CHANGING SEASONS

Last week the seasons officially changed. Around here fall often begins in August, the weather completely ignoring the calendar and my begging and pleading for just one more week of warmth. But this year was different--heat like I've never seen in the Pacific Northwest and an Indian summer to go down on record. It's been heaven.

Yesterday, while waiting for my son to get out of classes, I studied an Oak tree of some kind, growing in the parking lot. Only a few leaves near the center of the tree were blushed with red. It was as if the tree waited as long as possible before giving into fall and cooler weather. I know how it feels.

A sun worshipper to the core, I still favor Fall above all other seasons. I love the way the fog floats in ribbons across the valley with late breaking sun up above burning off the chill. I love the way the sunflowers bow to the earth and become a bird buffet. I love the first fire, the first pot of soup, the harvest displayed in every road side stand. I love the tradition of making applesauce with my extended family. Most of all I love the feeling of hunkering down and gathering precious things close. Fall is a time of turning inward and nurturing ideas and dreams cocooning inside. I feel protective in the Fall.

This Fall is especially bittersweet, and not because the Indian Summer officially lost the battle to the Rainy Season. Last week I drove Tango to his new home and bid a one-time dream farewell. This is a horse I thought I would never sell. But seasons change; plans evolve; needs arise. Most obvious is that my daughter does not have a horse she can use for her dreams--western games, going to fair, trail riding. Chance may never be ridden again and though we love and care for him he is a pasture ornament these days. We do not have room, time, or resources for more than three horses so somebody needed a new home. Tango became that somebody.

Raising and training Tango was a dream come true. He was first for so many things--first gift of a horse from my husband (no doubt a "mistake" he'll never repeat); first foal; first horse I started under saddle by myself. He was the horse that jump started me back into the equestrian lifestyle (and it is a lifestyle, not a hobby). Now he is a dream for another person and I can't help thinking that there are seasons for dreams and always something new to learn when change inevitably comes. In so many ways raising the naughty colt Tango was prepared me for a new challenge--stallion ownership. I am a much better horsewoman because of Tango.

There is much debate and many books written about the subject of animal personality and "soul." Of the ability animals have to communicate and touch us in unique ways. I can't say I believe horses have a soul but I do know that without doubt they touch mine. In honor of Tango I share some favorite memories of him.

Leading Lessons: You can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink. Heck, sometimes you can't even make him lead. I remember well the days of walking to the neighbors where Tango was pastured the first few months after buying him. I'd be anxious for some "me" time; some horse bonding moments away from my two young children. I'd escape the demands of one toddler--my daughter--only to confront the tantrums of another toddler. A 600 pound toddler. Oh was he naughty. I shouldn't have been surprised. The day I went to see the "Beautiful Arabian Colt For Sale" I squatted by the fuzzy faced weanling with the extremely pointed ears and exclaimed, "You are so adorable!" Tango responded by biting me on the knee. I knew I had to have him. A bit of training and in time I felt sure we'd gallop off into the sunset together. I thought nothing of the frustration, the tears, the unbelievable patience that would be required of me first. The dream--true partnership--was a long time in coming.

Trailering Traumas: You can definitely lead a horse to a trailer but you can't force them in. Trust me, I've tried. It took an entire summer, every shred of self-control and every last nerve to teach Tango to load properly. He was adamantly, belligerently, opposed to the idea from day one. Looking back I can see clearly what I could have done differently to accomplish the goal faster but I'm glad I was forced to take my time because I learned a lot in the process. My patience was rewarded in a horse that was finally, completely, trained to load in any trailer, at any time, anywhere. This was confirmed the day a friend brought over her small, dark, circa 1970's straight load trailer. At the time Tango had never seen such a frightening contraption. When I lead him up to it he paused and looked at me with an expression that clearly said, "Are you sure about this?"

"Go ahead Pal, it's okay." I patted his rump and he walked right in. A training desire fulfilled is sweetness to the soul.

Anthropomorphism: As much as I try to be rational, its hard not to ascribe human emotions to my horses. Animals can be almost human at times (there is a great book by that name, by the way). Unlike Eli, Tango is a very expressive horse. You never wonder what he is thinking, its written all over his beautiful face. Still, there were times that I wondered if he had any feelings for me. Feelings beyond that of simply being glad I showed up twice a day with the groceries. Did he enjoy my company? Look forward to spending time with me? Sorry, I'm a girl and these things are important.

I got an answer to that question two years ago when I put Tango in a neighbor's pasture to work as lawn mower. The grass was tall, lush, and green. Horse Heaven. There were horses across the street and a buffet beneath his feet. What more could any equine require? After about a week I decided to visit my horse; see if he was still living or if he'd turned into a great bay blimp and floated away on warm summer breezes. A friend who was visiting came with. When I turned down the driveway Tango immediately nickered and walked to the gate. I entered and looked him over, taking note of the generous layer of fat now covering his ribs. He was the picture of health and glistened like a newly minted penny.

"Aren't you a sight?" I rubbed Tango's chest and he responded by pushing his head against me and lipping the sleeve of my shirt. He reminded me of a big brother, happy to see his little sister so he can pick on her.

"You big oaf, get off me!" I tried to sound stern but couldn't help leaning into his shiny neck and breathing in that good horsey scent--Eau du Summer Horse. It ranks right up there with other wholesome smells--sheets dried in the sun and newly baled hay. I bet I could market that scent.

"I gotta go, see you Pal." I patted Tango's neck and walked back down the road. Instead of returning to his own personal buffet, Tango did a curious thing. He began to trot, then gallop the fence line calling after me.

"How cute; he doesn't want you to go," my friend remarked.

"Silly horse," I said, feeling foolish as tears pricked my eyes. Even after I turned the corner I could still hear Tango's husky calls and the sound of pounding hooves. Anthropomorphism? Maybe....but I don't think so.

Tango, you've been a worthy teacher and a cherished friend. May you bless the life of your new person (congratulations Kasey) the way you have blessed mine. I will miss you.

ON COUNTER CANTER

Today I am going to a reining horse show. A friend and trainer will be showing and I'd like to watch his classes. Reining, for those that don't know, is a western discipline. It is a pattern (multiple possible patterns) meant to showcase the skills a cow horse would have. Minus the cow. Fewer and fewer horses actually spend their lives working cattle but the spins, roll backs, flying changes, and spins of a reining horse mimic some of the maneuvers used in a real life ranch setting. A good reining horse is athletic, responsive, and graceful; completely in tune with its rider. Things that spoil a nice pattern include jerky communication between horse and rider, over anticipation on the part of the horse (leading to mistakes), and a cranky attitude. Though not always faulted, a horse that runs a perfect pattern with pinned ears and swishing tail (signs of irritation and/or ill temper) will lose in a tie with a horse of equal ability that appears willing. A good reining horse should appear, "willfully guided."

Some time ago I read an article about western riding disciplines. They included reining, cutting, and working cow horse. According to this author, good reining horses do not anticipate. They are followers that wait for the rider's cue. In contrast, anticipation in cutting horses can be a good thing. The horse that is able to read the cows body language can anticipate its next movement and gain the upper hand. Horses like this are often described as "cowy" and possess a natural ability and interest in moving cattle.

I do not have working cow horses or even own the traditional stock type horses used for these particular disciplines. Though individual Arabians can excel at cutting and reining they are not the breed best suited for it.

My gelding, Tango, is a perfect example of a horse that anticipates. Because of his carriage and movement, I've often thought he would be a good reining horse. However, he abhors routine and boredom and is a clever pupil that enjoys anticipating rather than waiting for a cue. He has many ideas about training methods and frequently shares his "opinions." This does not make for the best reining horse but it does make for an amusing and creative partnership.

When we are doing rollbacks in the arena it only takes one time and Tango jumps into anticipation mode--I know what she's doing; I'll do it before she even asks. That's how clever I am. He is often arched for a turn before I've asked him for the specific direction. This is the time to switch things up on him, ask for something else, do a complete 360 when he was expecting a 180 or visa versa. It's important to mix things up to keep him guessing and, listening. The key word for this horse.

Another maneuver that shows Tango's tendency to anticipate is the counter canter. Counter canter is when a horse canters on the "wrong" leading leg. When going to the right, for instance, instead of leading with the right front leg, the horse leads with the left. Counter canter is used alot in dressage and is an excellent tool to teach the more advanced horse balance. When I began teaching Tango counter canter he immediately resisted. He was very solid on his canter cues and adamant that he stay in the "correct" lead in either direction. An expressive horse, he got down right cranky with my new request, pinning his ears, shaking his head, and, my favorite, pursing his lips. I could almost hear him saying, You are in error, my dim witted rider. When we canter to the right we use the right lead. I had to go very slowly and accept just a few strides at a time. A horse that automatically picks up correct leads is a beautiful thing, to be sure, but most beautiful is a horse that responds to the riders request, when they request it, no matter what the request is. This is the pinnacle of training and fluid communication.

When a horse anticipates they aren't really listening, even if they appear quiet and obedient. They've jumped ahead on their own agenda. I do love to see an intelligent horse's mind work but the best way to deal with a horse like this is to keep them guessing, cuing them in ways that say, Pay attention, I may ask for something/show you something you don't expect.

All these thoughts about anticipation have been especially meaningful to me as I consider my spiritual life and relationship to God these last 2 or 3 months. Websters defines Anticipate: To look forward to; to take care of or use in advance; to forestall; to be ahead of in doing .

So easy to be on my own agenda but God says, My ways are not your ways and my thoughts now your thoughts. I'm on a bit of counter canter training these days; pretty good for spiritual balance.

WHEN SPARROWS AND HORSES FALL

Time for a problem horse update.

As world famous horse trainer John Lyons says, "When you have horses, you keep having problems." So true. Of my three lovely boys, one is consistently more problematic than the others. I recently learned that much of the time, he truly can't help his behavior. This gives me much food for thought as I consider my fellow man and my own nature.

Some time ago I posted about Chance and our veterinary adventures. Chance was concerned about my "superfluous" spending money and decided to relieve me of this burden. So thoughtful of him; thanks, Pal. It took a mere $500 dollars this summer to assure us his lungs were in ship-shape; time to get back to exercise. I frequently remind Chance, Eli, and Tango that despite how it appears, they actually live here to work as riding horses.

One of the first excursions for Chance, after nearly two months off, was to a friend's outdoor arena. A place he's been many, many times. This means he knows what boogers exist on the property, the other horses that will be there, the routine we follow. I knew he'd be on the fresh side but felt he would soon settle into a, "been there, done that" frame of mind. When it appeared his little brain was still on vacation I told Haley to let me warm him up first. "First" quickly turned into, "I've got you Babe and you've got me until you quit acting like a fool." Haley rode Tango while I wrestled with 14 hands of foolishness. At least it appeared that way.

I'm sorry to say it did not take long to lose my temper. One of the things Chance decided to overreact to was a hose stretched across the lawn. After working him in the arena I worked him by the hose. Over and over again. Besides being worried and needy away from "the herd," he acted ridiculous about a simple hose, splaying his legs, jumping around, and spooking from the sight of it. Since he's had frequent baths and enjoys them more than any horse I've ever known, I found his behavior strange. And headshakingly stupid.

"You are an idiot," I told him, forcing him to stand with the hose between his legs. I'm pretty sure I said some other things involving his mother, breed, and short stature. After riding, I loaded him up and took him home in disgust. I'd worked so long and so hard with this animal. I tell you, I'd had the patience of Job (past tense)! He needed to knock it off and get over it. Change the ridiculous behavior and grow up horse.

Fast forward a few weeks: I come home one evening and see neighbors I do not know. They are parked in my driveway; they want to share their concern about watching "the spotted horse" fall in the pasture. Not fall while running around, fall while standing perfectly still with eyes open. After falling, they observed Chance for several seconds try to find his balance and get his feet under him. He, "looked drunk." I thanked them for taking the time to find me and share this concern. I was concerned, too. Later I paced in the house. Puzzling behaviors--things he's always had--came to my mind: His running into things, difficulty placing his legs, lack of coordination, stumbling, spooking at things he seems unable to see. Recently he'd also begun having trouble unloading from the horse trailer. While he is no longer afraid to load, he takes a long time to unload now, appearing as if he has to think hard how to back out. All these things, added together with his fall/seizure in the pasture add up to a neurological issue. Why didn't I take a serious look at his behaviors before now? Consider something was going on?

We are no longer riding Chance and do not know if he has a tumor, epilepsy, or some other sinister sounding ailment. DNA testing from UC Davis told us he is negative for the more rare neurological disorder, Cerebral Abiotrophy, though he displays nearly all the outward traits for this, including hypermetric action, lack of a blink response, falling/coordination problems, and obvious issues with judging distance and spatial relationships. Next step is blood testing and urinalysis. The future is uncertain.

I cried for a week after being confronted with this dilemma. My heart is heavily invested in this little horse; he has tested my faith from the beginning. Yes, I pray for and about my horses. If God sees a sparrow fall He sees a smallish pinto fall, too. If He cares for His creation to the detail of a sparrow's death I believe He cares now. There is a purpose in this situation; I am simply trying to remain open to whatever that is.

When I think back to that hot afternoon, wrestling with Chance and that dumb length of hose, I wonder now if he wasn't doing the best he could. If there is something hindering his ability to accurately process what his senses take in his behavior that day is no surprise. It actually makes perfect sense. A horse can operate only on the basis of what it knows and what it knows is not only the result of training--conditioned response--but it's natural ability to process that information. Or not.

This recent horse challenge reminds me of my attitude toward other people sometimes. I once was intensely critical of a person close to me and the way they repeatedly handled their life situations and interpersonal relationships. "You are an idiot," I'd say privately--change already and grow up! One night my husband shared with me the facts of this person's early life and inner demons. Things I did not know. Tears pricked my eyes as I thought of the hell this person had been through, the emotional handicaps that hindered their ability to react well to life challenges and maintain stability. Their behavior was a result of how well they could process information and situations. Period.

And so I thank God for grace; grace for all of His creatures in the midst of personal handicaps. Whatever they are. I believe Grace will shine through, somehow someway, in Chances life as it does in my own. May I have more grace for those who share my space in this life, for idiosyncrasies I am unable to understand.

THOUGHTS ON MEMOIRS (OR HOW HAVING HORSES KEEPS YOU HONEST)

I've noticed New York Times Bestsellers fall into one of two categories: Literary art or fodder shoveled toward the enormous appetite for whatever is the current fad. Often the latter is comprised of knock-offs of a bestseller whose theme/topic continues, ad naseum. An example of deserved NY Times best selling status is Khalid Hosseini's, The Kite Runner. This fictional tale accomplished what a great book is meant to do--it transforms the reader. I've rarely been so devastated, so enlightened, by a work of fiction. Hosseini's passion resulted in a tale that transported me into a culture I'd sadly (and smugly) disregarded entirely. It changed my perception permanently.

On the other end of the spectrum is the overwhelming hit, Twilight, the YA debut by author Stephanie Meyer. I will resist the urge to be snarky and dismantle the hysteria surrounding this title. Other (better) connoisseurs of good writing have already done this. Meyer had an intriguing premise, no doubt, but she broke some kind of record for usage of cliched adverbs and adjectives. I put this Harlequin romance for teens down about 3/4 of the way through.

On my recent vacation in Maui, I had the opportunity to read several books or parts of books (Reading in paradise--what could be better?) and discovered something about pairing horses and writing. Horse keeping lends itself to authenticity, an essential trait in good writing. Horse people tend to be down-to-earth sorts. Perhaps this is because we wrestle with the concept of "down-to-the-earth" more than most and this keeps us humble and honest. Helps us avoid taking ourselves too seriously. Allow me to compare two recently read memoirs--a favorite genre: Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert and Chosen Forever, by Susan Richards.

When it comes to reading I am an omnivore and enjoy buffet style nourishment. I'm not stuck on fiction, non-fiction, or any particular author. I love to be surprised by something new, different, and delicious. Trying a strange "dish" is good; you can't always tell by description or appearance what you'll like. This is how I became a fan of hummus and olive tapenade. Conversely, some things that look/sound yummy can give you a stomachache. This was the case for me with the wildly successful, Eat, Pray, Love. Firstly, let me say Elizabeth Gilbert is a fine writer. She has a good handle on clever technique and turn-a-phrase and uses a personal style of writing I like. There was a reason she was paid, in advance, for a book based on her experiences "finding herself" in Italy, India, and Indonesia. This one fact is at the root of the problem, for me. Payment in advance for a work of fiction is one thing, payment in advance for something meant to be inspirational, "spiritual," is quite another. Let's just say I could come up with something spiritual, too, if I was paid in advance to find it while traveling the world. Not a bad gig for a freelancer. Also flawed for me is Gilbert's premise. Feeling vaguely, yet deeply, dissatisfied with her marriage, the possibility of having children, and a dull suburban life she has a messy affair and, soon after, a messy divorce. I had a hard time dredging up empathy for this woman; a problem in memoir. Good memoir has, at its core, authenticity. While Gilbert's voice was engaging and often entertaining she lacked a certain honesty. Her new agey obsession with self wore thin and by the time she was kissing trees and divulging details about her sex life (with herself and a new lover who-obviously-helped her along her newly discovered spiritual path) I was ready for the Peptobismal. So why did Eat, Pray, Love hit the NY Times bestseller list? It feeds the wildly popular notion that anything goes in the elusive search for self-You're worth it Baby. Spiritually the book is also comfortably vague. Perfect. Look for the movie coming out with Julia Roberts. I'll probably watch it, along with a bag of cotton candy and the Pepto.

In contrast Susan Richards, Chosen Forever, is rich and satisfying. This sequel to her NY Times bestseller, Chosen By A Horse, continues a theme of redemption that began in Richards life with the unassuming love of a discarded Standardbred mare named Lay Me Down. Chosen By A Horse brought tears to my eyes. It reminded me that the experiences and individuals that touch us and change us the most are not the ones orchestrated and paid for in advance. They come as a surprise; involve our deepest emotions; even give us a broken heart. They don't always make sense at first sight. Do yourself a favor and read Chosen By A Horse. The sequel, Chosen Forever, is the story that unfolds in the authors life after the surprise success of her literary labor of love. I was ready to be disappointed but enjoyed it nearly as much as the first book.

Here's to finding oneself--on the back of a horse.

THE ZEN OF SPORTS (OR WHAT HORSEBACK RIDING AND BODY SURFING HAVE IN COMMON)

I am home. Mostly sobered up from a lovely Maui "buzz" and back to the land of regular routine (sniff, sniff). I did miss my horses terribly and by the second week an island equine sighting made me homesick. In celebration of my time in Paradise, I must digress somewhat and share something I discovered while learning to body surf.

It was evident early in my life that I would not be an athlete. The fact that I didn't walk until two years of age said something about future athletic ability. My mother says I knew how to walk long before I actually began doing so. Apparently I was content to watch, consider the options, and firmly hold onto the security of the furniture longer then most children. This tendency to spectate far too long seems stamped into my DNA. I hadn't improved much by elementary and high school. With the major exception of horseback riding, I didn't participate in sports. I remember longing to be a gymnast, a dancer, a runner. It didn't help that I was tall and lean. For some reason people assumed this meant I was also coordinated and athletic. I wish I had a dollar for every time I got this observation: "You're tall; you must play basketball/volleyball." Um, not so much. Except on my horse, I felt like an awkward klutz for most of my adolescent years. I avoided anything that would put my lack of coordination on display and made an art form out of observation and spectatorship.

Introverts--particularly writers--can be a rather boring lot. We're content taking in the experiences of others, turning them over in our minds incessantly and looking for truth, drama, human interest. This is all fine and good for writing but its a poor substitute for experiencing life and new things for oneself--getting sweaty/dirty/exhausted.

On our first full day in Maui we ventured to the beach. My hot-blooded, suck-the-marrow from life Portuguese husband insisted we all go body surfing. Um, excuse me; I do not body surf. I immediately decided this was yet another activity to sit out and observe. No doubt I wouldn't be able to do it anyway, plus getting all sandy.....

After watching everybody else dive bomb the surf and putting my toes into that amazing turquoise, 78 degree water I began to change my mind. I felt disgusted. I'm in Maui, for God's sake. I did not come to Paradise to sit and watch. For an hour or more I swallowed salt water, got sand up my suit, AND caught a couple gnarly waves--Cha! On the walk back to the condo I found a toasty warm hill of sand, fine as sugar, and sunk my feet in up to the ankles (I wanted to transport that beautiful heap of sand back to the Pacific Northwest for future rainy days when my very soul needs a warm-up). Salty, sandy, and exhausted I was reminded that throwing oneself into sports and other physical activities fully engages the five senses. I don't have to be a stellar athlete to reap the benefits of sports. As I think of my horses, I realize that one reason I love them so much is they pull me out of my tendency to spectate and give me a means to experience life more fully.

Besides body surfing, I also learned to snorkel while on vacation. On Maui, the Pacific Ocean is a thing of intoxicating beauty and I found myself drawn to it like never before. For fun, here are a few things I did not know about Maui and one vision I will remember always:

1. The ocean really is that color; the island really is that beautiful.

2. Even chickens love paradise. Chickens are everywhere on Maui. My favorite chicken sighting was outside the Maui Dive Shop in a busy strip mall, downtown Kihei. Two chickens perched atop somebodies snazzy SUV (oops).

3. Hawaiians consider Spam a desirable food choice. This was proven by a significant portion of aisle dedicated to Spam products in Costco. Did you know Spam also makes a hotdog? Double "Eeewwwwwww!"

4. It truly is the Land of Aloha. My favorite aloha sighting was hearing an older Hawaiian grocery store clerk address a white male tourist as, "My brother."

5. Maui is a great place to ogle walking art--tattoos. If you have a slight fetish for them as I do, you'll never lack for interest while people watching. I was quite tempted to get another one myself but decided instead to get a temporary henna. However, when I have my midlife crisis I'll return to Maui and get a tatt. Or three. Maybe a belly button ring, too. Never hurts to plan ahead for these things.

Maui Memory

Driving back from Lahaina one evening I suddenly caught sight of the full moon through the sun roof. The road south there hugs the shoreline, winding a slow descent into Kihei and "condo country." But at that moment, all one could see was the inky Pacific, stretching to a midnight sky and disappearing into infinity. The silver light of the moon gilded the surface of the water into rippling pools of liquid platinum. I felt small and insignificant. At the same time I had a sense of being deeply loved by the Creator who spread out His hands and worked together such beauty."...Darkness was on the face of the deep and the Spirit of God hovered over the surface of the waters."

Aloha

HERD HYSTERIA

Chance with his other herd boss.




Mom, how do I look?

Fine.

Are you sure--this shirt's not too baggy?

Looks great.

Are you just saying that....did you even look?

Life with a teenager is never dull. Besides amusing and frustrating, parenting a teen can be quite enlightening. It's given me opportunity to reflect on my own teenage years (much of which I've tried to forget, actually). In my son I remember my own battle with insecurity and self-esteem at a time when my body seemed to betray me (I would learn this was only the first time; more betrayal was to come). While I have grown out of much of the youthful angst and drama the deep need to be accepted, to be thought well of, follows me into adulthood--"Herd dynamics."

As I've mentioned before, horses are never apathetic about The Herd. They live and die obsessed with this social structure. It's really more necessary to their health than food and water. In the wild the safety of a horse hinges on his place in a herd situation. This makes perfect sense. An attacking cougar, say, is best fended off with the help of a few friends. Especially when one is lower on the food chain. But domestic horses have a different reality, right? It is the faithful Master who feeds, waters, blankets in cold, fly sprays in heat, tends to tender tootsies, trains, loves, and otherwise is obsessed, exhausted, or bankrupt on any given day. But enough about me. This fact should have some relevance for even the most dim-witted equid, right? Wrong. Herd dynamics are no less critical for a backyard pony then they are for a Mustang surviving on the plains. At least from the horse's point of view.

I have found the greatest satisfaction as a trainer when I can affect this equine trait on a deep level; change the horses natural tendency. When the horse and I reach a place where we are first, last, and always our own herd of two. Regardless of whether I ride past a field of attractive horses nickering for attention, ask my horse to leave his best buddy for a few hours, or even trailer to a strange location. The horse remains okay--ixnay on the whinnying hysterically. My horse Tango is this way. He seems to understand, at some level, that I "have his back." This is quite literally true--how could I forget about him when I'm sitting on him! Eli is also coming along nicely in this respect. We aren't totally there yet but he looks to me more and more for direction. In time I feel his trust in me will be complete. Chance is another story. Life with human beings has taken its toll on him. For all the progress we have made this horse's trust remains fragile. And that's on a good day. On a bad day forget about it. His bond to the rider disappears like dust in the wind. In short, the herd--what "they" think and are doing at any particular moment--is a near constant obsession for this horse. When Chance is in this place mentally he can be dangerous. An example of this last occurred last weekend when I took him on a trail ride in the hills near my home. I knew the ride might be interesting but decided it would be good for him.

I was pleased that after some initial whinnying and postering amidst the 30 or so other horses milling around, Chance settled down--Look at me; I'm the man; You like me?; Check this out; Hey, nobody cares.....We left with the first large group and I put Chance in the back, behind a big Tennessee Walker. He was a tad nervous--I wonder what that horse thinks of me; Am I dominant here?--but willing to walk. Then he began hearing the sounds of the other group, just out of sight in the trees behind us. He began to get jiggy, pulling on the bit, jumping in the bushes and mostly ignoring the fact that there was a rider on his back. I waited until the single track trail opened onto a wider road and pulled him out of the ride. At that moment I believe I saw his small brain sprout wings and fly off into the blazing sun overhead. We entered full meltdown as he watched his new "best friends" disappear into the trees again. I wondered how it was that so quickly he could forget entirely about me--his rider and faithful buyer of premium hay, veterinary care and horse treats. Did he recall the hours I spent working on his trailer loading so he could become confidant and not utterly terrified? Did he remember how I quite literally plucked him out of a field neglected and starving? Not a chance, for this Chance.

Summoning what was left of my last nerve, I focused on regaining his attention. Eventually (with much sweat on both our parts) I got obedience and a bit of his brain back. We were able to rejoin a party of riders and finish the ride without further tantrums.

Being herd bound, or herd "sour," is not just annoying it potentially life-threatening for the horse and/or rider. A good friend found this out recently when her herd bound gelding tore out of the trailer she was attempting to load him into, nearly running over her. On his mad dash to get back to his "friends" he ran down a busy highway. Fortunately, nobody was hurt.

A person can live their entire life a slave to herd dynamics--hoping to gain favor, respect, acceptance, self-esteem and purpose solely from other human beings. Personally, I'd like to find all that with the Master. A herd of two is security enough for me.

A note to followers and lurkers (I appreciate each and every one of you that bother to read my random ramblings): I am leaving for Maui and will happily neglect this blog for the next two weeks. After which I'll be back, fresh with Aloha and(hopefully) tales of horse culture in Hawaii.

ON LYING

I am an honest person; I like to tell the truth. As a writer this isn't simply a good idea, it's absolutely necessary. Oh sure, I am guilty of social lying--who isn't? By social lying I mean something like this:

Friend at church: Hi, how are you?
Me: I'm fine.
Translation: My latte just spilled on my sweater, I have a headache and just yelled at my husband and kids. I am in no mood to see or talk to anybody, much less worship the Lord--why am I here?!

After seeing the movie, The Italian Job, I now think of Fine as an acronym: Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional. Turns out alot of people are F.I.N.E.

But other than that very typical scenario, I like to think of myself as an honest gal. Transparent even. It took two of my horses this week to show me that, in fact, I am a dirty little liar (even a Big, Fat Liar).

On Monday I loaded up Eli and took him to a local arena all by himself. I love this horse. He continues to prove his incredible intelligence and trainability, even under the added stress of being a young stallion with no shortage of hormones. Every stud should be as kind and level headed as this one. But I'm getting ahead of myself.......

I proceeded to warm Eli up and put him through his paces as two friends and their horses rode around, sharing the space. We rode for about 30 minutes with no incidence. I thought it an opportune time to brag about my outstanding equine when my friend made the mistake of asking,"So, how's he doing Catherine?" This was sort of like asking a new grandparent to tell you about their precious grandchild.

"This horse is the finest horse I've ever had," I gushed without shame. "I have never had to discipline him. Seriously. He has such a trainable mind."

I went on and on (the exact details escape me right now). Eli indeed proved his very trainable mind. Able to train his human to be very, very careful about the words that come out of her mouth. It wasn't fifteen minutes later that I moved Eli into a trot, then a canter. He took about two strides before all hell broke loose. Bolting across the arena Eli decided to show off his complete and utter "obedience." He jumped and pitched and while no words came out of his mouth I knew what he was thinking: This is a good time for you to bail off. Remember, pride comes before a fall.

I'm happy to report that I didn't fall off. Instead, I was able to get back the control and change Eli's attitude using a highly effective four letter word--WORK. We ended things on a good note and I, the big fat liar, went home a more humble individual.

I was still assembling my pride that week when, once again, I was proved dishonest in front of an audience. This time Chance decided to teach me a lesson. I can't prove it but I think Eli discussed this with him one night in the barn.

Chance has been struggling with respiratory problems for the better part of two months. I held out as long as I could but finally gave in and signed him up for what I knew would be an expensive veterinary exam. Just to be sure he was really sick, I worked Chance three days before the exam. Yep, he coughed and showed some distress during canter work. Something was definately wrong. I patted myself on the back for being a responsible horse owner and put all other plans on hold the day of his scheduled visit.

We arrived bright and early at the veterinary hospital, a large, clean facility with a charming collection of antique carriages on display out front. My horse would be in good hands. I explained the past couple of months, how Chance was hardly being worked and our worry he had a blockage of sorts in his airways. I was anxious to see his symptoms and how the vet would diagnose it.

"Let's free lunge him in the round pen," the vet said. "See whats going on."

An assistant got a whip and moved Chance around at the trot, then the canter. The day had dawned warm and it didn't take Chance long to break into a sweat as the air thickened with humidity. Additionally, deep sand in the round pen made his going that much more work. I knew it was simply a matter of time before he began coughing.

Twenty minutes later, the only sight to behold was the near perfect form of Chance, easily cantering the circumference of the round pen. Over and over again.

"He's in beautiful condition; what a mover," remarked the vet.

Mover my eye! This horse can hardly keep his leads straight some days. My mood darkened.

"Well, I'm not seeing anything. Let's put a bag over his nose and see what we hear."

We stopped Chance, put a bag over his nose and let him breath out the oxygen. Then the bag was removed and the vet carefully listened to his lungs while he inhaled deeply. Nothing but a tiny wheeze or two showed anything out of order.

"He tolerates exercise very well," said the vet.

"Listen, I know there is something wrong with this horse. I guarantee if I ride him he will show some distress." I fought frustration as I led Chance to the trailer and swung a saddle over his back. Time for a little horsey chat.

"Listen Pal," I pulled Chance's head around to make sure he was listening. "I just think you should know that if you prove me a liar today your work load is going to explode. No more lounging in my paddock over a pile of alfalfa. Got it?"

Chance chewed thoughtfully. Let's see, less work or enjoy making a fool of my owner? No contest.

Sure enough, we lope in beautiful circles in the sandy round pen. Over and over. Chance is a dressage horse, his frame round and athletic, his endurance supreme.

"If this was a prepurchase exam I'd tell you to buy this horse," the vet offers.

Gee, thanks. I'm going to kill this horse when I get home.....

Five hundred dollars later, I am sure of one thing: Horses were created to keep human beings humble (not to mention drive them crazy).

Yet, all is not lost. A new training method has come out of my recent experiences. It is actually not new but one I've used often and with success on my children. It is especially effective on toddlers and teenagers--reverse psycology.

This week I'll chant a new mantra to my beasts: Chance, you are sick ALL the time; Eli, my man, you are the worst horse to work with!

I'll let you know how it works for me.