry about. My own house was fine, and my school wouldn't reopen for another few weeks; I was happy to help.
But the amount of work was overwhelming. I was exhausted by lunch, and I would still have five or so more hours to go. All day long, it was irritated horses and painting fences and picking up other people's trash. Sometimes, neither Donna nor Shannon would show up, and even when they both did, they weren't much help. Shannon was on the phone all day, trying to convince former boarders who had evacuated to come back, and Donna's eyes were full of the glorious vision she painted for herself. "Oh, we're going to come back bigger and better. We'll get a little coffee shop over there that will look out at the ring and we'll have a tack shop over there...' Meanwhile, there were horses who couldn't be exercised because we had no ring and not enough turnout space.
It was frustrating and monotonous. But one evening, as my friends and I loaded a shipment of hay into an empty stall, I heard a soft, melodious nicker that broke that monotony. I looked up to see the bright red face of a horse peering at me through the bars of the adjacent stall. His ears were perfectly pricked triangles above his head, and his nostrils quivered as I met his gaze. His brown eyes were intelligent and warm with a kind of light that I'd never seen before. I didn't know who he was or even what he was; I couldn't see past his face. But there was something about him that struck me.
Maybe you're here for a reason, he seemed to say.
And I agreed with him. In that moment I knew: I had to have this horse; I had to make him mine.
[To be continued]
Part Two
And so I begin my first story, The Story That Never Was. It is a detailed example of the fatal attraction between girl and horse, a tale of loss and love and growth, and a lesson to us all about the power of greed and the inevitability of fate...
__________________________________
I heard a neigh. Oh, such a brisk and melodious neigh as that was! My very heart leaped with delight at the sound. (Nathaniel Hawthorne)
If Hurricane Katrina was a dart sailing perfectly toward its target, then Carousel Farms was part of the bulls-eye. Seven feet of water wrapped around the large farm like an anaconda, crushing its victim and then moving on. I won't get in to the details of that awful storm, but I will tell you that the Big K was comparatively merciful on Carousel Farms. Walking through the deserted, rain-rotted stalls was an out-of-body experience. The mud sucked at my feet like quicksand, and the smell of saturated cedar and mold stung my nose. The paddock fences had been stripped of their paint, and in the rush to evacuate the horses, there hadn't been enough time to move the jumps inside; standards and poles had been demolished, reduced to mere wood chips scattered across the floor of the outdoor ring. I remember thinking, 'It looks as if someone took one giant, stuffed trash bag and dumped it out across the ground.' The whole farm was covered in debris and litter. Still, Carousel Farms had fared well. The buildings' foundations had held, and a mixture of time and hard work was all that was needed to set things right.
In the beginning, I was one of the few riders who returned home, and so I became one of the few riders who actually worked on the barn. The "trainers" and the barn owner, in theory, supervised us, but the lack of true leadership at Carousel Farms is a story I will save for another day. It is also the reason that I chose to change the actual name of that establishment, and most people connected to it, for this blog. I don't want to ruffle any feathers.
However, all in all, it was myself and two of my friends that found ourselves indentured to Donna, the stable owner, and Shannon, her head trainer. I'm not going to say I didn't enjoy it. Regardless of setting or circumstance, spending all day around horses is always something I'm up for. At first, there were only Donna's horses there: a big bay gelding and a chestnut miniature who were kept in one of the paddocks; but as the stalls were repaired, the riding school horses, and eventually some boarders, were brought in.
There was still no place to ride (none of the rings were fully repaired), and the conditions of the barn weren't exactly first class. There were only about half a dozen boarders in a barn built for two hundred, and the owners of those six were never there. In retrospect, this looks bad; but I don't blame any of them for the fact that I showed up every morning to help paint their barn and muck out their stalls and water their horses. It was such a disorienting time for everyone. They had no other option for their horses, and they had much more pressing things to worry about. My own house was fine, and my school wouldn't reopen for another few weeks; I was happy to help.
But the amount of work was overwhelming. I was exhausted by lunch, and I would still have five or so more hours to go. All day long, it was irritated horses and painting fences and picking up other people's trash. Sometimes, neither Donna nor Shannon would show up, and even when they both did, they weren't much help. Shannon was on the phone all day, trying to convince former boarders who had evacuated to come back, and Donna's eyes were full of the glorious vision she painted for herself. "Oh, we're going to come back bigger and better. We'll get a little coffee shop over there that will look out at the ring and we'll have a tack shop over there...' Meanwhile, there were horses who couldn't be exercised because we had no ring and not enough turnout space.
It was frustrating and monotonous. But one evening, as my friends and I loaded a shipment of hay into an empty stall, I heard a soft, melodious nicker that broke that monotony. I looked up to see the bright red face of a horse peering at me through the bars of the adjacent stall. His ears were perfectly pricked triangles above his head, and his nostrils quivered as I met his gaze. His brown eyes were intelligent and warm with a kind of light that I'd never seen before. I didn't know who he was or even what he was; I couldn't see past his face. But there was something about him that struck me.
Maybe you're here for a reason, he seemed to say.
And I agreed with him. In that moment I knew: I had to have this horse; I had to make him mine.
[To be continued]
Part Two
Friday, February 12, 2010
On Deaf Ears
"My horse's breath smelt like crawfish today..."
"Why do you know that?"
__________________________________
There are some things that only horse people understand...
"Why do you know that?"
__________________________________
There are some things that only horse people understand...
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
I hate to drag this thing out further, but...
Okay, okay! This is the last football-related post I will do, I swear! It's just a little hard not to get swept up in the football mania that is sweeping the city (especially as tonight is the huge Saints Super Bowl Victory parade).
Regardless of your personal feelings towards football or the Saints, as an equestrian, you can learn a lot from observing other sports. My brief rendez-vous with the football world has taught me a few lessons that translate nicely into the equestrian world.
Five Things I've Learned About Riding from Football
1. Your team is your family. Treat them as such.
This city has made the Saints family. Win or lose, we are there: cheering them on, writing songs for them, greeting them at the airport in throngs a mile long... You and your horse are also a team- and a family. You should care as much about him as you do yourself, and vice versa. The two of you are there to support each other, even when the going gets rough. Which leads me to....
2. Wearing paper bags on your head is never a good idea. Even when you're losing. Badly.
Turn on your team once, and no one will ever let you forget it. Nicknames like the "Aints" (or, for horses, show names like "Average at Best" or barn names like "Frumpy") are never forgotten by others, even when you yourself have moved on. The public notices when you don't support your team (in this case, your horse). And as for paper bags... Consider the spook factor. Simply NOT a good idea.
3. There are two types of tailgating. Only one is acceptable.
Those football fan
s have one thing right! Letting loose before a show is a great idea! Alcohol need not be involved. All that's necessary is any sizable group of people, some good music, and some great food. It's a nice way to relax before a big show and calm those nerves; but don't forget to represent with your barn colors! But please, don't take your tailga
ting into the show ring. Back away from the rear of the vehicle! By which I mean, get off that horse's tail!
4. Don't be afraid of taking risks.
Even though they don't always pay off, taking risks is a necessary part of any sport- or life in general. Whether you're contemplating an on-sides kick at the Super Bowl or choosing to jump the harder, optional fence at the Hunter Derby, choosing to take risks can make or break you. Be smart about it. Know what you're getting yourself in to and plan for more than one possible outcome. But don't be afraid to take a risk simply because things might not turn out your way. You'll be surprised at how often courage will carry you through even the toughest risks.
5. No matter the odds, if you have something to win for, anything is possible.
Peyton Manning was a football titan. They said we were going to get creamed. We said we were going to get creamed. But we stood behind our boys and gave them something to fight for, and guess what: they pulled through! Maybe you're an eventer who's come up short for the first two phases or maybe your horse is recovering from a devastating injury (like Drew Brees when New Orleans took him in!), but the odds mean nothing. If you have something motivating you, a real reason to win, you might find out that the "impossible" is nothing of the sort.
Regardless of your personal feelings towards football or the Saints, as an equestrian, you can learn a lot from observing other sports. My brief rendez-vous with the football world has taught me a few lessons that translate nicely into the equestrian world.
Five Things I've Learned About Riding from Football
1. Your team is your family. Treat them as such.
This city has made the Saints family. Win or lose, we are there: cheering them on, writing songs for them, greeting them at the airport in throngs a mile long... You and your horse are also a team- and a family. You should care as much about him as you do yourself, and vice versa. The two of you are there to support each other, even when the going gets rough. Which leads me to....
2. Wearing paper bags on your head is never a good idea. Even when you're losing. Badly.
Turn on your team once, and no one will ever let you forget it. Nicknames like the "Aints" (or, for horses, show names like "Average at Best" or barn names like "Frumpy") are never forgotten by others, even when you yourself have moved on. The public notices when you don't support your team (in this case, your horse). And as for paper bags... Consider the spook factor. Simply NOT a good idea.
3. There are two types of tailgating. Only one is acceptable.
Those football fan
s have one thing right! Letting loose before a show is a great idea! Alcohol need not be involved. All that's necessary is any sizable group of people, some good music, and some great food. It's a nice way to relax before a big show and calm those nerves; but don't forget to represent with your barn colors! But please, don't take your tailga
ting into the show ring. Back away from the rear of the vehicle! By which I mean, get off that horse's tail!4. Don't be afraid of taking risks.
Even though they don't always pay off, taking risks is a necessary part of any sport- or life in general. Whether you're contemplating an on-sides kick at the Super Bowl or choosing to jump the harder, optional fence at the Hunter Derby, choosing to take risks can make or break you. Be smart about it. Know what you're getting yourself in to and plan for more than one possible outcome. But don't be afraid to take a risk simply because things might not turn out your way. You'll be surprised at how often courage will carry you through even the toughest risks.
5. No matter the odds, if you have something to win for, anything is possible.
Peyton Manning was a football titan. They said we were going to get creamed. We said we were going to get creamed. But we stood behind our boys and gave them something to fight for, and guess what: they pulled through! Maybe you're an eventer who's come up short for the first two phases or maybe your horse is recovering from a devastating injury (like Drew Brees when New Orleans took him in!), but the odds mean nothing. If you have something motivating you, a real reason to win, you might find out that the "impossible" is nothing of the sort.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Who dat??
I apologize for the awful grammar, but as a Saints fan it kind of comes with the territory: WHO DAT?! I didn't get a chance to write up much of a blog post today, because I was too busy tailgating and watching the Super Bowl. But as the Saints clobbered the Colts in the 44th Super Bowl, I'll show you a little bit of what I saw watching the game...
The underdogs taking on the colts,
interpreted from http://cowgirlsplash.deviantart.com/art/RunRound-86845515
The underdogs taking on the colts,
interpreted from http://cowgirlsplash.deviantart.com/art/RunRound-86845515
There's more to come tomorrow, but until then: You colts put up a great fight, but WHO DAT?
Saturday, February 6, 2010
To shoe or not to shoe?
Now, my English class has been studying Hamlet lately, and I think sometimes we stumble upon things at the perfect time. Had I read this poem three days ago, I wouldn't have been able to fully appreciate this gem- but I happened to find it on the same day that I read Hamlet's third soliloquy.To those of you who are not avid students of Shakespeare, I'll fill you in on the context: Hamlet's third soliloquy is the famous "To be or not to be". It is, in essence, "to live or not to live", and through the entire speech, Hamlet mulls over the conundrum of suicide. Should he kill himself? Why, or why not?
Interestingly enough, I've stumbled off a paraphrase of Shakespeare's "To be or not to be": A mule's soliloquy on a subject as important to him as suicide was to Hamlet.
"To shoe, or not to shoe: that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler for the horse to suffer the stones and pebbles of outrageous pathways, or to wear boots despite their many troubles, and by persisting end them? To bruise, to limp; No more, and without limp to say we end the footache and the thousand ouchy steps that hooves are heir to. 'Tis a hoof condition devoutly to be wished. To boot, to try. To try, perchance to fail. Ay, there's the rub: for with that boot with gaiter what rubs may come when we have shuffled off the forged shoe must give us pause. There's the ease that makes simplicity of such long rides; for who would bear the rubs and breakage of the boots, the wasted time, the proud horse injured, the pangs of dislodged gaiters, the ride's delay, the many dollars spent and the stones."
-the February 3, 2010 post on www.braysofourlives.com
In case your brain shut down three lines into the Shakespearean English, I'll give this summary: Is it better for a horse to brave tough ground barefoot or deal with the problems that shoes cause? To a horse, I would imagine this would be a much more pressing issue than Hamlet's puzzle of life or death.
Friday, February 5, 2010
The Bad Horse List
Years ago, I found this wonderful website entitle "The Bad Horse List". Basically, it was a promise that bad horses made to their owners, swearing to be better behaved. It was hilarious, and I saved a copy on my hard-drive- which I stumbled across once again earlier this afternoon.
The Original Bad Horse List (Abridged Version)
If I look like a lady I should act like a lady.
I will not allow Gizmo to teach me how to remove my halter. It is bad enough that I let him teach me how to get out of the pasture...
I will not die if I can't get a peppermint immediately upon seeing my human.
I will not go insane when my human will not let me follow the mare of my dreams when she bolts.
I will not jump the fence and go frantically searching for my human.
I will not have an attitude problem. I won't I won't I won't.
I will not paw after I have already been yelled at, smacked, whacked with a towel, and threatened to become glue by my human.
If I must remove my blanket, I will not rip, tear, or somehow disfigure it. I shall undo all the clips with my teeth, fold it and leave it on the stall door with a note saying politely that I need a larger size so it will not squeeze my withers.
The water my human is washing me with is not going to eat me.
Horses cannot go through bars. I do not need to protect my food from the horse next door to me.
I will not do Lipizzaner impressions while my human is trying to trot me on the rail.
I am no longer a racehorse, I am no longer a racehorse, I am NO longer a racehorse.
I am a big girl...I can open my mouth and say "AH" for the bit.
I am not 100 years old, just 7, so therefore I will pick up my feet.
I am not a freight train.
I do not have amnesia...I really was an event horse before--I can jump 5'6" and I can do 3rd level Dressage...I promise I won't forget again.
I will remember that I'm a gelding.
Unfortunately, the original list was taken off the internet. But, I have located a newer (and longer) version. And when I say longer, I mean longer-- 42 pages of well-organized, horsey entertainment. It's definitely worth a look: http://www.badpets.net/BadPets/BadHorse/BadHorse.pdf
Find any good ones? Post them here!
The Original Bad Horse List (Abridged Version)
If I look like a lady I should act like a lady.
I will not allow Gizmo to teach me how to remove my halter. It is bad enough that I let him teach me how to get out of the pasture...
I will not die if I can't get a peppermint immediately upon seeing my human.
I will not go insane when my human will not let me follow the mare of my dreams when she bolts.
I will not jump the fence and go frantically searching for my human.
I will not have an attitude problem. I won't I won't I won't.
I will not paw after I have already been yelled at, smacked, whacked with a towel, and threatened to become glue by my human.
If I must remove my blanket, I will not rip, tear, or somehow disfigure it. I shall undo all the clips with my teeth, fold it and leave it on the stall door with a note saying politely that I need a larger size so it will not squeeze my withers.
The water my human is washing me with is not going to eat me.
Horses cannot go through bars. I do not need to protect my food from the horse next door to me.
I will not do Lipizzaner impressions while my human is trying to trot me on the rail.
I am no longer a racehorse, I am no longer a racehorse, I am NO longer a racehorse.
I am a big girl...I can open my mouth and say "AH" for the bit.
I am not 100 years old, just 7, so therefore I will pick up my feet.
I am not a freight train.
I do not have amnesia...I really was an event horse before--I can jump 5'6" and I can do 3rd level Dressage...I promise I won't forget again.
I will remember that I'm a gelding.
Unfortunately, the original list was taken off the internet. But, I have located a newer (and longer) version. And when I say longer, I mean longer-- 42 pages of well-organized, horsey entertainment. It's definitely worth a look: http://www.badpets.net/BadPets/BadHorse/BadHorse.pdf
Find any good ones? Post them here!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The Trot, Redefined
I've been doing some research lately into the etymology of words. I think there's a lot to be learned from studying the roots and origins of some everyday words. Looking at words through their roots is like making a pot of coffee with a filter- it's not absolutely necessary, but it does produce a purer result. Etymology removes the modern-day preconceptions that shroud the meaning of the word and helps you look at it in a clearer light.
Take trot, for instance. Trot is a grandson of the Old High German trotton, meaning "to tread". The verb was adopted by the Frankish and later evolved into the Old French verb troter, meaning "to go" and eventually "to trot". Eventually, the verb was shortened to become the noun form, trot.
I find that thinking of a trot in terms of a "tread" helps to remember the essential impulsion of the gait. The trot is so often neglected (except in dressage, where they take the trot very seriously), and I've seen so many horses who drag their feet or get lazy at the trot. This is almost always the rider's fault; they're too busy checking diagonals, looking toward cavaletta, and adjusting equitation to truly focus on the trot. It's a gait that's often treated as a "gimme" (especially on the lower levels) and when the rider stops paying attention, the horse almost always stops trying.
Whether you're trotting over ground poles, practicing the sitting trot, or simply warming up with a trot circle, your trot should be just as its root word implies; your horse should be literally treading the ground, not dragging their hooves or fighting to break into a canter. So take your trots seriously and let your horse tread. Because that's what a trot should be.
___________________________________
A dressage trot. (Why yes, they do take their gaits seriously!)
Take trot, for instance. Trot is a grandson of the Old High German trotton, meaning "to tread". The verb was adopted by the Frankish and later evolved into the Old French verb troter, meaning "to go" and eventually "to trot". Eventually, the verb was shortened to become the noun form, trot.
I find that thinking of a trot in terms of a "tread" helps to remember the essential impulsion of the gait. The trot is so often neglected (except in dressage, where they take the trot very seriously), and I've seen so many horses who drag their feet or get lazy at the trot. This is almost always the rider's fault; they're too busy checking diagonals, looking toward cavaletta, and adjusting equitation to truly focus on the trot. It's a gait that's often treated as a "gimme" (especially on the lower levels) and when the rider stops paying attention, the horse almost always stops trying.
Whether you're trotting over ground poles, practicing the sitting trot, or simply warming up with a trot circle, your trot should be just as its root word implies; your horse should be literally treading the ground, not dragging their hooves or fighting to break into a canter. So take your trots seriously and let your horse tread. Because that's what a trot should be.
___________________________________
A dressage trot. (Why yes, they do take their gaits seriously!)
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The Contemporary Centaur
You know you've always wanted to run with the horses. Now, you can.
These shoes were recently posted on CocoPerez, entitled "Guns & Hooves." I could go on about that combination for several paragraphs, but as this blog is entitled Flying Horses, I'll ignore the pistols (as much as I can) and focus on the hooves.
Oh, the hooves!
I wonder if trotting around in these would have any benefit for the modern horsewoman? Or horseman, I suppose (and what a sight it would be to see George Morris walking a course in these hooves!). I couldn't seem to find a price for these suckers, but I'm willing to bet they're cheaper than an actual horse. Especially when you factor in boarding, feed, and vet bills- none of which these shoes need. I hope.
I am envisioning a world in which humans jump over hurdles and maneuver through dressage tests on their own two hooves! Just think of all the money we'd save! My only question is this-- are there gloves to match?
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As for the yesterday's post, the horse in the picture (taken by CosmoHorseFarm at DeviantArt) is only 16.3 hands tall! Everyone's guesses were pretty much on target; good eye! For more information on that fabulous optical illusion, check it out here: http://cosmohorsefarm.deviantart.com/art/HUGE-horse-131007373
Monday, February 1, 2010
Guess how tall this horse is?
I found this stunning picture while browsing through the web this afternoon, and I think it's hilarious! This horse is nowhere as tall as he seems, but the angle makes him look larger than life! How tall do you think this horse is?
I'll post the link to the original site and photographer when I post the answer to that question! (And no, I did not take this picture.)
And another thing, while there are photographers out there who struggle to take "trick" pictures like this every day, I thought I'd note that the photographer said this beautiful optical illusion occurred purely by accident. When you're willing to step back and let go of the reins, fate can step in to give you a smile.
I'll post the link to the original site and photographer when I post the answer to that question! (And no, I did not take this picture.)
And another thing, while there are photographers out there who struggle to take "trick" pictures like this every day, I thought I'd note that the photographer said this beautiful optical illusion occurred purely by accident. When you're willing to step back and let go of the reins, fate can step in to give you a smile.
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