Time to catch up on recent events!
I decided to rename this project from Some Hallowed Day to Taming of the Shrew though, way funnier.
Some Hallowed Day can just apply to training in general.I decided about a week and a half ago to dump my current farrier and take Onyx out of his shoes. I also decided a month (give or take) ago to buy Calypso. A lot of people would view her as being bought for more than her worth, but we'll see... I am perfectly aware of everything this decision had entailed. Back to the trimmer. Onyx, according to the trimmers, has navicular, but they assured me that with both new and old research that navicular had nothing to do with the navicular bone, but instead had to do with extreme pain in the heel. He is now on the road to recovery (should take six months, give or take) and is enjoying his boots and new found barefoot trim. Calypso (as far as I know) had received minimal or no farrier or vet care, and her hooves had been left to their own devices, making the toes long. Now they are back to normal though. Since then, I have trained Calypso about three times now, and each time has been an improvement upon the other, as it should be. This journal entry has taken me almost a week to finish, which is why I've yet to update on the others. Now you are all caught up. =D
Yesterday, the 2nd of March, I had the trimmer (I keep writing farrier by habit, but there is a difference) come out for another session on Onyx's hooves (for free, as this was a continuation of last weeks trim). I had thought this was for both Onyx and Calypso, so she had been left in as well as him (and I quote "because you wouldn't be able to catch her once she as out"- wtf). So naturally she was not a happy horse, being away from KC and then watching Onyx leave so she was truly alone. I lead Onyx to the ties in the upper barn, but opted to have him on the grass by the forever-stagnant trailer. We just wanted a flat spot where he would be comfortable. Unfortunately, Doc followed in his truck (along with Rusty and Lisa in tow). Though this is a hypocritical statement, I really do wish they would stop watching. The trimmers may not of cared, but I hate it. I suppose it is my ever-present stage fright, I enjoy not being noticed for the most part, it is easier to observe and think. In any event, they left with the hounds to go foxhunting (taking advantage of the first of spring, I assume). Shortly after a rather annoying would-be lecture I found from the trimmer that if Calypso stays at Doc's (with no pasture board), then she will no longer be trimming her, but instead putting me in touch with someone who would. My mom is also pushing for a place with pasture board, so I might as well take a look around. That didn't annoy me so much though, I do want to see if I can find something better. Rather, annoyed me was her suggesting I shouldn't keep Onyx, and that traveling out to see him would just not be worth it. I completely disagree with that and I had to desperately hold me tongue to keep myself from giving her a straight forward talking to. She also suggested that even though she didn't know what I paid for Calypso, but I probably overpaid. My feelings are that she would be a good foundation mare in a breeding program and I hope to have her in foal in 8 or so years. I feel she will be able to "pay me back" for her purchase price in later years, and even if she doesn't, money isn't an issue as she is my birthday present, and think people should butt the hell out to say the least. I also realise it may be a tad hypocritical to breed her, but we'll see. It has already been decided that if the third generation is not exceptional, I will stop and review. But I digress...
Upon the trimmer leaving, I was left alone with Onyx and Calypso still running about in the arena. Shortly after, I took Onyx out, leaving Calypso to her own frantic devices, so as to put his boots on and turn him out in the field. When she saw him leaving, she naturally became even more insistent on being out in the pasture (a consequence of turning them out together so she could get attached to him). In any event, I grabbed her and in a split second decision (no one to spy on me) I chose to free-longe her. The smaller, first paddock was taken up by a pony named Munchkin and a pinto Arabian yearling filly named Kahlua. Kahlua was in heat this day of all days, and little Munchkin took it upon himself to attempt mounting her. I may have never been more disgusted in my life (what with her squirting all in his face, the mounting, the squealing- at least they enjoyed it). But alas and alack, this is something I will have to get used to given my chosen career and my desire to breed quality horses. Given the situation, I had to compromise and use the middle paddock. Now, I had avoided using this paddock previously because I felt it wouldn't allow me enough control. In retrospect, the paddock I preferred was actually the more compromising one, given the short distance and tighter turns. The other boarders can have that- to hell with it, I've found something better! xD
So I put her in the paddock, got my equipment and took her appearance in. She was honestly ragged. Sweating all over from working herself into a fine frenzy, but not sweating enough to discourage me from working with her. This just meant this was a fine day to be working together! Nothing but the occasional gentle (and welcome) breeze and the sun overhead. It wasn't hard to get her moving, all that took was a crack of the longe whip. What took a while was getting back in the groove of longeing, the time it took to actually feel her out. Once we were in tune though, things started working out for the better. I worked on her turning shoulder-in as soon as I felt she was ready. I still haven't been able to get these consistently (and I admit I did not push at it), so this is something I will have to review and prepare for the next session. However, my goal was to just get her to pay attention to me, and to re-establish myself as leader. So about we went, up until that one moment that no matter how many times it happens will never get old. When she stops, and I stop. When we look at each other, she lowers her head, chews, and takes a few tentative steps towards me. "Let's talk this over," her eyes say as they stare curiously, aloof.
I make my way over to her, taking care to be even- not too fast, not too slow, always easing in from the side. Since the first moment I have done this, she has always contemplated running. I see it in her wide eyes that flutter about in rhythm to her large ears. I see it in her raised head that snakes back and forth as if she is taking in the directions she could flee. I see it in her tense body as she rocks back on her hind end. But most of all I feel it, I feel it as her heavy breath comes not just from the cease of running, but from the nervousness of "what happens next?" And then I touch her. Time stands still as she lowers her head onto my chest and gives a sigh of relief. She allows me to pat her forehead, rub her sensitive ears, and offer light coos of reassurance that this is indeed the right choice. And then in an instant time catches up and she too is up again, fluttering about, unsure if she should stay or go.
The choice is hers, and I yearn for her to choose to stay with me, to follow me as I turn around and walk away. I glance over my shoulder and my heart warms as she takes slow, deliberate steps towards me, eyes and ears still flickering about. We continue to walk like this, with her following at my heels until I am satisfied that her attention is honestly and truly on me. Whenever she responded to the calls of her herd mate, I took the offensive and stayed just on her heels to make my views perfectly clear (in normal longeing I give her considerable distance and am satisfied if she keeps up pace and attention). Until she no longer turns at every noise the little couple next door makes. Until she no longer turns to neigh a reply to her critically attached herd mate. Abbrubtly, I stop and turn to face her side. She looks down at me quizically, desire to avoid me still fresh in her face. I stand and stare up at her head and into her eyes (admittedly rude fashion in horse language) as I try to work out a way to communicate that I want her to turn away from me. She is excellent at turning with and toward me, and I suspect this is because of whatever previous training she has had, but we've yet to successfully make a turn where I move in her direction and she moves away. I recall a technique I had seen used with Jay O Jay, a Canadian horse trainer, and figure if I am at a loss for ideas it wouldn't hurt to try his. I move towards her and raise my hand to her eye, shaking it as rhthymically as a belly dancer and as she shies away I follow until I am satisfied with the number of steps she has taken to the right. I stop and pet her, reassuring her that she won't have to worry. I then go back to walking away from the mare and having her follow me, she could use something familiar and safe-feeling after that little experience. We repeat this exercise, switching from towards me and away from me until I no longer have to use my hands, but instead exagerate my leg movement. We do this until I was satisfied with her timings compared to how light my aids are.
By now, she no longer insists upon neighing to her fatally attached companion in the field, and her attention is on me as I wish. When she does respond, I opt to make things are clear as possible. You see, in normal free longeing I make sure my legs are in the position I find most horses understand (hard to really describe, but it is the body language that doesn't confuse them), and I also try to be as close to the middle as the paddock allows, I also did not care about her pace, as long as she didn't crash into a fence, and did not walk. This was not so when she dared to neigh, I kept on her heels quite adimantly and kept the pace fairly quick. It was very clear though, and after two rounds of this she was smart enough to ignore her friend's calls. Not even the indication of turning to look. It was at this time that I started finding out which areas of her body she was uncertain about. The main issue in this is that whoever trained her last had her following so well that following was all she did, she didn't know what a signal for standing in place was. It wasn't so hard to work out though, as I would simply follow her side as she turned to try and face me- up until she finally gives in and stands still. Working down her body from one side to the other, neck to legs, to tail, and back again. Places I do not trust to touch myself, I first touch with the whip. She dances away from it at first, but soon learns to accept this too, and even rests a leg and lowers her head (though she quickly swerves it around to look at what I am doing). Calypso has a sensitive underbelly, has trouble responding to pressure on her shoulder, hates her head being handled (it is a wonder a new halter was placed on her- probably done in her stall), loathes the whisp of the whip as it moves, and was generally found the whole process of patting, poking, and light tapping unpleasant at best, but I am sure with time this will become more pleasurable (at least the patting). She is still unsure of what is happening, but she is trusting enough to stay and tolerate what I do.
Upon the trimmer leaving, I was left alone with Onyx and Calypso still running about in the arena. Shortly after, I took Onyx out, leaving Calypso to her own frantic devices, so as to put his boots on and turn him out in the field. When she saw him leaving, she naturally became even more insistent on being out in the pasture (a consequence of turning them out together so she could get attached to him). In any event, I grabbed her and in a split second decision (no one to spy on me) I chose to free-longe her. The smaller, first paddock was taken up by a pony named Munchkin and a pinto Arabian yearling filly named Kahlua. Kahlua was in heat this day of all days, and little Munchkin took it upon himself to attempt mounting her. I may have never been more disgusted in my life (what with her squirting all in his face, the mounting, the squealing- at least they enjoyed it). But alas and alack, this is something I will have to get used to given my chosen career and my desire to breed quality horses. Given the situation, I had to compromise and use the middle paddock. Now, I had avoided using this paddock previously because I felt it wouldn't allow me enough control. In retrospect, the paddock I preferred was actually the more compromising one, given the short distance and tighter turns. The other boarders can have that- to hell with it, I've found something better! xD
So I put her in the paddock, got my equipment and took her appearance in. She was honestly ragged. Sweating all over from working herself into a fine frenzy, but not sweating enough to discourage me from working with her. This just meant this was a fine day to be working together! Nothing but the occasional gentle (and welcome) breeze and the sun overhead. It wasn't hard to get her moving, all that took was a crack of the longe whip. What took a while was getting back in the groove of longeing, the time it took to actually feel her out. Once we were in tune though, things started working out for the better. I worked on her turning shoulder-in as soon as I felt she was ready. I still haven't been able to get these consistently (and I admit I did not push at it), so this is something I will have to review and prepare for the next session. However, my goal was to just get her to pay attention to me, and to re-establish myself as leader. So about we went, up until that one moment that no matter how many times it happens will never get old. When she stops, and I stop. When we look at each other, she lowers her head, chews, and takes a few tentative steps towards me. "Let's talk this over," her eyes say as they stare curiously, aloof.
I make my way over to her, taking care to be even- not too fast, not too slow, always easing in from the side. Since the first moment I have done this, she has always contemplated running. I see it in her wide eyes that flutter about in rhythm to her large ears. I see it in her raised head that snakes back and forth as if she is taking in the directions she could flee. I see it in her tense body as she rocks back on her hind end. But most of all I feel it, I feel it as her heavy breath comes not just from the cease of running, but from the nervousness of "what happens next?" And then I touch her. Time stands still as she lowers her head onto my chest and gives a sigh of relief. She allows me to pat her forehead, rub her sensitive ears, and offer light coos of reassurance that this is indeed the right choice. And then in an instant time catches up and she too is up again, fluttering about, unsure if she should stay or go.
The choice is hers, and I yearn for her to choose to stay with me, to follow me as I turn around and walk away. I glance over my shoulder and my heart warms as she takes slow, deliberate steps towards me, eyes and ears still flickering about. We continue to walk like this, with her following at my heels until I am satisfied that her attention is honestly and truly on me. Whenever she responded to the calls of her herd mate, I took the offensive and stayed just on her heels to make my views perfectly clear (in normal longeing I give her considerable distance and am satisfied if she keeps up pace and attention). Until she no longer turns at every noise the little couple next door makes. Until she no longer turns to neigh a reply to her critically attached herd mate. Abbrubtly, I stop and turn to face her side. She looks down at me quizically, desire to avoid me still fresh in her face. I stand and stare up at her head and into her eyes (admittedly rude fashion in horse language) as I try to work out a way to communicate that I want her to turn away from me. She is excellent at turning with and toward me, and I suspect this is because of whatever previous training she has had, but we've yet to successfully make a turn where I move in her direction and she moves away. I recall a technique I had seen used with Jay O Jay, a Canadian horse trainer, and figure if I am at a loss for ideas it wouldn't hurt to try his. I move towards her and raise my hand to her eye, shaking it as rhthymically as a belly dancer and as she shies away I follow until I am satisfied with the number of steps she has taken to the right. I stop and pet her, reassuring her that she won't have to worry. I then go back to walking away from the mare and having her follow me, she could use something familiar and safe-feeling after that little experience. We repeat this exercise, switching from towards me and away from me until I no longer have to use my hands, but instead exagerate my leg movement. We do this until I was satisfied with her timings compared to how light my aids are.
By now, she no longer insists upon neighing to her fatally attached companion in the field, and her attention is on me as I wish. When she does respond, I opt to make things are clear as possible. You see, in normal free longeing I make sure my legs are in the position I find most horses understand (hard to really describe, but it is the body language that doesn't confuse them), and I also try to be as close to the middle as the paddock allows, I also did not care about her pace, as long as she didn't crash into a fence, and did not walk. This was not so when she dared to neigh, I kept on her heels quite adimantly and kept the pace fairly quick. It was very clear though, and after two rounds of this she was smart enough to ignore her friend's calls. Not even the indication of turning to look. It was at this time that I started finding out which areas of her body she was uncertain about. The main issue in this is that whoever trained her last had her following so well that following was all she did, she didn't know what a signal for standing in place was. It wasn't so hard to work out though, as I would simply follow her side as she turned to try and face me- up until she finally gives in and stands still. Working down her body from one side to the other, neck to legs, to tail, and back again. Places I do not trust to touch myself, I first touch with the whip. She dances away from it at first, but soon learns to accept this too, and even rests a leg and lowers her head (though she quickly swerves it around to look at what I am doing). Calypso has a sensitive underbelly, has trouble responding to pressure on her shoulder, hates her head being handled (it is a wonder a new halter was placed on her- probably done in her stall), loathes the whisp of the whip as it moves, and was generally found the whole process of patting, poking, and light tapping unpleasant at best, but I am sure with time this will become more pleasurable (at least the patting). She is still unsure of what is happening, but she is trusting enough to stay and tolerate what I do.
After all of this, the opportunity arouse to take her on a trail with some accompanying riders. I had tried once before to walk her alone (whoops, this was before I even considered buying her) and let's just say it wasn't a situation I would run to with open arms. Still, I was more confident and the prospect of people around to help if something went wrong was appealing. So off we set, I on foot, and walked a distance I never though I could bear. It must of only been a mile or so, if that, but it was a mile I took on no breakfast or food within 7-12 hours, and only one sip of water on a hot day in boots. The path was horrendous for me, up and down, and up and down, and through the river, over the rocks and into the mud, then back on level ground only to meet once more with mud mixed with rocks. All of this on foot, trying to keep up with an arabian mare who truly set a pace for me. If I could of ridden her, I have no doubt we would of been the ones leading the way. I have to say, I have a new found appreciation for the gelding I lease who loyaly hauled my ass through these very paths! xD I am very proud of her though, she is much calmer that I ever gave her credit for- she did things her field buddy would cringe and crow hop at, all without batting an eye. She jumped a log, jumped a puddle (she was nervous, or would have crossed it normally, but I cannot fault her for she did cross it without other hesitation), saw cars (6 or so feet away in an area where they give no warning and just "appear"), crossed a road, saw a bike (1-2 feet away), heard some dogs, passed some dogs (fair distance away), fell far behind her companions when I started to get exhausted, and did all of this without any acting up. Her only downfall during the entire process was that she was hard to manage as we just left the barn and up until entering the forest, and then upon leaving the forest and seeing the barn. This is just being barn sour (can't blame her when she hasn't been trailed in probably years), and it is something we will definately nip. I have no other complaints though, she was otherwise an angel on Earth.
I let her cool down (though she actually wasn't sweating), walked her about, put her in her stall and left as my mom had arrived and I could not stay any longer (not that I wanted to, I was ready to pass out just as we were almost out of the forest- I had to push myself with the knowledge that we were almost there). I really did pay for that hike though. As soon as I was in the car, the adreniline must of left me. I had a massive headache, could barely move, was starving, and generally felt lousy. I know I should have turned back, but I didn't see any more logic in going down an unfamiliar path alone with a mare who may or may not like the idea of being seperated from the other horses we were following any more so than what I was already doing. Stick to the dangers you know was my theory. As soon as I got home, I ate a bit, drank a lot, and then passed out in my bed while "watching" V for Vendetta (great move BTW, never read the graphic novel). I awoke a few hours later to discover that I couldn't walk.
You see, I have this annoying and unknown condition in my lower back that acts up for reasons unknown. It is like my tail bone in pinching a never so deep that if you were to poke at the general area, you still could not reach the source. My only theory is that I fell on my ass a few too many times on blacktop as a child and damaged my tail bone or something. It is a peculiar thing, it usually appears when I have too much intense exercise, but not always. Some days I can ride for an hour and be fine, other days I can ride for a half an hour and come home limping. My mom has arranged for me to see a chiropracter though, as this was my worst case in a long time (truly imobile short of hopping or an annoyingly and painfully pronounced limp). But that is a price I am willing to pay, especially for the knowledge that Calypso will have no problem adjust to be the trail mare I bought her to be.
No comments:
Post a Comment