Riding in Jamaica

Henk writes:

Lil and family came back just before Christmas from a vacation on some island named Jamaica which, from the pictures you'll see below, looks kind of nice but much too hot for a large black horse that's  endowed with as much hair as I am. I guess that's why when Lil went riding she ended up on a skinny-legged ex-racehorse that's as gaunt as a whippet. Still, Lil tells me the horses at this riding establishment were very well cared for and not the bony, sad-sack creatures typical of these kinds of places in the tropics. In fact, many of the horses at this place (called "Hooves" by the way) were rescues. That, of course, was the final push Lil needed to get her all excited about rescuing horses here at home, which is something she's kind of bounced around ever since moving to our current farm, so I guess we have more strange new horses to look forward to. I'll keep you posted as this particular project develops. In the meantime, here are some pictures from Lil's ride. Evidently she had a blast.

Lil and her guide, Danny, leaving the former Spanish plantation where the horses are kept, and on their way to the beach.

A canter on the beach.

Playing in the surf.

Henk writes:

Lil's husband, Robert, brought his camera out to our paddock the other day, so I thought I'd share some of his pictures with you.

The top photo is me and the human with her back to you is Lil. She thinks this is her best angle for photos.

The second photo is me with Charlee. I'm the one with the braids. Don't even go there. It's Lil's idea of keeping my mane long and lovely. I think it's a touch embarrassing myself. I try to unbraid them as fast as I can, but she just keeps putting them back in. The farrier actually asked if I was "wrapped up for Christmas!" Ugh. But, hey, if it means my flowing, wavy locks will be that much more beautiful, I guess I can put up with it.

This is Charlee (both photos above). Actually, her name is Charline W, but we all call her Charlee. Do you notice a striking resemblance? To moi? I like this girl! Not only does she look almost as good as I do, but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to mould her in my own image in the personality department. She's got the right attitude! Already Lil's sons have started referring to her as "the female Henk." OK with me.

Charlee comes from the same farm as I do (Witeeveen Friesians), and we share a couple of ancestors (Barteld 292 and Mark), although you have to go back a generation or two. (Go back a generation or two and pretty much all Friesians share an ancestor here and there!). She came to live with us last fall, when she was two. Lil says the only reason they were able to afford her was that Charlee had a bad paddock accident that summer and has a really ugly knee to show for it. She'll never be rideable, but she'll be able to have babies, the first of which she's expecting in May. That will be fun, I think. We haven't had babies around since Lil bought "the slaughter-house-three" eight years ago (that's a whole other story that I'll tell you sometime). The foal's sire is Sipke 450. I haven't met the dude myself (he lives in the USA), but Lil thinks he's pretty awesome. Charlee's pretty awesome herself. Her pedigree is full of Stars and Models and Preferents (if you're not familiar with Friesian terminology, just think of these as having won the genetic lottery -- a bit like Angelina Jolie or Brad Pitt), and her half-brother is the first approved breeding stallion bred in Canada -- Michiel 442. He's now been sold to a breeder in Holland, which is a bit like selling a Canadian red wine to a connoisseur in Bordeaux: a really big deal.

We'll of course share pictures of the babe when it comes. In the meantime, feast your eyes on me. And Charlee, too, I guess.

Spanish Horses

Henk writes:

More new horses! So much for the quiet country life. I think Lil’s losing her mind. But, hey, she’s the one who has to feed everybody and make sure we get turned out and our stalls get cleaned, so I guess it’s her prerogative. And anyway, at least these last two are only visiting. Good thing, too, or I might have to take matters into my own hands. More on that in a minute.

Two weeks ago I walked into my stall in the evening and there, in the stall beside me, was a horse I’d never met before. Now, normally, I’m cool with that. I love company, and I love that whenever a new horse needs to be introduced into the herd, Lil lets me meet him (or her) first. I like to make the introductions to the rest of the gang. But this horse? I don’t know. He’s awfully good looking, and the way he acts I think he might be deluding himself into thinking he’s a Friesian. All charming and delightful and he likes people almost as much as I do and, you know, he’s stealing the attention that’s rightfully mine! People are all beside themselves, patting and ogling and feeding him carrots and “oh, isn’t he beautiful!” Hey! What about the black horse in the stall next door? Me? If you’re going to go ga-ga over any equine, it should be me!

Ugh.

And then, a week or so later, another one shows up! The first one’s younger brother, and wouldn’t you know it, he’s even better looking! Now the situation’s getting serious and I’m considering slipping the latch on their paddock and turning them loose. Let’s see how long you guys make it on your own without the humans looking after you! Have you heard those coyotes yapping it up at dusk?

I guess Wilby goody-two-shoes figured out what I was thinking, ‘cause he gave me quite the talking-to. Seems thoughts of “disappearing” the competition are un-Friesian and unacceptable. Pardon me! I didn’t know there was a code of ethics. But the humans saved me from myself anyway. The two pretty-boys have been sold and will be leaving for the beautiful province of Nova Scotia soon. Is it too late to start being gracious?

The one who lives in the stall next to mine is named Hypnotiq, and he’s a four-year-old son of Soberbio XII. Cutie-pie is his three-year-old brother Symphoniq. Both are purebred Andalusians (or, as they’re called these days, Pura Rasa Espanol). So that explains the looks and the brains. Like us Friesians, the Andalusian is a Baroque horse (also includes Lipizzaners, Lusitanos, and the Kladruber from the Czech Republic which happens to be where Lil was born). The “boys’” daddy, Soberbio, hung out in our barn for a couple of days two years ago on his way to a dressage clinic, and I must say I was impressed. Stallions can be a little sketchy, but this one is all class. A true gentleman. And very lovely.

So I’ve decided to let them have their moment in the sun. The novelty will probably wear off soon and my many adoring humans will return to worshipping me. “The boys” are due to leave on Sunday. And if they don’t, that paddock latch really is a piece of cake to open.

Check out the photos:

Symphoniq (grey) and Hypnotiq 

Soberbio

"the boys" again

Soberbio doing tricks

The Horse in the Iron Mask

Henk writes:

A couple of new horses arrived at the farm last week: an older chestnut warmblood named Lego, and his pet, a mini named… well… not really named. I’ll tell you more about that later.

When these two arrived, they got regular stalls in the barn like the rest of us, but instead of going out in one of the paddocks we use, they went into the sand-ring on the other side of the barn. Once we all go outside in the morning, the only evidence we have that Lego and the mini even exist is Lego’s screaming. He whinnies all the time. Someone pulls up at the house and opens their car door – Lego whinnies. Lil lets the dogs out for a pee – Lego whinnies. The neighbour starts cutting his grass – Lego whinnies. But we don’t see them, and we certainly don’t have any contact with them. This, plus the fact that Lego goes outside wearing a wire-mesh cage over his nose has caused some crazy speculation among the rest of the animals. I, of course, threw gasoline on the fire by suggesting that Lego was a cannibal who couldn’t share a paddock with us because he’d try to rip chunks of flesh out of us and eat it. The mini, I told them, was too ornery for him to attack, but still Lego had to wear the muzzle to make absolutely sure. It was a stupid story, but a few of the others bought it. I had to laugh at the way Charlee and Sunny skirted around Lego’s stall, fully expecting him to reach out and snatch a meal from their sides! (I’m always amazed at the trouble some horses have separating the carnivores from the vegetarians in their life. It’s like Lil’s old horse Oscar. The sight of a deer would send him running for his life, but a coyote didn’t scare him at all).

The real story of Lego and the mini is of course much less interesting than my fairy tale: Lego suffered a bout of laminitis followed by founder several years ago while living at another farm. The best his human, Jo, could figure was that the laminitis was brought on by overly rich hay (too much alfalfa), and the founder was bad enough that another episode would probably bring his coffin bones right out through the soles of his feet. Thank goodness for our farrier, Rodd (who also looked after Jo’s horses). He has Lego so well trimmed and shod and padded that you’d never know anything had happened to him. Still, Jo won’t risk a relapse, and because there were a few determined patches of grass sprouting in the sand ring (probably because no one ever rides in it – preferring to use either the arena for schooling or the hay fields for a hack), she insisted on the muzzle just to make absolutely sure old Lego didn’t ingest anything that could make him sick again.

As to the mini, well, Jo bought him to keep Lego company when he was living at her house. After Lego foundered and couldn’t be ridden for months while he recovered, Jo started referring to him as “Useless.” A paddock ornament who just stands around and eats and poops and looks good. The mini, whose only role was to keep Lego company, naturally became “Little Useless.” But Jo adores Lego, who was foaled at her hobby farm and has been with her all his life, so the Useless label didn’t stick to him for very long. The mini, however, remained “Little Useless,” and I think that’s a big part of the reason for his attitude. He really doesn’t like Jo. (The fact that she had to sit on his head while the vet castrated him probably didn’t help their relationship, either). He pins his ears and gives her attitude the likes of which I’ve never seen. At first Lil was worried that he might bite or kick one of the kids who come for therapeutic riding (because of course everyone wants to go and pet him, he’s so miniaturely cute), but he’s never shown his surly side with anyone but Jo. Just to make sure, though, Lil and the family renamed him. At our farm he’s known as Timbit (personally, I don’t know that being named after a small doughnut would make me particularly happy, but I guess it’s better than having the whole point of your existence brought into question all the time).

Once the ground freezes and the snow flies, Lego and Timbit will be moving into our paddock. I’m willing to bet Timbit tries to take on Wilby and challenge for the job of herd boss (he lived with us for a few months last winter while Jo recovered from shoulder surgery and he tried to pick a fight with Moose, our 17-hand Belgian-cross who could flatten him with one hoof). It should be interesting. I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, here’s a picture of Lego in his Hannibal Lecter get-up. Be careful. He might try to eat your liver. With some fava beans and a nice chianti. (If you don’t understand that last bit, watch Silence of the Lambs).

Meet Molly

Lil and I both love this pony's story. We hope you'll enjoy it, too.

                                               Meet Molly

She's a grey speckled pony who
was abandoned by her owners when  Hurricane
Katrina hit southern Louisiana .  She spent weeks
on her  own before finally being rescued and taken
to a farm where abandoned  animals were stockpiled.
While there, she was attacked by a dog and almost died.
Her gnawed right front leg  became
infected, and her vet went to LSU for help, but
LSU was  overwhelmed, and this pony was a welfare 
case.  You know how that  goes.
But after surgeon  Rustin Moore met Molly, he  changed his mind. 
He  saw how the pony was careful to lie down on different  sides  
so she didn't seem to get sores, 
and how she allowed  people to handle her. 
She protected her  injured leg. 
She constantly  shifted her weight 
and didn't overload  her good leg.. 
She was a smart pony  with a serious
survival ethic.

Moore agreed to remove her leg below  the knee,
and a temporary artificial limb was built.  
Molly walked  out of the clinic and 
her story really begins there.

'This was the  right horse and the right owner,' Moore insists.
Molly happened to be a one-in-a-million patient. 
She's tough as nails, but sweet, and she was willing to cope with pain.
She made it obvious she understood that she was
in trouble.  The other important factor,  according
to Moore , is having a truly committed and compliant
owner who is dedicated to providing the daily care
required  over the lifetime of the horse.

Molly's story turns into a parable for  life in Post-Katrina Louisiana ........ 
The little pony  gained weight, and her mane finally felt a comb. 
A human prosthesis designer built  her a leg.

The prosthetic has given Molly a whole new life,
Allison  Barca DVM, Molly's regular vet, reports.

And she asks for it.  She  will put her little limb out,
and come to you and let you know that she  wants
you to put it on.  Sometimes she wants you to take
it off  too.  And sometimes, Molly gets away from Barca.

'It can be  pretty bad when you can't catch a three-legged horse,' she laughs.

Most  important of all, Molly has a job now.  Kay,
the rescue farm owner,  started taking Molly to
shelters, hospitals, nursing homes, and  rehabilitation
centers.  Anywhere she thought that people needed
hope.  Wherever Molly went, she showed people
her pluck.  She inspired people, and she had a
good time doing it.

'It's  obvious to me that Molly had a bigger role to
play in life, Moore said.  She  survived the hurricane,
she survived a horrible injury, and now she is  giving
hope to others.' Barca concluded, 'She's not back to  normal, 
but she's going to be better.  To me, she could be a
symbol for New Orleans  itself.' 

This is Molly's most  recent prosthesis.  The middle
photo shows the ground surface that she  stands on,
which has a smiley face embossed in it.  Wherever
Molly  goes, she leaves a smiley hoof print behind.

A few thoughts on Natural Horsemanship

Henk writes:

I share my paddock with 4 other horses: two are Friesians (Wilby and Charlee), one is a Welsh pony (Bella), and the fourth is a Standardbred (Sunny). When it’s time to go inside for the night (and, of course, dinner!) Wilby gets to go first if he wants to. He’s the boss. Sometimes he chooses not to exercise this right, and lets me, Charlee, and on occasion even the pony, go ahead of him. Sometimes he hangs back like we’re allowed to go ahead of him, and then crowds up from behind which makes me, personally, extremely nervous. Especially if the human in charge of the lead shank takes a bit too long to attach it to my halter or to open the gate for me to go through. By the time we’re ready to go I’m usually dancing and twitchy, thinking I’d made bad decision. So why will I do it again the next time I get the chance? Probably the same reason humans watch horror movies. It’s deliciously scary.

But one horse who never comes in anything but last is Sunny. He’s just naturally a bottom-of-the-totem-poler. I can chase him away from the last bit of the yummiest hay just by flicking an ear. We don’t pick on him, though, and Bella, Charlee and I take turns hanging out and grazing with the little nipper. He’s a cute little guy, and I guess we all feel a little sorry for him. His nerves are weak, his lungs are suspect and his tendons need to be treated like fragile glass – booted for riding and wrapped when he’s inside. He’s afraid of men particularly, to the point that Lil’s two grown sons don’t even bother trying to catch him when they’re bringing us all in, but leave him for her to get. The one exception is Lil’s husband, Robert. He can always catch Sunny, even if it sometimes takes a while. It can take ANYONE a while some days. Robert laughs and says he “horse-whispers” Sunny into letting himself be caught.

Robert’s version of horse-whispering is usually to wait Sunny out. He’ll just chill out on the water trough with the lead rope, and wait for Sunny to decide he’s played hard-to-get long enough and that he is, after all, hungry. Then he’ll wander over toward Robert and stop 10 to 15 meters away, his nose pointing very slightly toward the gate. This means “ok you can come get me now and I won’t run away when you reach for the halter.” This process can take a while, though, and I’ve seen even Lil get spitting mad and threaten to leave Sunny out for the coyotes.

Other people’s idea of horse-whispering can be a lot more complicated, though. They usually show up with lots of special equipment like rope halters and magic wands or whatever they call them, fancy low-impact bridles and custom-made or pillowy treeless saddles. Their horses are barefoot (so am I, so there’s nothing wrong with that!) and their consciences are clear. They practice what they call “natural horsemanship,” which is all about being your horse’s friend and leader.

Lil took me to a clinic with a natural horsemanship guru once when I was 3, and of course the first thing the woman said was that I was looking (“desperately looking,” if I recall correctly), for a leader because I flipped out a little bit while Lil was forced to change my regular halter for one of those rope things in a strange arena full of people with camera flashbulbs going off (I tend to have that effect on people). And then the crazy woman smacked me with her “special rope” ($57 for a 20-foot length) when I crowded her, as I tend to do when freaked out. And while demonstrating the maneuver to Lil (who was stupid enough to ask, and even more stupid in agreeing to role-play the part of, well, moi). She smacked her right in the face. That’s when Lil said she’d had enough and took me back to the barn where I apologized for my three-year-old behaviour and Lil apologized for putting me in the hands of that crazywoman. Lil and I trust each other. We can handle pretty much anything together.

As to being “friends,” well, cool. I’d certainly prefer to have my human be my friend than my enemy, but let’s be serious here people – I’m a horse, and you’re not. I like hanging out with humans. I’m weird that way. But I don’t see myself moving into Lil’s house anytime soon. And while I may push the boundaries a little bit from time to time, I fully expect Lil to let me know before I’ve gone too far. I weigh 1200 pounds. If I were “playing” with an elephant, I’d want him to like me, sure, but I’d also like to know he sees me as his boss, not just his buddy.

Besides, where is there anything “natural” in the relationship you humans have with us horses? There’s nothing natural about carrying you guys around on our backs. It’s one of nature’s little jokes that she made us anatomically suited to the exercise (up to a point, anyway), and for millennia we as a species have decided to let you get away with it. “Natural?” Leave your gates open for a day and see if it’s natural for your horses to stay inside those paddocks – no matter how spacious and well-cared for they may be. And even though it’s smaller, a rope halter is no more natural than one made of leather or nylon or woven fairies’ wings and unicorn hair. I’ve never seen a halter of any description sprout spontaneously on any horse’s face.

We horses love that you humans try to understand us. We really do. It can’t be easy for a self-centered ego-driven tightly wound stressed out predator to try to understand a horse. Some of you “get it” more than others do, and some of those who get it are pretty good at sharing it with those who don’t. Please continue. But give me a break. Don’t think you’re treating me the way another horse would, or that I would expect you to. Leave the “horse whispering” to the one or two in a hundred thousand who have the gift, and don’t kid yourself that anything you do with me is “natural.”

An Outstanding Horse

Henk writes:

OnTRA (the Ontario Therapeutic Riding Association) is asking its member centres to nominate outstanding riders, volunteers, and of course HORSES for special recognition. So naturally I expected Lil to nominate me. You don't get much more outstanding, after all. With my tall, dark and handsome looks, my charming personality, my aristocratic breeding... It should be a no-brainer.

But for some reason she thinks that working only a handful of therapeutic lessons this year (I have some back issues which are not helped by bouncing riders) disqualifies me.

She's nominating Dooley instead.

Dooley. The "Unhappy Appy," as Lil's friend Jo calls him. It's not that he's really unhappy, or has anything to be unhappy about. Like the rest of us, he spends most of his time hanging out in a pasture with his buddies, and only has to do a few lessons every week, which aren't exactly taxing. It's just that he never looks truly enthusiastic. About anything. He'll stand to be groomed. He'll wait to be mounted. He'll follow his volunteer leader around at whatever speed and in whatever direction is asked. He'll stand to be dismounted and untacked. He'll go into his stall and eat his dinner. Like a botoxed human,  his expression never changes. 

I'm so much more fun than that! I stick my head into my volunteers' stomachs, sniff my riders' boots when they mount up, and drool politely at the sight of carrots or dinner.

Dooley won't even bend his legs when someone's trying to clean out his feet. He'll lift his hoof off the ground, but only a few centimeters, and the human has to bend his leg for him if she wants to actually get at the bottom of his foot. He just doesn't go out of his way to cooperate. I think the word for him is sullen.

But there are other words, too. Like patient. Calm. Utterly trustworthy. Lil can turn her more advanced riders loose on Dooley and never worry that he'll spook or run away. His reaction to anything out of the ordinary, like a rider getting off balance, is to stop and wait. That response makes him worth his weight in gold as a therapy horse. But he also challenges his riders to pay attention and use their aids, because he'll wander off into the middle of the arena or over to the door where the parents stand to watch if the rider gets distracted. Put a more challenged rider on him, though, and Dooley becomes Steady Eddy, giving her a quiet, easy ride.

When the first wheelchair athlete came to us, Lil picked Dooley for her to ride. He was guaranteed not to worry about the wheelchair rolling up the ramp beside him or the lift they'd need to mount the rider up. He knows his job, and he just does it.

And it's all the more amazing that he does all this while gradually losing his eyesight to Moon Blindness. He can't see much more than shadows now, but it's not making him jittery and spooky like it does with some horses. If he gets in an unfamiliar spot he'll simply stop and wait for a human or another horse to show him where he can go safely, and then moves on. The only real issue is lungeing. He can't see the whip cues, so he needs to hear them. Not that big a deal.

And did I mention that he's 26? He doesn't look it, though. He's plump and nicely muscled up for an old fellow, without that skinny old-horse look. His riders love him, too. They bring him treats like apples and granola bars and oatmeal cookies, and take his picture to stick on their fridge at home. One rider's Mom reports that while watching the movie Secretariat her daughter explained to everyone in the room that Secretariat had nothing on Dooley, the very special horse she rides every week.

So I guess I can forgive Lil for nominating Dooley instead of me. Respect for one's elders and all that. Go Spotty, go. Win that thing!

Showtime!

Henk writes:
It's show season! For us, that means getting our manes french-braided and doing everything from dressage tests to trail classes to leading patterns, all the while being filmed on video. The videos are then uploaded to Para-Equestrian Canada where our riders compete on video against riders from across the country, all of them with some kind of disability.

What a cool idea. We horses get to show off to people we've never even met, and the riders love it, too. They not only get to see themselves on video (on our Facebook page: Stonegate Farm Therapeutic Riding), but they have a chance to win some pretty nice prizes, too (our favourite prize is the Studmuffins).

On Monday my protege, Louis the Canadian, did a really elegant dressage test with Sarah. Now, Sarah is a wee slip of a thing, and Louis is... well... a tank... but they did SUCH a lovely job. Their circles were round, their transitions happened in the right places, and Louis even shifted his usually lazy trot up a notch. Sarah rode it beautifully. She was pretty thrilled!

Next day, Louis was up again, this time doing a leading class and an equitation class, along with Dooley the Appaloosa. Now Dooley, being 26 years old and a patient sort to begin with, is content to get led around and do the same patterns over and over again while the camera rolls. He followed his riders around like a puppy in the leading class, and then did the equitation class twice with each rider, happy as a clam. But Louis is like me -- too smart by half and very easily bored. He memorizes the pattern after going through it once and then starts looking for ways to make things more interesting for himself. In last year's competitions he knocked over one of the jump standards we use for the kids to put rings on, while I destroyed the course of cones (just once, though... we did get a great video in the end!). This year, however, Louis is controlling himself admirably. He only forgot himself once -- grabbed Carolyn's shirt sleeve in his teeth as she was leading him in the trot during Emilee's equitation class. But he let go almost right away!

I really hope our riders do well. Some of these kids don't get to compete in any other kind of sport, and being able to go up against riders from all over Canada? Wow. What a feeling that must be.

We'll be filming trail classes and more dressage tests next month.

I think I'm as excited as the riders. I can't wait to find out how everybody did.

Beats a regular old horse show anytime.

Top 10 Ways to Keep Your Human Devoted

Henk writes:
Fellow equines, I don't have to tell you how important it is to keep your human madly, passionately in love with you. Human devotion gets you the best treats, accommodation at the nicest stable, and a rider who is forgiving on those days when you really don't feel like working hard. To helps you keep that human eating out of your hand (or, more to the point, feeding you out of her hand), I've compiled a top-10 list of proven methods to keep your relationship strong:

1) Set the tone right from the start by whinnying and rushing to the gate or stall door the moment you spot your human coming. Humans are big on oral communication, so the whinny is important. Otherwise, she might think you're just looking for a juicy apple or maybe your dinner.

2) Be cute. There's nothing shameful in this, even for a large, dignified, magnificent equine, as long as you don't over-do it. When I work in therapeutic riding lessons, I like to pick stuff up in my teeth and wave it around (like the stuffed toys riders are supposed to be tossing into buckets). The humans go wild. I've also been known to step on the plastic cones instead of going around them. My protege, Louis the Canadian horse, is very good at knocking things over with his butt when his riders steer him close (to a jump standard, for example, where they're supposed to place a ring). Then he looks all innocent and surprised. It gets a laugh every time.

3) Be charming and attentive. Try sticking your nose into your human's hair and blowing out through your nostrils. Even play with her hair a little, using your upper lip. She'll melt into a tiny human puddle.

4) Once in a while, give her exactly what she wants while riding. A "holy-cow-that-was-awesome" extended trot, a perfect lead change, a sliding stop -- whatever discipline the two of you practice together, pick a difficult movement and just give it to her. Your human needs the occasional reward for all her hard work, and it will remind her what a talented equine athlete you are!

5) After any encounter with your human, give her the "you're my favourite human in the whole wide world" look. When she puts you in your stall and paddock, stop, glance back over your shoulder with your ears pricked up and your eyes all soft and soulful like you just need to get one more look at her before going back to your horse business. Try not to let the juice from your apple or carrot dribble down your chin while doing this. It destroys the effect.

6) Use your physical assets to their best advantage. Being a Friesian, of course, I'm just one big physical asset on the hoof, but even lesser equines can pull this off. My friend Moose, a Belgian-cross, knows how to stand in the paddock so the breeze catches his long blonde mane and blows it fetchingly around his face. That mane even got him the cover of Lil's book, a fact that still irks me. Bella the resident pony uses her small size and cute little face under a bushy forelock to get the extra carrots, and never mind that inside that tiny little body lives an evil pygmy soul.

7) Follow your human around, even when you're not on a lead rope. They think this is pure devotion. You can amp up the effect by sticking you nose in the small of your human's back. But be careful not to knock her over if she stops suddenly. Humans are quite fragile and you need to respect the size difference.

8) Play games. Fetch a ball or kick it, chase your human around in a game of tag. She'll go silly. An added bonus is that this will drive the dogs nuts. You're stealing their gig! How long will the human bother with them if you can do all the cool dog stuff as well as being a horse?

9) Really enjoy the treats your human gives you. If you get blissed-out, eyes half-closed, chewing like a llama working on its cud, she'll feel so good about being nice to you that she'll probably give you another carrot. And you'll come across all grateful.

10) Buck and gallop around your pasture when you're turned out for the day. This strengthens the human's illusion that she's giving you your freedom (right, that's why there's a four-foot fence around you) and that you love the home she's made for you. Besides, it's a great reminder of what you could do to her under saddle. But you don't. Because she's a great rider. And you love her. Of course you do.

In Praise of the Well-Trained Human

Henk writes:

It’s impossible to overstate the importance of a well-trained human to the happiness of a horse’s life. As with anything, you can cut corners and start with an untrained human – or even try to rescue a spoiled one – but unless you’re an expert it’s a risky thing to do.

So I think I’m pretty lucky, since my particular human, Lil, came into my life beautifully trained. Some of it was thanks to other humans, especially the riding coach she had as a teenager who was totally old school (Hungarian cavalry) and liked to drill his riders like they were conscripted soldiers. Riding without stirrups is, I’m told, fairly painful, but it sure makes for a terrific seat, and getting yelled at anytime you make a mistake helps you develop your riding pretty darn quickly. And don’t even THINK about blaming the horse for knocking down a rail or missing a lead-change; the old-world coaches put the blame for every mistake precisely where it belongs – with the rider. Evidently one of Lil’s fellow students ended up in tears at least once each lesson. That either makes you a pretty good rider, or you switch to lawn bowling.

But of course the best training comes from horses! Now, some of the horses from Lil’s youth left their marks (physical AND psychological), but young humans are notorious for thinking they’re indestructible. The lessons horses have to teach them often don’t stick as well as they should. Getting dumped in the dirt makes much less of an impression on a twenty-year-old human than a forty-year-old one. So much of Lil’s most valuable training came much later in life, mostly from Oscar, the aging Irish Thoroughbred she still had when I came into her life.

Oscar was very tall (17 hh), quite attractive in that skinny-legged way some humans find appealing, and very, very cowardly.  Water, unless it was in a bucket or trough, had to be avoided at all cost, and deer, pigeons, plastic bags, snapping twigs or a sudden gust of wind were cause for panic. He had a nasty “spook” – dropping his shoulder, spinning, and galloping off in the opposite direction. He never dumped Lil (see riding without stirrups, above), but dumped lots of unsuspecting riders (from great height!). He made every ride an adventure. Eventually, his humans learned to anticipate a potentially scary situation and often “spooked” before he did. Oscar could turn a calm, easy-going human into a twitchy bundle of nerves in no time.

Besides being a chicken, Oscar was also a hypochondriac. He liked his Banamine, and knew how to get it. If any horse in the barn got sick, Oscar developed sympathy pains and had to get his drugs. Once a mare mis-carried a foal at the stable where Lil was boarding him, and Oscar was sick for three days. He hobbled like a cripple after a foot-trim that didn’t include shoes, convincing the barn manager that his stifles were locking up and needed rest, an expensive vet call, and more drugs. The result? Lil became a finely-tuned horse-human, anticipating every danger and reacting to every muscle-twitch and stomped hoof. I had her phoning the vet once just by circling in my stall and pawing at the floor when we had to stay inside to wait for the farrier. Could it be colic? Sure! Or just me, messing with your head!

It takes years to train a human to this level, and only a few months to spoil it all. My Friesian brother Wilby (ok, he’s not really my brother but we’re all related somewhere along the line) came dangerously close to undoing all Oscar’s hard work. He’s a total goody-two-shoes and too trusting by far. He’ll turn himself inside-out trying to do what the human asks him to. Before long, Lil was losing her edge, and we (horses) had to start looking out for horse-eating lions in the arena ourselves. But I fixed that problem by convincing Wilby that a whole colony of nasty ghosts lived by the big back door of the arena. He’s pretty smart, that Wilby, but awfully gullible. Now he’s beautifully jumpy around that end of the arena, and even dumped a young lady not too long ago by spooking when the wind rattled that door as they were cantering past. Of course, being Wilby, he immediately trotted back to check on her and apologize by sticking his nose in her face.

Hopeless.

But I’m still working on him.

The lesson to be learned is that if you’re lucky enough to have a well-trained human, be careful not to let her (or him!) slide back to comfortable old habits. You must keep those reflexes razor-sharp. And if you let less advanced horses work with your human, be sure to “tune them up” after every session.  It’s the secret to a happy horsey life.

Helping Out

Henk Writes:
I've been working in therapeutic lessons for the past couple of weeks because Sunny, the tiny Standardbred with the delicate physique has hurt himself again. His owner (who lends him to my human, Lil, for lessons), calls it Recurring Sunny June Lameness (RSJL for short), because he likes to maim himself each June and spend the month hopping around the pasture or "resting" in his stall. Part of his problem, I think, is that he doesn't "rest," but stall-walks like he's on a merry-go-round.

The spotlight!
The thing I love about working in lessons is the attention I get. I am, of course, the most beautiful horse in the arena, and the humans go all silly when I strut by with their kid on my back. Then of course there's the volunteer leading me and the two walking beside me to help the rider, and I get more praise and patting than the top dog at Westminster.

Imagine my surprise, then, when my second rider yesterday got all pouty when he found out he'd be riding me instead of Louis the Canadian horse he usually rides. I know these humans get all attached to one specific horse and everything, but come on, who wouldn't pick me?  Oh well, there's no accounting for taste, and at least Louis has the proper attitude to life. As far as he's concerned, everything revolves around him! I don't mind saying I've mentored him a little bit in that area.

And a pain in the...
While I was relishing the camera flashes popping every time I walked past the parents watching at the door, it suddenly came back to me why Lil and I decided to pull me out of lessons last year: my back was getting really sore. We'd done some trotting, and my rider was a bouncer. My poor back muscles are going to need some serious stretching and massage work today, and no more bouncing kids for a while.

I never hold a grudge, though. That's a uniquely human thing that horses barely understand and certainly don't practice. So I thought I'd try to brighten my pouty rider's mood with some patented Henk tricks that humans always seem to appreciate. For example, when we're supposed to be weaving our way through the pylons laid out in a nice straight line, I try to step on as many of them as possible and completely destroy their orderly arrangement. Sometimes my riders catch onto this, and help me out by steering me straight at the cones instead of around them like they're supposed to, and although Lil should correct them, all she can usually do is laugh. That wasn't having the desired effect with the pouty one, though, and it wasn't until I picked a cone up in my teeth and waved it around a while that I got even a proper giggle out of the boy.

Where's my carrot?
Well we got through the lesson alright, and of course the pouty one was laughing and happy by the time we'd finished all our games and trotting and steering exercises. Of course he was! They always are. That's the cool thing about these therapeutic lessons -- the riders always end up smiling. The same can't be said for those "regular" riders who are preparing for a show or training a horse to sell him (!) who more often than not end up all frustrated and angry. And blame the horse, of course, for not doing what they think they're asking him to do. But that's a story for another time. Our riders leave us happier than when they came, and that makes even a sore back bearable. That and a good brushing after the lesson and a nice juicy carrot before I go into my stall. Much more meaningful of course if the rider provides the carrot, but quite acceptable if it's a volunteer or Lil. Sometimes the riders just don't remember. But I'm working on teaching them. The timely carrot is an essential part of horsemanship.