Life With Archie: midlife with horse

Lunging: the view from the center of the 20 meter circle

I don't know about the rest of the equestrian world, but turning my feet in a circle to guide a trotting horse around and around makes me dizzy. I expect it makes the horse dizzy as well. It took me many months to convince Archie that this was a good idea. He knew about natural lunging (no line, round pen) but thought that my standing there at the end of a piece of rope expecting him to go around me was a very poor variation of this. He would pleasantly make a few casual passes around and then stop, look at me and say, "You're kidding, right?"

This winter saw a huge leap in his positive activity level as I took a firmer position on who's in charge here but not without cost. Even now I can expect that Archie will demonstrate his displeasure in this form of exercise by at least one, and usually two embarrassingly dramatic leaps, caprioles or sideways plunges at a noise, shadow or shape. After that he resigns himself to the boredom and moves around with some show of participation. He does do all his gaits on verbal cue but his favorite one is still 'whoa'.

 

Although I appreciate the concept of lunging, I wonder if it can't be improved upon for both lungee and lunger. I have compiled a short list of pros and cons and welcome creative suggestions for possibly re-thinking the 20 meter circle from the inside out.

Looking at the plus side of lunging:

1. The horse burns off excess gaiety with me safely on the ground. His dips, plunges and whooshes are confined to the arena area at the end of a (20 meter) rope which extends from my hand to his bit. 
2. The horse practices balance without having to balance a human on its back.
3. Lunging is great for the "cold-backed" horse, which is apparently a label Archie is pinned with. This means essentially, that he requires an overtime warmup to get his system happy.
4. Lunging is great for the cold-backed rider as well as the constant release and draw of the lunge line as the horse trots around, feeds warmth into cold muscles.
5. Lunging is a good way to avoid riding when you are too lazy, don't have time, or feel it would be in the best interest of the horse to relate to you on the ground rather than on its back.
6. Moving your horse in a circle for a while may convince him to express any negative feelings prior to your coming onboard rather than during.

The cons of lunging?

1. The horse may challenge the very underpinnings of the conceptual idea of running around in circles at the end of a 20 meter rope.
2. It annoys everyone else in the arena who is trying to to ride horses who are not attached to lines.
3. Trying not to fall over while trying to balance a long coil of cotton rope, a long lunge whip and a horse.
4. Constantly reminding yourself not to let the rope wrap around your hand or thumb so that these parts do not detach themselves should the horse express a sudden interest in plunging outside the designated circle.
5. Actually convincing your horse to attempt athletic tasks he isn't particularly interested in doing even though you're the one holding the whip.
6. Using a lunge whip in an intelligent and positively encouraging manner that does not mean wrapping it around your own legs.
7. Wondering if you can  stop now and just get on.

photo courtesy of the Cowgirl Diary

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Horse Gets Stuck

 

Archie and I moved stables at the start of September due to Heather's burgeoning school pony herd,  and he is now berthed at a curiously combo classy co- op barn. Co-op is all the rage out here--it means you rent the facility, you supply the food and bedding and do the daily upkeep for your horse.  Our barn,very wisely offers breakfast and turn out as part of rough board so that no one is hollering for a nosh when everyone else is chowing down.

The transition wasn't easy for Arch. Even though he was moving only a mile from his old 'hood, and never seemed overly fond of his paddock mates, he was rattled by his new surroundings. New stall (Arch was turned out all summer), new mates (the big morgan down the aisle lunged out and  bared his teeth whenever we passed his stall), new paddock and no familiar territory, Archie was not brave. He is five, has been  auctioned once in Kentucky, been  to Kansas, auctioned again, came back from Kansas very, very hungry, and spent who knows how long at the Cowboy's before he whickered at me.  If change was under Archie's control it would consist only of more meals. Two months on, with two squares, grazing and summer hay, he seems to be reconciled to the change and his new equine family.

13 year old Katie's Appaloosa Sugar is Archie' s next door neighbor in the barn  and despite their shared  and somewhat competitive enthusiasm for food, Archie lets  peaceful  Sugar play alpha mare. I'm not sure Sugar needs him, but he needs Sugar. So, we said a delighted yes when Katie's father Charlie  generously offered us a ride in his rescued trailer to the  organized hilltown trail ride. Charlie's pickup is a shiny half ton and  the circa 1982 trailer has been painstakingly restored, much like an old wooden  boat, with solid planks underfoot and excellent tires. Small and dated compared to the huge vessels other barn dwellers park at the yard, it goes and so did Archie. Led after Sugar and before an apple, he hesitated for a nanosecond, loaded right into a stuff- your -face haybag opp, and off we went. Up into the hills, past old homesteads, farms and new swamps, we came to the  meeting  site, backed out Sugar and expectantly waited for Archie to do the same. He didn't.

There are horse whisperers who speak horse talk. Archie does not require a whisperer as he is usually unashamed to be heard by the whole neighborhood.  In this case he said, "What are you nuts?Me step into a black void? I am SO not getting off this trailer." Kindly people came to our aid. Here is what they offered as tried and true cures to unstick horses:

1. Pressure the horse to back (I think that means pushing steadily in his sternum) and when he takes a step release. Rationale--the horse is yielding to pressure and encouraged to comply when it is released.
2. Dangle a bucket of grain under his tummy and make him bend his head down impossibly far to get it so that he has to Step Back. Rationale--he will take a greedy step too far and fall out.
3. Pull his tail. Rationale--beats me?
4. Wait--Rationale--Got another idea? 

After a combination of  Good Ideas 1-3 and many helpful hands, Archie clomped out.  We saddled up and mosied off to a great day out which included fording a busy river (twice) and stopping with the group for a meadowy lunch where I realized I'd forgotten a halter and leadrope so ate my sandwich with Archie (he is fond of 8 grain bread and salt and vinegar chips) looking enviously at the ponies who ground tied.

Several sunny hours later we trotted back to the parking lot and reloaded, heading downhill to dinner. Horse dinner. Archie had not had any water (he turned his nose up 
at the idea of drinking it while it rushed past him in the river) and snorted no at the  bucket that was not His Bucket. When we got back to the farm Sugar happily backed out and went off for a lovely massage and warm meal. Archie (neck u- turned back in his trailer stall) and I looked longingly at her. Charlie waited patiently for Archie to follow suit. He was still waiting 40 minutes later when I suggested he drop the trailer and pick it up tomorrow when surely Archie would have disembarked?

Archie insisted he was not getting off. I sat thinking positively that he would; shaking a bucket of grain every now and again, hopping on and doing pressure which was supposed to yield movement and release and sitting glumly wondering what else to do in between takes. I tried pulling his tail but we both thought that seemed dumb.  Finally I just sat on the hood of the car  playing with my iphone and figured Archie would eventually figure it out on his own.  He kept craning his head around to look at me, and his part of the conversation was  an effronted, "Get me out, you idiot."

After an hour  or a year or a decade or so had passed and people had done evening stables, they amused themselves by driving by and calling out, "Want us to bring you dinner?" "Need a flashlight?" "Want a lift?" Ha Ha. Two strong men stepped up and "exerted pressure" on Archie's chest .  Archie counter-exerted.  As far as he was concerned there was a 100 foot cliff  and shark infested waters right behind him.  Someone  suggested making a pile of shavings behind the trailer. Someone else said that given Archie was going nowhere any time soon, I had plenty of time to  build him a ramp. All good ideas if Arch would just take one teeny tiny step backwards...

Eventually no-nonsense Annabel who runs the stable and has the kind of confidence Archie and I wish we had,  drifted over and within two  head straightening, treat soothing minutes, magicked Archie out. He was fairly dramatic about his exit, waving a foot in the air over the six inch chasm, but once released, pranced to his stall and was extremely put- out to discover that  while I was twiddling my thumbs awaiting his exit, I was not simultaneously cleaning his stall and preparing a tasty evening meal. He stood snorting his annoyance in cross ties until all was in readiness.

So what did we learn? Well, Charlie is a good friend. He doesn't ride but escorts his daughter and her pony where they would like to be. He also shares pasture poop cleaning duty with me which we do even -steven, even though we both know that Archie's share of droppings is twice that of Sugar's. My guess is though, that he won't be offering us any trailer rides in the near future.

We also learned that even though a super smart Quarter Horse can tie his shoelaces and drive a golf cart, he can be terrified of stepping down sight unseen backwards. It goes against all his smart common sense and even though it's all about trust, there are very few people in the world we might trust to lead us down a cliff backwards. What I learned is that should I ever come into the 'I can afford a truck and trailer' horse owning class, I will think wisely about ramps. Ramps make sense, although I believe they cost about a million dollars more than no ramp.

Addendum: two weeks later, Archie found himself once more incarcerated in a trailer, yielded to Patty, our local horse whisperer's pressure on his shoulder and her 'being in his moment' and stepped back.  Here's how much of the ride we missed: nada.  When we got back to the barn after a lovely day out, he thought about the cliff theory for a moment, gave an impressive sigh, and stepped off. He has lived to tell the tale. With any luck we'll be asked out again.

 

 

 

 

Horse Jumps Fence

 

It is early morning and I am finishing my last gulp of comfort tea. I am wearing my new highly sticky full seat  Kerrits' breeches (am currently stuck to kitchen stool), and eying my new  bulky Charles Owen Safety Vest which  was highly expensive and will hopefully bounce. These items, along  with my British Pony Club Approved Safety Skull Cap, my enthusiasm, Archie's enthusiasm and our heads up, heels down go- go attitude should fuel our first jump cross country experience. Or not. I have already willed my complete set of Pat Smythe books to Aquinnah should I fall on the far side of Beecher's Brook. 

Archie and I are headed, along with Michelle and Braveheart, under Heather's tutelage, to have a little tootle round this lovely schooling course in lovely central Connecticut. Apparently they have these open days, where you rent the course for an hour and jump over things. 

Archie and I have been jumping to get ready set go (he still arcs over most jumps like the cow and the moon) but more importantly, we have been practicing how to stop. We are ept at woah, sliding stops (he IS a quarter horse) and pulley rains, where you plant one hand on your horse's neck and pull the other one towards your belly button.  Hopefully this happens while you are holding the reins but if they are gone, gone, gone this is not a bad position to be in when you fall. Off.

The past few days we have watched a Julie Goodnight video several times on how to stop your horse when you horse is less inclined to do so, and I think we have it down. I have also purchased a JP broken kimberwick bit (the "kind" and highly expensive  kimberwick designed by a jockey) which Archie will complain about, but the curb chain, like a seatbelt, or an airplane oxygen mask,  is there for our safety.

Archie's  last experience into the world (a schooling show which required a lot of schooling before he decided to use all four legs rather than just two) was a bit overwhelming for him (and me), but of course that was winter, and he was a mere four. Older and wiser  with another season of falling snow behind him, this should be fun. Gulp.

Note: The talented chestnut in this post's photo is not me 'n Arch. It's us next year.

Winter Passes. Horse Grows. Rider Does Not.

 
April, 2010

It's been a long winter.  Autumn culminated with the Farm's annual Halloween Show. Archie patiently agreed to four year old Aquinnah's request to parade out in front of friends and strangers for the costume class. Aquinnah was a Panda Bear and Archie looked suspiciously like a Harem Girl, but they took first prize, even though Archie's skirt fell off. 

Then Francis the Farrier pulled Archie's shoes and he tiptoed on tender tootsies through November until he got "tough" and no longer insisted on doing this silly mincing little baby cakes walk unless he was on soft sand, soft grass or deep shavings. I kept telling him, "Arch, you've gotta get real, you're a Yankee horse now," but he still spent time looking forlornly towards those Kentucky hills and that rich blue grass. Well actually, he spent a lot of time looking at the farm's driveway waiting for me to come with snacks, but you have to  first walk down the driveway to get to Louisville.

 When the  snow fell in early December, Arch and I trotted out into the white fields. He pranced and preened and sniffed in his first big adventure in the cold stuff. When we startled a huge white owl who was camouflaged by the snow, Archie floated sideways one way, and I floated the other. Surprised by my sudden exit, he bucked down the field for a bit, cantered back, gave me a snorting look and totally ignored all our long lessons on what to do when I say, "Woah," even if I am sitting on my backside in a snowdrift when I say it. I followed his gallop back to the barn at a long slow walk in fetlock deep snow and found him waiting for me, looking embarrassed. Remounting, we had a few trots around the ring and a long talk about the true meaning of woah.

Winter means, despite our Yankee hardiness, that some days are seriously (and purposefully) unmounted.  Archie has had to suffer wearing a  tasty- looking raspberry girly winter blanket because a: it was (obviously) on sale at  Greatly Reduced Cost and b: Aquinnah adored it.  The other ponies spent the winter eating chunks of it. Lizzie, visiting  from England,  gave Archie several lovely massages in deepest January (his Christmas present) which he would very much like to become accustomed to on a more regular basis. Too cold, too wet, too wild, winter is a good time to practice tricks. Here's what Archie learned this winter:

•   To stretch his neck elastically all the way back to stirrup level both sides and down to his toes in exchange for an apple. This action enhances the meaning of the word "down" which means lower your head so I can get your bridle on. I kept being slightly aware that either my reach had shortened, or Archie's head was higher.

• "Come Archie" which is what it sounds like and means turning my pony into a puppy who will follow me around the farm. I like that. Archie also stands (usually) when asked to and stops when I put my hand up (usually).

• Lunging--well this trick is still on trial, Archie does not see me as a person of authority and prefers taking the lunge opportunity to practice Woah or the Friendly Game.  He pretends that he is going to keep going around the circle for a while and then changes direction or stops altogether. Heather sighs, comes in, takes up the slack, Archie sighs, and trots on out to the 20 meter circle like he's been doing it all his life. He has.

Despite our regular forays out in bitter weather, snow squalls and cold gray days,  much of Archie's  winter energy was expended in eating--and growing. The Pony Club members wrote guesses at how much he'd grown on small pieces of paper they stuffed in a jar in February, but no one imagined that he is now officially huge.Archie arrived here last June at 15.1, ate his way through the winter along with a top dressing of Force WT ( a lovely seaweed supplement  that brings a nice bit of nori to an otherwise bland dinner) and grew. And grew. On March 1st, Heather ceremoniously "put the stick" to him and we all gasped. Archie is  now  one week from his fifth birthday and measures 16.0 at his withers, but is mysteriously 16.1 at his hefty hindquarters. The mystery is whether his front end will grow to match his hind end, or whether we will be facing slightly down hill forever.

 Spring has sprung. The ring is back to sand, the lanes and fields are snow free, and the pastures are receding from lake to land. We've taken up leaping.  When he first started, Archie  imagined jumping as synonymous with bowling. He saw the jump, his ears forward, he carefully gathered himself into to a steady arc  towards the obstacle--bingo all twelve pins down.   Now his legs longer and more coordinated on all four corners,  he floats over  cross rails, bounces, and small oxers, legs neatly tucked up and often landing on the right lead. This is in itself a head scratcher as he is less inclined to take that right lead if I remove the fence. 
He loves it. I love it. Life is good. Every day is a riding day and the spring winds send us scudding off, giddy with the joy of action.

Archie, Archie, Archie

So--the first step in getting a new horse after having just gotten a new horse, and having had to give up not only the horse, but also all the Karma that goes with naming it--is naming it. Heather's barn is full of enthusiastic ten year olds with good ideas. "Silver" (the pony is red), "Feather" and my favorite, from the little girl who probably rides my new pony better than I do, "Golden Archway." I named him Archie.

And Archie stuck. His first two weeks he was Horse until I was certain he had all the Archie attributes. Heather  insisted he have a show name even though my ambitions probably extend no farther than competing in the egg and spoon race at a  local gymkhana, so I named him Sea Buckthorn which is a tenacious sea bush that is used extensively in Scotland to hold the dunes. It is thick, has prickers, and sports bright orange berries in the fall, shortly before they sour. Archie is sometimes orange.

I like Scotland. It works. Archie it is. Arrrrrchie!

Pirelli, Pirelli anyone?

June, 2009    Heather showed up with a lunge whip and two long yellow sticks--one with a plastic bag attached it to it. Hobbs was to have his first lesson in "natural horsemanship" a peculiar concept, given horses like Hobbs' obvious interpretation of  "natural" as three meals a day and a 90 acre grassy field, skip the horsemanship.

Apparently a fellow named Pirelli managed to convince a lot of otherwise intelligent people that if you stand in the middle of a round pen, crackle the stick with the bag on it and tell the horse to trot around in a circle, it means something. When you put the stick down and say woah, he is supposed to stop, look at you and walk towards you. Eventually the horse will let you ride him without accoutrements like saddle and bridle and do stuff like stand on his back, in a true harmony of human and horse, if you are so inclined. Someone must have slipped Hobbs the crib notes on this back in the 90 acre pasture. He obligingly did all asked of him, shooting me a look of--how dumb is this? He's going to spend his first week under saddle in in a Western number (although that may be sometime around Christmas at this Pirelli rate) and I like it too--for obvious reasons which have to do with staying on.

Hobbs ran around the round pen on that warm early summer afternoon, stretching, flexing and enjoying himself, his great Percheron head with the bright eyes (still no sign of the thoroughbred) swinging to watch us as we chased him around until we all got bored. Next step--bath. This didn't go so hot--he was stoic and well behaved until a jet of water must have tickled him in an annoying way,  when he casually raised his head, yanked the leadrope out of my hands and was off. Fortunately he stopped before he'd trampled the neighbors' lawns, but I could tell Heather was rethinking our match. I keep thinking about what it means if my horse is already so big that the lead rope is too short. Hobbs is back in his stall... thinking.