Buddy
Buddy was the embodiment of my dream.
He was foaled here out of a lovely Arabian mare of Crabbet breeding by a Tarpan stallion who was the son of my stallion (unfortunately made infertile by a frantic mare). I knew as soon as I saw him that I would keep him as a stallion. I also knew that I probably shouldn't. I preach that to other people - but I do love being around stallions.
Like every foal of a Tarpan, he was stamped with the coloring of one. Grulla coloring, dorsal stripe, finger prints on the forelegs, tri-color mane and tail, and an attitude that says "prove that you are better than me" are just some of the things that come with the package. They are smarter than any other breed I've ever worked with. I have accused them of being able to do calculus and haven't been able to disprove that hypothesis yet - and I've been around them since 1984.
The Arabian blend gives heat tolerance and some size. Tarpans tend to be around 10-12 hands. The Arabian boosts that up to about 14.0 to 14.3 hands. It also increases endurance potential since the Tarpans do not sweat easily - thus increasing heat related problems.
Both breeds have tempers and both have enormous senses of injustice. Violate either and you will have a battle on your hands of epic proportions. By the same token, they are also capable of intense loyalties - and you'd best not interfere with one they consider theirs. The Mongols rode similar horses into battle for this reason - they would fight like the soldiers on their backs. It is no wonder Eastern Europe feared the dark little men on the fierce little horses!
So Buddy was of these ancient bloodlines-so I trained carefully and well as he grew. He outgrew the foal coat and turned into a buttermilk buckskin. He was a magnificent horse.
I never got to ride him much because people are always antsy about riding with stallions. I understand - who wants either a fight with one or one trying to breed your mare while you are riding her? Still, I wished I could have enjoyed him more.
Time went by - and things worked out that the old mare pastured with him had to be put down due to health reasons. Buddy was not one to live solo and he was not going to accept a gelding. He'd already made that very plain. One of my mares had had a long infatuation with him - and she was the only one completely unrelated to him. So she went out with him.
In hindsight, I probably should have gelded him then, and mis-mated her in a couple of months. But I didn't.
The next summer, I had to leave on a business trip. Of course, that was when she foaled - and lost the baby. She also had tears - so I separated them until she healed. Buddy was enraged - that was HIS mare, and she needed to be back out there. She rebred immediately after I put her back out - and 11 months to the day, her filly (Jolene) was born.
Probably because of the stillbirth, the mare wouldn't leave this baby alone to sleep. So a little human interference was called for! After a little essential oils to calm her and massage, mom and baby were fine. Proud Buddy strutted his stuff - and turned out to be a wonderful baby sitter. A year later, Belle joined us.
But I had decided that enough was enough - and gelded Buddy. By this time, he was 14. Naively, I thought once the hormones had left that he would simmer down.
Some horses are just always going to be stallions. Buddy was one of them.
I tried putting him out with various members of the herd and he systematically beat, bit, kick, and ran the entire herd. He nearly killed his own foals - something he had never shown a propensity for previously. He left scars on every mare out there.
In a moment of clarity, I did the only thing I could do - I put him down.
It was the death of my dreams. I had always wanted to breed, to ride a beautiful horse that I had bred, and to have a lineage. He was all of that. I was not going to have the rest of the horses hurt. I could not have any humans endangered. I refused to have him go to auction as horse meat and I will never sell a dangerous horse.
I am now 60 years old. I cannot do that again. It's over. I still have some lovely horses that will likely see me to the end of my days. So be it.
Here's to new trails with new partners. Cricket, Jolene, Belle, Dolly, Julie, and maybe Redford.
God, I miss Buddy.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Belle-Dolly and Buddy's daughter
Belle was foaled in June, and looks much like big sister Jolene with the exception of a smallish star high on her face. She is showing the roaning characteristic given to her by grandma Allura, but is otherwise looking to be a sandy colored buckskin much like her daddy. Unlike daddy, this baby has some legs on her-she will be taller than Jolene, I think, as she is nearly her height now. Dolly is 14.2, but both her parents were over 16 hands. Don't think Belle will go that tall-maybe 14.3, but she will beat her sister.
She is one laid back kid. Just doesn't get wound up about things. Oh, she'll pull back and object to something, but it is never the "ohmygawditisgoingtoeatme!" Variety. Just " if you don't mind, I'd rather not." She's really cool to work with. She walks off, I turn my back, and next thing I know there is a nuzzle on my back-hey, you quit playing with me!
The puppies mystify her. They won't stay still long enough for her to sniff. Very strange little horses with short legs (dachshunds).
Feed buckets are good, but feed sacks are scary. Working on that one.
She is one laid back kid. Just doesn't get wound up about things. Oh, she'll pull back and object to something, but it is never the "ohmygawditisgoingtoeatme!" Variety. Just " if you don't mind, I'd rather not." She's really cool to work with. She walks off, I turn my back, and next thing I know there is a nuzzle on my back-hey, you quit playing with me!
The puppies mystify her. They won't stay still long enough for her to sniff. Very strange little horses with short legs (dachshunds).
Feed buckets are good, but feed sacks are scary. Working on that one.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Going to the dogs
Almost three months ago now, we decided that the one dog we had, Millie (a non-descript mutt of no discernable breeding who doesn't like me worth a damn - she's timid and I am the one who does the wormer and flea treatments ergo I'm the bad guy) wasn't worth a damn as a watch dog. About the only thing Millie will bark at is deer, possums, coons, and buzzards. Since none of those are much oaf a threat to either steal us blind or cause us bodily harm, we needed some dogs that would actually BARK.
As usual, it's my job. Tommy doesn't make the decisions around here, I do. It's not that he's henpecked-he wants it that way. The few times he has made the decision - well, results have generally not been so good. He doesn't think along those lines-he's more of the analyst type. I'm the planner.
So how to find DOGS. Well, for me, going to a shelter is out of the question for the simple reason that I'd bring all of them home. That's definitely a counter-productive move from the get-go. Do not want to go to the pet store as that supports the puppy mills and I truly detest the breeding practices of 99.9% of the purebred owners. (Cat, horse, bird, reptile-any animal that is kept as a pet-there should be very, very strict laws about reproduction.)
Craigslist - not the greatest place, but it beats Petfinder. (Why? Because Petfinder almost invariably refers you to a shelter that has some ungodly requirement that you're going to fail as a pet parent. I've tried three times to adopt cats through there. I failed one time because I let my cats out of the house (I live on 27 acres out in the country, for God's sake!), the second time because I had had a cat die of unknown causes (does everyone have God-like powers of knowledge???), and one time because of the litter I use. Give me a break! Either you want the animals to have homes or you don't! You don't even come out to see what I've got here. ) If you've never looked at craigslist.com, you need to. It is a classified ad section on steriods.
People who have pit bulls NEED to spay and neuter those dogs. They can't GIVE those puppies away. Just because YOU like them, folks, doesn't mean other people are going to take them. I think they're fine, but I'm not going to get one either. Just not my taste in dogs.
There are other dogs in there--some of the toy breeds (the prices on those itty bitty things!!) and some really big dogs (good sized prices there, too!). I keep looking-and finally come up with some beagles up in Summerville (which falls through) and dachshunds in College Park. I've always been a sucker for the hound breeds and dachies are the smallest of the hounds. We had a dachie mix one time - Ginger - and she was a great dog.
I come back with two-male and female. She's a tan and will be a "Tweener". Her name is Bonnie and she is a pistol. She bosses everybody. She doesn't beg, she tells. He is a red or copper and may be a large Tweener or a small regular dachie. Name's Clyde, of course, and he's a laid back sweetie. You do get the sad puppy eyes from Clyde.
And, yeah, they bark. Mission accomplished.
As usual, it's my job. Tommy doesn't make the decisions around here, I do. It's not that he's henpecked-he wants it that way. The few times he has made the decision - well, results have generally not been so good. He doesn't think along those lines-he's more of the analyst type. I'm the planner.
So how to find DOGS. Well, for me, going to a shelter is out of the question for the simple reason that I'd bring all of them home. That's definitely a counter-productive move from the get-go. Do not want to go to the pet store as that supports the puppy mills and I truly detest the breeding practices of 99.9% of the purebred owners. (Cat, horse, bird, reptile-any animal that is kept as a pet-there should be very, very strict laws about reproduction.)
Craigslist - not the greatest place, but it beats Petfinder. (Why? Because Petfinder almost invariably refers you to a shelter that has some ungodly requirement that you're going to fail as a pet parent. I've tried three times to adopt cats through there. I failed one time because I let my cats out of the house (I live on 27 acres out in the country, for God's sake!), the second time because I had had a cat die of unknown causes (does everyone have God-like powers of knowledge???), and one time because of the litter I use. Give me a break! Either you want the animals to have homes or you don't! You don't even come out to see what I've got here. ) If you've never looked at craigslist.com, you need to. It is a classified ad section on steriods.
People who have pit bulls NEED to spay and neuter those dogs. They can't GIVE those puppies away. Just because YOU like them, folks, doesn't mean other people are going to take them. I think they're fine, but I'm not going to get one either. Just not my taste in dogs.
There are other dogs in there--some of the toy breeds (the prices on those itty bitty things!!) and some really big dogs (good sized prices there, too!). I keep looking-and finally come up with some beagles up in Summerville (which falls through) and dachshunds in College Park. I've always been a sucker for the hound breeds and dachies are the smallest of the hounds. We had a dachie mix one time - Ginger - and she was a great dog.
I come back with two-male and female. She's a tan and will be a "Tweener". Her name is Bonnie and she is a pistol. She bosses everybody. She doesn't beg, she tells. He is a red or copper and may be a large Tweener or a small regular dachie. Name's Clyde, of course, and he's a laid back sweetie. You do get the sad puppy eyes from Clyde.
And, yeah, they bark. Mission accomplished.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Well, got up the nerve to ride Redford (formerly known as Razz or Razzamatazz or Tucson) a couple of days ago for the second time. This time I decided to ride at home and use just the rope hackamore as he is very lacking in basic skills. What I learned was revealing-he has been intimidating people with tantrums-half-rears, twisting, threatening bucking, and whipping around on both sides to bite at your legs. Plus-the sonofabitch can shy and swap ends like a rodeo bronc. (This old gal can still stay on that-but likes it less than she used to.)
Now I have his lessons straight in my head-and they go like thiis:
1. He learns to be saddled and girthed without biting and moving around. His intimidation/dominance tactics have got to come to an end.
2. I'll ride with dressage whips in BOTH hands until he learns to keep his head where I put it-and his mouth closed.
3. He needs a roller bit to keep him busy-and probably a copper one. I'd like to see how he reacts to a ported bit as well. He's probably going to freak about the chin chain, but he'll just have to live with it. May try the TTeam bit and use four reins. The loose jaw would be more like the snaffles he's used to.
4. Work on transitions, curves, and straight lines.
5. Get him out in the clear cut ASAP. That will keep him busy watching where his feet are going instead of thinking up evil thoughts.
That should be enough for now. When that gets done, time to re-evaluate and re-set goals!
Now I have his lessons straight in my head-and they go like thiis:
1. He learns to be saddled and girthed without biting and moving around. His intimidation/dominance tactics have got to come to an end.
2. I'll ride with dressage whips in BOTH hands until he learns to keep his head where I put it-and his mouth closed.
3. He needs a roller bit to keep him busy-and probably a copper one. I'd like to see how he reacts to a ported bit as well. He's probably going to freak about the chin chain, but he'll just have to live with it. May try the TTeam bit and use four reins. The loose jaw would be more like the snaffles he's used to.
4. Work on transitions, curves, and straight lines.
5. Get him out in the clear cut ASAP. That will keep him busy watching where his feet are going instead of thinking up evil thoughts.
That should be enough for now. When that gets done, time to re-evaluate and re-set goals!
Sunday, December 16, 2012
I've been thinking about these kids and their teachers, etc. in Newtown. I've also thought about the young man who was on the other end of those guns. There's heartbreak everywhere-and will be for some time. I simply cannot imagine the grief of the families who lost a child-I know how berserk I have had the loss of dogs, cats, and horses and the power of just that was overwhelming in and of itself. The loss of a child? I'd probably have to be sedated. Oh, I've lost family members before-but, you know, you expect to lose aunts, uncles, and even parents. Not that it is pleasant-it isn't, but you expect it. Children are 'supposed' to out-live you.
People everywhere are yammering on the 'loss of morals', 'protecting our children with carry permits', and 'getting these people off the streets'. I have news for these folks-they're barking with no teeth. There's nothing worse than a toothless Chihuahua yapping endlessly at nothing credible.
There was no 'loss of morals'. This young man was troubled-no morals involved. For whatever the reason, he did not get the mental health access he needed. That might have been counseling, medications, group therapy, or some combination of them- but if you either do not have healthcare insurance OR your insurance only pays for, oh, say, $1.000/year/family and only 50% per visit and your mom can barely pay the rent as it is, well, you don't go. Psych care is EXPENSIVE. If you've never priced it, you've missed something. (A group session will be $250/session-insurance would pay $125 leaving you to pay the other $125. If you have 8 sessions, you've exhausted your insurance benefits and it's all out of pocket.)
I'm NOT excusing or rationalizing his actions. Far from it. I'm saying that our healthcare system and view of society as it currently exists failed this young man AND failed the people at Sandy Hook Elementary. This entire thing could have been made less likely to happen. Japan and Sweden have made it very unlikely to happen with very strict gun control laws. They also have much, MUCH better access to mental health care for their citizens. The USA, as a whole, has its priorities all screwed up and the National Rifle Association has been leading the way.
This is NOT about the Second Amendment. This is about making certain that only people who ARE QUALIFIED to have weapons actually have them in their hands. Nothing more, nothing less. I have to take driving tests to prove that I can handle a car, motorcycle, or 18-wheeler. If I want to fly, I have to qualify on each aircraft at each level before the FAA will approve me to be in that left seat. What makes weapons any different? Vehicles of all kinds can and have been used as weapons both here and abroad. Registration and licensing only makes sense.
What also makes sense is making mental health care more accessible so that people can get it when and where they need it and more affordably. It won't mean much if people can't afford it. We need the trifecta-1. ease of access, 2. location of access, and 3, low cost.
Maybe-just maybe-then we can think about having children in safe schools. Until then, we'll teaching them "Shooter Drills"-and that's incredibly sad.
People everywhere are yammering on the 'loss of morals', 'protecting our children with carry permits', and 'getting these people off the streets'. I have news for these folks-they're barking with no teeth. There's nothing worse than a toothless Chihuahua yapping endlessly at nothing credible.
There was no 'loss of morals'. This young man was troubled-no morals involved. For whatever the reason, he did not get the mental health access he needed. That might have been counseling, medications, group therapy, or some combination of them- but if you either do not have healthcare insurance OR your insurance only pays for, oh, say, $1.000/year/family and only 50% per visit and your mom can barely pay the rent as it is, well, you don't go. Psych care is EXPENSIVE. If you've never priced it, you've missed something. (A group session will be $250/session-insurance would pay $125 leaving you to pay the other $125. If you have 8 sessions, you've exhausted your insurance benefits and it's all out of pocket.)
I'm NOT excusing or rationalizing his actions. Far from it. I'm saying that our healthcare system and view of society as it currently exists failed this young man AND failed the people at Sandy Hook Elementary. This entire thing could have been made less likely to happen. Japan and Sweden have made it very unlikely to happen with very strict gun control laws. They also have much, MUCH better access to mental health care for their citizens. The USA, as a whole, has its priorities all screwed up and the National Rifle Association has been leading the way.
This is NOT about the Second Amendment. This is about making certain that only people who ARE QUALIFIED to have weapons actually have them in their hands. Nothing more, nothing less. I have to take driving tests to prove that I can handle a car, motorcycle, or 18-wheeler. If I want to fly, I have to qualify on each aircraft at each level before the FAA will approve me to be in that left seat. What makes weapons any different? Vehicles of all kinds can and have been used as weapons both here and abroad. Registration and licensing only makes sense.
What also makes sense is making mental health care more accessible so that people can get it when and where they need it and more affordably. It won't mean much if people can't afford it. We need the trifecta-1. ease of access, 2. location of access, and 3, low cost.
Maybe-just maybe-then we can think about having children in safe schools. Until then, we'll teaching them "Shooter Drills"-and that's incredibly sad.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene.....
My tarpan/arabian cross stallion had a "crush" on the grade TWH mare from the day he hit the ground. Thing is-she had one for him, too. She's 4 years older.
So, when in 2010, the elderly (and I do mean elderly-Brassy was close to 34) indicated that she wasn't going to make it much longer, I had to do something about keeping Buddy happy. He just doesn't do the solitary thing at all. Brassy had been safe-she did cycle sometimes, was barren because of her being a "windsucker" and therefore chronically infected, and she was difficult to breed (well, more like hellish). She'd taught Buddy to bring the best wine, the roses, the diamonds, the Rolls limo, the furs, and even then, the old broad would just think about it. She did, however, keep his studly butt in line. On the occasions when the mares did get out and wander over to try to talk, Brassy would park his fanny out in the middle of the pasture and dare him not to stay there. She was a wonder.
All of which made the decision to put the old broad down very hard. But, leading up to that, Dolly (the TWH) had asked, very pointedly at that, if she could take over. I think the only one who wasn't happy about the choice was my husband-because Dolly is still young enough to be fertile.
She did settle that summer-and I could tell she was bothered by being pregnant for the first time. Dolly's own dam died when she was 3 months old, and I have no doubt that she remembers that. She worried the entire time. Then in June, I had to go out of town on business. I told my husband to watch her as I thought she was close to foaling. He stayed in the house because it was hot-she foaled out-and lost the baby. In addition, she tore pretty badly. I grabbed her and put her in the yard to heal-much to Buddy's consternation.
I put Brassy back out with him, assuming that he would be comfortable with that arrangement. I did not realize that Buddy and Dolly are the rare pair-they are BONDED. Any other combination is not only not going to work, there is danger in even attempting it. Long story short-Buddy raped Brassy. By that I mean, he went after her so hard and so brutally that he opened a hole BESIDE her vulva about 3 inches in diameter and about 6 inches deep. She was bleeding and in shock when I found her.
Brassy cannot go back out with him and Dolly shouldn't go back out with him (she still isn't quite healed). Buddy is getting madder and madder. I'm forced into putting Dolly back out with him. Peace is at least restored-and, thank God, she doesn't go into heat right away. Brassy, bless her heart, stays on the far side of the yard.
Then that next spring Brassy says that she's done, I get Nikolai back from my friend's farm, and Dolly foals out again-this time, a strapping big filly. Welcome, Jolene. Dolly won't let the foal sleep-every time the baby goes down, Dolly gets her right back up. I finally get out the essential oils and get Dolly to relax-she seems to be afraid that if the baby lies down, she'll die. Poor thing is so tired, she's staggering. After a good nap, both are back on track, and daddy Buddy is obviously proud.
Jolene has turned out to be a "daddy's girl"-she looks like him, acts like him, and would rather stay with him. He's proven to be a good herd sire, too. He's very good with her. But today was the next step for her-she was moved out of the parental pasture and introduced to the rest of the herd. Uncle Zhak is in charge now. She's not sure about this. Buddy, on the other hand, is sure-Zhak needs killing-or, at the very least, a severe beating.
Zhak is delighted. He loves babies of all species. He has already started her education-shooing her away from danger, herding her up, guiding her to the hay piles. Jolene obviously wants to know who died and left this guy in charge. The baby's growing up.....
So, when in 2010, the elderly (and I do mean elderly-Brassy was close to 34) indicated that she wasn't going to make it much longer, I had to do something about keeping Buddy happy. He just doesn't do the solitary thing at all. Brassy had been safe-she did cycle sometimes, was barren because of her being a "windsucker" and therefore chronically infected, and she was difficult to breed (well, more like hellish). She'd taught Buddy to bring the best wine, the roses, the diamonds, the Rolls limo, the furs, and even then, the old broad would just think about it. She did, however, keep his studly butt in line. On the occasions when the mares did get out and wander over to try to talk, Brassy would park his fanny out in the middle of the pasture and dare him not to stay there. She was a wonder.
All of which made the decision to put the old broad down very hard. But, leading up to that, Dolly (the TWH) had asked, very pointedly at that, if she could take over. I think the only one who wasn't happy about the choice was my husband-because Dolly is still young enough to be fertile.
She did settle that summer-and I could tell she was bothered by being pregnant for the first time. Dolly's own dam died when she was 3 months old, and I have no doubt that she remembers that. She worried the entire time. Then in June, I had to go out of town on business. I told my husband to watch her as I thought she was close to foaling. He stayed in the house because it was hot-she foaled out-and lost the baby. In addition, she tore pretty badly. I grabbed her and put her in the yard to heal-much to Buddy's consternation.
I put Brassy back out with him, assuming that he would be comfortable with that arrangement. I did not realize that Buddy and Dolly are the rare pair-they are BONDED. Any other combination is not only not going to work, there is danger in even attempting it. Long story short-Buddy raped Brassy. By that I mean, he went after her so hard and so brutally that he opened a hole BESIDE her vulva about 3 inches in diameter and about 6 inches deep. She was bleeding and in shock when I found her.
Brassy cannot go back out with him and Dolly shouldn't go back out with him (she still isn't quite healed). Buddy is getting madder and madder. I'm forced into putting Dolly back out with him. Peace is at least restored-and, thank God, she doesn't go into heat right away. Brassy, bless her heart, stays on the far side of the yard.
Then that next spring Brassy says that she's done, I get Nikolai back from my friend's farm, and Dolly foals out again-this time, a strapping big filly. Welcome, Jolene. Dolly won't let the foal sleep-every time the baby goes down, Dolly gets her right back up. I finally get out the essential oils and get Dolly to relax-she seems to be afraid that if the baby lies down, she'll die. Poor thing is so tired, she's staggering. After a good nap, both are back on track, and daddy Buddy is obviously proud.
Jolene has turned out to be a "daddy's girl"-she looks like him, acts like him, and would rather stay with him. He's proven to be a good herd sire, too. He's very good with her. But today was the next step for her-she was moved out of the parental pasture and introduced to the rest of the herd. Uncle Zhak is in charge now. She's not sure about this. Buddy, on the other hand, is sure-Zhak needs killing-or, at the very least, a severe beating.
Zhak is delighted. He loves babies of all species. He has already started her education-shooing her away from danger, herding her up, guiding her to the hay piles. Jolene obviously wants to know who died and left this guy in charge. The baby's growing up.....
Redford-the holy terror of the Girl Scout camp
One of my riding buddies called me early in the summer of 2011 to tell me of a young gelding that she had seen over at the Girl Scout camp nearby. According to her, he had potential, but wasn't being used over there and they needed to re-home him. I need another horse like I need two heads. But I said I'd try to call the riding director-which I did. No call backs so after awhile, I quit trying.
Then in January of this year, she calls me again. He's still over there-skinny now, and now they're scared of him. Camp Director has issued ultimatum-find somebody to fix up so he can be placed, put him up in the auctions (which will mean probable slaughter), or put him down. My friend (she's a real softie) is frantic-and she's begging. So I try calling again. This time the riding director calls back.
This youngster is a chestnut TB/Oldenburg warmblood-which explains the skinny-they usually have a hard time holding weight. The other horses in the barn look good. He moves well-quite well, in fact. Then I put a halter on him and try to bring him out of his solitary paddock and he turns into a raving demon. He's on his hind legs, he's trying to bite and striking, he crowds, he cowkicks and he just plain kicks. About the only thing he doesn't do is try to pull away. He's just bringing it. It's a pure dominance game with him. The riding director's eyes are bugging out of her head.
He's met his match-because I don't give in. I turn that bad boy around and back him down the length of the land (about 300 feet) and through the gate that he was telling me he didn't DO backwards. Then we backed another 100 feet through another gate. By this side, the wheels are starting to turn in this boy's head-he's pissed, but he's thinking. He partially walks, partially backs on down the last remaining distance to the ring-and I back him in there. I haven't used anything but a slack lead and a halter with him so far-he's a little pissed, a lot confused, but he's thinking. I turn him loose to shake the kinks out and to just see what his personality is like.
WOW-this guy can really put on a show! What's more-he's watching to see if I'm watching. He's a showman-very charismatic and flashy-and I am not fond of chesnuts and sorrels. This is the kind of horse you would want for jumping, hunting, eventing-although I'm not sure he'd do well with dressage unless you really worked at making it interesting for him. This guy wants variety and challenges.Don't bore him.
Now I start to work with him-and start finding his pressure points. Somebody-may they be hung by their cuticles to dry on a barn door-has demanded things of this guys until he got fed up and found out that he could rebel and get away with it. If I ask politely but firmly, he's compliant. But if he feels the least bit pressured, he blows up. I start finding his thresholds-where are they, what are they, and will he let me go there.
By the time two hours has gone by, the red demon is gone. He walks calmly and sweetly back on a slack line-a totally different horse. The riding director's jaw is on the ground. I find out later that she had tried using "natural" methods with him, but she didn't know how to read his attitude and reactions. If you can't read the horse's horsenality, all the methods in the world won't help you. You have to know when to do what, how much to apply for how long, and probably most importantly, when to quit. This guy didn't need a lot of pushing-he'd been pushed. He needed somebody to listen to HIM. That's all I really did-I let him talk to me.
Then in January of this year, she calls me again. He's still over there-skinny now, and now they're scared of him. Camp Director has issued ultimatum-find somebody to fix up so he can be placed, put him up in the auctions (which will mean probable slaughter), or put him down. My friend (she's a real softie) is frantic-and she's begging. So I try calling again. This time the riding director calls back.
This youngster is a chestnut TB/Oldenburg warmblood-which explains the skinny-they usually have a hard time holding weight. The other horses in the barn look good. He moves well-quite well, in fact. Then I put a halter on him and try to bring him out of his solitary paddock and he turns into a raving demon. He's on his hind legs, he's trying to bite and striking, he crowds, he cowkicks and he just plain kicks. About the only thing he doesn't do is try to pull away. He's just bringing it. It's a pure dominance game with him. The riding director's eyes are bugging out of her head.
He's met his match-because I don't give in. I turn that bad boy around and back him down the length of the land (about 300 feet) and through the gate that he was telling me he didn't DO backwards. Then we backed another 100 feet through another gate. By this side, the wheels are starting to turn in this boy's head-he's pissed, but he's thinking. He partially walks, partially backs on down the last remaining distance to the ring-and I back him in there. I haven't used anything but a slack lead and a halter with him so far-he's a little pissed, a lot confused, but he's thinking. I turn him loose to shake the kinks out and to just see what his personality is like.
WOW-this guy can really put on a show! What's more-he's watching to see if I'm watching. He's a showman-very charismatic and flashy-and I am not fond of chesnuts and sorrels. This is the kind of horse you would want for jumping, hunting, eventing-although I'm not sure he'd do well with dressage unless you really worked at making it interesting for him. This guy wants variety and challenges.Don't bore him.
Now I start to work with him-and start finding his pressure points. Somebody-may they be hung by their cuticles to dry on a barn door-has demanded things of this guys until he got fed up and found out that he could rebel and get away with it. If I ask politely but firmly, he's compliant. But if he feels the least bit pressured, he blows up. I start finding his thresholds-where are they, what are they, and will he let me go there.
By the time two hours has gone by, the red demon is gone. He walks calmly and sweetly back on a slack line-a totally different horse. The riding director's jaw is on the ground. I find out later that she had tried using "natural" methods with him, but she didn't know how to read his attitude and reactions. If you can't read the horse's horsenality, all the methods in the world won't help you. You have to know when to do what, how much to apply for how long, and probably most importantly, when to quit. This guy didn't need a lot of pushing-he'd been pushed. He needed somebody to listen to HIM. That's all I really did-I let him talk to me.
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