The Plan: Have A Plan

Late last month I had the opportunity to ride in a dressage clinic with Henrik Johansen. I love riding in clinics with him. He's a wonderful teacher. I always leave excited about riding and knowing where I need to improve. 

This time was no different. I rode my friend Fable because Eddie, although back to work again, is not far enough along in his rehab to endure the demands of a weekend clinic. I've ridden Fable in the past couple of clinics and it works well, since I bring the lessons I learn home to Eddie. I did this time too, of course.

As I was riding one of the exercises Henrik had coached me through at the clinic, I started thinking about something else he'd said. "Ride with a plan. Don't ride by reacting to the horse."

Was I doing that?

Well … sort of. I had a plan, but I was very intent on figuring out if Eddie was actually doing it. 

I changed my thinking. I took a deep breath, squared up my posture and let go of all that "gotta do it" tension.

"I am doing the exercise correctly myself," I said, not entirely believing it. "And when I do it right, it feels exactly like this." (insert active imagination here). 

Then the most amazing thing happened: Eddie improved in one step.

Go figure. Although I should have known. After all, it's not news to me -- I "talk" this stuff all the time.

Guess I don’t always "walk" it.

And that got me to thinking -- is that what I do in my daily life? Do I fret every minute to be sure everything is "just so," checking to see if all my ducks are lined up properly? Do I have a plan I focus on, or am I reacting to each moment, watching for things to go wrong?

Maybe I should just march forward and let all my ducks line up behind me while I lead the way. After all, not all of us can follow. Somebody has to get out in front. It's my life. It might as well be me.

Remind me again....?

Horses have great memories. They remember places, people, training, where the food is kept, you name it. And they remember for a whole lot longer than we do -- or so it seems.

Years ago I owned a gelding and a mare who were stabled together until a significant injury had me move the gelding to a barn where he could rehab and possibly retire. Two years of pasture rest seemed to do the trick -- he recovered. I moved him to the new stable I was working out of to put him back to work. The first day I led him out to his new paddock we passed one of my students leading my mare to the barn. Both horses stopped and did a double take. Disney couldn't have done a better job. It was not only obvious they recognized each other, but that they were pleased to see each other, too.

In his younger days, Eddie proved to me multiple times that once he figured out how to work a latch, he'd do it again -- immediately. He kept me on my toes trying to come up with stall and pasture latches he couldn't undo.

When not being entertained by it, I use this great memory of theirs in training. It's part of the communication ground rules: when I do this, you do that. The trick is to be consistent. I know I'm muddling things up when I'm not getting the same response from the horse.

I'm actually envious of that great memory. I could use it sometimes…like when I misplace my keys. Hmm…maybe if I was more consistent with my own habits….

Pass me a mocha, I'm just getting started.

Most of the serious work-time we spend on our horses' backs is, or should be, devoted to warming up. Regardless of the goal-of-the-moment, we have to physically and mentally prepare for the day's new lesson. 

Yeah, it's tedious. 

And no, it can't be skipped. 

Not only does the horse need to be prepared before he's asked to exert himself just a little more, but the rider has to prepare, too. Nobody hits the saddle ready to rock and roll. Even when you ride one horse after another there is a certain amount of adjustment, both mental and physical, that needs to be done with each horse.

What happens when we skip the warm up and plunge into the daily lesson? The warm-up insists on being done anyway. It's like a persistent little terrier. It won't go away. And if you don't pay attention and do what needs to be done, it will get underfoot and trip you up. Count on it. You cannot bully this little dog into submission. It will bite your butt.

The plus side is that the better you prepare, the more conscientious you are about your warm-up, the better the performance of the lesson-of-the-day. The warm-up is where you catch the problems and put into effect the solutions. It's where the questions are cleared up and the groundwork laid for more advanced work.

Are you not accomplishing what you thought you should, despite working hard? Take a look at your warm-up. I'll bet you a double-tall mocha you're leaving something out.

Maybe, just maybe, the success we want to experience in other facets of our lives need the same attention paid to preparation. I'll wager another mocha on that one.

Knowing When To Quit

I know I've talked about consistency before, but it's an important topic and a surprisingly broad one. As riders, most of the time we concentrate on honing our skills so we can use them with reliable results. If our equine partners know that X always means something specific then they're more likely to remember to do that specific thing when we use X. It's simply the communication of ideas, just like a spoken language.

I've noticed, however, that it's possible to dwell on a "topic" too long. Horses, like people, can become bored and inattentive if a topic of discussion is carried past its usefulness. Straight lines become crooked, circles are no longer round, even shoulders-in will cease to engage the inside hind leg. While we, the riders, are busy working on perfecting an aid (or what-have-you) to a classically correct level the other member of our team is falling asleep at the switch, finding ways to avoid the difficulty we're inflicting on them, or looking for something else to occupy their minds.

Ideally, we don't want to get to the point where our partner is done with an exercise before we are, and is now engaged in an activity that is amusing only to them. We want to change the exercise when it has done its job--for example; improved the way the horse is going, or shown him a better way to balance himself.

The problem is that each horse is different. And while Eddie has been laid up I've been reacquainted with that fact. The solution is to pay close attention to the horse, and when he has demonstrated a consistency in the exercise you are doing, then it's time to change to something else--even if he's not perfect because you've probably gotten as much out of it as you're going to at this moment. Does that mean you can't revisit it? No of course not. Just do something else for a while. 

Like everything else one does with a horse, what they teach us is a life lesson. Now I just have to figure out what the aids are to teach teenagers to clean their rooms….

Horses are easier!

Bandages & Friendship

Poor Eddie. This weekend didn't turn out quite the way he planned. He was having himself a good 'ol time kicking up his heels in his paddock, but took a misstep and wrenched his front right shoe off. Unfortunately, he also did some damage to himself, the precise nature of which has yet to be determined. For the moment, we're just calling him three-legged lame.

Eddie, bless his heart, has been relatively injury free -- for a horse. They tend to be rather delicate creatures, especially for as big as they are. In my opinion, if someone tells you they're "healthy as a horse" you need to be on your way to the phone to call for help. Horses have a talent for hurting themselves regardless of the precautions you take to protect them.

But I'm used to lame horses, albeit a bit out of practice. I've owned horses who have made careers out of creatively injuring themselves. One big chestnut Thoroughbred gelding I owned for most of his twenty-six years wasn't an accident waiting to happen, he was an accident that continually happened. It got so people were thinking I had a "thing" for my vet. I was thinking maybe my vet ought to issue those cards like espresso stands have where after so many cups of coffee you get one free. It was the horse and I who bonded over those many hours of fellowship over salves, bandages, cold hosing, and prescription meds.

Something special happens when you help an animal through the tough times. A connection is born that wouldn't have existed otherwise. The quiet time you spend together doing the things that need to be done to get past the crisis creates a bridge of companionship that endures. Tomorrow morning I'll drive up to the barn, give Eddie his meds, rewrap his legs and brush his burgeoning winter coat while he stands quietly in his stall without his halter on. We'll have a little chat and he'll spend some time licking me--his way of doing something for me.

With any luck, he'll feel lots better and in a week or so we'll be able to get back to some light work. In the meantime we'll get to know each other on a different level.

Run!

It has been my experience when riding that it rarely does any good to show a horse something he's afraid of. A horse's natural instinct is to move away from Scary Objects really fast. Making the horse stand still (or worse, approach) and look at something he'd rather run away from is akin to saying, "I swear to God, it'll only hurt a little when the lion takes a bite."

I wouldn't believe me either. I'd leave.

And trust me, if they want to go there's nothing you can do to stop them.

So what's the best thing to do since trying to make the horse walk up to the Scary Object puts you on the Scary Object's staff as the waiter who serves the main course?

Stay on the horse's team. Utilizing the horse's comfort zone is a quicker path to restoring calm. Therefore, since two things horses do very well are moving and sticking to a routine, it's a good bet that riding a simple routine he's familiar with and good at will help. Because the routine is familiar he knows what to do, and what is expected. Therefore it's safe. Because he's moving he's cooperating with his ancient fright/flight response.

Pretty soon, as he's doing the safe, familiar job, the Scary Object becomes Just Another Object. This tactic works quickly if the rider starts the familiar job at a distance from the Scary Object where the horse shows only a low degree of tension. Then, as the horse relaxes he can be guided closer if necessary. The more stressed the horse becomes, the harder it is to get his attention and restore calm. Also, the more thoroughly trained the horse, the more comfort there will be in his job—and the quicker the Scary Object loses its power.

Aren't we like that, too? If the unexpected occurs and we can get right into a well practiced routine we stand a better chance of getting our heads back on straight. People in high risk jobs know this. That's why they train so much. Since stress is part and parcel of our everyday lives, we can adapt this tactic to help us manage what life throws our way.

Have you developed any routines that keep your stress level down?

How can I work under all this pressure?

Horses move into pressure. It's instinct. Sure they shift their bodies away when the rider applies the leg aid, but we trainers teach that response. What you may not realize is the training still permits the instinctive reaction--we've just redirected it. The horse is now stepping toward the rider's leg with the hind leg on the same side--more acceptable than moving their barrel into leg pressure. Oh, and as for the line of travel—that has more to do with where your weight is directed than what you just did with your leg.

But what I really want to talk about is the absence of pressure.

Horses will, if you pay close attention, actually respond to an aid (pressure) when that aid is removed. One of the basic tenets of dressage is that relaxation is required for the horse to move with grace, beauty and optimal athletic results. That means all muscular tension not required for remaining upright and mobile must go. Mental tension produces physical tension, so that has to go too. An aid that doesn't let up—that sustains pressure—is going to make the horse wonder what the heck it is the rider wants. Wondering produces worry, which in turn produces frustration and will cause the trained horse to revert to his instinctive reaction and push back.

Wouldn't you?

Have you ever tried to produce good work while under pressure? It's exhausting, not invigorating. I produce enough of my own internal pressure so my tolerance threshold for external pressure is pretty low. It becomes counter productive. I may not push back in the obvious manner my horse would, but my quality of work suffers. And I get pretty crabby.

Like horses, people have their own optimal pressure tolerance levels. When working with someone (equine or human) it's essential to discover what that level is, and then only use it when necessary. Nobody can tolerate sustained pressure. We all do our best work when it's applied intermittently from the one directing our efforts.

It's a rare thing to have that gift of assessment—the ability to know how much and what kind of pressure is required and then have the guts to release it. Perhaps we can learn if we think, observe, and test our bravery.

Have you ever worked with someone who seems capable of helping you achieve your personal best? Maybe they had to learn how.

The Call To Adventure

Often when I school Eddie (see white horse in the picture) I'll take a little break and ride out of the arena. We'll hike up and down the gentle slopes around the barn where he lives, or if the dressage-deer are around (they're the ones who stroll through the arena daily) we'll stop and watch them for a little while. Admittedly, I find them more interesting than Eddie. He doesn't care if they go into the woodshed or look like they're planning on walking through the barn. He does, however, think it's noteworthy if they stand on their hind legs to eat leaves off the trees. I'm not sure why. Nevertheless, if we take time out for a little adventure we can return to work with a little better attitude and a renewed effort. Concentration seems to come more readily and the little issues that were plaguing us recede into the background.

This morning my long-time student and friend was talking about having some fun and going to a schooling show. Not the dressage shows we normally go to, but a regular horse show where a group of horses are shown in the arena at the same time at the walk, trot and canter. Neither one of us have done that type of show for ages. Since Eddie and Spirrit, my friend's horse, are good buddies we figured they'd have a good time together. It's something different, something to turn the same old stuff into an adventure.

Evidently the call to adventure was in the air today. When I got home my husband and I swiped our kids' inline skates and drove over to a local walking/biking trail. To appreciate this you should know that neither one of us have skated for (mutter, mutter) years. My recurring thought was along the lines of how much it was going to hurt to break a bone, and how much it would slow my typing down to have a cast on my arm. I'm happy to report that while we both very probably looked ridiculous, and will be very sore tomorrow, we avoided injury. Best of all it gave us a chance to laugh together and enjoy the scenery.

The horse show is in October. I'll let you know how much of an adventure it turns out to be. With any luck we'll laugh, but won't look too ridiculous.

Have a Snack and Forget It

On most days when I crawl out of bed in the morning I refrain from making any predictions about how the day is going to go until I've had a reasonable amount of caffeine and a good, hard look at my to-do list. If I then click over to my e-mail and stare with little comprehension at the subject lines it's a fairly good bet I'll be having one of "those" days.

You know what I mean—one of those days where you have to flog yourself to actually accomplish anything at all. For me, there's usually a direct correlation between motivation and the amount of sleep I didn't get. You'd think I'd plan for that by now.

Horses experience the same thing, except we're their to-do list and e-mail all wrapped up into one, and if we didn't bring it all to them, they wouldn't waste time worry about it. Some days Eddie (my horse) will meet me at the gate, ears up, practically wagging his tail. Other days he'll stand at the far end of his paddock and look at me with complete indifference, if he bothers to look at all. I know exactly how the ride is going to go before I even get a halter on him.

It boils down to this: I care and he doesn't. I want every day to be my best effort. I take it as a personal insult when my body or mind can't seem to get it together enough to cooperate.

Eddie seems to accept the day to day variations. He always makes an effort to do what I ask, bless his heart, but when he's less than sterling he still expects his treats and is just as pleased with himself when we're done as he is on the days when he's wonderful.

It is what it is. Don't waste energy worrying about what it should have been. Make sure you get a treat for your effort because, after all, you did try. And, for heaven's sake, relax. You can't change what's already happened and, who knows, tomorrow might be better…but don't let that interfere with the moment.

If horses had a philosophy that would probably be it. We might do well to try it out once in a while.

Whistling In The Dark

A number of years ago, when my now almost-adult daughter was three, I had the opportunity to put into practice every bit of faked calm I’ve spent a lifetime working to perfect. This is what happened: In between the lessons I was teaching, the teenager whose job it was to be my daughter’s responsible playmate while I was busy ran up to me, grabbed me by the arm and said, “You should know your daughter just caught a snake and is bringing it to show you.”

Ha. Not what you thought, huh? However, if you have even a passing acquaintance with me you’re aware of how snakes will produce instantaneous cold-sweat, leg-weakening, electric terror that zings from my scalp to the soles of my feet.

Thank God for the practice.

Practice?

Yeah. Practice. With horses. Lots and lots of it, and this is why: Horses require leadership. They’re afraid of pretty much everything that’s different. New additions to their surroundings, the sudden appearance of a squirrel where there wasn’t one before, mail boxes, bags the wind can blow, odd noises, almost everything white…the list is endless. It makes sense, really. For millions of years horses were a nice entre on most predators’ menus. Because of that, horses run first and don’t bother with the questions later. Bolt and live. No need for analysis once the herd is back to munching grass. No one is going feel the need to question why Dobbin started the stampede. They’re alive, having escaped possible danger, it’s all good.

What does leadership have to do with this? It’s the herd look-out (one of the responsible horses in the group) who often signals the danger. The other horses accept this without a thought. When humans stepped into the equine equation we became (essentially) part of the herd. It is our job to be the alpha-horse, to build trust and obedience. Our word is law. Part of achieving this alpha-horse status is the ability to remain calm and not react in a nervous manner, particularly in dicey situations where our horse is tapping into that ancient flight/fight response. It’s a safety issue, too. A frightened horse is very very dangerous. Projecting calm as the alpha-herd-member, particularly when you’re not feeling it, goes a long way to keep a potentially perilous situation under control.

This works quite well with an all human cast, too. The ability to convincingly project calm and rational behavior will promote and encourage the same in others.

How did the snake incident work out? Having a moment’s warning to let me grab hold of my phobia with both hands helped. When my daughter ran up with her new “toy” writhing in her little fist I exclaimed how pretty it was, told her it was a common garden snake, and would probably appreciate being put back where she’d found it so it could play with its friends. She conceded that I was right, since the snake kept biting her and trying to get away, and turned the thing loose in the tall grass. At 18 she still has no fear of snakes. I avoided passing along my phobia. Yay for me! Pretending did the job.