MAKING CONTACT

The title of this posting is sorely appropriate seeing as I haven’t been visiting the blog as much as I’d like. Holidays, horses, and a highly active family keep me hopping these days. Not to mention a humongous writing project (knew I could fit another ‘h’ in there somewhere). With Thanksgiving just behind us let me say I am thankful for readers who still return here from time to time regardless of my consistent inconsistency.

I’d planned another vehicle encounter for this post. It would be appropriate seeing as…I GOT A NEW TRUCK. But, alas, horses under the hood are not as inspiring as the one under my saddle (see above beauty) so photos of the snazzy, white, diesel powered truck I now have will have to wait till next time. Something else is on my mind.

More than one sport has been called a “metaphor for life.” From running, to rock climbing, athletic pursuits are often said to mirror the journey of life. My favorite is golf. I’m sure there’s a meaningful message in the wearing of pastel colors while driving a cute white vehicle around 18 holes scattered on unnaturally green looking grass. Hmmm…it’ll come to me, I’m sure.

I cannot find an immediately recognized metaphor for life in the equestrian sports. However, life with horses does mirror a person’s style and health (or not) within relationships. Horses reveal us to ourselves; they are a revelation if we allow it. Angry/controlling/inflexible/a push over/highstrung/restless/relaxed/available/emotional/unstable/unresponsive? There’s an excellent chance your horse is, too. An English proverb states: Show me your horse and I will tell you who you are. My horse is at the mercy of my personal awareness and it’s up to me to straighten things out.

For the last month Eli has been at a dressage trainer’s barn. He’d gone as far as I could take him in his training and we were in need of some deeper insight to continue developing both athletic ability and our relationship under saddle. My objective? Helping him progress along the training pyramid with specific goals of strengthening his self carriage and balance. He is so flexible sitting him could be compared to riding a large fettucine noodle. Wiggle this way, wiggle that. A giant stride, weak rear end, and plenty of forward go make for an interesting time some days. We’d come a long way in his first two years under saddle, but I wanted to graduate from elementary school.

Dressage frequently gets a bad rap from backyard owners like myself who make the mistake of dismissing the discipline as something pursued by stuffy elitists who enjoy showing off. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Dressage is worthwhile and challenging for many reasons. It demands focus, attention to detail, and sensitive feel. It demands an understanding of the equine body and mind as the athlete they are created to be.

I was not thinking too much about my own focus and attention or habitual “sins under saddle” when I dropped Eli off. Rather, I was excited someone with a lot of knowledge would shape him up, straighten him out (literally), and show him the ropes. I couldn’t wait to get on and ride a horse with “education.” It would be so much easier.

Not.

Today was case in point. Let me just say Eli is looking beautiful. As I saddled him just prior to our lesson I admired the muscle building along his back and wither. Lifting the back and relaxing the neck while driving under in rhythm builds a very pretty equine shape. Our current challenge? Encouraging a state called “contact.” This is frequently a misunderstood term. It is not forcing an artificial head “set” or pulling the horse’s head down with a jerk of the wrist. Like all good communication it involves seeking, sensing, and trust. Rigidity and sloppy riding destroys the horse’s faith in the human at the end of the rein.

Straightness helps contact by enabling the horse to drive under and stay “between the reins.” No bulging inside or out. This has been a problem for Eli and I. We bulge. I felt sure this was his problem. I mean, he’s a big strong stallion. He needs to just use his body better. Then I, the weaker human, will be able to sit on him and look lovely. We’ll have this contact thing down and can start doing cool stuff like flying lead changes and passage.

Apparently we need to fix our bulging problem. This was the scenario today as I trotted down the wall:

Trainer, also known as Yoda (though she is much cuter): “He’s bulging right because you’re crooked. Bring your right shoulder back, squeeze your right knee, and loosen the left rein.”

We are going left so this feels awkward, but I do as I’m told.

Yoda: “You’re still crooked. Look at the wall to your right; pretend you’re a rodeo queen waving at the audience.”

It seems necessary to look where I’m going, but I’ve always wanted to be a rodeo queen.

Yoda: “More. But keep your weight in the left stirrup.”

At this point I’m thinking rubbing my tummy and patting my head would be easier then what she is asking. I have become a tragic victim of scoliosis, my spine freakishly twisted. I stare at the arena wall as we trot along, certain we will crash into it at any moment.

Yoda: “There! You’re straight now.”

Me: “What? This does not feel natural!”

Yoda: “I know. You’ve been sitting on your horse at an angle. When he follows you right, you pull him left. He does what you do. Notice how he’s traveling now.”

Over the course of a few (hard) minutes of correcting my body position a miracle has happened. Eli is rhythmically trotting, his neck long, lovely, and relaxed. He feels round and supple. A moment later he reaches longer into the bit looking similar to the photo above.

Yoda: “He’s seeking the contact. Follow him with your hands and receive it.”

There is only one way to describe the feeling at that moment: Trust. No forcing or pulling just rhythm and relaxation. As dorky as it may sound, I felt rather emotional.

Later I became aware that my crookedness isn’t just in the saddle. I slouch right when I stand, when I drive, when I lean on my kitchen counter. I’m darn crooked! Was Eli crooked on his own or did I create it by my position? What came first, the chicken or the egg? Doesn’t matter. The point is I need to straighten out to improve our communication, even if it doesn’t feel natural. Crooked position causes crooked responses, but a changed perspective invites contact.

Is that like a metaphor smorgasbord or what?!

CONVERSATIONS

“Are you gonna let me talk?”

During sixteen years of marriage this question has been posed by my husband more then once. In temperament he may be more of a talker, but this hasn’t stopped me from interrupting him, taking over the conversation, or assuming what his thoughts/opinions are from time to time. This is usually where he simply decides to stop talking. And calmly poses the above question.

In the last weeks of clicker training Eli I cannot say he is becoming a genius or more finished in his under saddle work. He can target on things and is responding to spoken words, but I can’t point to anything super concrete, training-wise, that positive reinforcement has done for him. What I do know is that this introverted stallion has become much more verbal. It is delightful to watch.

I wanted Eli for his eyes. Period. Romantic and ridiculous as it may sound, I have never seen such a beautiful spirit reflected in the eyes of a horse. That said, Eli firmly resisted a relationship with me in the beginning. He didn’t want to be touched, he had nothing to say, he refused even to take food from my hand or tolerate me standing beside him while he ate. When I got discouraged with his indifference I would look in those eyes and think, “That is who he is. I simply need to be patient and he will come out one day.”

It took about three months before Eli nickered at feeding times. The noises he made were really not discernible at all but more a fluttering of the nostrils. Outside of screaming if a new horse came on the property (I call it the Elephant Bellow) he was completely silent. I have heard that stallions bond strongly on one person and after several months of handling and riding I began to feel Eli finally giving me his trust and affection. Mostly. He is supremely sensitive to intent and is well aware when manipulated or set up. He tolerates domination with amazing dignity and grace. But I wanted him to blossom and communicate. I wanted to be his friend, not assault him with a one-sided conversation all the time. Hence a strange little device and pocketful of treats. The experiment was on.

I put Eli in his stall the first time I worked with him and the clicker. This was a mistake. He spent most of the time with ears pinned and a worried look in his eyes, seemingly suspicious and slightly resentful at being trapped in his place of sanctuary where “training” would commence. Eli is often waiting for the other (horse) shoe to drop: “What are you really after?”

After that I simply locked Eli’s pasture buddy in the stall and let him decide to play with me and the silly clicker. Or not. He learned to target and to notice the word “touch” as well as “come” when I waved my hand. This he did without losing a shred of his dignity and autonomy. He didn’t want me to touch him at first and made a point to walk away, over and over, before approaching again on his terms and working for the treat. It was clear he wanted to make the choice and was testing whether I would truly allow him to do so. I made sure to be cautious, partly because of his gender, and carefully take note of attitude. I didn’t want to have to discipline him. This whole exercise was about choice, relationship, and willingness. No coercion allowed. This he tested once by coming to me on cue and suddenly turning and galloping back to hide behind the barn. When I didn’t come and get him, he poked his head around the side and trotted over without further issue.

After maybe four fairly pleasant clicker sessions Eli “spoke” to me for the first time when I entered the pasture. It wasn’t just a nicker but a horsey sort of sentence, complete with differing tone and inflection. He seemed happy to see me. For the first time I felt him truly engage in two-way communication rather then simply respond to pressure and release, knowing he has no other option. These little sentences have become the norm and it seems they are directly related to the clicker work.

Those who have horses hold certain equine experiences in a special place that is revisited privately and remains a source of joy and, often, intense emotion. These are experiences where you have shared something amazing with an incredible animal and know in your heart that it is real even while acknowledging others might think it silly or wild anthropomorphizing. One of those experiences came not long ago and I have tucked it away in that special place. I stood on my front steps, contemplating outdoor chores and tasks as I looked into the back pasture. Eli came around the corner of the barn and saw me. It was not even close to feeding time. This did not stop him from beginning the most amazing communication with me to date. He began to string together whinnies and nickers, and strange little noises that sounded altogether like another language. It was more then a sentence, it was a paragraph of words. The introvert has found his voice and I am delighted.

My favorite Bible stories involve the authentic conversations God had with his friends. I love Jonah’s complaining and David’s passion; love Abrahams bargaining, Jobs pressing questions—“why?” and Jacob refusing to let go of God until he received a blessing. I even love the ones that went astray—Balaam, for instance, who enjoyed real communion with the Almighty but wouldn’t listen until God spoke through a donkey. God values relationship, not coercion. He wishes us to come out into the open, blossom into the person He can see clearly inside. And sometimes I think He tires of the one-way conversations, the stale religious laundry lists of “I want/bless this/fix that.”

“Are you gonna let me talk?”

HORSE CULTURE: SMELLING THE SOUL

So often in my life with horses, it is the little gestures and body language that move me the most. Opposite of the obtuse flailings and loud outbursts of human communication, horses are aware of life and their environment on a deeply intuitive, even spiritual level. This was evident to me, yet again, the day I introduced Eli and Tango.

A good deal of thought went into the logistics of introducing a strange stallion to my generally non-confrontational gelding (who is also "my baby"). Eli is well socialized and has excellent manners but I was nervous. Horses--be they mares, stallions, or geldings--have their druthers and can take a violent disliking to eachother almost on sight. My property is small and modest. With no room for excessive boundaries, everyone is expected to coexist in relative peace around here.

Tango has met only two horses in seven years that he instantly, passionately, disliked. Unfortunately one of them happens to be Chance. Occasionally I am forced to put them together and a sad scenario inevitably follows. Chance puffs up, driving Tango continuously for no reason and biting him savagely if he doesn't move fast enough. Every inch of his 14 hands proves the point that it is not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog. Tango, a mischief maker who doesn't possess the heart for serious confrontation, withers under the bullying. If left in this situation he will go off his feed and retreat to a corner, head down, a little boy who has dropped his ice cream cone and finds there is no more to be had.

Eli had been on his own for two days when I decided to put Tango across the fenceline. Heart pounding, dressage whip in hand, I unsnapped Tango's lead shank and waited for the show down. The first sniff between the two made Eli squeal and rear. Tango, body tense, responded by striking at the fence. I hit the side of the barn with the whip to startle them. Eli, neck arched, showed off a nice passage, every inch the proud stallion. Tango, disgusted, ambled to a pile of hay and turned his rear end toward Eli.

This dance was repeated, two more times, then Tango parked himself more permanently by the hay and ignored Eli altogether. After a few minutes, however, Eli lowered his head to the ground, nosing under the fence in an equine gesture of invitation. It took less than a minute for Tango to RSVP. As Tango approached, Eli seemed to freeze in his head down position. Tango arched his neck over the fence and began sniffing at his neck. I tensed for the bellowing sure to come as a result of this dominant position. Instead of throwing his head up, Eli waited for 10-15 seconds, than slowly, swan-like and graceful, he brought his head up and parallel to Tango. Necks and jaw bones nearly touching, the two quietly sniffed eachother. I wish I videoed the scene, two creatures deeply inhaling the essense, personality, and intentions of the other. As if they were inspecting eachothers very soul.

When this was over, the two parted amiably and went about other horse business--eating, drinking, and itching at the gnats that are particularly bad this fall. Soon after, I put them together in a paddock where they continue to be best friends--lying side by side, sharing hay, and sleeping together.

Can one discern the depths of another in a sniff? If only it were that easy in humans.