My Rock,NotSoSwiftly

Blatant Computer Idiocy
Oh, well. AlwayS make sure your blue light is on. I have BlueTooth. No, it isn't contagious, NCC. For some reason, BlueTooth needs to be turned ON:) I turned it off, inadvertently, trying to charge the stoopid lap-top battery. Duh. Oh, and we had a huge thunderstorm on Saturday night, just as I was gearing up to do some "art" work. I wish I was an artist. My eyes don't "see" that way. I can't draw to save any lives. I am not an artist. Did I say that already?
:)

My Rock, not my hard place.
I thought it was time you finally met my rock. Isn't she pretty? I think art is in rocks, too. The artist didn't sign her work, except for two initials. "SV". This rock came from Prince Edward Island, via my Mom and big sister, on vacation.
SV in PEI? You are a rock art genius.
She's a little brown striped tabby cat, curled up like a pebble. She's only about 4 inches wide.

My professional job is highly detailed. I edit until my eyes pop out a bit..
(ooops, ellipsising inadequately, again)I can type anything, accurately. But make perspective? Nope. Not there.
I can see movement and stuff, that other people seem to find amazing. I can spot wildlife/birds from miles away, or camouflaged. Not so handy for making signs and "art". It's just industrial art, but man, it's still ART.
(shivers)

What can you DO??
Anyway, I'm back under my rock for a bit, the horse news is just shudderifying. Horriblizing. How can people do this?
I can't get my head around the divide that's still growing. Oh, horses. Brutalized by cruel, idiotic people, and their clients, who just want a ribbon. I think we need new big name trainers.
How long, how long must we sing this song, Bono? Wish Bono was female. Maybe then, our "Prime" Minister would listen. Thanks to Viagara, and oh, OKAY, women can be cruel too. blech.

Not So Swift...........
I've decided Sally Swift can only be easier to read than I am. So I will henceforth be GoLightly-Not-So-Swift, or GLNSS, for short. Except it's longer. Oh, well!

Here's a quote from Sally herself, shamelessly pilfered elsewhere. Thanks SWA:)
"I believe it is very important for a rider to learn awareness of one's own body...understanding how the body functions, paying attention to yourself and the mechanics of how your body is functioning on the horse. Harmony between horse and rider is very important. The greatest equine partnerships are built upon unspoken communication. This communication will come about if you think about what you are going to do before you do it, think about how it's going to feel before you do it. When you feel in your body what you want it to feel like on your horse, your horse understands that."

Backing Up, WTF??
Okay, and I will rant about this here, where I'm relatively safe. Please, you western folk, don't shoot me. You know I don't mean you.
New Question, besides the why is their head so low? I have that one figured out, mostly. Sort of... (hah......)
Why do they (reining etc.) have to back up so frickin' fast? Why is that so important? Right, they might need to if a cow is about to kill them. But wouldn't you trust your horse enough to let him do the right thing? So, again, why do they back these horses up, over and over, and so quickly? "Train" it into them?? Hello?
Makes zero sense. Really. Why is it normal to some?

Hard as hell on the horse, isn'ta??? I don't blame these poor creatures for rearing.
WHY IS BACKING UP SO IMPORTANT???
It Is NOT. Not for any horse I've ever known, anyway. I've never seen a river flowing backwards, have you?

See, that's when my rock starts to look really good. But (gasp) I have a new lurker, known as my BFF from Calgary. Quick, hide the silverware:) Everybody, make sure I've said only glowing things about her:)
Her e-mail said, wow, you write a LOT.
Yeah, no kidding. Sorta like you talk. I LOVE you, my Pat.
On, and on, and ON. Bloody annoying. Me, I mean, not you, Pat.

The Killer Schoolie, Amber
Okay, I'll share my Amber, the killer schoolie story, I hope, not again. Pretty sure I've blogged it in some other poor unsuspecting blogger's comments, but it may have been awhile. Just ignore if it's familiar.

Amber destroyed my back. Deliberately, I swear!

Amber was a 15.1 hand red chestnut school mare, with very smooth gaits. She was kinda disconnected, front to back. Amber was (badly) built to trail her hind end way out behind her. Next to impossible to collect. Amber was very popular with two older sisters I taught. They continued taking lessons after they bought their first horse, and always on Amber. Silky smooth trot and canter. I rode their horse for them, for a while. Funny, he had a super long back, too. WAY better angles in his hind legs though. Amber was canted out like I've never seen before, or since.

ANYway, I'm teaching a lesson one afternoon, beginners. Amber is being a saint, but her rider decides to pitch a little hissy fit, and demanded to stop. I was making her work, how COULD I?? The kid was just being a brat. I hopped on Amber, as we were working on sitting up tall and heavier, when asking for a slow down. See, I was teaching it wrong. Amber pointed this out to me. Hard. Very hard.

Don't misunderstand, the sit heavy was pretty common, and as long as it's quick, it can work. Any cue can be taught to your horse, as long as it's consistent and non-threatening. But "sit heavy" sure is hard on their back. 'specially, of course, Amber's back. Tooo long, and with hind legs out behind her, permanently..

So, I trot up the long side of the arena, wall on my right, stirrup-less, and show the kids what I mean by straighten up and sit a "little" heavy. I exaggerate, for clarity. Amber promptly starts to collapse behind, feigning falling onto her left side. I throw my left leg up, ready for her to crash onto her left side. I stay in the middle of the tack, like an idiot. Jump off, next time, you twit!

Amber SomehoW flips up and back, ends up cast against the wall, her right side against the wall, legs stuck, (so facing the other way), with my right leg pinned underneath her. Amber lay there calmly, as the entire lesson including parents starts shrieking. I lay there for a minute, thinking. So did Amber. She knew I was fecked. I ended up leaving my boot, thank god I had tall boots on that day, and heaving my leg out from under her. Felt a little woozy, but fine. Amber woke up, and got up just fine, having rid herself of someone she disliked. The feeling had been mutual. Yeah, GREAT harmony. I was breaking in my first pair of tall show boots. I was Master Riding Instructor.
Not:)

I rode Witchy Woman the next day, and a week later my back said, hah, that's really FUNNY. Talk about crooked, wow. I was lucky I'd always been fairly strong on both sides, my weird repetitive motion habits of my youth ambidexterized me. It still just takes a bad step. I watch my steps pretty carefully, I just take extra ones, to stay fit:)

I hold no ill will towards Amber. I hurt her, she fell down. Now, she did try to squish me, or maybe she wanted to really BREAK in my boots. I'll never know. Amber ended up owned by the sisters, and lived a long, happy safe life, with no stoopid MRI's to threaten her conformation, again.
And that's how I got crooked.
And why it was so cool, to be straightened by a SchoolMaster.

To Amber and GoLightly.
Both teachers, both with something to offer.
Don't sit heavy.
Sit Lightly.

GoLightly.
oh, horses....

Here's a re-scanned pic of LeoBear. Just for you to smile at.





Here's a picture of me in BoDerek braids, are those called dreadlocks? My nephew thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.
Pre-rhinoplasty. Take notes, there's a quiz...
Ellipsing wantonly, and out..

GoLightly&FirstPrinciples

Here I am at my first ever show. A teeny tiny, anybody can ride in it show, I think it was at Uxbridge Fair. (maybe.) I'm on little Grey Squire, the horse that would kill you if you approached him in his (gasP) tie-stall. Squire had much attitude, but he was pretty well-broke, and a cute, overly large pony. Check out the no-hat, thumbs up, reins a mile long, elbows stick out, lonG stirrups. Legs just about straight, and sticking out, away from Squire's sides. eeeesh. It's bad. I was not good.
Squire very wisely ran out at the first jump. It WoulD have helped if I'd actually ridden him towards the jump:)

Okay, special treat time. Paddy gets to ride a SchoolMaster. This is still my dream lesson, sooo, I have several at my stable. Let's pull out a 15 hand version of my hero horse, GoLightly.

I've been trying to remember ANY horse that I ever rode, that had even close to his level of training on them. Still drawing a blank. As I've blathered about before, I'd ridden a lot of messed up horses in my life. Got bent and twisted by quite a few. Took very few lessons, (no $$) and did the best I could. Read books and Practical Horseman, and watched the greats riding. I did a good job. But. I was crooked. I never even KNEW I was crooked, until I rode GoLightly.

So, let's try to make this point in three million words or less.
Paddy, this dream GoLightly SchoolMaster, is whatever height of horse you are most comfortable with. He doesn't have monster truck wheels:)

Most of us have ridden horses that were, um, not well-broke. Nice way of putting it, anyway.
You will first be struck by GoLightly's straightness. You will then be struck by how straight, you are not.
GoLightly will reflect whichever way you are crooked. He will ONLY travel straight, when you are too.
Very, very few school horses are as well-trained as this horse you are sitting. You'll feel his intelligence, and his kindness and his calm, matter of fact way. You will relax, maybe for the first time, ever. I know I did. You will feel SAFE. Most defensive riding postures can be fixed with a lesson on a great schoolie. Remember JohnnyBeGood. JBG was a great horse. He handed me back my confidence, with his honesty. Bad riding habits start with the horses you learn on.

That's my problem with how we're "learning" today. At a barn I tried getting back into riding at, a fancy-schmancey A barn, the schoolies were all barely broke auction horses. When I heard that the instructor was expected to teach SIX BEGINNERS at one time on these horses, I quit. So did the instructor.

The horse you learn on, should be teaching you. Not the other way 'round.

As you walk forward with mini-GoLightly, you will notice how the crookedness in your body, sends him crooked too. As you stretch up with your upper body, and stretch down with your lower, he WILL straighten. As you learn to look where you are going, so MiniGL will go where you look. If you look down at him, he will stop.

MiniGL goes where you look. Down=STOP. Horses NEVER LOOK DOWN, except to eat. You will smile, as the sheer safety of the horse underneath you helps you enjoy your riding, maybe for the first time, in a long time.

Okay, trrrrot on.. See there? As you go back to collapsing one hip, so does MiniGL. The side you collapse on is the side he will fall into. As you focus your eyes forward, and stretch up, MiniGL goes back to straight. Cool, huh?

Stop, and give him a pat. Laugh at how simple the whole thing really is. When you ride, you MUST quiet the too many voices in your head nattering at you. Focus on your horse. Let him carry you, straight, forward. It's amazing, isn'ta?

You are a MUCH better rider than you thought!

Okay, drop your stirrups. I'll be back, in a half hour or so. Gotta go tack up my GoLightly. Alternate between trotting and walking. Don't push yourself too hard. Let MiniGoLightly teach you what all your other instructors and horses never could. How to ride, without fear, or defense.

I also believe in the maxim "No pain, no gain". But, big but, I will ALWAYS stop the lesson when you are starting to really suffer. You will stop learning, if you are cramping.
Riding is the toughest sport in the world. Every single muscle you own will be screaming, happily, when you're done.

Okay, we'll stop for a bit. How did that feel?

To SchoolMasters. They are the rarest horses on the planet.
We need MORE of them.
Get crackin', kestrel.
Here's a re-scanned picture of my JohnnyBeGood. HSE show, Lenore up.

Wasn't he a darlin'?

A Lesson in GoLightness

See? I can be serious! Seriously!
My sister had just asked my dear old red dog a very serious question. Much younger red dog. She's mulling it over. It's important. Old red dog loved questions. Do you want to go ____ (fill in the blank)? Is Simon cat upstairs? Most animals love questions. Cats, usually, already know the answer, and are bored by your stupidity. Jethro, my old cat, loved jokes, more than questions. Simon brother cat just liked sleeping in my lap.

The tone of your voice describes who you are. I wish DDF wasn't quite so clairvoyant. I know I've been raising my voice, I have this Flip dog with a predilection for poop. And a lovely habit of ralphing it up in the middle of the work night. Rarely weekends. ReallY RarelY!

So, I do indeed sometimes startle Flip with my tone & volume, because it's instinctive for me to "GasP" when I don't like the behaviour, at all. That's hard to do, to quit the "Aghh!" uttering. She "got" me last weekend. Flip knew my eyes weren't watching. I am practicing my silent training again, too. I needed the reminder. And as long as I'm fair, Flip seems to get my quandary with her. She's SO soft. I can't be harsh, or angry. I'm not. But oh, my patience streeeetched on Sunday, and I gave her a Cesar touch. It was a soft touch, and it was AFTER she'd decided to come away from the hole.

I know the timing seems wrong. Flip yelped, the big suck. And Flip stopped disappearing, for the rest of the day. Played happily, fetched as if she was a born retriever. Funny Flip. I wonder how she was started, sometimes. Flip has esteem issues, that disappear when she's on that squirrel patrol.

Now that the farm season is beginning, it's crucial that Flip's not deaf!
Unless I say so:) Flip's been forgetting that, she's a very smart dog. Smarter than me, reallY. Flip is pouting, she hates it when I type about her.. Do SO. Do Not. Do SO!!

We will have an increased amount of traffic on the driveway, with the farm workers doing their plantings. Gotta keep sharpening up her recall, and remind her of her boundaries.
Blaze is always where I am, or where I'm pointed, so we're good there. Blaze is a little short on work though. Blaze is 2 and a half, and an amazon of play. Busy Blaze! Blaze has three words that make her eyes BLAZE.

"chipmunk", "squirrel" and "crazy." Blaze will BEG me to say them. I use them as exciting play reward words. It's hilarious! They work better than her name, when she's thinking about wandering the way her sister has so kindly demonstrated. Blaze is amazing. If I say "Where's Chipmunk?", she bows, and spins, and waves a paw, and might throw in a roll-over for the laugh she loves.


Okay, now that you're completely bored, let's have a lesson. I feel like teaching. Have you noticed? I've been suffering teaching withdrawal for yearS. It's annoying, eh?
:)
I'm going to do a novice lesson, okay? So all you advanced folk, just press ignore:)
I'll be meeting you and your horse for the first time, at your barn.

I'll call "Hellllooo?" as I come in the barn. Your horse will perk her ears, and maybe whinny:) Hey, it's a dream lesson, mK?

We''ll chat about your horse, as she stands in the cross-ties. I'll be looking at her behaviour as you talk about her. Does she relax, maybe nod off, content at the sound of your voice? Does she fidget, or fuss? Do you laugh at her, or worry at her? We'll chat about where you've been and what you've done with riding. We'll talk about your good rides and bad rides. I'll ask you what you think your strongest physical features are for riding. And of course, your weakest. I'll comment on your posture, and gently flatter your ego. I'll notice your build, and how you walk. I'll ask you how long you usually ride for.

Then, and we're assuming your mare is broke, we'll tack up. I'll have already noticed how clean or not your horse is:) If it's not acceptable, I'll show you what I feel isn't appropriate. I'm nuts about keeping the saddle/bridle/girth areas perfectly clean, and so should you be, even when you're short on time. I won't lecture about it, but I will "finish up" anything I feel was missed, and why I am doing it. We'll check her legs, and I'll make sure the backs of her pasterns are clean and dry:) (Something else I'm nuts about.)

We'll walk out to the large sand ring, and we'll get you longing your horse for a few minutes, to see how you handle her on the ground. I'll help, if I see that your mare isn't respecting your requests to stay out on the line. I'll show you that triangle shape we are always trying to achieve. You as focus, horse's back end driven by your whip hand, horse's head as the third "point" of the triangle.

If you seem very nervous, I'll ride your horse next, just to see what she knows.
I won't use a mounting block, which will "wow" you. Your mare too:)

I'll "flatter and coax" your mare, to see what her best and worst points are. Does she move off my seat and leg? Is she dead as a door nail? Is her mouth numb? I won't try to change her, and I won't "get after her".

I'll hop off, and we'll get you sorted out. I'll check how your legs fall against your horse's sides. We'll talk about how stirrups are there to help the horse and you, too. We'll make sure the stirrups are of EQUAL length. I'll stand in front of you two, and see how straight the two of you stand. Then, if you say that one stirrup feels shorter/longer, we'll drop your stirrups, and re-adjust their length, until you feel comfortable. You may be crooked, physically. It takes time to loosen and straighten your muscles equally, on both sides. I'll allow you to keep your stirrups at your regular unevenness, if you feel they are too completely new in their "even" position.

Then, we'll go for a walk around the ring. I'll tell jokes about the various animals I've ridden, and hopefully you'll be smiling as you start to ride. I'll ask you to show me how you post, at the walk. I'll flatter and coax you, too.
To be Continued...
This is long enough for now:)

Oh, that's me on "Concordiana", in 1970. Second/Worst Barn. My stirrups are still too long:)
Yup. People were alive and RIDING in 1970. Sheesh, that's almost four decades.

To Horses. I can Almost smell them.

TotallyRelevant Govt. Funny

Thanks kestrel:) for this gem of a joke.

"A new element was recently discovered and added to the periodic table:

Lawrence Livermore Laboratories has discovered the heaviest element yet known to science.

The new element, Governmentium (Gv), has one neutron, 25 assistant neutrons, 88 deputy neutrons, and 198 assistant deputy neutrons, giving it an atomic mass of 312.

These 312 particles are held together by forces called morons, which are surrounded by vast quantities of lepton-like particles called peons.

Since Governmentium has no electrons, it is inert; however, it can be detected, because it impedes every reaction with which it comes into contact. A tiny amount of Governmentium can cause a reaction that would normally take less than a second, instead takes from four days to four years to complete.

Governmentium has a normal half-life of 2- 6 years; It does not decay, but instead undergoes a reorganization in which a portion of the assistant neutrons and deputy neutrons exchange places.

In fact, Governmentium's mass will actually increase over time, since each reorganization with more morons transforming into neutrons, forming isodopes.

This characteristic of moron promotion leads some scientists to believe that Governmentium is formed whenever morons reach a critical concentration. This hypothetical quantity is referred to as critical morass.

When catalysed with money, Governmentium becomes Administratium, an element that radiates just as much energy as Governmentium since it has half as many peons but twice as many morons."

Oh, yeah. Gawd, I needed that.
HAH!

I'll add something about horses, this week. Promise. Or dogs. Or maybe...
I just can't comment on the horse world when I can't believe the news as it happens. You know how I feel about Drugs?

I feel the very same way about it's use in horses. What the HELL do we think we're doing? Steroids for SHOW?
Gah, it just sickens me, and I wish to become a rock dweller again. My horse night-light dims, because the horses are just so darned sad.

Thank heavens for people like you.
To Happy, Healthy, Drug Free Horses.. Unless they NEED them for medical purposes, fcs.

Sorry, gotta work.

Critical morass..
snorkeler...

Mrs. Small and The Treasures

Speaking of treasures, like horses. Good neighbours need treasured, too.

Mrs. Small & her husband lived a very quiet life, and enjoyed keeping to themselves and their small circle of friends. They were childless. They said very little to anybody, including each other. The Toronto newspaper, The Globe & Mail, however, heard a LOT from Mr. Small.

Mr. Small was a voracious reader and political/social critic. One of his regular aphorisms became the title of a book "Shocked and Appalled", a compilation of letters to the editor. Mr. Small wrote many letters to the Globe. I never really got to know him, Mom would only say he was very shy. He drank a bit. So did his wife. I remember him pushing their mower, through the summer, muttering and grumbling about who knows what. But the sound of that push-mower was lovely. Mr. Small grumbled very quietly, & it was soothing, in a way. Certainly nothing like the gas-powered carbon-guzzlers/decibel-ear-breakers of today.

After Mr. Small grew ill, Mom became closer to Mrs. Small, helping when she could. And of course, once Mr. Small passed, Mon Ami, tres jolie, was thrown into our lives. (Ami was how I became friends with Mrs. Small. A non-favourite relative "mailed" her a standard poodle puppy, after Mr. Small passed. Mrs. Small did NOT want that puppy. I helped her out, a lot. Made a life-long friend, and learned a lot about dogs.)

My first time inside Mrs. Small's house was liking walking into a dim, dark cave. The layers of tar/nicotine on the walls had reached truly epic proportions. Dingy, yes. And everywhere, I mean, EVERYwhere, was stuff. Paper stuff, elastic stuff, cloth stuff, bottles, yarn, TV guides, magazines, neat and tidy piles of mostly "why do you need that" stuff. Lists, neatly stacked. Layers of plastic bags, plastic anything, really. Hard to describe. Oh, but only in the kitchen and the TV room and the bedrooms and the bathrooms. Funny cartoons were taped/plastered to the walls of both bathrooms. Which were also brown. The smell was interesting. I think a new ecology could have been born in that house, a new micro-climate. It wasn't very bad, just sort of old & somewhat growing.

Hah, I remember, in my fudge brownie-addiction days, I borrowed a cup of flour. I brought it home, older sister was there visiting. The flour was moving. A lot. Yeah, off to the convenience store I went. Mrs. Small did not cook. She bought canned and frozen foods, and pre-made foods. Mom endeared herself to Mrs. Small with Mom's leftovers. And, let me tell ya, Mom's leftovers were culinary dreams to Mrs. Small. Mom couldn't cook, but she tried.

Mrs. Small was born in Montreal, and refused to speak a word of French, and had that upper-crust British accent. We're still guessing on how she managed to do that. Mrs. Small graduated McGill University in Arts, 1935. She was a Liet. in the WRENS during WW2. Mrs. Small volunteered with the Red Cross, and was President from 1968-1969. She also volunteered with the Humane Society, the Ballet Guild, and the Hospital Auxiliary. She was hilariously funny, and adored by her friends, all of whom we got to know quite well.

Mrs. Small would also give you her exact opinion of each of her friends, without any rancor, just plain speak truth. "Oh, Mrs. So-and-So, her husband is an IDIOT, and she's just a blah, blah, blah." I'd hate to think how she described me:)
No, kidding, there was no malice in Mrs. Small. Things were the way they were, period.

"It doesn't Matter, Barb!" she'd exclaim, as I tried to talk to her about my own problems with horses and people and shyness. Mrs. Small did not compute shyness. At Mrs. Small's "Life Celebration", in front of everyone, I earnestly, and red-facedly, said "Mrs. Small allowed me to realize, it's okay to be weird". Yeah, I blame Lorraine:)

Mrs. Small never spoke of her early years. She had no patience for whiners and complainers, like me. I was riding horses? What on Earth did I have to complain about then? Did I have a roof over my head, and meals? Then STFU, Barb. Mrs. Small was generally right, except when it came to her poodle Ami-dog and clipping. I was thrilled when she admitted her mistake. I think it was her only one, the whole time I knew her.

After most of her friend's husbands had passed, Mrs. Small volunteered to start coming to their socials dressed as a man. Well, of course, she did. Mrs. Small was outrageous, well before it was even recognized.

Her stuff hoarding was simply her way of being shocked and appalled that all of the piles of stuff she was making, were not recyclable. And were re-useable. Useful.
She wouldn't throw that stuff into the landfill! Shocking, the very idea.
Mrs. Small always gave gifts wrapped in magazines, or paper bags, or whatever. ALL Holiday Cards were recycled. And her gifts were also truly unique. I'll have to joggle my sisters memories of those gifts. My gawd, they were funny.
Oh, yes, here's one, tinned caviar. The layer of dust on it so thick, you could have used it as garnish. World's ugliest carvings, half-finished tea cosies. Mrs. Small re-gifted everything. She hated waste.

Mrs. Small had been a textile designer in Montreal. No-one can remember what Mr. Small did. Anyway, in her upstairs rooms, piles to the ceiling, full of stuff, with room for one to sleep, and that was it. Mrs. Small was handy with crafts, and every year gave us cat-nip mice for our cats. Really well made, too. She'd also donate the mice to the Humane Society. Mrs. Small was always making something, until the clock ticked 5:00pm. Then, it was time for Jamaican Dark Rum. Several rums, on certain occasions, like Sundays, or Tuesdays, or when I'd be late bringing her dog home from the barn.

Mrs. Small's living room was even darker, and rarely ever used. It was frozen at about 1970, or so, in decor. It was tidy, just, well, dark brown, mostly. My kind of colour. Shows no dirt.

Oh, I almost FORGOT!! When we first moved into the house, the hedge between our two houses was high, right? Mrs. Small was a grumbling gardener, as well. The plants were always arguing with her. I'm home one sunny afternoon, out reading in the back yard. I don't really know Mrs. Small yet, at all. I'm still an avid watcher of horror films. Just watched one the night before. I hear the strangest sounds, coming from next door. Low moanings, weird fartings, just kinda scary to my over-active imagination. I walk over to peek through the hedge, and see the most terrifying face, ghost white with open, gaping, screaming dead eyes, with both arms outstretched, as if reaching for me.

I squeak a little, and startle Mrs. Small, whose head then pops out of the weeds and vegetables. "Oh, my, you've met Ecce Homo, haven't you?"
Her scarecrow. Scared the CRAP out of me. That's him overseeing us interring Mrs. Small in her back-yard. Ashes to ashes, and all. We also burned her journals, much to my chagrin, but her niece, (a really nice, weird world-traveller, of course, on a boat), insisted. I've lost touch with Mrs. Small's niece, she was a HOOT. Sue Dreue, where are you? Floating around the world somewhere. Like Lorraine is still:)

Oh, aha, and you thought this post wouldn't mention horses?
I did buy a darned scanner. I am going to slowly re-post the worst of the grainy horse-pictures of pictures, so you can re-focus your poor eyes..
Who is first?
Oh, no, wait, first a picture of Butch being abused by my nephew, gosh, 20 years ago. Poor old Butch. See how he's being poked in the eye?? My nephew is about to yank his head up. Rolled and kurred, again, my Butch. I'm sorry.


Here's me and Musket, from First/Worst barn, at London Junior Show. My stirrups are still miles too long, and I'm still going to blow the last fence, in the last class. This picture is crumbling fast, so I thought I'd post it quick:0


To Good Neighbours, and kind, intelligent, grumpy, occasionally outrageous people.
To Horses, and to you.

linky thingy,JimmyWofford's brilliant treatise on too much collection is not necessarily a good thing,just in case you haven't read it. The guy's a genius.
Have a great week!

Size Matters

Butch sez, whinnyCoughschneirble. Ploop. Oh, Butch.. Poor old guy. Send money, please? He needs a new nose!

Here's his glorious conformation shot, again.You know you missed him.


That's a picture taken in 1928, of my Mom on the left, my Gams, and my newborn Auntie. Kids were cute back then, too, huh?

Do you think size matters? Or attitude? Does a mini-horse ever think to himself, damm, I wish I was justa couple hands taller? Where did my legs Go? Does a chihuahua ever think, Okay, this is TOTALLY unfair. I think some of them do:)

"Preying On" versus "Prey".
The prey and predator language is our biggest stumbling block, when initially working with horses. When we stare at them immediately, directly, challengingly. When we "face" them. It's what we do, when we love them. It's interestingly, almost the same reaction in dogs.

Completely different, yet animal language seems pretty similar, globally.
It's the "which one am I?" question, that you have to answer, before you work with your horse. The question the horse answers for himself, when he meets you.
Who are you? Is all over you. Predator? Prey? This matters to the horse, a lot.

Both species will respond to direction, through our posture and temper and okay, "aura", for want of a better word. We smell, a LOT, to animals. Fine, I'll speak for myself here. Mrs. Small and I shared similar beliefs on water wastage.

Whatever the chemical heck it is. Each animal's response is determined by his/her current set of rules.

Rules and Prey Etiquette.
Gently show him your rules, when you first start to longe him. Your inside hand, (longe-line hand) points forward, opening places for the horse to move. Your whip hand is your leg substitute. Your voice is your gift. Name the behaviour you want, reward it with your voice. Ignore anything else. He'll be surprised that you're asking him to move away from you, but you just keep pointing and opening your posture the way you want him to go. Don't look at him. He'll think you want him. Look where you want him to go. You want to remain parallel to his motion, with your body posture.

Just like when you're riding him.. Ever noticed how a loving dog will go the way your body points? Same thing. At least, that's the idea. Look where you want the horse to go. He will.
:)
You don't want him looking at you when you're riding, do you?
Bit narcissistic, ya ask me. Oh, no-one did? oooops.

Here's a doggie example, because it's fresher in my mind. When my Flip dog first met my cousins at their place of business, she immediately went and glued herself to the President, the oldest of my Uncle's children. Amazing guy. Musician, scientist, successful businessman, wonderful father. Not an animal owner. Flip wanted HIM in her life. I hadn't owned her for long, she was still kinda "wow, BIG city" at this point. My cousin knows where he's going. Flip Loved that.

Working on the ground, the horse should be following beside you, loose lead, ready for your next request. He should move forward on command. Name everything. In hand work is the beginning, longe line work is the next building block.

With the triangle created by your (hands and whip) and horse's front and back, credit to FernValley for mentioning the triangle, the key is to keep the shape of the triangle, and the length of the three "lines" consistent. And calm. Start with small circles, and use the corner of your pasture for longeing. Spelling police, Alert! The circle's diameter doesn't have to be great at first. Big steps, and little 'uns:)

It's a bit of a ballet, the initial stages of longeing/lunging, whatever. You are starting to show him you are a kind, benevolent leader, and you won't eat him. He will naturally be wondering if that's what you want. He is prey. Often being driven forward means being driven by a predator. But another horse? Or another human who moves like a horse? Going forward, that's the key.

I always found I could teach the horse to stop straight, in a square corner. I think, I don't know, that a round pen has no "stop" in it. A corner does. I've never had the pleasure of using a round pen. The corner is how I explained whoa to my horse, initially. And further explaining the straightness part of the riding program. Circling will never be as important as going straight. Even when longeing, you can teach the horse to go straight.

Too much emphasis is placed on the bend of the circle, at first, imo. A proper circle is hard to do, especially for a green horse. He's just learning to go where you point him, on the longe, at first.

A horse should always stop, and wait, facing the same direction he was asked to whoa from. He'd supposed to be waiting on going forward. Why would a horse be told to whoa and then automatically turn from the whoa? No sense in thaT. Whoa means whoa.

Start small, and work your way up, with everything. Get it? Size matters? Never MinD!!
:)

To Horses, maybe someday owned Only by those who actually deserve them. Wouldn't it be loverly.

ach, post still doesn't feel done.
I have to work, maybe I'll make more sense of this later. Or, not:)

The Faces of Kindness1

Happy Monday!

Lorraine Tasker Small
My favourite neighbour, ever, is scowling at you. My kid sister used this photograph to get into photography school. It's a classic Lorraine expression, when you were pissing her off. My sister is taking her picture. That pissed her off.
Her favourite saying to me was "Oh, Barb! It doesn't Matter."

Lorraine was my favourite neighbour, ever. I called her Mrs. Small, until the week before she died, the last time I saw her. I pissed her off, walking in at a crucial point in a tennis match. Lorraine Tasker Small died of lung cancer, at 85 years old, smoking to the bitter end. My kid sister eventually got used to calling her Lorraine, but I never did.

Well after my parents split up, Mom, kid sister and I moved to old Oakville, the town of my birth. One street over from the house I was born in, 21 years later. It was kinda cool, I'd often come across familiar places/things, not knowing why they were familiar. Kid sister was sent off to Alma College, she needed the, um, lack of men. I was going to university and teaching through this time.

Mr & Mrs Small were an semi-elderly couple with two ancient GSD's when we first moved in. They were very shy. They spoke to each other with veddy prop-ah British accents, mostly calling their dogs out of our garden. Old Sam and Mary, the ancient dogs. I'm sure they looked a bit askance at the single Mom and her mostly grown daughters. I bet they worried that the neighbourhood had been shot all to hell. Loud music, public foolishness.. There was a huge hedge between the two properties, and it shielded Austin & Lorraine from having to deal with us face to face too much. We scared the heck out of them:)

As Mr & Mrs slowly realized how normally boring we were, the hedge got clipped shorter, and shorter:) Mom charmed the heck out of both of them, as she was naturally able to do, and became their fast friends. Me and sis came later, after Mr. Small & Sam & Mary passed on.

Mrs Small was livid one afternoon, not long after her losses, and Mom asked her why. Mrs. Small's (in her words) "idiotic sister-in-law" was sending her a standard poodle puppy, with no warning, no asking, Nothing. A very nice gesture, if you're a bit sadistic, in my opinion. Puppy's on it's way, you're welcome! Mom calmed her down, and came home to tell me the news. You know what I thought. A puppy's coming!! And Mon Ami came into our lives, and changed all kinds of wires in my fledgling animal training brain.

Mon Ami was "my" first dog that I trained, with no help, at all. Mrs. Small was thrilled that I was willing to help out with walking and training and general puppy thievery. We spent hours just thanking each other back and forth. "Oh, BahBra, thenk you so MUCH for helping me with Ami, he ate a whole pound of butter off the counter yesterday!" "Oh, Mrs' Small, don't be silly, I'm having a wonderful time!" And I was. What great dogs the Standards are. So smart! Mon Ami is the dog that cheered up a horse I was riding.

Kodiak, sad old eeyore type gorgeous Trak/TB cross, with a woe-is-me attitude. I used Mon Ami as our hound to chase. Kodiak was just a hoot to ride, after I restored his sense of humour. Nothing funnier than a joyous poodle out-racing a horse, at least to this Kodiak horse. Kodiak's owner couldn't get over the difference in him, after I started riding him. I never did tell her a dog did it.

Mrs. Small Hated that her dog was a poodle, (too "frou-frou") and for his first year and a half, refused to have him clipped or groomed. You can imagine the state his coat was in by this point. It took weeks of me pleading that Ami was suffering, and then I finally took my horse ear-clippers to just his head and neck. Only. HeeHEE, a HUGE body, and a TINY head. Mrs. Small made the call to the groomers, the next day. After she got over her pique, she grudgingly admitted I was right.

We had a good laugh about it, later. Mrs. Small was very stubborn in her opinions, and it was like pulling teeth to get her to admit Ami needed a "lamb" clip, at least twice a year. But I did it. I'm stubborn, too.
Remind me to tell you about Mrs. Smalls' house-keeping skills. She didn't have any. Gawd, she was inspiring.



Horses and Hearts
It's hurting my heart again, the whole darned horse thing. Just the way it used to, only with the stories exponentially increasing in ability to cause visceral pain.

My stomach hurts, when I think of the horses. The more terrible the story, or the more foolish/savage/violent the drama & or the truth, the less I even want to think about the horses in my life. The foolishness rampant in horse-ownershit today is scary as hell. It hammers at my non-combatant sensibilities. I want to say something. So here, I'll say it. I'll let it go here, and take that deep breath, and square my shoulders, again.

And remember what I've been trying to communicate, before I kick the bucket. Hey, I'm allowed! My Mom passed away at 62. I'm 53, do the math. Ya never know..

The horses can teach us everything else we need to know about ourselves, things that other animals just can't teach us. They can show us how to stay in the moment, and how to think honestly about ourselves. Their hearts bring tears to my eyes, without even seeing them in the real life world.

Like "my" old Chinook horse, the belgian cross schoolie. 'Nookies was a coca-cola addict, as I was. It's always a smile that comes to my heart when I think of chestnut Chinook. Three and a half socks and a big blaze. Tallest and beautifully built up top, short-coupled, well-balanced, but with the shortest, straightest pasterns you ever would see. Chinook lived with navicular. His regimen of bute and turn-out kept him mobile.

Chinook would always leave his stall very stiff and stumbly, but give him a few minutes, and he'd re-find his feet. Chinook would stumble occasionally, stopping my heart for the first few weeks as I got to know him. But Chinook was as sure-footed as a billy-goat, on our "suicide trails", and loved to gallop them flat-out in the spring, regardless of the wishes of his rider.

I found that out, on my first hack out with two of the advanced students. I rode Chinook. He was GONE! Took off with me like a bat out of hell, until he realized that I wasn't screeching and trying to stop him. I was laughing my head off. It was so funny. Chinook had a great sense of humour. He loved to get loose from the barn, by sliding open his stall door, whenever an unwary student would trust him for two seconds, and forget the special latch. Chinook would come CHARGING outside, student calling him madly, he'd gallop Maybe three whole strides, and then stop and eat, all he liked doing in life, besides galloping the trails and causing a brou-ha-ha.

Oh, and drinking Coke. At the end of his advanced lesson, I just had to whisper "Nooookies?" and into the centre he'd come, for us to share the dregs of my third or fourth Coke. Yeah, can't drink THAT anymore. Chinook loved to jump, limited in scope of course, but with the cutest, tightest knees. Oh, my old chestnut friend. Chinook and Sparky were lovers, in that they had been together forever. They were never far away from each other. Their friendship haunts me. I hope, I hope they both got to go together, at least.

"My" boys..
There goes my heart again..


Here's a local blog that's actually trying to make a difference. Would that I could.
Interestingly, the slaughter plant in Ontario has been harassed by activists lately. They keep a very low profile, apparently. I wonder who they are? I'd dig more, but I need to be able to sleep at night.

To Chinook. Broad of back, stout of heart. Sweet, kind soul.
Love you, buddy. Miss you, and love you, forever.
And I'm so sorry I had to leave you.
Dammit, eyes are burning..


Checkout the Belgian on Trooper and Sarah's blog. The jumping picture is the spittin' image of "my" old Nooks.

Never Mind

"Animal People"
I've been wondering for years. How much is born into us, and how much is learned? I am leaning towards the learning, more and more. My memories involving animals and Dad were all about disinterest, if not disdain. Dad loved to tease cats. He was a meanie. If he was home when I found a stray, that stray was gone. Not dead, just refused. Bye, bye, to many tears and pleading, but always to no avail. At least Mom was NicE about it:)

Dad grew up after WW1, and volunteered in the Navy in WW2 times, in a hard working class family. Food was tight, times were always tough. Dad's Mom was NOT an animal person. Not, not. There are very few animal people on Dad's side of the family. They are very successful, for the most part. So that blows one theory:) Or maybe it opens another up, not sure..

I think limiting exposure to animals early in childhood must be part of the key. If you have no animals in your life, how will you react later?

Mom's mom wasn't animal interested either. None, except for edibility/wear-ability. Wealthy, beautiful, spoiled woman, my Mom's mom was. And yet my Mom was very interested in animals, early on, I'm told. Point is coming, be patient:) Mom, (remember?) saw a kitten get squished in a carriage horse barn, when she was very young. Mom remembered that very clearly, her shock and horror was deep. A terrible, sad experience for a young girl. And of course, her dad wasn't around much. Mom loved cats, just LoveD them. Dogs too, but cats were her thing. Mom loved all animals.

So, even though her new husband was no cat person, Mom's cat was also duly married to my Dad. They HATED each other. My memories of this cat are of a constant growling, rumbling, angry grump.. Poor old cat. Dad delighted in tormenting the cat, I remember. Poor Mom.

ANYway, so, big sister is just like Mom. Animal crazy, can't bear the sight of death, freaks out at the site of a squished critter, and constantly bothers me, the second kid, into wondering what the fuss was all about. I wasn't so much "So what?" as I was, "Well, It Happens!!"

Dad teased my big sister's cat into leaving home. Dad basically scared my kid sister's cat into a functional vegetative state that never really improved. Picture sleeping kitten, and then large tall Dad stomping his foot right beside her and roaring her name. Yeah, nice, eh?

I loved cats, don't get me wrong. And? It's so odd to me now, that I can be construed as anything other than humane, simply because I'm Mom's daughter. I guess my Dad's genes force the pragmatism.

I was interested in animals. I was always studying them, finding them. I was horse crazy. Thanks, Butch:) But I wasn't overBLOWN out of my mind by the sight of death. Suffering, fear, pain, cruelty, of course I can't/couldn't bear it, or abide it.

But death, the sight, I found interesting, mostly because it bothered the HECK out of big sister when I would discuss the finer points of what was dead. "Big" sister is at least 7 inches shorter than me. Thank you, tall chromosome.

Through my attempts at acceptance into vet school, I'd often spend lunch-time in the large animal pathology lab. Just for interest. I guess that's weird. My work at the SPCA for semesters off allowed me further anatomy study. I always liked to know how animals worked. I've always been fascinated by the beauty and ferocity of the natural world. It doesn't make me shudder to see death happening. A cat killing a mouse. A dog killing a snake. (I did give Flip crap for it yesterday.)

DogsDeserveFreedom was prophetically and kindly pointing out my next issue with Flip. Leash time, for Flip:) We need a herd of miniature sheep. Maybe wind-up sheep, yeah, that's it.

The CHDC & A Brief Boring Political Rant
From what I can see, the absolute "End to all Slaughter" tag line is the stumbling block in discussions between the CHDC and the real-time farmers and related industry workers. The government,as we know, isn't managed very well. Not nearly enough women and not nearly enough brains, all t'way 'round. All kinds of work, though. Just not for people in this country.

Born a city chick, and sheltered from many things ugly, didn't really prepare me for the truths I learned from horses, and later from my ex-farmer husband. I do get both sides of the debate. I do get the horror city folk and pet-horse owners feel, at the thought of a horse being slaughtered, and more cruelly, slaughtered badly.

The fear these animals can and will endure breaks any kind heart. I just don't get the "us versus them mentality", that seems to have sprung up with the PeTA/HSUS lobbying. City versus country. Country folk are outnumbered by the city folk. Yet both would say they are being kind. Which has the larger voting base?

But for the RealDeal farmer, whose livelihood has been steadily whittled away, the anti-slaughter stance will deny their very relevant voice to be heard, or it will be dismissed out of hand, as we know "farming" is inherently cruel. (No, it is not, imo. It is a fact that humans have eaten, and will continue to eat meat, of all kinds.)

Real Deal Farmers are being replaced by "waiting for the developer deal to go through" bull shite Farmers, around here anyway. Like my neighbour to my north, and now south. Cutting down everything, flattening everything, ready for the houses to go up. There's so much money involved, it's mind-boggling.

I'm more confused, now. Are there less kind people in the world? I think there are many people who have no idea how the real, natural world works. They assume too much. I just wonder how many animal people are being born compared to non-animal people. You know, statistically speaking. As if we could ever really know. I'm feeling pretty outnumbered, I guess.

The "in-fighting" between the various animal lover factions will destroy any credibility we might have, as a united front.

You see, for me, it is kinder to euthanize a horse that has no use, and is in pain, or cannot be cared for properly. If that makes me cruel, I'm sorry. I wish the word slaughter wasn't so inflammatory, to so many. The word slaughter, for me, has always meant the brutal or violent killing of a person. But that isn't it's first meaning, in most dictionaries. That's why I think the word needs changed. Not that it will happen, or anything. The re-thinking of slaughter practices has benefited the animals. Would making the practices humanely acceptable, allow a new word to be coined?

I wish for a happy comfortable retirement for all horses, but just how realistic is that? I have enough trouble right now, worrying about my own life..



I really liked this..

Sail and Rudder, 1806
.... the rider has adjusted his bridle of such a length, as to be able to give the horse all of his head, at first setting off; for he should feel his horse's mouth as soon as he has taken a step or two, but not before; since (as before observed) the switch is the sail,and the reins are the rudder. The reins should no more be used, before the horse is put in motion (either by speaking to it, or the switch), than the rudder of a ship should be used, before the sails are set.
STRICKLAND FREEMAN from The Art of Horsemanship.

Okay, so substitute your leg or voice for the "switch". I didn't know horses HAD a switch:) No, he means a whip, for those confused. Old S. Freeman Guy had something there, didn't he?

But I still love this the best.

To Flatter and Coax - Xenophon (long frickin' time ago 444-365 BC)
The hand must neither be held so strict as to confine and make the horse uneasy, nor so loosely as not to let him feel it. The moment he obeys and answers it, yield the bridle to him; this will take off the stress and relieve his bars, and is in conformity with that maxim, which should never be forgot, which is to caress and reward him for whatever he does well. The moment that the rider perceives that the horse has begun to place his head, to go lightly in the hand, and with ease and pleasure to himself; he should do nothing that is disagreeable, but flatter and coax, suffer him to rest a while, and do all he can to keep him in a happy temper. This will encourage and prepare him for greater undertakings.
from XENOPHONS'S Treatise on Horsemanship.

It's not very watery, but it sure gets the point across. No, I've never read this quote by Xenophon before. Big surprise to see GoLightly mentioned. Kinda cool, really. Hey, I'm a student of the horse. I've never graduated.

GoLightly in the hand, sheeple.

To Slo Lopin' Scotch.

Remembering the story in the comments by Paddy of the backward moving rescue horse, brings this on for me. Who did this? I can just hear it. "Well, the horse just wouldn't move forward off my cue. It isn't respecting me. I back him up, to teach respect." It's completely illogical to the horse. The human isn't using basic animal logic for Horses.

Horses are PREY animals. We are predator animals. All that is "taught" is fear. Probably while exerting pain on the horse. Oh, yeah, it is fun to torment them, for SomE. Power of the lesser intelligence, and all that crap. People (myself, as a kid, included) seem to take enjoyment in causing the horse discomfort. (shivers) Some people's kids. Sorry, Mom. It's a power trip, for sure.
We have to learn to think like prey, to understand the horse. Really hard for us to do. Really, really.

Beating up on half a ton of flesh. Sorry. It's been done by others, from what I hear. Terrible. Stupid. I know, the stupid aren't going to disappear. Look to my left, and yup, my neighbour is still there.. Eeesh, I do have to blog that story. What a display of horsemanshit. You can label stupidity all you want, with whatever BNT flavour of the day, but it won't change the nasty stupids.
Like MB, there, to my left<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<.


Huge tangent. Let's call it a fork, today. For the first time in my 53 years on this earth, I successfully fed 6 humans. Scottish Mince and Tatties. Look it up. If I can do it, it is Possible. My German SIL called it "slop". It also looks like "glop". Yummy, though.

Brother in Law is here, looking for work. Anybody need a Theatre House Manager? An amazing Manager of People? Guy is a genius. Hard to find work for the smart, these days. At least, judging by some of the management practices I've read about, through the years..
BIL Managed the Ford Theatre for the Performing Arts, in Vancouver, for good old Garth. Drab guy? Ring a bell anyone? Criminal. Drabinsky. BIL babysat Chastity Bono, Cher's kid, when he managed the "O'Keefe", now knownas The Hummingbird Centre, maybe. They might have changed the name again. BIL knows just about everything and everybody. Mathematical and computer genius. And an amazing musician. Yeah, pretty over-qualified, for this city.

Sorry for the blathering ramble, my kid sister has promised to finally send me a picture that I know will brighten the day. The Face of Kindness. Often mistaken for grumpy. You'll have to wait for it, it's coming.

I'm decreasing post quantity, and Trying to increase post quality, not quite, though, eh ColoredCuttingHorses?
Jeeesh, everybody's a critic:) I like it, please don't stop. Plus the longer I blather, the less NCCatnip will demand revisions:)
We need way more people like NCC. IMO. Hugs to Prince and the menagerie!

Rivers and horses.
They both move forward. It's what they're born to do. The way they move forward is their very own. I think we can be too quick to try to change that way of going, when we begin their training.

I will NeveR understand teaching backing them up, too early in their education. Ever. What on earth do these people think they're teaching the horse? It's pretty unnatural to ask a horse to back up at a thousand miles an hour. Biomechanically 'n all. Sure isn't something they were born to do, so early in training.
Just sayin'. jmho. Shoot me.

That ad in Blatant's post by the palomino owner. "She walks and backs up." THAT equals BROKE?? That prompted this tirade. Don't back them up, until they are REAL clear about going forward, under saddle. Heck, on the ground, too. Just stop all that backing. What is the point?

To soft hands and kind riders. Riders that want to go forward. Quality Education, equally, for everyone. An opportunity to see nature, as it really works, without the posturing of a PeTA extremist, colouring the opinions of honestly kind, but ultimately uninformed people.

To more animal people, being born.



And a kind end, for all.

Happy Easter, everyone. Happy Birthday, Dad!

All wet, and out.
(sorry CCH & NDa, I sure hope my next post involves drier ideas.)
To your flood waters receding, in real time.

Here's a picture of how carefully I dress when I'm gardening.. Don't look if you haven't eaten yet.

ChartingYourCourse

That's me and Tad Plaid up there. Really.
Really, really. I'm channeling Mike Myers, for those who never saw Shrek 1, 2 or 3. Classic historical, if you get that kind of mature humour.

I watched my Flip herd seven garter snakes today, and we even got to see a snake ball. Yup, that's what it is, and that's what it means. They were having a ball, ball. Bravest husband, yelling from 100 feet away, as I reported their numbers "I don't LIKE snakes!"

I'm always clinically interested in others animal orders idea of sex. I'm also fascinated by decomposition, as some of you already know. Little Red Dog shoulda been on CSI. She was forever pointing out dead stuff. In various stages of.

I didn't take a picture of the snake ball. I'm not a pervert. Poor snakes, it must be so discouraging for them to see Flip come dancing towards them. Flip herded them for a good two hours. Flip is exhausted! Blaze has been brazenly blasting into the pond the last couple days, even though the weather's just above freezing. Blaze is so rolley-polley round right now! So, today, she got to swim a bit, with floating Frisbee, totally necessary once the ice disappears. Blaze is STILL not tired, and we played for a good 3 hours. My dogs can run forever, well, Blaze can. Flip's sleeping, or herding, very important work.

They got me thinking. Always a dangerous idea, right?

No matter what animal you are dealing with, everything you are doing at that moment is relevant to them. Or irrelevant, if you're Flip, dancing around a snake ball. The "trick" I've noticed with these super dooper smart dogs, is how exactly they mirror your tone and the undercurrent of your tone, and the shape and the position of your body. Your intentions. Everything I do tells them something. Points them somewhere. Or, of course, they go completely the wrong way. Flip, WAY more than Blaze. Blaze goes my way. At least, that's how my dogs and I interact. Is that odd?

Today was a "weak" day for me, losing my migraine, cautiously weeding and walking and tossing FrisBees. The weaker I am, the stronger my dogs are. The less in control I am. It didn't bother me/surprise me, which is the difference between how I would have tried to train Flip when I got her and today.

Then, I INSISTED, even when she was clearly scared or deaf to what I wanted. I forced, I didn't listen first. As I'd very gently directed Rusty, but without the timing or real attention with Flip. I was still training little (perfect) red dogs, at that point. Flip just collapsed under that kind of attitude. If I'd just tried a different, less directly forced approach, she would have started trusting me sooner. I should have trained Flip, not expected the perfect trained memory of Red Dog. I was weak. In the Head! No surprise, there.

Now, with Flip, I accept where she is, what she's doing, and let her be. She'll listen, if I growl. Heck, I need to keep ahead of these weeds, and snakes make for great dancing partners. It's the difference between a serious walk, with "strict" obedience, when I really want/need it, and a snake dance break when I'm not strong enough to want "perfection".

You have to either want to hack, or want to school. But you do have to want to do SOMEthing.

Let's imagine you're on your horse, in a dream. He is walking/trotting/cantering in a deep,smooth, safe river channel. Whatever you're comfortable with. Whatever it is you are doing, his movements are surprisingly larger even than life would be. Every step is slowed, yet has more forward power. Horse is deep in the water, but he is still able to touch the river bottom. He wants to follow the channel, where it's safest, in the middle, between the two banks. He likes water, okay? Stay with me!! Your job is to help him do that, follow the river bed. Some horses are fast flowing, some aren't:)

Some flow backwards, a very sad, unnaturally trained thing. (shivers).

Still in the dream, would you look down? Or would you sit up? If you watch the water swirling past you, you can see how the horse is always undulating, like a belly dancer, and yet traveling straight, like a bicycle. Of course, largest HallPass Credit Ever to kestrel for that notion. (cowers)

You and your horse are traveling the middle ground, in the river bed. Anyway, a half halt is like when you ask him to whoa, while swimming. It's a moment's hesitation in the river current. Wherever it may go. What would you do, to slow your horse? To direct that current? Follow the bends in the river,and stay between the banks. That's your job. By straightening up a tad, wouldn't you slow the water current? That's a half-halt, and there are a million times you will ask for it. Or, of course, not mean to ask for it, and get it anyway..

Oh, and make sure you know where the river is supposed to go!
Whew, almost forgot that.

ha.

Your turn:)

All analogies welcome, but hold the football.



Peter Stoeckl and GoLightly, 198? Whatever.
The first horse I ever rode, that really understood, and rejoiced, in that river channel. His impeccable training opened my flood gates.

I hope I dream of Hawaii and GoLightly tonight. Wish me luck..

Have a great week, all!

SallySwift&Raindance

That's Me, up there. Really.



Rainy!! RainEEEE? Whinny, whinny, whinneee. Oh, my pony. The (sorry, dark, grainy picture of) picture above is taken at a little schooling show, with my best advanced rider, Marni, up. Oh, Rainy was cute over fences. He had all kinds of jump, and enjoyed it immensely. This is the same show where another horse I'd brought, died..

Rainy is also auspicious for being the only schoolie I ever taught with, who broke a human bone. Yet another Michelle, last name escapes me. Perfectly fine tall, young rider, she'd started at the lesson factory, so she was kind of unaware of her surroundings. Her eyes were always looking down, and she was forever dropping her weight on her own inside shoulder around her turns. She never looked up, and around the turn. Well, not never, we worked hard on getting her to sit up and LOOK the way she was going.

Rainy was a little crooked, body wise. He was bent to the left. He had an underdeveloped right side, right down to his feet. He was two different horses in front. One foot nice normal size, one foot a little upright, a little contracted in the heel. Mostly from his weirdly bent conformation, I would imagine.

Rainy wasn't AS bad behind, he just always plumed his tail up and left. Never right. Rainy was cranky about swapping leads from left to right. He'd cross-canter very awkwardly, if his rider wasn't on her heels:) (teeHee) Or he wouldn't switch at all, as he was still learning his balance & strength at this point.

"My" school's indoor arena was notoriously slippery at the west end. Going to the right, Rainy and Michelle had just finished a line of fences, and he landed on his left lead. Then, he switched only in front. Going too fast. Sit up, look ahead, do a simple change, I spoke. Michelle, instead, pulled his head hard left and looked down. Boom. Down, they both went. Oh, it was awful. My one and only broken leg in a student, and I'd been preparing them both for a little show. Poor kid. Michelle did come back, and did do a show with RainDance after she'd mended. I sent her a card that read "No Pain, No Gain". I felt so badly. Yelled at Peter, too, because that darned slippery arena corner (which I'd BITCHED about many times) had sure helped with the fall..

Rainy was a curious amalgam of the two breeds. He had a lovely dished Arab face, with a huge QH jowl. A shortish, upright neck. Big ears, pretty ears. Rainy had such a sense of humour. Rainy learned very early in his schoolie days that flattened ears and gnashing teeth chased beginners out of his stall very handily. I just had to walk to his stall door. The sweetest, widest-eyed pony would always appear. WHO, ME?? Sugar would have melted in his mouth. If I turned around, and hid in the next stall, he'd do it all over again. Students had to learn to carry their confidence into his stall, or he'd chase them right back out again:)

I had one little kid, oh she was short, had next to no balance, but a truly ferocious desire to learn to ride. Michelle (yet another) begged me weekly to let her ride Rainy, but I knew he was just too much for her. Green ponies and green riders don't mix very well, IMO.

I used to give little written/oral and ridden tests, to keep all the students horsemanship skills sharp.I was a real PITA about it too. Stickler for details, I was. The students LOVED it. I'd write little critiques of their riding, and where they needed to improve. The parents practically worshiped me, as they should, arrogant b**tch that I am:) (not)

Short Michelle aced the latest test, just ACED it, and she convinced me, as a reward, to let her ride Rainy. I'm a sucker for a tiny ferocious kid. So, short Michelle's tiny legs sticking almost straight out, off she proudly went with Rainy, at a walk. Rainy took one little bouncy step, just one, and shook that short Michelle, plop, on the ground. Rainy stopped, frozen in shock. He'd never had anyone fall off before, at this point. Oh, his face was hilarious. CONTRITE!! Oh, I'm so sorry, why DID you fall off? Good thing the kid just bounced a little, and clambered right back on again. Short Michelle said to me, oh, that was MY fault, I should have looked where I was going. I loved that kid.

RainEEEE!!! The picture of a picture below is of a more advanced, young boy kid, Tim J. He was a pretty darn good little rider, by the time I left teaching. I broke his heart, it still breaks mine a bit, because I heard Tim was pretty troubled, after I quit teaching..
Anyway, Tim was FULL of bravado, very quick with retorts, loved a good laugh. Smart, a little cocky. Boys are like that:) Here, Rainy is over-jumping the fence by about a mile. Tim is hanging on for dearest life. Rainy liked to test the advanced kids. Here, can you ride THIS?? Tim passed, with flying colours.



Oooh, river currents.
Let's take a moment to mourn the passing of Chris Irwin's and Horspoor's Idol, instead.
I have to read her book! It's the bible of riding, I'm told. Wish I'd had a chance to read more. I believe she had several articles published in PracticalHorseman, always a "bible" for me.
Taken from SallySwift
"LEGENDARY WOMAN, AUTHOR AND
FOUNDER OF CENTERED RIDING LEAVES
THE HORSE WORLD IN MOURNING

Sarah Rodman Swift known to her worldwide following as "Sally Swift" passed away on April 2, 2009. Sally was less than three weeks away from reaching her 96th birthday. She was born on April 20, 1913 in Hingham, Massachusetts to Rodman "Tod" Swift and Elizabeth Townsend Swift. She had one sister, Agnes, who died in 2004.

Sally Swift was known all over the world for her innovative horse-riding methodology known as "Centered Riding." She was the author of two books Centered Riding and Centered Riding II - Further Explorations which, together, have had sales of more than 860,000 copies worldwide in fifteen different languages. Sally was the Founder of Centered Riding, Inc., which is the non-profit organization that oversees the worldwide membership of instructors and horse riders. Sally began Centered Riding at the age of 62 upon her retirement from the Holstein Association in Brattleboro Vermont. Her first book, Centered Riding was published in 1985.

In August of 2006, Sally Swift was inducted into the United States Dressage Foundation's Hall of Fame. In June of 2008, she was presented with the seventh annual Equine Industry Vision Award by Pfizer Animal Health and American Horse Publications, an award which recognizes innovation, ingenuity and service across the entire equine market.

At the age of 7, Sally was diagnosed with scoliosis, lateral curvature of the spine. She worked for many years with Mabel Ellsworth Todd, author of "The Thinking Body" who believed that you could control parts of your body with your mind when you couldn't direct them with physical movement. Sally used concepts of her work with Mabel Todd to develop the Four Basics of Centered Riding.

Sally was homeschooled until 7th grade and then attended Milton Academy in Milton Massachusetts for her 7th through 12th grade education. She graduated from Cornell University in 1947 with a B.S. in agriculture. She worked for 21 years at the Holstein Association of America located in Brattleboro, Vermont, retiring in 1975.

Upon her retirement from the Holstein Association in, Sally began teaching her friends at the rate of $10 per lesson and $50 per day for a clinic. She never advertised - her teachings spread by word of mouth. Before long, she was going up and down the East coast with her teachings. In the early 1980's, when Sally was in her early seventies, she began travelling to other locations in the U.S., Canada and eventually to Europe. In 1988, at the age of 75, she went to Australia to work alongside Richard Weis, who was her first apprentice. Sally continued to be very active in Centered Riding until her recent illness.

During the days of her illness, Sally was surrounded by her friends and Centered Riding family who loved her. She was closely attended to by her long-time friend, Lucile Bump, also of Brattleboro, her devoted friend, Munson Hicks, her care-givers, and her special friend Francois Lemaire de Ruffieu. Sally was well-loved by many, many people. Despite her fame, breadth of knowledge and accomplishments, she greeted all who journeyed down her path with warmth and humbleness.

Plans for a memorial service in honor of Sally Swift are underway and will be announced on this website. In lieu of flowers, donations in Sally's memory can be made to Centered Riding, Inc. P.O. Box 157, Perkiomenville, PA, Windham County Human Society, 916 W. River Road, Brattleboro, VT 05301, The Heifer International Foundation. 1015 Louisiana St., P.O. Box 727, Little Rock, AR 72203 or Amnesty International, 16th Floor, 5 Penn Plaza, New York, NY 1001

The world was made a better place by Sally Swift, and the horse world and all who came to love her deeply mourn her passing."

RIP, Sally Swift. Thank you for the inspirations you have given to so many great horse people.

I feel guilty. My fault, she died. She KNEW I hadn't read her book yet!! I'm going to get it, once business picks up.

To Sally Swift.

ChannelingRivers

I finally understood what I was trying to say in my last post, in three thousand words or less. Sadism and sarcasm, directed inwards, at yourself, isn't very helpful. Don't ask me how I know. Suffice it to say, I quit doing it. 92.397% of the time anyway, or when the moon is full. Then I have to watch out for crazy neighbour MB anyway.

Flip Time!
Oh, my Flip is feelin' so FinE! My training of Flip was pretty shaky for the first couple of years. Just in the last few months, I've noticed a wonderful new look in her eyes with me. Flip is trusting me, finally. Blaze thinks I walk on water anyway, so I try to be the person Blaze thinks I am:)

Butch snorts at that. Did you miss him?

The two girl dogs are so incredibly intelligent, Flip in a completely different way from Blaze. Flip likes to herd you, and manipulate you. Flip just pout-sighed, in disagreement. Yes, Flip, you DO. Aggressively obsequious. Very rare personality, according to some dog people, so of course, she's Mine. I attract the unusual beings, I guess:) (looks around)
Like my readers. All two of them:):) Stephen King, eat your heart out, sugah.

Flip is very opinionated about everything. Flip is learning the English Language, but only when it gets her somewhere. Flip is very noisy when she's full of frisk. Frightfully frenetic, foolishly flamboyant. Flagrantly flirty. Yeah, I wrote a whole story through Flip's first weeks, with all F words. No wonder it took her a while..

F words, people, they can be nice, too:) Flip laughs at me a lot. I've gotten used to it, as she's usually (OKAY, always) right.

Someone's at the door? No there isn't, Flip. Oh, right again, Flip. But she can also transcribe thunderstorms through her toes, and hides until it's CompletelY safe to come out again. Her opinion, very hard to change. I'm glad she's finally starting to decide that I'm not a complete idiot. All evidence to the contrary..
Flip has an invisibility cloak, and she uses it, just when I least expect it.

Like today, coming back from walks and FrisBees, happily beside me heading for the door. (Blaze was off pooping, you needed to know that.)
Pooof. Gone. I mean nowhere, no tinkle to her collar, nothing, where the bleep did she go?
My eyes left her for ONE second, maybe, in trust that she was into my idea of stopping the fun, heading in for dinner, fcs.

Yeah, sure I'm in control. Flip was over under a tree, willing a squirrel down to mouth herding level. She helpfully wooofed at one point, as I looked, calling like an idiot for her. Flip wanted to let me know where she was, on very important business. To Flip, not ME!! I've learned to laugh with her:)

Flip can sit immobile for hours at a time, staring into a snake hole. Deaf as a post, when she's trackin' down prey. She'll dig, too. Oh yeah. Flip is very cat-like, and very, VERY bossy, with her kid sister. Flip is very feminine, except when she's rolling in raccoon poop.

Okay, horse time.. I learned a lot about horse training from dogs, and vice versa. I've been trying to read Chris Irwin's book "Dancing with Your Dark Horse", again, and anywhere I open it up, he's talking about what I've been badly blathering about, so it's kinda cool. His "Channeling a River" idea still sticks out in my head. Well, not literally:)

I mentioned Chris Irwin's coming to a Clinic near me? Wow, that sounded like a commercial. I went to a clinic of his last year, and felt several epiphanies out of it. He's huge on consistency. Consistency = Integrity. To a Horse, or a Human, for that matter. Or a dog. Body language with the animal, and touch and timing. It's really kinda everything.
REALLY easy to look at, did I mention that? Married four times? Chris Irwin told his story with a candor that's refreshing, to say the least. I do lose interest here and there, but simply because I've kinda already gotten the gist. Okay, I'm skimming. My eyes are tired:)

Horses are as straight as a river, aren't they? Channeling that energy.. I have to think more on it. Chris is big on analogies to other sports. I stopped reading at football, okay? SNORE. But the skiing one was interesting, for a bit. I used to ski, but that's because there were no horses around me.

We improperly ask horses with our riding to cross their tips of their skis. I liked that. Four corners, all square, but flowing smoothly. Yes, I can see how riding could be like a river ride. Just watch out for the rapids! Dang waterfalls..

Tangent?
Really, sheeple, why are there so few tall dark/light handsome normal men riding? Straight guys? We have to figure out a way to lure them into the sport, like maybe this millennium?? Just askin'. It would be good for the sport:)
Rhetorically speaking, of course. BHM, I know there's a paper in this somewhere. Men just don't want to pay for it. The Research Paper, you guys!! Jeesh, stop that.
What is wrong with the industry?? Rhetorical like.

It's spring, I think about these things:) Research papers, and tassels. I did not know I couldn't spell tassel. Ooops. Tussle? Oh, there ya go, that's why.

Laugh your fears away, people. I am QueenofTheWorryWarts, ya know. From my Mom's side of the family. Dad's only worrying now, because he's male, and 83:) Love ya dad!
Relax that solar plexus, or the wind might just get knocked out for you. Or, you could get hit by a comet. Life will ramble on, or not. Enjoy what you can, when you can.

ToNicelyDun. My fingers still shiver at your post.How brave you don't know you are. Thank you so much for writing Sullivan's story, and I know it's hard to type it. It sure helped me a little bit. A tiny bit, hey, I'll take it:) A tad, ya know?

To all you incredible, brave honest horse people. You're riding a force of nature. Stay aware of his nature, and you're halfway there.

To Sully. Good Boy. To Greenest Pastures, and safe friends.


edited to add, I did not post this at 5am!! At least, not in this current state of time. weeeerd.