Anna Blake's Posts - Barnmice Equestrian Social Community2024-03-19T08:21:11ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlakehttp://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2187984696?profile=RESIZE_48X48&width=48&height=48&crop=1%3A1http://www.barnmice.com/profiles/blog/feed?user=1uqbeidjbu8ae&xn_auth=noSafety and Being a Spoil Sport.tag:www.barnmice.com,2017-01-06:1773158:BlogPost:7924142017-01-06T16:32:55.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
<p><a class="single-image-gallery" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2017/01/06/safety-and-being-a-spoil-sport/wm-nube-door/" rel="attachment wp-att-77042"><img alt="wm-nube-door" class="aligncenter wp-image-77042" height="725" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2017/01/wm-nube-door.jpg?w=692&h=1083" width="462"></img></a></p>
<p>I’m a riding instructor. Wait, it’s worse than that. A riding instructor who has read the small print of her liability insurance, as if I didn’t feel responsible enough before. Beyond that, I’m certain that if one of my horses hurt someone, it wouldn’t be his fault and it would break my heart. Maybe literally.</p>
<p>My…</p>
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<p>I’m a riding instructor. Wait, it’s worse than that. A riding instructor who has read the small print of her liability insurance, as if I didn’t feel responsible enough before. Beyond that, I’m certain that if one of my horses hurt someone, it wouldn’t be his fault and it would break my heart. Maybe literally.</p>
<p>My barn isn’t safe for kids. Wait, it’s worse than that. My barn isn’t safe for adults, whether they are city slickers or old hands. Come to think of it, it’s never been safe for the horses. I don’t mean to sound judgmental but I don’t think your barn is safe either.</p>
<p>A while back, the director of a riding program invited me to give a talk on safety to a group of good men who volunteered to help with handyman work on their farm. The director didn’t feel the men were taking her requests seriously. Among other things, they were bringing the horses in using an ATV and moving them at a breakneck speed. When the director asked them to slow down, they all looked at her like she was a whiny spoil sport.</p>
<p>I gave a strong presentation. I used examples and spoke intelligently from experience. Rules exist for reasons and I actually know those reasons. I made eye contact and sprinkled my talk with humor. They looked at me, the ones who stayed awake, like I was a whiny spoil sport. I get it.</p>
<p>Why is being around horses so complicated and tiresome? It’s the same look I get when I recommend that every rider wear a helmet, every ride. The look I get when I ask if a rider’s horse might have ulcers or if they’ve had a saddle fit recently. They tell me it’s just a horse, after all. I get it.</p>
<p>These things are inconvenient when we have time constraints and it all costs money that would be better spent on a vacation. Then, it’s my fault for being difficult when all they want to do is just ride. Oh, I really do get that.</p>
<p class="quoteText">It’s time for the annual reminder that horses are not dirt bikes. Or more poetically:</p>
<blockquote><p class="quoteText">“The animals of the world exist for their own reasons. They were not made for humans any more than black people were made for white, or women created for men.” ―Alice Walker</p>
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<p>Horses are creatures of intelligence, great sensitivity, and instinct that has insured their very survival for centuries. Horses have physical requirements as complicated as any other wild animal, but are social and generally kind to humans. It makes horses can make appear more docile than they actually are–kind of like big stuffed toys.</p>
<p>Things come apart when a horse has a normal equine response that frightens or injures us humans. Then horses pay the price for our complacency, when it’s our responsibility to keep ourselves safe, and in that way, insure their safety and security, as well. Yes, I just said if we get hurt, it’s our fault.</p>
<p>I want you safe because I’ve been around long enough to know too many sad stories. I want you around to care for your horse into his old age, and maybe a couple of horses past that. I want you safe because our bodies are frail and standing around with that <em>deer in headlights</em> reality with a frightened thousand-pound horse will always be a losing proposition, even if you have to admit it in hindsight. And most of all, because there will never be a guaranteed kid-safe horse, or flawlessly secure barn, or totally predictable outcome.</p>
<p>And because sadly, we humans need to feel safe and sometimes we over-compensate, using bravado as a kind of false courage. Horses aren’t fooled.</p>
<p>It isn’t that we mean harm; we all love our horses. We like to show off or we fall into habits of taking shortcuts. We get distracted and lose sight of the big picture. Complacency is like gravity; it settles on us and makes us dumb to our surroundings, dulling our senses, and that’s when most injuries happen.</p>
<p>I understand how cool it is to stand next to a draft horse and call him <em>Baby</em>. Sometimes it can seem like throwing a leg around a saddle horn, laying on a horse bareback, or encouraging a horse come close and mug you, makes it look like you’re a horse whisperer in tune with the equine heart. I have to tell you–it’s the exact opposite.</p>
<p>Call me a whiny spoil sport. It’s my professional responsibility to look at a situation, imagine every horrible, crippling possibility for the horse and rider, while holding a light, positive thought for the best. But really, isn’t it just good horsemanship? Too many horses go to rescue or worse because we don’t hold up our end.</p>
<p>So a New Year reminder to stay focused and listen to your horse. If you don’t do groundwork, it’s time to start and if you do, freshen your focus. Know that he wants safe leadership most of all. Begin when you halter him, speak his language. Use your peripheral vision–your horse eyes–and be aware of your surroundings. Encourage good manners and reward him lavishly for every effort. Horsemanship boils down to what we give our horses, even more than what they give us.</p>
<p>Some of us are rule breakers by nature. We don’t like to do was we’re told. I’m at the head of that line myself. And some rules are meant to break. Common sense will tell you that when it comes to white breeches. But too many people are more concerned with the respect a horse shows them, than the respect they show the horse.</p>
<p>Perhaps consider rules as a way of demonstrating love for horses; a constant awareness of their dignity and a method for showing them respect for who they are and how they think.</p>
<p>And then we see them galloping with ears sharp, tails flagged, and hooves churning up the soil: Strength and sensitivity. Intelligence and timeless beauty. Even the most cynical people pause and stand a bit taller, just existing in the same world with horses.</p>
<p>In that light, treating horses like a fuzzy teddy bear seems outlandishly demeaning, doesn’t it?</p>
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<div><div><b><span>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></span></b></div>
<div><span>Horse Advocate, Author, Speaker, Equine Pro<br/></span></div>
<div><span><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Blog</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Author</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></div>
</div>Remembrance: Someone’s Always Dyingtag:www.barnmice.com,2016-12-31:1773158:BlogPost:7918182016-12-31T04:30:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p class="def-header">It’s that weird week between the holidays. I never know what day it is so I mess up scheduling around Christmas, only to follow through and mess up the same exact way one week later for New Years. Squinting at the calendar doesn’t help…</p>
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<p class="def-header">It’s that weird week between the holidays. I never know what day it is so I mess up scheduling around Christmas, only to follow through and mess up the same exact way one week later for New Years. Squinting at the calendar doesn’t help tether me and everyone seems immersed on a remembrance vacation. There are the <em>best of</em> lists of movies and books and anything else we give awards for. Those achievements are followed with a memorial for the famous people we’ve lost. It’s a long list this year and it’s all that anyone talks about. It’s like an end of the year emotional profit-loss statement.</p>
<p class="def-header">I do the same thing here on the farm, with less fanfare and more wonder. This year the <em>Best Geriatric Come Back</em> goes to <a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/05/30/weekly-photo-challenge-spare/#more-75241">Lilith, the carbon-dated foster donkey</a>. She gained weight, shed out years of steel wool, and went on Previcox for major lameness. Her physical quality of life is a complicated question, but she’s loud, cantankerous, and she can land a decent kick now. Her life had been fighting coyotes before her rescue; sometimes I wonder if she just can’t find a way to rest. Either that or this warm mush diet rocks.</p>
<p class="def-header"><em>Most Improved Dog</em> goes to <a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/11/18/the-passion-to-punish/">Moose, the corgi</a>, also a foster. He came off his puppy Prozac, his collar still frightens him, even though we stopped the electroshock therapy, and he’s detoxing from his strong meds and over-correcting people. The darkness is slowly getting lighter. I no longer have to lock myself in the bathroom to put my socks on. Rehab continues; he was doing well but then relapsed when we had workers in the house for a couple of weeks. He tore the linoleum off the bathroom floor. That was fair. They made me crazy enough to have a relapse myself.</p>
<p class="def-header">It was a hard year for losses to our home herd. We said goodbye to Hank, the elderly toothless cat who fought vermin and intimidated dogs well past his prime. And Walter, the Corgi rescue with an operatic bark and a lure coursing title, whose short life was surrendered to chronic liver ailments. To the Grandfather Horse after thirty years of excellence, carrying me over rough ground until I had my footing. It’s easy to see how fortunate we are here, isn’t it?</p>
<p class="def-header">It’s common sense that with so many animals, we’d have more frequent passings, as well. You’d think that it would get easier to say goodbye. I can remember a time, a perfect summer, when every animal on the farm was young and strong, and I had a season of almost invincible confidence. Even then I was aware of the fragility of life and grateful for every sunset.</p>
<p class="def-header">In truth, I think the process of dying is a constant and not a special occasion in any way. I’d do better to make friends with it. After all, there’s a twenty-two-year-old llama in the south pasture that’s bound to slow down one of these years and a fifteen-year-old dog sleeping under my desk as I write.</p>
<p class="def-header">Most of us are linear thinkers trained to see time as a beginning, a middle, and an end, with a straight flat precision. I prefer Vonnegut’s concept of being unstuck in time. I want to think all the moments happen simultaneously, so as the Grandfather Horse drew his last breath, we were galloping the old airstrip when he was five. It doesn’t take a fleck of the pain away, but I do it for selfish reasons. This way the last moment has less power.</p>
<p class="def-header">Yes, mourning is a good thing. Our beloveds deserve that affirmation that they’re loved and missed and worthy of our tears. And after the cards and condolences, after our friends forget, the beloved memory lingers. There’s a hang-time for loss. It can circle around and ambush us when we least expect it and then the smart thing to do is just give in and have a good screaming cry. Nap during the day. Feel sorry for yourself. But beware: it’s just in this moment that we must be the most careful.</p>
<p class="def-header">Because if we let that moment of loss have too much power, then death gets as loud as an overbearing house-guest and we can become afraid of having an open heart. Afraid of rescue puppies and cranky old donkeys and our own mortality.</p>
<p class="def-header">“What good are they if they are just going to die on us?”</p>
<p class="def-header">What a stupid question. What good are your parents, then, or great philosophers or authors or artists? Religions can debate terminology but the spiritual truth is undeniable: Life is a continuum and even when the landscape appears barren there is life everywhere.</p>
<p class="def-header"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2014/05/30/corgi-rescue-dog/walter-1-2/" target="_blank"><img src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2014/05/walter-1.jpg?w=300&h=214&width=300" width="300" class="align-left"/></a></p>
<p class="def-header">Most animals do have shorter lives than humans, but what if that isn’t wrong? Not just that the design of this Circle of Life isn’t wrong, but also that death isn’t the villain. It’s like railing against gravity.</p>
<p class="def-header">Then, by adjusting your perspective and making a conscious choice, experiencing loss can be a path to insight and even inspiration. Wouldn’t that give purpose to the lost life as well as our own?</p>
<p class="def-header">So now I reserve the warmest run in my barn for a lost elder who needs a soft place to land. I do it in memory of my Grandfather Horse but I’m the one who benefits by staring down death and loss. When you screw together your courage and look it straight in the eye, it just doesn’t deserve the same respect that a skanky old donkey does.</p>
<p class="def-header">Maybe the problem is that we’ve lost our sense of proportion. None of us humans are getting out alive either. There is nothing remarkable about death. It’s sad and ordinary and as common as dirt.</p>
<p class="def-header">Yes, it’s been a rough year. Winter encourages us to contemplate the dark and the landscape chimes in with agreement. But even now the days are getting longer and the sun is coming back to us. Death will always be a part of life, but we can put it on <em>stall-rest</em> and get about living life in a way that honors those who have gone ahead.</p>
<p>As long as we breathe, there’s promise in a New Year and that’s worth celebrating.</p>
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<div><div><span>….</span><u><br/></u> <b><span>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></span></b></div>
<div><span>Horse Advocate, Author, Speaker, Equine Pro<br/></span></div>
<div><span><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Blog</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Author</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></div>
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</div>The Politics of Holiday Pietag:www.barnmice.com,2016-12-26:1773158:BlogPost:7917082016-12-26T13:30:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<div class="entry-content"><div><p><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/12/23/the-politics-of-holiday-pie/wm-bhim-apples-2/" target="_blank"><img class="align-left" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/12/wm-bhim-apples1.jpg?w=426&h=707&width=285" width="285"></img></a> Inconceivable: I’m going to share my pie recipe. I’ll pause and give my friends time to pick themselves up. They know this sort of thing could go either way.</p>
<p>There was that time years ago, that I had a date over for dinner. We hadn’t known each other long and I always want to get off on the right foot. We were sipping wine…</p>
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<div class="entry-content"><div><p><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/12/23/the-politics-of-holiday-pie/wm-bhim-apples-2/" target="_blank"><img src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/12/wm-bhim-apples1.jpg?w=426&h=707&width=285" width="285" class="align-left"/></a>Inconceivable: I’m going to share my pie recipe. I’ll pause and give my friends time to pick themselves up. They know this sort of thing could go either way.</p>
<p>There was that time years ago, that I had a date over for dinner. We hadn’t known each other long and I always want to get off on the right foot. We were sipping wine in the living room when I went to check on dinner in the kitchen. I had rice on the stove. Lifting the lid, there was no water visible. I could see the beginning of a light golden color around the edges. So naturally, I turned up the heat and returned to the living room.</p>
<p>For some people, cooking is a creative passion. I mean no disrespect; I hope they invite me for dinner. Somehow cooking wound up being political for me.</p>
<p>I was raised in traditional home, meaning it was plain to see that men and boys had all the power and unhappy women cleaned up after them. My mother, who also hated cooking, tried to teach me right. She knew that ordinary girls, ones who couldn’t get by just on their good looks, would need serious domestic skills if they were ever to find a husband. Especially an ordinary girl with a mouth like mine.</p>
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<div><p>So yes, I sew beautifully but I used the concept of piecing fabric into clothing as a way of understanding how to hand-build gemstone settings, using tools like my oxy-acetylene torch, when I was a goldsmith. And it’s only recently that I’ve admitted knowing how to type. It’s been decades since a man has asked me to type their term paper. And now, three books later, I seem to have found good use for those “secretarial skills” they talked about in high school. Finally, truth be told, I’m a great cook… but it gives me no joy.</p>
<p>To each his own; it wasn’t the life I wanted. Once I left home, I shunned any traditional “women’s work.” Maybe I was afraid if I faltered once, I’d be type cast forever. Instead, I bit my tongue and pretended ignorance.</p>
<p>It was horses who made kitchens safe again. My pie recipe will make more sense now.</p>
<p>First, it must be understood that the pie is always made from fresh apples. At first, I used to make my grandmother’s crust recipe. It has a secret ingredient and is outlandishly good. Now, I buy the pre-rolled Pillsbury crusts. They’re passable and my grandmother was always disappointed with me anyway.</p>
<p>Next, the apples. Buy a huge bag of them and do the worst job of peeling them possible. Sure, I was born with the gene that allows a paper-thin one piece curl of apple skin, but that’s just showing off and doesn’t serve the big picture. I like to hack thick slabs of the peel off, so that when I’m done, the apple has a wonky octagon shape and is only two-thirds the size it was before I started. Then core the apple and slice what’s left into the pie shell. Continue until the pie shell is heaping full. Quarter the rest of the apples and put them in with the peels.</p>
<p>Then I drag out my Betty Crocker cook book with the red gingham cover. Mom gave it to me while I was still in high school and I certainly haven’t bought another since. I turn to the Perfect Apple Pie recipe to remember how much flour, sugar, and cinnamon to sprinkle in. Then dab butter on top, but use more than they say. See? I’ve gone off recipe already. Put the lid on the pie, crinkle the edges together, and put it in the oven.</p>
<p>Now hurry. You only have an hour. Scoop the chunky apple peels into a bag and scurry out to the barn. Put a handful of peels in every feeder, while relaxing into first equine thought that comes into your head. For me, it’s always my Grandfather Horse but I miss him. This will be the first year in thirty that he and I haven’t avoided this holiday together.</p>
<p>So I made the pie early this year; I needed the apple-peel ritual that’s part political, part spiritual, and part therapeutic. It’s been a mean year and I’m behind on my breathing.</p>
<p>As the horses chew, my jaw softens. Sinking down on a bale; the barn feels like home and all the memories of good horses come galloping back. It’s good to be reminded. If you’re like me, you’ve been stronger than you ever thought possible. Some days you failed your horse, but you didn’t quit. Other days, you’ve been lifted high and carried like treasure.</p>
<p>(If you don’t have a barn, it doesn’t matter. Quietly remember the first horse you loved. Call him to you; let him star in his own movie. You know the plot by heart.)</p>
<p>Through the manure and the mud, the horses saw something in us that had nothing to do with sex or career. It was beyond hair color or dress size or age. Horses treated us in a way that our own species struggles with. They treated us as equals.</p>
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<div><p>An hour later, back in the house, the air is sweet with warm cinnamon and now you have a second apple treat to share with friends or family. They welcome you in with a hug that lasts longer than usual and they hold eye contact. The pie is an after thought.</p>
<p>There is something about women who know horses. It’s part apples and part muck boots, along with some stray white hairs on her sweatshirt. She’s comfortable in her body because she knows acceptance; the glow that lingers from the barn.</p>
<p>At any age, we should know better than to confuse a silly pie with a woman’s real worth. Never underestimate her. A heart filled with horses can accomplish anything.</p>
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<div><div><div><span>….</span><u><br/></u> <b><span>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></span></b></div>
<div><span>Horse Advocate, Author, Speaker, Equine Pro<br/></span></div>
<div><span><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Blog</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Author</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></div>
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</div>Negotiating; Not Fightingtag:www.barnmice.com,2016-12-17:1773158:BlogPost:7911982016-12-17T17:27:22.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p>It was last spring when this ancient donkey came to the farm. In the beginning, we thought she might not make it. Nobody likes change but we couldn’t tell if it was a hunger strike or her organs shutting down.</p>
<p>Then she nibbled and…</p>
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<p>It was last spring when this ancient donkey came to the farm. In the beginning, we thought she might not make it. Nobody likes change but we couldn’t tell if it was a hunger strike or her organs shutting down.</p>
<p>Then she nibbled and sipped and gave us a chance. She gained weight. Upper-thirties, we’re thinking. She has no teeth; she can’t graze. Her big old ears are mostly deaf and her eyesight is poor. We call her Lilith.</p>
<p>And I’m not saying Lilith’s quirky, but the only friend she’s made is the goat. And that only happened after she managed to kick him in the head.</p>
<p>Some days her walk was almost remotely fluid, all things considered. But by fall, she took a bad step sometimes, and it developed into a limp. After a few months of actual nutrition, her hooves started changing. I thought I saw a crack, not that she let me near her hooves.</p>
<p>Let’s be clear; she was alive for a reason and it wasn’t being stupid about her feet. That’s how predators kill donkeys out on the prairie; they clamp down a leg and it’s all over.</p>
<p>At the same time, Lilith developed a new habit of coming up to strangers for a scratch. It almost created the illusion that she’d surrendered. I knew better. If my hand snuck a few inches south of her spine, her hind end came my way fast.</p>
<p>Our dance must have been a strange-looking event; Lilith teetering her butt around stiffly, her hind hooves twitching up and down fast enough to send me scurrying out of her way. Is this what all my years of dressage training have come to? A war of wits with a relic of a donkey. Well, yes.</p>
<p>Choosing to not pick a fight is always the right answer. But it doesn’t mean giving in either. I like to call it peaceful persistence.</p>
<p>Our process had to speed up now that she was hurting. I set a date with Roxann, my farrier, and came up with a plan.</p>
<p>I rigged up makeshift stocks by dragging an old gate into the corner of a pen. I secured the front of the gate to the fence panel at a corner using twine. It isn’t that twine works all that well, but it’s a tradition at this point. Sometimes I even think twine’s good luck. The gate was angled wide, with a bowl of feed at the ready.</p>
<p>Then I led her in and slowly lifted the gate, bringing it parallel to the fence panel, but not tight enough to squeeze Lilith. My friend, Nickole, offered her a snack which was apparently an insult. Lilith pulled back, I held onto the lead rope, and began slowly touching her shoulder. She was mad, nipping at me while I sweet-talked her.</p>
<p>Finally, I lifted the first foot. <em>Good girl.</em> For all the thousands of times I’ve cleaned hooves and never seen a rock, this time there is a sharp one wedged deep by her frog, and I went for it. There’s no telling how long it had been there; years maybe.</p>
<p>It probably would have been good to stop right there, but I worried about what I might find in her other front hoof. She was stomping mad when I got to her other side; meaning stomping quick enough that I couldn’t catch her hoof. Now would have been the time to get frustrated or even just more forceful. I went extra slow picking her hoof up, then quickly picked it clean. We let her hind feet wait. She paused to glare at me good and hard before walking away. Never underestimate a donkey’s memory.</p>
<p>The next week, all I saw was her backside. Instead of our usual scratch-fests, she only seemed to remember the atrocity, and spun gingerly around, kicking at me as she left. If her hooves felt better, she didn’t say so. I went to work melting her new grudge, and just when she was almost accepting scratches again, the farrier came.</p>
<p>The same chute set-up, except that I thought she’d had probably stressed her neck pulling back, so this time her head was loose at the front of the chute and I had a rope behind her rump. Roxann began slowly touching her leg, until finally, Lilith released a foot. Nickole, with the feed pan again; this time Lilith ate a few bites. She was so mad it is more like she bit her feed, the way she wanted to bite us.</p>
<p>The trimming took a few minutes but Lilith stood well. It was a long time on one front foot. After a rest and more sweet talk, lifting the second foot seemed much harder. It would have been the time most people would have doubled down to push on through. She’s little and frail; the three of us could have manhandled her easily.</p>
<p>Instead, my farrier started humming softly, and Lilith lost the will to attack her feed pan or any of us. We all praised her, grumpy as she was. When we finished, she limped away–sore and unhappy.</p>
<p>It didn’t help that the weather turned cold. I was back to wondering about her quality of life. Now she seemed all-over uncomfortable: Still sore in front and her hind seemed worse as well. I gave her a couple more weeks. Everything goes slower with elders.</p>
<p>Then I had the rescue’s vet out to check Lilith. She perked right up and walked toward the vet with curiosity. No way was she standing still for that stethoscope, though. I got the halter slowly over her nose before it occurred to her what that might mean. She walked off while I was trying to clasp the buckle. She kept on pushing and I kept on struggling. Think very slow motion bull-dogging, only now I’m fussing trying to get my gloves off, too. Negotiating; not fighting.</p>
<p>Then Lilith stood quietly in the stocks, picked up her feet fairly peacefully, and she still passively tried to bite the vet, as a matter of pride. The vet scratched her kindly. Who doesn’t love an opinionated old donkey?</p>
<p>Lilith’s diagnosis: Not bad for her age; let’s try some Previcox for the pain, and see if she can be more comfortable. Probably a decent diagnosis for me, too.</p>
<p>That’s how negotiation works; you refuse to escalate. In time, everyone gets to have their way. Just not all at once.</p>
<div><span>….</span><u><br/></u><b><span>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></span></b></div>
<div><span>Horse Advocate, Author, Speaker, Equine Pro<br/></span></div>
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</div>Riding a Suspension… of Disbelieftag:www.barnmice.com,2016-12-17:1773158:BlogPost:7915092016-12-17T17:15:25.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p>Some of us are okay with who we are in the saddle. We don’t question the ride, or if we do, we put it on the horse and he’s fine with that. It is what it is, and it works for lots of horses and riders.</p>
<p>Some of…</p>
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<p>Some of us are okay with who we are in the saddle. We don’t question the ride, or if we do, we put it on the horse and he’s fine with that. It is what it is, and it works for lots of horses and riders.</p>
<p>Some of us pause in the saddle; it starts with a small moment of awareness that there might be more possible. Maybe you are crossing a log and you feel your horse lift his back. Maybe in a canter, there’s a moment of body-to-body unison that hooks you in the heart. Or maybe in a blind or uncertain moment, your horse moves under you and offers more, when he didn’t have to. And then the air feels richer.</p>
<p>It’s a wake-up call and in that instant, there’s a shift in perception; a teasing glimpse into a hidden place. I think it’s horses that call us there, but it’s our choice to listen or not. It’s the threshold where things get complicated for our species. At one extreme is a desire so hot that we fight and try to control–dominate–a horse’s magic. On the other extreme is a whiny envy without action; a fierce fairy-tale prayer that our horse will do it all for us, if we just give them treats.</p>
<p>I’m particularly interested in what it takes for riders to progress; what we have to do mentally to go from being a passenger to a true partner. In the best sense, it’s the transition, beyond fighting or dreaming, to an honest connection. I know; flowery words.</p>
<p>For a novice rider, even one who’s ridden for years, the reality is that we get the ride we ask for. If we want something more, we are the ones who have to change. So we try to do more–we kick and pull and things get immediately worse.</p>
<p>The harder we think the work is, the harder we ask. Not always with force; more often with micro-managing doubt. We think too much. Even if we know that somehow<em> less is more</em>, we try so willfully hard to do less, that our horses wish for a whip… just for clarity. Our desire just looks like dense fog to them.</p>
<p>We are limited by the extra layer of false gravity that we create; we make it harder to accept our own worth because we are always looking at what’s wrong with us. What if the real meaning of improvement was letting go of being our worst critic in our own mind?</p>
<p>We are a species who thinks we can control outcome. We like to focus on what’s wrong, immerse in those problems, and then <em>make</em> them right. Even with good intentions, it’s a negative approach.</p>
<p>Let me be very clear; attitude doesn’t create a balanced riding position or correct bad hands. Your horse cares about those technical qualities and so should you.</p>
<p>But if I could give riders a gift, it would be a suspension of disbelief.</p>
<p>“The term suspension of disbelief or willing suspension of disbelief has been defined as a willingness to suspend one’s critical faculties and believe the unbelievable; sacrifice of realism and logic for the sake of enjoyment.” –Wikipedia.</p>
<p>The reason to suspend disbelief is simple. Disbelief is the sarcastic voice in your head that says, “Who do you think you are? Your horse is nothing special. You aren’t good enough; you don’t deserve what you want.”</p>
<p>Suspension of disbelief is a cue to your inner demons to just shut up; a half-halt to give us a chance to prove to ourselves that we are enough–until WE believe it.</p>
<p>A suspension of disbelief would be a perfect moment when your rider to-do list gets extinguished by a dance where your horse freely lifts you and holds you in the light. Oneness is not a destination you can chase down. It’s something your horse has already, but you have to sit quietly enough to notice and then claim it for yourself.</p>
<p>Maybe when riding, the best thing to straddle is that line of possibility, with one foot deeply grateful for all that the two of you have shared together, and the other foot holding a space of absolute wonder. Good riding is naturally uncertain ground; that’s why riding is an art.</p>
<p>How can you tell you’re on the right path? It becomes forever less about you and more about doing the best for your horse. To truly put your horse first is much harder than it sounds; it requires a humbling level of honesty that will be fact-checked by your horse.</p>
<p>He’ll let you know that humility and insecurity are not the same thing at all. Humility is a place of openness where a horse and rider find balance. The other word for that is grace.</p>
<div><div>….<u><br/></u><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Speaker, Equine Pro</div>
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</div>Negotiating; Not Fighting.tag:www.barnmice.com,2016-12-09:1773158:BlogPost:7911902016-12-09T14:45:09.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p>It was last spring when this ancient donkey came to the farm. In the beginning, we thought she might not make it. Nobody likes change but we couldn’t…</p>
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<p>It was last spring when this ancient donkey came to the farm. In the beginning, we thought she might not make it. Nobody likes change but we couldn’t tell if it was a hunger strike or her organs shutting down.</p>
<p>Then she nibbled and sipped and gave us a chance. She gained weight. Upper-thirties, we’re thinking. She has no teeth; she can’t graze. Her big old ears are mostly deaf and her eyesight is poor. We call her Lilith.</p>
<p>And I’m not saying Lilith’s quirky, but the only friend she’s made is the goat. And that only happened after she managed to kick him in the head.</p>
<p>Some days her walk was almost remotely fluid, all things considered. But by fall, she took a bad step sometimes, and it developed into a limp. After a few months of actual nutrition, her hooves started changing. I thought I saw a crack, not that she let me near her hooves.</p>
<p>Let’s be clear; she was alive for a reason and it wasn’t being stupid about her feet. That’s how predators kill donkeys out on the prairie; they clamp down a leg and it’s all over.</p>
<p>At the same time, Lilith developed a new habit of coming up to strangers for a scratch. It almost created the illusion that she’d surrendered. I knew better. If my hand snuck a few inches south of her spine, her hind end came my way fast.</p>
<p>Our dance must have been a strange-looking event; Lilith teetering her butt around stiffly, her hind hooves twitching up and down fast enough to send me scurrying out of her way. Is this what all my years of dressage training have come to? A war of wits with a relic of a donkey. Well, yes.</p>
<p>Choosing to not pick a fight is always the right answer. But it doesn’t mean giving in either. I like to call it peaceful persistence.</p>
<p>Our process had to speed up now that she was hurting. I set a date with Roxann, my farrier, and came up with a plan.</p>
<p>I rigged up makeshift stocks by dragging an old gate into the corner of a pen. I secured the front of the gate to the fence panel at a corner using twine. It isn’t that twine works all that well, but it’s a tradition at this point. Sometimes I even think twine’s good luck. The gate was angled wide, with a bowl of feed at the ready.</p>
<p>Then I led her in and slowly lifted the gate, bringing it parallel to the fence panel, but not tight enough to squeeze Lilith. My friend, Nickole, offered her a snack which was apparently an insult. Lilith pulled back, I held onto the lead rope, and began slowly touching her shoulder. She was mad, nipping at me while I sweet-talked her.</p>
<p>Finally, I lifted the first foot. <em>Good girl.</em> For all the thousands of times I’ve cleaned hooves and never seen a rock, this time there is a sharp one wedged deep by her frog, and I went for it. There’s no telling how long it had been there; years maybe.</p>
<p>It probably would have been good to stop right there, but I worried about what I might find in her other front hoof. She was stomping mad when I got to her other side; meaning stomping quick enough that I couldn’t catch her hoof. Now would have been the time to get frustrated or even just more forceful. I went extra slow picking her hoof up, then quickly picked it clean. We let her hind feet wait. She paused to glare at me good and hard before walking away. Never underestimate a donkey’s memory.</p>
<p>The next week, all I saw was her backside. Instead of our usual scratch-fests, she only seemed to remember the atrocity, and spun gingerly around, kicking at me as she left. If her hooves felt better, she didn’t say so. I went to work melting her new grudge, and just when she was almost accepting scratches again, the farrier came.</p>
<p>The same chute set-up, except that I thought she’d had probably stressed her neck pulling back, so this time her head was loose at the front of the chute and I had a rope behind her rump. Roxann began slowly touching her leg, until finally, Lilith released a foot. Nickole, with the feed pan again; this time Lilith ate a few bites. She was so mad it is more like she bit her feed, the way she wanted to bite us.</p>
<p>The trimming took a few minutes but Lilith stood well. It was a long time on one front foot. After a rest and more sweet talk, lifting the second foot seemed much harder. It would have been the time most people would have doubled down to push on through. She’s little and frail; the three of us could have manhandled her easily.</p>
<p>Instead, my farrier started humming softly, and Lilith lost the will to attack her feed pan or any of us. We all praised her, grumpy as she was. When we finished, she limped away–sore and unhappy.</p>
<p>It didn’t help that the weather turned cold. I was back to wondering about her quality of life. Now she seemed all-over uncomfortable: Still sore in front and her hind seemed worse as well. I gave her a couple more weeks. Everything goes slower with elders.</p>
<p>Then I had the rescue’s vet out to check Lilith. She perked right up and walked toward the vet with curiosity. No way was she standing still for that stethoscope, though. I got the halter slowly over her nose before it occurred to her what that might mean. She walked off while I was trying to clasp the buckle. She kept on pushing and I kept on struggling. Think very slow motion bull-dogging, only now I’m fussing trying to get my gloves off, too. Negotiating; not fighting.</p>
<p>Then Lilith stood quietly in the stocks, picked up her feet fairly peacefully, and she still passively tried to bite the vet, as a matter of pride. The vet scratched her kindly. Who doesn’t love an opinionated old donkey?</p>
<p>Lilith’s diagnosis: Not bad for her age; let’s try some Previcox for the pain, and see if she can be more comfortable. Probably a decent diagnosis for me, too.</p>
<p>That’s how negotiation works; you refuse to escalate. In time, everyone gets to have their way. Just not all at once.</p>
<div><span>….</span><u><br/></u><b><span>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></span></b></div>
<div><span>Horse Advocate, Author, Speaker, Equine Pro<br/></span></div>
<div><span><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Blog</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Author</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></div>
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</div>Mental Focus Means Not Trying Too Hardtag:www.barnmice.com,2016-12-02:1773158:BlogPost:7914202016-12-02T15:00:37.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p>My friend and I took yoga while we were in high school. It was 1971 or so, and I can’t remember if the group met in a church basement or at…</p>
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<p>My friend and I took yoga while we were in high school. It was 1971 or so, and I can’t remember if the group met in a church basement or at the “Y”, but I will never forget my red leotard. It had long sleeves and was a garish scarlet color, with matching semi-transparent tights–think Red Snapper–the fish.</p>
<p>The class began, we were asked to close our eyes, and take some deep breaths. I didn’t bother because trying to breathe made my chest tight, so I squinted my eyes open just enough to critically compare myself to everyone around me. As the class continued, I evaluated my limberness, strained muscles pushing for the most extreme position in each pose, and all the while squinting to see who was watching me. It wasn’t because I thought I was so good; it was the exact opposite. When it was time for <em>savasana, </em>that meditative time at the end, I fell immediately asleep. It was probably due to a lack of oxygen and relentlessly judging myself.</p>
<p>My keen ability to let my mind run like a rat-on-a-wheel was even less helpful when I began riding seriously–something I had actual passion about. It was the biggest change I had to make to partner with a horse. I get reminded of my <em>Time of Red Leotards</em> sometimes when I’m giving riding lessons. Can we even tell when we’re trying too hard?</p>
<p>You climb on your horse, and with great diligence, pick up the reins, clamp your body into a position, and set our jaw for the work at hand. The horse takes the cue and does the same. Then, you set about correcting every answer your horse offers for the next hour because you want to be really good at this.</p>
<p>It degenerates to a rat-on-a-wheel death spiral: The worse it goes, the harder you try; the harder you try the worse it goes. About now, you hear a Neanderthal voice in your head saying, “You can’t give in and let your horse win. He will never <em>respect</em> you again; he will be ruined.” Because you have passion and it feels true that riding is about the hardest thing in the world, you double down, choking on loud emotions, and ride harder. Things don’t improve but you clutch desperately because you think you’re being tough.</p>
<p>The most common trait I see in clients who want to improve their riding is a misunderstanding about what it means to be focused in the saddle; to be mentally strong.</p>
<p>And have you checked in with this horse through this? He’s the one who actually decides what good riding is, after all. Beneath appearances, he is the one who knows who you are–a mess. And as kind as he may be, he won’t give you the benefit of the doubt forever.</p>
<p>Still, there you two are; you’ve wrestled him into a hole by trying too hard. With good intentions, trying to get it right, but your horse is tense. Is he belligerent, or confused, or does it even matter? Now what?</p>
<p>Is it too late to remind you that the first runaway is usually the one inside your own head? Because riding isn’t about putting up a huge fight; it’s about having the mental control <em>NOT</em> to. It’s about behaving like a leader instead of a petulant child in the saddle. Do not take the bait. As tempting as it is to throw a fit, don’t lose control of what matters to your horse.</p>
<blockquote><p>“There is one principle that should never be abandoned when training a horse, namely, that the rider must learn to control himself before he can control his horse. This is the basic, most important principle to be preserved in equitation.” –Alois Podhajsky, 1965</p>
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<p><em>BE STILL.</em></p>
<p>Start by breathing deep and letting him hear you exhale. He might not mimic you on the first try, so in a clear soft voice, say “Good boy.” Not because he is being good right now; throw it to him like a lifeline in the ocean of confusion. Then slack some rein, ask for something simple, like a step forward, and reward him for that. Not because it’s a complicated task, but because you want to remind him that you are capable of not complaining about everything he does. The priority here is to change the tendency of behavior. Yours.</p>
<p>Mental strength, or the ability to focus, is at the very core of who we are as riders, at any level. It sounds counter intuitive but in order to become a more advanced rider, you have to find a way to do less, do it sooner, smaller, and confidently. In other words, you have to behave as if you have character.</p>
<p>If we become blinded by the goal; if a task–like cantering exactly at a certain letter, or doing a certain obstacle–becomes more important than our connection with our horse, we lose sight of who we are and our character suffers. That’s the moment a horse loses trust in his rider. And they are right to do it. How is a rider being distracted by a task any different than your doctor answering his cell phone during your surgery?</p>
<p>It begins here: Ask your brain to think less and feel more. It will take discipline to train your mind in the beginning. Humans are burdened with self-awareness; the place where our egos live. It’s our nature to over-think; it isn’t a crime. But if you’re on a horse at the time, it creates a separation. It’s selfish.</p>
<p>So start again, embrace this new moment. Bring yourself back to stillness within his movement. Be calm and receptive. Have the strength to not jump to conclusions, to not react with emotion, but rather respond with acceptance, keeping your body soft and your cues small. Patiently maintain a quiet mental place, free of anxiety, where you can feel your horse and he can come to trust you. This mental place is the only part of riding that you will ever be capable of controlling. The good news is that it’s all the control you’ll need.</p>
<p>Riding technique is necessary, but it isn’t enough. Horses respond to our character first. Our temperament matters most. It’s their nature to seek a leader who makes them feel safe. The other word for that is respect.</p>
<div><span>….</span><u><br/></u><b><span>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></span></b></div>
<div><span>Horse Advocate, Author, Speaker, Equine Pro<br/></span></div>
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<div>Book Release; stay tuned later this month. <a href="https://annablake.com/2016/11/27/a-word-from-my-publicist-cover-reveal/">Barn Dance</a> will be available at all online dealers.</div>
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</div>The Passion to Punishtag:www.barnmice.com,2016-11-25:1773158:BlogPost:7911252016-11-25T15:04:49.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p>First, last, and always, this is the truth about communication with animals: Punishment is the lowest form of expression.</p>
<p>A photo of this foster…</p>
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<p>First, last, and always, this is the truth about communication with animals: Punishment is the lowest form of expression.</p>
<p>A photo of this foster dog snuck out and a couple folks asked me about him. Okay, I’ll tell you, but if you’re expecting one of my clever posts about Corgi hijinks, you’ll be disappointed. This biggest feeling I have about this dog is that I’m mad. Really mad.</p>
<p>I don’t write about all the animals we foster here. A couple of months ago, Jack, a Corgi-Jack Russell cross, was here for a foster/evaluation visit. He was a riot. I’m not sure why he was relinquished, but he was a dog’s dog. Maybe his owners wanted a people-dog. I suppose depending on how you see things, his problem could have been his “bad” half. He was the personification of both breeds, loud and proud.</p>
<p>A great dog-woman adopted him and they are busy living happily ever after. She keeps me posted on the battle to see who gets under the covers first. It was a simple foster to a happy ending. They should all be this easy.</p>
<p>This new white-bellied foster dog isn’t so easy. See how cute he is when he’s nearly napping? He came to rescue with his shock collar and his meds; he’s on canine Prozac. Oh, and he’s just thirteen months old.</p>
<p>His owners were first-time dog owners. I think they did their best but got the very worst advice available. As much as it pains me to talk badly about an animal, this pup has a list of problems that are destructive, or scary, or both. The fancy term is resource guarding, but it’s complicated. He isn’t just quirky. He’s a mess. And still very cute belly-up.</p>
<p>He went to an obedience class. The pup sits and shakes and goes in his crate. But somehow while learning tricks, the conversation must have changed, because someone thought a shock collar was a good idea. Who uses a shock collar on a puppy?</p>
<p>This is what Lara, from the positive dog training blog, <a href="http://www.rubicondays.com/">Rubicon Days</a>, has this to say about shock collars: <em>“The argument is not that they are not or cannot be effective. The argument is that the potential fallouts of training with these devices can be increased aggression, shutting down, and confused associations. Aside from not wanting to deliberately hurt or scare my dogs, these risks are too great.” </em></p>
<p>And if that wasn’t enough, what kind of vet prescribes Prozac for a puppy? A Corgi puppy? Does that qualify as an oxymoron? I remember back in the day that people used Prozac as a murder defense, claiming aggression was a side effect. Did he even weigh twenty pounds?</p>
<p>***Cue the Rant***</p>
<p><em>Most days, I want to scream at the top of my lungs, “Stop taking advice from idiots!”</em></p>
<p>(Remember me? I’m the one who always recommends that people ask for help. As if there was an easy way to spot idiots–even professional idiots. At the same time, when I hear people say that all trainers are idiots and I want to raise my hand and say, “not me.” Like any trainer would admit to being an idiot, even if they were. It’s a dilemma.)</p>
<p>The first day, this little foster destroyed a couple of toys, stole most of my socks, unloaded some shelves, and shredded a cardboard box into small bits. He’s frantic out of his crate, but he’s been crated so much I want to give him a chance. He has no recall and he wanted to play with the other dogs so hard that he pushed them relentlessly. Now they don’t like him much.</p>
<p>Then he ate one of my Crocs. A few minutes later, he got another Croc. I think you know what that means to me…. I looked at him and he stopped chewing. He sat dead still, his brow furrowed, braced for something bad. I still haven’t made a peep, but he’s worried and puts his head in a corner. How many people have failed this dog in his short life? That’s what I’m mad about. Not him.</p>
<p>So, for now, this little guy is in detox. His meds certainly weren’t helping. He’s still waiting for that <em>sting</em> that makes his head want to explode, but it isn’t going to come. Sometimes he flashes his temper and starts a fight. Then he falls asleep with his pasty white belly as vulnerable as a baby. Sometimes he won’t let me touch his neck. He’s afraid of flyswatters. Other times he crawls into my chair and lays his big, flat head on my chest and looks into my eyes.</p>
<p>Right now, my plan is to let him breathe. He needs time. I called a moratorium on punishment. He’s had enough discipline for a lifetime. Instead, he gets to chew sticks in the yard and I hid my shoes. Sometimes, he comes now, if you say good boy first.</p>
<p>As concerned as I am for him, I might be more concerned for us. Are we so intolerant that we have to legitimize torture for puppies? It’s profanity; dogs are our best animal friends. If humans truly have a passion for punishment, then it’s us that need to learn to get along.</p>
<div><div><b>…</b></div>
<div><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
<div><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
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</div>Winterizing the Compassion Fatigue. Again.tag:www.barnmice.com,2016-11-12:1773158:BlogPost:7906122016-11-12T21:34:37.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p>Chatting lightly about weather is considered the tiniest of small talk, unless you live outside the urban bubble. We take it more seriously out here on the…</p>
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<p>Chatting lightly about weather is considered the tiniest of small talk, unless you live outside the urban bubble. We take it more seriously out here on the prairie.</p>
<p>There was ice in the water troughs this week. It’s dark early now, and the sun is cooling. The flies are slow and stupid, but still with us. The horses and donkeys have grown their winter coats and just like usual, I haven’t added a single hair.</p>
<p>Are there flies in heaven? I mean just tell me now. (I notice I’m a bit testy.)</p>
<p>For a start, I cleaned the tack room, updated the first aid kit, and pulled out the winter blankets, just in case. Then I mucked out my own mind for a while. It was sorely needed.</p>
<p>There’s a term used in the caregiving world: Compassion Fatigue. The physical expression of that term has to be a long deep sigh.</p>
<p>It isn’t an accidental condition, like getting a cold. It’s a term we first heard of in medical caregiving professions, but it soon spread to animal welfare workers and many other helping professions. The shoe fits a lot of us.</p>
<p>I like this definition. It’s broad and it includes real life: “Compassion fatigue is the cumulative physical, emotional and psychological effect of exposure to traumatic stories or events when working in a helping capacity, combined with the strain and stress of everyday life.” –The American Bar Association. (Who would have thought?)</p>
<p>It’s when a few layers of normal things like work and financial responsibilities and world events meet up with fear and loss and exhaustion, along with the awareness that you aren’t getting younger. It feels a bit like doubt, only sticky and dark. Your horse might be the first one to mention your change.</p>
<p>There’s always a fence to mend before the weather changes, and in that quiet work, I indulge my voices. Yes, I hear voices. It’s my parents, both gone for decades now, who come back to nag me for my foolishness.</p>
<p>My father did not suffer idiots. Well into my adulthood, he wanted me to “grow up,” which always meant act like him. After all, the world is cruel and no place for ridiculous idealists. Idealist is my word for it; like most bullies, his terminology was more coarse.</p>
<p>My mother’s approach was practical; she pleaded with me to be more “normal”; to keep my head down. Always reminding me that life was a veil of tears. My mother knew the safe comfort of giving in and suffering silently.</p>
<p>Here’s what I like about replaying the old tapes–I remember who I am. I remember my particular rebellion–it hasn’t changed. I choose to care. In their eyes, I cared about things that were like gravity; things that weren’t worth fighting because they were never going to change. You can’t save them all, so don’t even try.</p>
<p>My steadfast response: For the ones I help, like this relic of a donkey, <em>all</em> is saved.</p>
<p>Now I’m preparing for my hay delivery by pulling out pallets to clean out the musty hay underneath. Change is inevitable. That’s a given, but the passing of a season is like an arm around your shoulder, urging you to scurry along. Okay, okay.</p>
<p>I admit it. It’s been a rough summer. I don’t think of myself as a worrier, but I do keep my mind busy. It’s a choice to be aware; choosing to care is a kind of prayer to the world. What some people see as a weakness, I am most certain can be our greatest strength: To stay vulnerable in the face of darkness. To hold a vision, against the odds. It’s our superpower.</p>
<p>Perhaps compassion fatigue isn’t the worst thing. It means you have compassion as a pre-requisite, and that requires a special kind of strength in the first place. It’s knowing inside that you have enough to spare and then taking a step forward when a door to possibility opens. It’s the best in us. Against skeptics, fly that flag high and proud.</p>
<p>I drag the tank heaters to the barn with a smile. Hail damage got us a new roof and I upgraded. I know the animals will be a bit more snug this winter. Everyone’s weight is good, the llamas are in full fleece, and I’m considering growing some hair between my toes. It seems to work well for the dogs.</p>
<p>Experts say that the remedy for compassion fatigue is self-care. It’s the art of showing yourself the same compassion you have for rescue horses, stray dogs, and your dear ones. It means letting yourself be the stray dog that you welcome into your own heart. To come in out of the cold, welcomed by the person you were meant to be.</p>
<p>My spiritual beliefs rest with nature. It’s my test of true; I’m comforted that gravity works on all of us. I trust the natural laws. I trust that the monotone prairie is just resting and that the sun’s warmth will return. Nothing dies; it transforms. And as butterfly-vulnerable as we can be, the more compassion and growth are possible.</p>
<p>Sometimes there is a sunset like tonight. Just one beret-shaped cloud perched on Pikes Peak, Jupiter is alone in the southern sky, and a peachy pink and orange gloaming soaks down to the tall grasses; the world is filled with unbearably precious beauty. This dusk coats good things and bad things as equals, as we choose. Being vulnerable means that I can have this infinite moment of perfection.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, back in the house, there’s a new Corgi foster dog here. He’s just a year old and the survivor of both shock collar “training” and canine Prozac. He’s a trainwreck, and maybe part of me is, too. But we’re going to bark and chew our way through this, under the prairie moon.</p>
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<div><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
<div><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
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<div><span><img src="https://ci4.googleusercontent.com/proxy/FJGYyX5cD7bbhe4hBxvyclMxZ9gv0O4GfUrJ8RCUo1AVTQ04424Yj2WVOAuc_lQ_fkHFi-cp9zuKqHyCceB6ii8vhGYT_Jfy5VhwIJFH-Og9k-yFF0Cz_5xDSxcHuc8iBcQRT7z-ACaLylPEQr562XIrWSGHGz0KZ-RW-1BuoNGeCpYVE52UlPBmXtoo2v8YymgAekeoCrEFq5Q=s0-d-e1-ft#%3Ca%20href="/>https://docs.google.com/uc?export=download&id=0B3tRtoFCuK7fWHkxejJ1Q1hRSUU&revid=0B3tRtoFCuK7fUHpiL1pDT3J2dkRUVE5uNE9OYzZkK2J4djNVPQ" width="200" height="143" scale="0" /></span></div>
</div>Bite Your Tongue.tag:www.barnmice.com,2016-11-05:1773158:BlogPost:7904532016-11-05T02:05:02.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<div class="entry-content"><p><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/11/03/horses-quiet-riding-over-cueing/wm-edgar-cheek/" target="_blank"><img class="align-left" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/11/wm-edgar-cheek.jpg?w=626&h=828&width=418" width="418"></img></a> It’s an election year and I’m a politics geek. There, I said it. But the rhetoric is deafening. Sometimes there are just too many words. I’ll bite my tongue right there.…</p>
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<div class="entry-meta"><span class="edit-link"><a class="post-edit-link" href="https://wordpress.com/post/annablakeblog.com/76546"> </a></span></div>
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<div class="entry-content"><p><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/11/03/horses-quiet-riding-over-cueing/wm-edgar-cheek/" target="_blank"><img src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/11/wm-edgar-cheek.jpg?w=626&h=828&width=418" width="418" class="align-left"/></a>It’s an election year and I’m a politics geek. There, I said it. But the rhetoric is deafening. Sometimes there are just too many words. I’ll bite my tongue right there. Instead, let me think of something positive to say. Optimism is heavy lifting sometimes. Here goes:</p>
<p><em>Have you noticed that there are way fewer photos of abused and starved horses on Facebook lately? </em></p>
<p>Pathetic attempt. In a separate and only somewhat unrelated story, I tied a client up last week.</p>
<p>Let me start at the very beginning. As a riding instructor, I’m always trying to encourage the horse and rider build a positive tendency in their work. It isn’t about being perfect; it’s about a peaceful process with good effort and positive rewards.</p>
<p>Unless it isn’t. When things spiral downward, and frustration or fear are on the rise, good intention is easy to forget. Some trainers might yell, “Don’t be so tense!” or worse, “Stop being scared.” Not helpful. Being told to <em>not</em> do something isn’t a cue a horse or rider can take. Really, it’s like name calling more than instructing.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, the fight goes on. There’s no bucking; it’s more of a grudge match. By now the rider is over-thinking and over-pulling and over-kicking. The horse is over-stimulated and can’t even remember how it started. Maybe, he finds a corner of a cue to try, but just as he is about to do it, the rider gives a bigger cue that feels like a correction, so he doesn’t do what he was just about to do… which was try. It seems like the uproar and noise in the saddle is un-answerable, so he gets the deer in the headlights look–tense poll, hollow back, furrowed brow. Identical to his rider.</p>
<p>Can we all take a collective breath and admit we’ve been there?</p>
<p>I developed this technique years ago, not that I recommend it. It’s what I do in a lesson, after I’ve suggested breathing and going slow and a few hundred other things. Then I try something creative. (Others might call it something absurd.)</p>
<p>Did I mention that particular client was ramrod straight, with heels pushed down and her hands did not move. Her position was perhaps too good, meaning a tendency toward stiffness. So, I suggest to her that she do an impression of me riding. I’m guessing that she’d say I ride a bit like a boneless chicken sometimes. Her eyebrows become a straight line across her forehead. She’s not amused. Yes, I encourage her, pretend to be me. My rider clearly thinks mimicking me is a stupid idea–so stupid that she makes a face. Now she’s more frustrated with me than her horse. See? There’s an improvement already.</p>
<p>But then she slides down deeper in the saddle and pouches her tiny belly out. I know she is doing it to poke me back a bit, but in the instant that her back releases, her horse blows and goes soft. She melts into his rhythm rather than trying to fight it. Sometimes drawing the attention away from the horse is all the help a rider needs, along with a self-deprecating giggle.</p>
<blockquote><p><em>“The biggest enemy to the partnership of dressage is impatience and the human nature to dominate other creatures.”</em> –Walter Zettl</p>
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<p>Be clear on this: It’s our instinct to pick a fight or throw a tantrum. It’s as natural as a filly spooking when a plastic bag careens across the arena. As natural as a Lab chasing a ball all day and then, all night. Riding well means training ourselves to go against instinct. Riding well requires that we put the horse first. Their language; not ours. Best to just lay down whatever shred of ego you have left now.</p>
<p>And the hardest thing to do in the saddle–<em>is to do less.</em> When things start to come apart we instinctually speed up and get louder with our cues. Feeling unheard, we really can’t shut up now; we repeat and nag and chatter. Our hands are busy and our feet bang away on the horses’ flanks. As if the harder we communicate, the more sense it will make.</p>
<p>In other words, we act like Facebook in an election year.</p>
<p>These days, I’m more confident when I use this kind of creative ploy to distract a rider from fighting. I might ask an obscure question or tell a story/example. Sounding ridiculous is fine; I’m just trying to buy the horse a moment of quiet.</p>
<p>So, there we were last week doing groundwork, trying to walk-back a trailer loading issue. I’m not saying my client was over-cuing, but I started to imagine those flashlights with the long red cones that they use at the airport. She’d worked up a head of steam and tied her shirt around her waist. I was nagging her about breathing as much as she was flinging her rope. Her sensitive horse was getting taller by the minute. Stop. Just stop. That was when I tied her up. I used her shirt to attach her elbows to her waist. I was going for a version of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hug_machine">Temple Grandin’s squeeze chute. </a></p>
<p>My client didn’t get mad; that’s a good sign. Instead, she decided to ridicule the idea. She tells me it won’t work, demonstrating by barely flailing her hands, to exaggerate how much she can’t move. Mid-rant, her horse does just exactly what she’d been screaming about. Then, she does even less, even slower, but with a smile.</p>
<p>She was dead certain he’d never do it. But that’s a release, too, isn’t it?</p>
<p>It’s natural to try to dominate. We’re loud, even if we’re passive-aggressive about it. It’s our instinct. But in our focus to see what our horse is doing; we forget that a horse’s awareness is much keener than ours. It isn’t that they can’t hear us; it’s the exact opposite. Time to hush the brain. When we whisper, they lean in to listen.</p>
<p>I just love it when a bad attitude teaches a good lesson. The other words for that are having a sense of humor. It might be the best cue we can give a horse. Or our friends.</p>
<p>So, with a smiley face emoticon, here’s my advice, less is always more… Shut up and ride.</p>
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<div><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
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</div>Going the Full Heart Distance: Saying So Longtag:www.barnmice.com,2016-10-28:1773158:BlogPost:7905072016-10-28T14:40:01.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p>It’s deep fall here on our farm. Most of the leaves are gone; Canada geese are on the wing. Each morning there’s a thin shell of ice on the water tanks. Local horse-people know…</p>
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<p>It’s deep fall here on our farm. Most of the leaves are gone; Canada geese are on the wing. Each morning there’s a thin shell of ice on the water tanks. Local horse-people know the season change in Colorado can be extreme. The barometer goes nuts for a few weeks, temperatures dance wildly, and we keep a special eye on the elders. My Grandfather Horse usually has a veterinary emergency every fall, but not this year.</p>
<p>Trigger warning: The peaceful passing of a well-loved horse.</p>
<p>Our story started with a foolish decision: I bought a colt who wouldn’t let me touch him. In my lifetime of horses, I have no explanation for why this scruffy Appaloosa colt hooked me as deep and true as he did. Breed shows, trail, reining, jumping, and finally dressage. We had a good thirty-year run; all of his life and half of mine. Maybe it was giving him such an infinite name; there was no telling where my <em>spirit</em> stopped and his began.</p>
<p>The Grandfather Horse had a rough summer. Chronic arthritis controlled his movements–even on warm days. His knees wobbled and even collapsed on him sometimes. He had a collection of tumors; the largest one had grown to ten inches. I asked a kind vet for a consult; I didn’t need a diagnosis. It isn’t a crime to get old.</p>
<p>I was told that the thing most likely to kill him wasn’t even the condition that caused him the most daily pain. The management options were exhausted. Of the three possible outcomes, two were brutal. The vet left and I languished in selfish thoughts, intense memories, and the inability to verbalize anything.</p>
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<p>Then I practiced saying the words out loud, like a spoonful of poison a day. A week later I called for the appointment to euthanize Spirit. I got some of the words out.</p>
<p>I chose a day at the end of September; far enough off that I could torture myself with doubt, screw up my courage, and say a last, best, thank you. For half of my life, he was my only constant. I wanted to hold steady for him now.</p>
<p>Then he made it easier for me. Don’t you hate that? There was a strange incident that left him disoriented and out of balance. After that day, his eyes were dimmer but we doddered on.</p>
<p>Thirty years; closer than kin. Readers and clients sometimes lament that they wish, for the sake of their horses, they’d known me thirty years ago. Spirit would be the first to tell you I was no prize. It was always him.</p>
<p>As our horses age, we continually lower the bar when thinking about their quality of life. We know they’re flight animals but we mitigate their lameness with supplements and injections. We want to believe they don’t miss running. As teeth are lost, we make mush for creatures designed to graze 24/7. We keep them safe from younger, stronger horses in turnout. When they can’t move enough to stay warm in winter, there are blankets. Eventually, the bar got so low that he was a shadow of the beautiful gelding who changed my life.</p>
<p><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/09/28/__trashed/wm-3-grays/" rel="attachment wp-att-76613"><img class="alignleft wp-image-76613" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/09/wm-3-grays.jpg?w=816&h=430" alt="wm-3-grays" width="545" height="430"/></a></p>
<p>Looking at the Grandfather Horse, well, Nature would have taken him a decade ago. Truth: I became more afraid of a painful midnight blizzard emergency than I was of losing him. There were no better days ahead. I knew he’d given me everything he had, and I’d done the same; now there was only this one final kindness.</p>
<p>The day before our appointment, I stayed in the pen with Spirit and our family horses. It was a golden day, Spirit reeked of Showsheen, and the curry was as warm as his old heart when I finished. I took hundreds of photos. He looked miserable in most of them; his eyes were almost closed and he only moved a few steps all day. But we were all together.</p>
<p>Some of you knew him, and some of you befriended him here and through <em>Stable Relation</em>. Thank you for sharing my Grandfather Horse with me. There’s nothing special about death. What matters is how we live–celebrate that.</p>
<p>On the last morning, the family horses had breakfast together. Spirit wandered away from the herd, stood in the sun, and dozed. I stayed close, not that he noticed, and kept my breath matched with his, treasuring each inhale.</p>
<p>We’ve been thrown some curve balls over the years, but I won’t ever regret a single moment with this horse. Not even this one.</p>
<p>Spirit had no fear of vets or needles; I didn’t need to hold him. So we shared an apple, in the way that we always did. I bit off a piece, sweet in my mouth, and gave it to him. The vet began the procedure and an instant later, Spirit was free. My first feeling was relief. It went well. No fear or suffering. I felt like I’d saved him.</p>
<p><em>“Let the pain wash over you. Don’t fight it, feel it. Let your tears free. Cry without judgment; it’s just a different kind of breathing.”</em> I wrote that years ago; horses taught me to believe in emotional honesty.</p>
<p>I brought the family herd into the pen after the vet left. Nubè was curious and quiet, while Clara was frightened, flagging her tail and galloping arcs around him. Edgar and Bhim were stoic. Eventually, everyone made their peace. Little Arthur, Spirit’s goat, stayed longest. He laid down by Spirit’s back leg, as I sat by his head, holding vigil until the truck came for his body.</p>
<p>A cut this deep has a purity about it.</p>
<p><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/09/28/__trashed/wm-shadow-of-spirit/" target="_blank"><img src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/09/wm-shadow-of-spirit.jpg?w=362&h=534&width=242" width="242" class="align-right"/></a></p>
<p>I’m sorry to share this; there’s no shortage of sad news already. My voice has an aching squeak; it’s taken a month to write this eulogy. Everything I say sounds trite and superficial. The words feel insignificant, like an out-of-focus snapshot. I’ll live in the shadow of this horse for the rest of my life. If I’m lucky.</p>
<p>Personally, I’m not a fan of the Rainbow Bridge. If it gives you comfort for loss, take it to heart. As for me, I hate the idea of all my animals waiting for me. Besides, I think horses might be Buddhist. I hope he’s gamboling through a pasture, on brand <em>new</em> wobbly legs, catching the eye of another horse crazy girl who has a lot to learn. I’d wish him another life just like this one.</p>
<p>Mostly, I’m overwhelmed with bittersweet gratitude. I knew he never belonged to me. He was always part of something bigger than my tiny, conflicted life. I had to leave my puny-sad-self behind to keep up with him. It was the best trade of my life.</p>
<blockquote><p>Go the distance.<br/>Do it with grace or do it ugly,<br/>because some days<br/>that’s what your best looks like.</p>
<p>It only matters<br/>that you go the full heart distance.</p>
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<div><div>Thank you for all the kind thoughts for my Grandfather Horse over the years.</div>
<div><b>…</b></div>
<div><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
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</div>The Best Reasons to Stop Ridingtag:www.barnmice.com,2016-10-21:1773158:BlogPost:7898962016-10-21T13:50:47.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p>I think I’ve heard all the clichés about change that I can stand. At a certain age, we don’t need to be reminded how hard change…</p>
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<p>I think I’ve heard all the clichés about change that I can stand. At a certain age, we don’t need to be reminded how hard change is. But fall is all about change, I notice. Most of us get poked by the passing of time, in one way or another, right about this time of the year. Falling leaves and all that…</p>
<p>Like usual, there are extremes: Every now and then, I read an article declaring that riding horses is cruel. Any horse. That it’s just too demeaning for horses; that ethics require that all horses be freed from their slavery to humans. I might be imagining the righteous tone. Return them all to the wild, I guess.</p>
<p>On the other hand, I hear from riders in their nineties, riding horses in their thirties, with an arthritic shell of bravado. Good for you, really. So pleased that your horse has avoided injuries that long, and the same for you. What luck.</p>
<p>Then there are the rest of us, pushing the muck cart and casually wondering which hip will be replaced first. We have horses that had long careers or got hurt in turnout or weren’t born with perfect conformation. Or maybe we just aren’t lucky. Is it time for someone to be turned out to pasture?</p>
<p>Has it crossed your mind that your horse is slowing down? Maybe more than once? Is it really hard to push him to the canter and then he breaks right away? Or maybe he’s reluctant about being caught. After a sluggish warm-up, he seems depressed and you kick him a little more all the time. Or maybe he drops his head lower and lower. That’s if he’s stoic, of course. Not every horse has that patience.</p>
<p>So you check with the vet, try some stronger supplements, and that buys you another year. Then you start negotiating. No more steep trails, or maybe you get new arena footing. But now you’re asking yourself again if it’s time.</p>
<p>I’m sorry it hurts, but listen to him. Good horses don’t randomly start lying. And if your horse really is asking for the break, I know it breaks you even more, but let him rest. In this light, a career-ending injury has the clarity that slow-motion decline lacks. Maybe he’ll feel better in the spring and maybe not, but for now, let him be and tell him he’s a<em> good boy</em>. A horse’s riding life isn’t a race where the last one standing wins. Don’t make him feel he’s failed you.</p>
<p>Love him enough.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s you that is having a hard time; your past injuries are catching up and it’s hard to get comfortable in the saddle. Maybe you are a certain age and your courage hormones have abandoned you. They do that, you know.</p>
<p>Or time makes you rush too much. You have a list of all your lists and so many people depending on you. You burst into the barn and ride fast, but you’re still late. Your horse behaves like the victim of a drive-by assault. It’s an honest response and you’ll deal with it when you have more time.</p>
<p>Or maybe your fear has just grown an inch at a time until it became disabling. It isn’t that you aren’t as brave as you once were; it’s an actual full-blown anxiety attack that you’re trying to fight but it never goes away. It’s a fear that paralyzes your lungs and you can’t control your limbs. It isn’t the usual common sense alert that something might happen. It’s an air raid siren that never goes silent. Never. You know your horse feels it, too. Would it be different on another horse?</p>
<p>So, you get the help of a kind trainer and you do your very best. Still, you dread worst, every stride, and fear never lets you breathe. It happens every time, but you don’t admit the truth. Months pass, you know you’re safe, but there’s no logic or relief when it comes to fear. It’s possessed you.</p>
<p>You feel obligated. You feel like a loser. You’re too old or too busy or too frightened. You’d hate to think what people might say. You’d be letting your horse down. But in the quiet, when you listen to your heart, you know.</p>
<p>Love yourself enough.</p>
<p>We all have dry spells and going into winter is a great time to take a break. Nothing bad will happen. He won’t miss your holiday stress. He won’t forget his training and neither will you. I promise. Come spring, you’ll be back in the saddle and the view will be different. That’s the way change works; you can depend on it.</p>
<p>If you know it’s bigger than a season, take a breath and try to tell the truth. You might have to say it a few times to get through it. Integrity matters because secrets, or the illusion of them, are poison. Besides, he knows.</p>
<p>What if it isn’t wrong?</p>
<p>I have a barn half-full of retired horses; some have been retired longer than they were ridden. They let me know every day that they are no less for it. We should have that confidence.</p>
<p>Humans seem to put so much self-judgment on whether they ride or not. I see it every day, as an instructor. Riding is wonderful; I’m glad I’m still in the saddle. But the longer I’m around horses, the more I believe that they don’t care if we ride or not. Relationship, as it relates to herd dynamics, is what matters to horses, and that isn’t defined by our altitude. Maybe it’s time to re-invent ourselves and up the conversation. Wouldn’t it be ironic if no longer riding meant that our horsemanship improved?</p>
<p>The scary question: If it’s the end of the world, what will you do instead of riding? Love them, just like you always have. That never changes.</p>
<div><div><b>…</b></div>
<div><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
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</div>Riding the Inside of Your Horsetag:www.barnmice.com,2016-10-14:1773158:BlogPost:7901122016-10-14T13:33:25.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p>When I was just a dressage-princess-wannabe, before I became a full-blown Dressage Queen, I thought dressage riders all wore a kind of glazed-over…</p>
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<p>When I was just a dressage-princess-wannabe, before I became a full-blown Dressage Queen, I thought dressage riders all wore a kind of glazed-over look on their faces. Sure, some had furrowed brows and some looked distantly amused, but for the most part, they looked dull. They’re stuck in the arena, after all.</p>
<p>Other riding disciplines seemed more exciting. Eventers and jumpers cranked their heads toward the next jump. Western disciplines moved like they were looking for livestock. Endurance riders checked their watches and heart rates, on the move to the next stop. Jockeys perch like birds and looked under their arms, behind themselves, trying to stay ahead.</p>
<p>But dressage riders look like over-dressed Buddhas. No jumps, no cows. Dressage arenas have letters around the edge but it isn’t like they spell anything. At the upper levels, there are some pretty fancy tricks, but the majority of horses and riders never get that far. What’s the big deal?</p>
<p>You could name-call dressage riders the librarians of the horse world. We all look alike in our helmets. We wear dowdy, neutral clothes. We try to not intentionally scream and flap in the saddle. But librarians? Is it an insult?</p>
<p>Have you known any librarians? It’s a bad stereotype; like most things, the view from the inside is different. Book lovers know that the entire universe is at their finger tips. They are thinkers who value learning the<em> hows and whys</em> of a thing, as well as loving the telling of a good story, for the emotional terrain it covers. When I was younger, I took a crash-and-burn approach to life. I just didn’t know any better. Books led the way to awareness and choice. In other words, freedom.</p>
<p>By the time I found dressage, I’d already competed horses a few years. I had a gelding that people called “push-button”. It was how they excused our hard work. Dressage seemed foreboding; an institution of history and intelligence. I certainly wasn’t smart enough to belong there. But I pushed inside anyway. There was something about the way their horses danced. They had what I wanted, even if I didn’t have the words for it. In other words, a library.</p>
<p>Dressage might be the most misunderstood, but strangely alluring, riding discipline of all. But when I ask my riding clients what their goals are, the answer is always the same. They say they want a better relationship with their horse. Well, don’t let the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shadbelly">shadbelly</a> fool you. If your horse is relaxed and dancing under saddle, it’s all about the relationship.</p>
<p>Now back to those glazed eyes; dressage is an internal art. It isn’t intellectually elite, but it does involve mental focus. Because we don’t ride the outside of our horses; we ride the inside of them. How is that even possible? We learn to ride from within ourselves. Am I making it worse?</p>
<p>Think about it; if the rider is sitting still in the saddle, not kicking or pulling or even moving, and the horse is gliding through the gaits with balance and ease, how else can it we communicate but internally? It isn’t like a horse can respond to the words <em>single tempi changes</em> like a dog does to the word <em>sit.</em> And the very best part of how we ride looks as dull as a stack of books. From the start, we teach our horses to walk on a long rein, relaxed and forward. We have a cue for calm.</p>
<p>We rely on being physically aware of their bodies and communicating in small, nearly invisible ways. To ride inside of a horse is to feel more. It isn’t just intellectual and physical; it’s connecting with our senses, spine to spine with a horse, and experiencing being there–listening. We gain that awareness of them by quieting ourselves. Library talk, not a barroom brawl.</p>
<p>We use saddles that can feel more of what a horse has to say, we ride on light contact, using our reins to hear our horses more clearly. We ride in an arena that expands to the size of our knowledge, imagination, and creativity. We know that horses are sentient beings with feelings and opinions. We choose to meet them as equals, and have a dialog, calmly building trust and understanding. It’s a slow process to a relaxed hand-gallop, as free as the wind.</p>
<p>Sure, there are monsters intimidating horses and calling it dressage. All riding disciplines have pretenders. They take the short cut; watching violent video clips that say domination is the answer. They go to war against their horses, with ignorant fear that celebrates destruction and feeds our most base instincts. In other words, they aren’t your usual library patron.</p>
<p>Dressage riders are works in progress. We believe that we will be learning forever. It’s like a lifetime library card; as long as we are breathing, we’ll be striving to know more, communicate better, and most of all, be worthy of our horse’s intellect and greater trust.</p>
<p>It might be science fiction; a line of understanding humans could cross, to find that horses and other animals were ahead of us all along. That they’ve been nurturing us, instead of the other way around. It would be a place beyond our egos. In other words, a place of imagination–a library.</p>
<p>The next time you look at an empty arena, see it the way we do. It is a sacred space as infinite as a horse’s heart, with all the stories ever told about honor and courage. There are obstacles everywhere, but just like life, they’re invisible. And in a place that looks like a flat desert, there are mountains to climb. It might look like a boring textbook to the outside world, but it’s the science of movement and the inspiration for a masterpiece. It’s a library of secrets and possibility. Maybe it takes some maturity to appreciate, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t go there as kids.</p>
<p>They say it’s the foundation of all riding disciplines. The word dressage literally means training. I think it’s a magnet for true riders. In its best sense, dressage is training from the inside out–of the rider mostly.</p>
<p>And I wonder how many closet dressage queens are out there.</p>
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<div><div><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
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</div>A Serenity Prayer For Both of Youtag:www.barnmice.com,2016-10-08:1773158:BlogPost:7900292016-10-08T01:12:06.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p>The seasons are changing and the air feels cooler. That’s what you notice, but your horse seems just a bit more interested in his surroundings than usual. You feel his tension, so you push ahead. Maybe if you put him to work right away, he’ll pay more…</p>
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<p>The seasons are changing and the air feels cooler. That’s what you notice, but your horse seems just a bit more interested in his surroundings than usual. You feel his tension, so you push ahead. Maybe if you put him to work right away, he’ll pay more attention.</p>
<p>You ask him to do the first thing that occurs to you; you turn him toward the rail. He’s sticky. So the reins get shorter as you insist. He steps slower, and your inside leg goes to work pushing. Then pushing harder. He’s stuck, so you pull the reins over his withers, hard to the outside. Then his shoulder falls to the outside as he tries to find relief from that impossible pull on the inside rein. Now the two of you look like you are trying out for roller derby, but not on the same team.</p>
<p>It’s a war of wills; more passive-aggressive than an out-and-out fight, but adversarial just the same. The resistance is undeniable and you just got on. It’s natural; how you were taught to ride. Meanwhile, the ride feels like one long correction to your horse and he can either get stoic and shut down, or get so compressed that he needs to explode. Bottom line: His anxiety is even higher than when you got on.</p>
<p>Think of it as a runaway of a grudge match. Probably better than whips-and-spurs violence, but is it any kinder? And where to from here?</p>
<p>Well, first, your horse is right. That doesn’t mean that you are wrong, it just means that his vote counts. He’s on the defensive because everything he does is wrong. The conversation between the two of you escalated. Somewhere in those first steps, you felt a need to control him and he resisted. Because that’s the answer every horse gives when you pull on the reins.</p>
<p>Reins give us an illusion of control. And by illusion, I mean it isn’t real.</p>
<p>But the heart of the problem is that rather than being in the moment moving forward, your action was a reaction to what just happened. It’s like a downward spiral and the tone of the partnership changes completely. We stop being leaders and become passive-aggressive bullies, but we only notice that in hindsight. And was either of you even breathing?</p>
<p>Another way of saying it is that <em>the correction was bigger than the mistake. </em>Think about it; it’s like we’re the judge who decides to make an example of a kid by giving him twenty years for shoplifting a sandwich, rather than finding out why he was hungry.</p>
<p>Gaining good judgment about over-correcting is crucial for a rider to improve because constant over-correcting makes a horse dull. It kills his try. Eventually, he’s broken. It’s the flip side of adage <em>Less is More</em>. As a dressage instructor, I really have to quit quoting Ray Hunt so often… but he says it best:</p>
<p><em>“You need to do less sooner; you’re always doing too much, late.”</em></p>
<p>I smile every time I read this nearly unintelligible quote. You have had the experience of being tied up in a knot with a horse for it to even make sense. Here’s the good news; if the quote does make sense, you’re half-way there.</p>
<p><em>REWIND:</em> It’s that same ride. The air feels cooler and your horse seems just a bit more interested in his surroundings than usual. You feel his tension, so you let him look around, as he walks on a long rein. His tension cues you to take deep breaths and blow them out. You’re going to put him to work, but you’ll show him the respect of allowing him to get comfortable first. Take that first walk he offers you, and exhale a thank you. Feel your sit bones unite with his movement. A few strides later, your waist feels looser. That’s how you can tell his stride is lengthening.</p>
<p>If you want to move to the rail, that’s great. Let your legs follow his barrel as it moves back and forth, and slowly begin to pulse with your inside leg, asking him to step to the outside. The rein is still long. Give him all day to figure out his answer. It’s an attitude of a leg yield, but in a way, you are massaging his ribs, so the outside bend is a stretch. It might take the length of the arena to get to the rail, but your horse is more relaxed when you get there. There has been no fight. You’ve used time as an aid to release his distraction and anxiety. You and your horse are together in the present moment, partners at the beginning of a great ride.</p>
<p>Making corrections that are bigger than the original mistake can be habit-forming. You aren’t a malicious rider; you love your horse. It might be nothing more than letting your mind default position that you can let go of now. Being slower to react is an art outside the barn, too.</p>
<p>Do you ever have that moment when things are beginning to spin out of control, and almost as a joke, through gritted teeth, the Serenity Prayer comes to mind? But the words work, even said sarcastically, because the anxiety has to take a breath. Next time you’re having a mental runaway in the saddle, try this:</p>
<blockquote><p>Horse, grant me the serenity to breathe, the patience to give a small, quiet cue, and the wisdom to listen for the answer with gratitude.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Then in that stillness, perhaps you’ll hear a message back:</p>
<blockquote><p>Rider, grant me the time to understand what you ask, the confidence to try without fear, and the grateful release of giving you my trust.</p>
</blockquote>
<div><span>….<u><br/></u><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></span></div>
<div><span>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro<br/></span></div>
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</div>The Truth Behind Bit Dramatag:www.barnmice.com,2016-09-30:1773158:BlogPost:7896732016-09-30T13:09:39.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<div class="entry-content"><p><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2015/03/06/riding-with-intention/wmclaratack/" rel="attachment wp-att-34045"><img alt="WMClaraTack" class="alignright size-full wp-image-34045" height="581" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/wmclaratack.jpg?w=942&h=857" width="640"></img></a> Do you know how your bit works? No, I mean really. Not some cowboy-on-YouTube’s fantasy about horses needing to learn to carry cold metal on bone. Not some idiot in an…</p>
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<div class="entry-content"><p><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2015/03/06/riding-with-intention/wmclaratack/" rel="attachment wp-att-34045"><img class="alignright size-full wp-image-34045" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/wmclaratack.jpg?w=942&h=857" alt="WMClaraTack" width="640" height="581"/></a>Do you know how your bit works? No, I mean really. Not some cowboy-on-YouTube’s fantasy about horses needing to learn to carry cold metal on bone. Not some idiot in an English saddle that rides with a twisted-wire in his horse’s mouth.</p>
<p>I’m still stewing about this: A new rider explained that his horse had been professionally trained and successfully shown before he bought him. His horse was<em> finished</em> and as such, wore a <em>finished horse bit</em>. (It was a spade bit. It was capable of doing equine brain surgery the slow, excruciating way.)</p>
<p>This was the second time he had instructed me about how this soul-killing bit works. Maybe he thinks that I’m just not bright enough to understand. Or if he repeats his misguided explanation a few more times, I’ll palm my forehead and giggle like a school girl. Instead I hold eye contact and tell him it’s an illegal bit and I don’t allow it on my farm. The look on his face tells me that he has no more respect for my profession than he does for his horse.</p>
<p>Yes, I require my clients to use legal bits. It gets worse, I mean <a href="https://www.usef.org/documents/licensedOfficials/education/2016DressageAttireEquipmentBooklet.pdf">legal dressage bits</a> (page 12). I took a look at the Western Dressage (WDAA) <a href="https://www.usef.org/documents/disciplines/westerndressage/WDEquipment.pdf">Equipment Guide</a>(page 4) and sure enough, there are some pretty severe bits that are legal. Now I wish the group would take dressage out of their name. And shame on the USEF.</p>
<p>Then it dawns on me: There’s a stinky part of me that envies trainers who promote these bits. It’s easier to put a severe bit in a horse’s mouth so the new owner can force a “frame” and everyone can pretend the horse is <em>finished</em>. Anything is easier than teaching a rider the feel of good contact on a gentle bit. Anything is easier than learning to ride force-free to fluid, soft contact.</p>
<p><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2014/06/27/contact-holding-hands-with-horses/">Contact is like holding hands with someone you are so comfortable with that there’s overlap where they begin and you end.</a> –Me.</p>
<p>For all of my professional years training, I can’t say I’ve ever met a <em>finished</em>horse. I have met horses so shut down from bit pain that they have dead eyes and no will to go forward. Does that term actually refer to a horse who’s finished with people?</p>
<p>But let’s go with the fantasy of buying a <em>finished</em> horse in the way that he meant it. Does having the purchase price make you a <em>finished</em> rider?</p>
<p>Here’s where someone says that a bit is only as kind or cruel as the hands on the reins. Sure, I’ve seen horses totally brutalized by a snaffle bit in the hands of a monster. At the same time, having slack reins on a shank or spade bit doesn’t impress me; an extreme bit causes a threat and pain, even with no reins attached. A harsh bit that hearkens to a cultural tradition still isn’t good horsemanship if the horse suffers. There is no beauty in domination. Control is a cheap substitute for partnership.</p>
<p>What if the goal was to ride in such a way that the horse moves with the same liberty he does while not under saddle?</p>
<p>I was talking with a client about their bit. The horse was tense in her jaw and had a nervous habit of kind of chattering the bit in her mouth. We were talking about other options for the mare, and after I described how a comfort snaffle worked versus a mullen mouth, my client asked which I liked best. I said my preference didn’t matter in the least.</p>
<p>So instead of yammering on and on about bits, take the conversation to the barn and ask your horse. Saddle up like usual, put your helmet on like usual, but skip the bridle. Use a neck ring or clip reins on a web halter. Go to a safe arena and begin your ride, as usual. Be ready to learn something.</p>
<p>If you horse moves more freely; if his neck is longer and he blows, that’s a message you need to hear. Has your bit been working like a passive parking brake? Does the mere existence of a gentle bit in his mouth back him off? That’s pretty common. As you feel his stride lengthen, his back lifting, and a lightness to his hooves, be happy. It means you can do better for him.</p>
<p>Warning: humans who feel out of control have a tendency to get testy. Do you notice that you want to grab something for a quick submissive result? Does it occur to you that without a bit, you feel unarmed and have no means to punish your horse? So then, are you using your bit like a weapon? Have you just proven to yourself that you ride more with your hands than your legs? That isn’t a bit problem at all, is it?</p>
<p> It’s time to challenge ourselves to pursue the art of riding, instead of asking our horses to tolerate our bad horsemanship.</p>
<p>Just in case you could possibly think that there has never been a day in my life that I dropped to my knees and begged for a stronger bit, you’re wrong. Or that there were times that I hoped that the issue was a broken, abscessed tooth and not my hands? Back then, his head flipping around made me look bad and I lusted after a cruel bit. But I never worked with a trainer that allowed stronger bits, even back when I was still riding in a saddle with a horn. Instead of a stronger bit, I was told my hands that needed <em>finishing, </em>along with the mentality behind them. I’m still grateful for that clarity and I pass it on.</p>
<p>If you listen to your horse, he’d say there’s a problem behind the bit problem and underneath the hand problem. He’d say that a cruel bit is the sign of a fearful rider and the real problem is trust.</p>
<p>Kinda changes the whole picture, doesn’t it?</p>
<div>….<u><br/></u><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
<div><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
</div>Ride Shorter, Progress Farther.tag:www.barnmice.com,2016-09-28:1773158:BlogPost:7897882016-09-28T16:00:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p>If I were to write a training book entitled <em>Less is More</em>, it would be hundreds of pages long. The irony is not lost on me. At the same time, it’s an idea that I defend constantly. Us humans can be like rats on a wheel sometimes.</p>
<p>We’ve all seen the rider. Maybe she starts by lunging her horse in…</p>
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<p>If I were to write a training book entitled <em>Less is More</em>, it would be hundreds of pages long. The irony is not lost on me. At the same time, it’s an idea that I defend constantly. Us humans can be like rats on a wheel sometimes.</p>
<p>We’ve all seen the rider. Maybe she starts by lunging her horse in tight side-reins. He can’t breathe and gets a bit panicky. Confirming her opinion that he needs lunging to take the edge off. Most misunderstandings start this way–a simple mistake.</p>
<p>Then it’s like dominoes. She wants to get it right. Her horse tries in the beginning. She’s focused, she pushes too hard, for too long. Then she doesn’t notice that she’s talking to herself, about her horse, but behind his back. Each try, she wants just one more effort a bit better, but by now her horse has lost heart. He’s just getting the same cue again and again and he has no idea what it means anymore. Are you teaching your horse to be stupid or smart?</p>
<p>Wake-up call: If you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.</p>
<p>And by the way, how did things go at work today? (Like your horse even needs to ask.)</p>
<p>Part of the challenge of riding well doesn’t have a thing to do with the barn. It’s just being who we are. That usually means a full-time job. Maybe a couple of kids. That’s enough for a twenty hour day right there. Being retired is just as busy, dealing with health issues, technology, and family. Is that a strange man in the house or do you recognize him as the guy in your wedding photos? Then book club and maybe a random thought about climate change and horse rescue. Balancing responsibilities and obligations with your passions and bank account ends up being a recipe for guilt. At the very least, it’s a lot of extra weight for a horse to carry.</p>
<p>Then some idiot trainer like me climbs on your horse, and with no fanfare or angst, your horse does that illusive movement for a few strides, as I smile and throw down the reins, like it’s no big deal. Ouch, apparently it’s easy for your horse.</p>
<p>And then my client says to me, “Know what your problem is? You don’t want it bad enough.” There’s an instant where the words hang in the air… and then we howl. A sense of humor will always be the very best training aid.</p>
<p>And she’s right. There’s an art to riding <em>as if</em> you don’t care. Sure, it’s an “untruth” and we’re obsessed about our riding technique. But I also hope we find a way to not torment our horses any more than we have to along the way. It’s pretty easy to get that <em>Night of the Living Dead </em>appearance in the saddle from just trying too hard. Your effort shows in your horse’s stilted gait and tense back.</p>
<p>So, your life is busy and you don’t have much time to ride? <em>Good.</em> Ride less. Ride lighter, and trust your horse. He doesn’t forget how to be ridden and he doesn’t need to be drilled. His memory is strong; he remembers his training as clearly as he remembers your frustration.</p>
<p>Since we humans think in hour-sized hunks of time, start when the big hand is on the twelve. Start by currying too long. Use one arm and then the other. Feel his skin warm as his blood flow increases. Then feel your shoulders relax and do the same. Forget the stupid clock; tune in to horse time.</p>
<p>Bridle him with slow hands and lots of deep breaths. Pause on the mounting block and let your guilt and stress drain out into a dark, sticky pool under your boots. Then lightly mount. Once in the saddle, take a moment to feel your sit-bones go soft and the weight of your heels sink low. Acknowledge you have a partner and not an adversary.</p>
<p>Take all the time you need to allow your horse a good <a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2012/07/13/the-dressagemassage-warm-up/">warm-up</a> on a long rein without correction. Just rhythm and stride. Never doubt this is the most important part of the ride. Feel his body with your seat and legs. Use time freely because quality matters.</p>
<p>Now is a good time to get off. Yes, so soon. Quit early, while you want more and your horse is happy. Finish by taking too much time brushing him down, give him a snack, and still have time to run an errand on the way home.</p>
<p>If you want to train just a little longer, be serious enough about your riding to remember the best work happens when it feels like play. Successive approximation is that happy path of bread crumbs. We reward that answer that isn’t right, but is closer to right, like calling out, “You’re getting warmer,” in a game of Hide and Seek. If you get one really good effort, quit right there. Jump down immediately. Then trust your horse’s intelligence. Even if you don’t quite trust your own. If your trainer releases you early, or your ride was only thirty minutes long, give yourself chocolate. <em>You</em> deserve a treat!</p>
<p>Current opinions about training have changed. Three days a week of actually schooling is plenty for most competition horses. Keep your horse fit with hacks or arena games or cross-training. Or anything else that doesn’t feel like boot camp. You know the two cardinal rules in training: Be consistent. Change things up.</p>
<p>If you still want to tell me that your horse is that hot kind of horse that needs to be ridden hard every day, well, ask yourself the hard question. “How can I help his anxiety?”</p>
<p>Fall equinox: Days are getting shorter and the world has a way of twisting things sideways. If we don’t pay attention, blessings start to feel like poverty. It isn’t true. What you have to offer is more than enough and your horse is just as magical as he ever was.</p>
<div><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
<div><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
</div>You’re a Timid Rider?tag:www.barnmice.com,2016-09-16:1773158:BlogPost:7897202016-09-16T13:42:17.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p>What if it isn’t a bad thing?</p>
<p>I have a “big picture” thing I want to say and it’s going to take some explaining. Just food for thought, really, but there’s some defining of terms that has to happen first. Just for the purposes of this article, and with full knowledge that making generalizations is always a bad idea. Here…</p>
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<p>What if it isn’t a bad thing?</p>
<p>I have a “big picture” thing I want to say and it’s going to take some explaining. Just food for thought, really, but there’s some defining of terms that has to happen first. Just for the purposes of this article, and with full knowledge that making generalizations is always a bad idea. Here goes.</p>
<p>Some riders fall into the category of timid. Or cautious. They may compete or trail ride or whatever, but they are always aware of a certain voice in their heads that’s a bit reluctant, concerned about of injury, or just not having control. And they ride anyway. My thesaurus adds these synonyms for timid: apprehensive, demure, modest, nervous, browbeaten, yellow, milquetoast, mousy, fainthearted. Is it just me or do the words run to name-calling near the end?</p>
<p>There is a level of fear that runs deeper than timid. It’s a rider who is truly unable to breathe or smile. They are almost pathologically tense and then when something happens, like a horse looking to the side, they react more than respond. They might jerk the reins or grab in some other way. It’s a level of fear that is nearly disabling. The thesaurus seems to respect fear more with these synonyms: angst, despair, dread, horror, panic, terror, abhorrence, phobia.</p>
<p>Then there are riders who demand obedience from their horses; riders who are boss. Domineering riders who appear fearless and strong. They’ll make their horse do anything and many times, crowds cheer them on. Again, interesting words from the thesaurus: arrogant, autocratic, dictatorial, tyrannical, coercive, insolent, iron-handed. (I have to say, seeing that last term made me blink hard; its second meaning, particular to riding, hurts my ears as much as the visual on a horse hurts my eyes.)</p>
<p>So again, these are horrid generalizations and people are individuals. Putting riders into piles is a bad thing and most of us are in the middle of change every day.</p>
<p>In my tiny corner of the horse world, most of the riders I work with would refer to themselves as timid. They apologize for it like it’s a bad thing. They tell me it’s hard to remember to breathe and that they don’t ride like the did when there were younger. They see being timid as a flaw.</p>
<p>I have a confession; I like timid riders.</p>
<p>There’s probably at least one time that every rider has fit into each of these categories. Whatever kind of rider you think you are doesn’t matter anyway. The only thing that matters is what kind of rider your horse thinks you are. They’re truth tellers. A horse will tell you that a domineering rider is afraid or that a fearful rider can get through it. A horse will say, “Enough already!” putting an end to saddle time, or show patience and tolerance to a rider with good intention, or just shut down to a rider’s rude barrage of noise and cues.</p>
<p>True, I’m no fan of domineering riders. I won’t work with them. I consider respect for horses fundamental. Still, these riders do have a certain success because horses will succumb to intimidation. For a while. But their horses rat them out, from their sad eyes and tense poll, all the way to the tip of their clamped tail.</p>
<p>Dang. There I go again, talking about compassion and understanding for horses. It’s the sort of approach that attracts titles like “tree-hugger” and sissy. *Smiles and waves.*</p>
<p>What I love about timid riders is that their willingness to go slow. They’re sensitive and they want to really listen to their horse. Half of the time, I think the anxiety that they feel was a message from their horse in the first place, and they are the kind of partner who will take the blame for a friend. They have the honesty to admit how they feel and it makes their judgment of how their horses feel just a bit more compassionate.</p>
<p>*Disclaimer: now is when I have to say that not everyone who claims to listen to horses actually does. In fact, it’s a pretty rare occurrence when any of us truly put horses first. Once you do that you’re insuring yourself a life of change and learning. You’ll have to give up your ego, but then that never works with horses anyway. Or would it be smarter to give up people? Hard to say.</p>
<p>Finally, the most illusive group of riders… a few who aspire to redefine leadership in a more nuanced way. They’re kind leaders who are irresistible to horses who crave safety over fear. And all horses do. Even sour horses become calm partners. Insecure horses start blowing and never stop, as if they’ve been holding their breath forever. A kind leader doesn’t stand out in a crowd, unless it’s a crowd of horses. I suppose they do something like whisper, but it’s not a joke or a movie title to them.</p>
<p>Maybe the big picture looks like this: There is a long continuum and at one end is violent dominance and the other end is total submission. We all start with horses someplace on this continuum. Some of us started hard-hearted and horses taught us that fighting doesn’t work. Some of us started soft and lost patience and got callus. Some of us look like deer in headlights, confused by the opinions of people clashing with our horses.</p>
<p>And there’s a tiny place on the continuum, a sweep spot, that has balance and respect and safety. If it was easy to find, everyone would be there.</p>
<p><em><strong><font face="Thread-00001894-Id-00000046">Dear Timid Rider, please don’t apologize for being sensitive. It’s the language of compassion and honesty. It’s an under-rated strength to be proud of. </font></strong></em></p>
<div>….<u><br/></u><b><font face="Thread-00001894-Id-00000045">Anna Blake at Infinity Farm</font><br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
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</div>Halt, Rein-back, Cha-cha-cha.tag:www.barnmice.com,2016-09-02:1773158:BlogPost:7892122016-09-02T13:15:50.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p style="text-align: justify;">This is how it feels: It’s a trot that’s resistance free. He glides with relaxed strides. At first you think it might be slow, but no, his strides are longer. He has time to push from behind. Every vertebrae in his back is loose. His movement is fluid and soft,…</p>
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<div class="entry-content"><p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/09/02/halt-rein-back-cha-cha-cha/wm-lesandante/" rel="attachment wp-att-76181"><img class="size-large wp-image-76181 aligncenter" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/09/wm-lesandante.jpeg?w=640&h=348" alt="WM LesAndante" height="348" width="640"/></a></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">This is how it feels: It’s a trot that’s resistance free. He glides with relaxed strides. At first you think it might be slow, but no, his strides are longer. He has time to push from behind. Every vertebrae in his back is loose. His movement is fluid and soft, like riding a wave.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> His poll relaxed without fear or tension, knowing there will be no pain in his mouth. Your elbows and hands float on the reins with no pull and no slack. You can trust him to keep his head steady because he’s balanced by the forward movement; true forward relaxes the poll and his spine, all the way to a soft “S” movement to the end of his tail.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">You’re sitting the trot. You’re not posting and this is no western pleasure jog. With every stride you feel his hind legs push underneath you and lift your sitbone, one and then the other. Instead of trying to drive your seat back into the saddle, you lift just enough. You ride the up-stride. Lift, lift, lift. Light, light, light. And his stride gets a bit longer because your sitbone has created a space for him to step into. His back lifts and there’s a magnetic quality between your seat and his back. This is where the conversation happens. It’s small and quiet, but his movement is so much more than that.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">As you finish the long side of the arena and come through the corner of the short end, toward <em>“C”</em> at the centerline, you give your good horse a half-halt. It’s an inhale, your shoulders straighten a tad, with a light pulse of the thighs, you release quickly enough to feel the tiniest pause as he lifts his shoulders. He’s ready. Then one, two, three strides and your seat melts.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">If following his stride with your sitbones continues the trot, then allowing your seat to soften and rest, along with a squeeze of your thighs, means he will come to a halt, right at C. Let a three or five second eternity pass. Breath in, exhale. Let your body be soft, your hands quiet. He is immobile at the halt, standing square, but you both maintain a forward attitude; the shared awareness that you are not done. Inhale and allow your calves just an inch forward with light energy, and as he takes his first stride back, release a sitbone and move with the backward stride in the same way as a walk. One two, three, four. Exactly four strides back, and a halt from a thigh pulse. Immobile.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Notice that you’ve done nothing with your hands. Continue doing that.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Especially now, do not rush your good horse. Inhale and cue his trot confidently with both calves. Go with him on the first stride, light and connected. Exist together inside every stride; feel freedom and cooperation as equals. As you approach the corner, think about your outside aids as you turn your waist. Feel the inside hand open while the outside hand and leg close on his shoulder. Feel him turn underneath you, bending softly through his body. Because it’s natural.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">As you begin the long-side, let your legs stretch down and your shoulder blades come closer. Inhale, let your legs ask for longer strides as you extend your elastic elbows just an inch so he can reach forward to the bit and carry you effortlessly on, dancing cheek to cheek.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I believe the halt/rein-back movement is as beautiful as any upper level dressage movement, piaffe or canter half-pass included. Some version of this movement has existed in dressage tests, from Second Level on up, forever. One clue about its difficulty is that a gait is skipped; from rein-back to trot without walk steps. It’s deceptive in its simplicity.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The first thing I love about this movement is that it clearly reveals the quality of communication between the horse and rider. Are the steps diagonal? Is the horse’s mouth relaxed? If your horse’s head and neck can stay soft, if the rider can hold a neutral position, and if your horse can do the movements with out bracing, your partnership will shine. This movement is relentlessly honest about your riding.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The other thing I love about this movement is that a Warmblood doesn’t necessarily do it better than a backyard horse. Where a trot is a subjective thing but this is not abstract. It isn’t about gaits or breed or athleticism. Tack doesn’t matter and any rider is capable. It’s about cooperation and oneness. Much more challenging than upper level <em>party tricks.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Ride the transitions without a horse. Imagine it in slow motion, training your brain to relax and notice details. Become so familiar with the movement that when you’re in the saddle, you can let your brain rest and focus on your seat.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The easiest way to ruin your rein-back? Use it as punishment, pulling the reins, see-sawing hands, using hyperflexion or pulling your horse behind the vertical. Shame on you.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">How to train it? Like everything, start with small pieces and do them separately. Remember the top half of your leg cues half-halts, halts, and downward transitions. It might feel more like your knee than your thigh, but it definitely feels different from your lower leg, meaning calf, ankle and foot, which are used for forward cues. Learn to use upper and lower halves separately and correctly.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Start with the halt, give him time to get past <em>not</em> feeling the bit, metal on bone, and feel your leg instead. Even if he just slows a bit, reward approximation. Be aware of your seat in every stride. Ask for longer strides melting to stillness. He is on contact but no pulling. None.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Be clear, ask for his best effort, and reward generously. Then give a long rein and be cheerful. Don’t think too much. Instead, look for any opportunity to say <em>good boy</em>. When you have a soft peaceful halt with no rein, followed by an easy walk off, then begin schooling a rein-back of the same quality. Expect it to take time to become habit. Like piecing a patchwork quilt, stitch one square at a time.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">In riding, don’t be fooled by smoke and lights. Anyone can intimidate a horse into speed and jerk them to a halt. If you want to know the truth, look for partnership between the movements. <em><strong>Because the art is always in the transition.</strong></em></p>
<div><em><strong>…</strong></em></div>
<div><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
<div><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
<div><img src="https://ci4.googleusercontent.com/proxy/FJGYyX5cD7bbhe4hBxvyclMxZ9gv0O4GfUrJ8RCUo1AVTQ04424Yj2WVOAuc_lQ_fkHFi-cp9zuKqHyCceB6ii8vhGYT_Jfy5VhwIJFH-Og9k-yFF0Cz_5xDSxcHuc8iBcQRT7z-ACaLylPEQr562XIrWSGHGz0KZ-RW-1BuoNGeCpYVE52UlPBmXtoo2v8YymgAekeoCrEFq5Q=s0-d-e1-ft#%3Ca%20href="/>https://docs.google.com/uc?export=download&id=0B3tRtoFCuK7fWHkxejJ1Q1hRSUU&revid=0B3tRtoFCuK7fUHpiL1pDT3J2dkRUVE5uNE9OYzZkK2J4djNVPQ" height="143" width="200" /></div>
</div>The Fine Art of Cantankery.tag:www.barnmice.com,2016-08-26:1773158:BlogPost:7889452016-08-26T13:00:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/08/26/the-fine-art-of-cantankery/lillith/" target="_blank"><img class="align-right" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/lillith.jpg?w=426&h=431&width=285" width="285"></img></a> I’ve had a hard time acting my age. That’s not it, exactly. It’s more like I’m straddling the Grand Canyon between my usual teen angst and dealing with the fact I’m supposed to be wearing support hose. It all started with my birthday. Two years ago.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Then recently a donkey came to the rescue that I work with.…</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;"><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/08/26/the-fine-art-of-cantankery/lillith/"><img class="align-right" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/lillith.jpg?w=426&h=431&width=285" width="285"/></a> I’ve had a hard time acting my age. That’s not it, exactly. It’s more like I’m straddling the Grand Canyon between my usual teen angst and dealing with the fact I’m supposed to be wearing support hose. It all started with my birthday. Two years ago.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Then recently a donkey came to the rescue that I work with. She was nothing special, really. Her “selling point” was her age, I guess. We joked about needing to carbon date her. We’re guessing upper thirties. At least.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><em>Rule #1: Donkeys hate change.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">She came into rescue and landed in a kind geriatric pen with a few other special needs cases. Nobody too active and there was a buffet; piles of hay, lots of fresh water, and feed pans brimming with senior feed. In short, paradise. But she was having none of it. She had more opinion than strength.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">There’s an argument that she’d had a long life. On top of that, we’d just gotten a herd of starved yearlings in that needed foster homes, but we give everyone a chance. I offered to foster her at my barn. It’s slower and quieter here, and she was pretty wobbly. For me, there’s no rhyme or reason for when one animal stands out in this world of need, but it might have had something to do with those stupid support hose.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/08/26/the-fine-art-of-cantankery/wm-lillith-scratch/"><img class="align-left" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/wm-lillith-scratch.jpeg?w=393&h=519&width=263" width="263"/></a>She had a crusty coat of felted dead hair; a few years’ worth that she hadn’t managed to shed out. And it looked like there might be damage to her hind end, she didn’t walk well. Coming to my farm was not a miracle cure. She still didn’t eat or drink anything. Donkeys are tough, but what if it was too late and her organs were shutting down?</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">She played with alfalfa but ignored hay. A few times a day, I tried some new mush concoction. Donkeys are notoriously nervous of water containers. If she was drinking, I couldn’t tell, so I tried changing those as well. On the third day, I used an old blue bucket and finally, she drank.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><em>Rule #2: Donkeys please themselves.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">In the meantime, I sat on a bucket in her pen, just sharing space. I already knew she wasn’t wild about being caught or led. She came with a warning that she didn’t like her ears being touched. Or apparently anything else for that matter.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Then one day I was on the bucket, cutting up an over-ripe pear to put on her mush, which was already the equine equivalent of a fine french meal. This pear was sticky-sweet and soft, and she walked right up to me. Her sense of smell was perfect. It took a long while, I sat very still, but she took a bite of the pear from my hand. Her face went soft and I could hear it sloshing around in her mouth. I dropped the rest of the pear onto her mush and left the pen. Of course, standing up meant that she backed off from her bowl, but I wanted to reward her.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">People get too hung up on rescue animal’s histories. We love a tragic tale so we can feel sympathy and “<em>tsk-tsk”</em> and shake our do-gooder heads. If there’s one thing I know about the rescue, it’s that the past doesn’t matter nearly like the present does. Says the woman who wears her teen angst around her ankles like stretched out cotton underwear.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><em>Rule #3: Donkeys can be, well, cantankerous.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">She tolerates grooming but just to mid-flank. I still haven’t picked up a foot. Flies were eating her raw and I wanted to get some of that hot pink Swat ointment on her wounds. She gives a decent <em>NO!</em> cue, but I was marginally successful and she was steaming mad about it. Then I gingerly tried fly spray. She darted but then paused. I sprayed again. There were enough flies still there, that I could see them drop off her leg and hit the ground. It’s possible she saw them, too. Now when I walk to her with the fly spray, she stands and waits, as if I’m serving boat drinks at the beach. Clearly no signs of dementia. I started to think she might pull through; I started to think her name might be Lillith.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/08/26/the-fine-art-of-cantankery/lillith-bite/"><img class="align-right" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/lillith-bite.jpg?w=518&h=452&width=346" width="346"/></a>Just on the off-chance that you’re <em>cooing</em> and thinking she is just the sweetest thing… she isn’t. She bites. And kicks. The dead hair is gone, but a hand anywhere near her poll and she tosses her head abruptly. She’s a donkey of strong convictions.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">But don’t feel sorry for the goat. On a day that I could catch her, I doddered her out to the greenest grass for a different kind of dental exam. She dropped her head and slowly rubbed her nose back and forth, crushing it and sniffing deeply. She didn’t even try to take a bite. Her lips can scoop up mush, but her front teeth are useless. Know those billboards that show drug addicts with horrible teeth? That’s her. She has greenish-black nubbins of teeth. Meth teeth, so no worries about eating any goats.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><em>Cantankerous defined: 1. bad-tempered, argumentative, uncooperative, <span class="st">quarrelsome; irascible,</span></em> <span class="st"><em>disagreeable. 2. Difficult to handle.</em></span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">She was in a separate pen where she could eat in peace, along with Arthur, the goat, who was in detention with a broken leg. They formed a bond of co-dependent aggravation. Eventually Lillith stopped standing outside during thunder storms and went into the shed. Once she crossed that line, she used the shed for shade, too. One day she went to the gate to my family pen and turned her head to stare at me. I pride myself on being bilingual, so I opened the gate for her.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">That pen had the Grandfather Horse, Edgar Rice Burro, and the rest of my herd. Five minutes of careful consideration later, she moved through the gate. The mares push her off sometimes, but she kicks back at them. She can get her hind a few inches off the ground these days. Lillith takes long naps in the sun and tries to get someone to do some mutual grooming. The Grandfather Horse, who’s always loved the stiffest curry, finds her an unsatisfactory partner. It’s mutual gumming, to tell the truth.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/08/26/the-fine-art-of-cantankery/wm-lillith-angel/"><img class="align-left" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/wm-lillith-angel.jpeg?w=336&h=443&width=225" width="225"/></a><em>Rule #4: Donkeys don’t like change, unless they do.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">It’s been four months since Lillith came. She’s sleek, she has lousy ground manners, and she’s in fine voice. Her bray sounds like a combination of a train whistle and a bunch of sixth-grade boys making fart noises. And she isn’t afraid to use it.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Right now we’re debating the last feed of the day. She holds, loudly, that I should feed at sundown. With the season change, I tell her the sun sets earlier; I tell her it was always about the time on the clock. Then she makes it pretty clear what she thinks about clocks.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Measuring time is a peculiarity to our species–clocks and calendars rule humans. I miss my friends who’ve timed-out and retired to warm climates, while I throw hay and think about reinventing myself one more time. I’m stubborn about what I want and I’m at an awkward age.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">On the high side, I’ve finally found my spirit animal.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">…</p>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;"></div>Judging Dressage: Hyperflexion in Dressagetag:www.barnmice.com,2016-08-19:1773158:BlogPost:7887492016-08-19T13:00:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/08/19/judging-dressage/wm-nubebridle/" target="_blank"><img class="align-right" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/wm-nubebridle.jpeg?w=624&h=394&width=417" width="417"></img></a> Dressage isn't perfect, but what part is baby and what part is bath water?</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Watching the Dressage competition at the Olympics was inspirational. And horrific. There were impeccable riders with fluid bodies and invisible cues. And riders who were brutal, with hard hands and cruel methods. There were…</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;"><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/08/19/judging-dressage/wm-nubebridle/"><img class="align-right" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/wm-nubebridle.jpeg?w=624&h=394&width=417" width="417"/></a>Dressage isn't perfect, but what part is baby and what part is bath water?</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Watching the Dressage competition at the Olympics was inspirational. And horrific. There were impeccable riders with fluid bodies and invisible cues. And riders who were brutal, with hard hands and cruel methods. There were horses who were light and brilliant; who moved with such freedom and elegance that it took my breath away. There were horses whose bodies were so filled with tension and resistance, that I choked just watching.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">In other words, pretty much the way I feel when I see high-dollar horses compete. There have always been two ways to train and ride, and one look at the horse’s eye tells the truth.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Social media predictably exploded: Some defend abuse and some deny it. Some just like to pour gasoline on the fire. Rumor, guilt by association, and out-and-out lying stand beside positive training. It’s the easiest thing in the world to be critical and ranting has a real value. If enough of us do it, horses will benefit. Still, tearing the entire sport down from the cheap seats is too easy.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">But let’s be clear. The problem is not dressage. Or eventing or racing or reining. The problem is that we lose sight of the thing every horse-crazy girl knows. You always have to put your horse first. Obviously the biggest challenge going up the levels in dressage is to lift our own humanity, along with our horse’s movements, to a more balanced and beautiful place.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">A few weeks back, I got a call from my local dressage chapter looking for volunteers and I was ready to scribe the next Friday morning. A scribe sits next to the judge and writes down the comments and scores for each movement in the test. It’s like taking dictation but there isn’t much room to write and tests move right along. I’ve scribed for international judges and learner judges and always come away with something valuable to take back to my clients.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Each rider comes in for a brief warm-up, greets the judge, and when the bell rings, enters the arena. Some of the rides are smooth and sweet. Some come apart and we’ve all been there. Some of the riders are cool and relaxed with lots of experience. Some are new and giddy to be out with their horses. There were pre-teens and women of a certain age and everyone in between. Some horses are fancy with lively dramatic gaits and some are steady and kind partners of no particular bloodline.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">There were no cruel bits or bloody spurs. I saw no horses behind the bit and each rider did their best to keep quiet hands and soft legs. Everyone wore helmets. The horses were well-groomed and well-loved and the riders polished their boots. Because pride of appearance is the first way we show respect to the discipline we love.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">We shared pizza for lunch and people congratulated each other. This judge was somewhat quirky, which I don’t have to tell you is totally normal for the horse world. But her comments were consistent, she didn’t give away any free marks, and if some riders were unhappy but they were good sports about it. In the afternoon the judge showed me photos of her own horses. I think she was missing them.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Toward the end of the day, during the obligatory afternoon thunderstorm, a rider finished her test with the usual salute and released her reins. Her smile was as bright as the tall stockings on her horse. It was her second test that day and an improvement over the first. She blurted out, with so much wild enthusiasm that it bordered on shrill, “Thank you! Thank you for coming!” We almost flinched at the howl of good will!</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Driving home I thought this is my dressage.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Dressage isn’t owned by millionaires or elite breeders or any particular country. The vast majority of dressage riders in this country ride below second level, on horses we’ll keep forever. They own this sport as much as anyone else.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Some years I have clients who compete and I’m on the other side of the judge’s table. Sometimes the horses I work with never compete but practice dressage, working to gain strength and suppleness and balance. Riders might ride in a different saddle or not always wear tall boots, but they all agree that riding a twenty meter circle is a lot harder than it looks.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Dressage literally means training; that’s our commitment. We try to improve, not to please a judge but to help our horses</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I don’t mean to sound biblical, but doesn’t most disagreement boil down to good and evil? Isn’t the challenge always how to live up to our best potential? I don’t deny the dark side of dressage. I hate hyperflexion and cruelty; horses never stand a chance against human ego and greed. At the same time, watching a young girl and her horse quietly navigate a dressage test is a fine and beautiful thing.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Dressage will change for the good of horses. We’ll demand it. Change comes slowly, but I hold hope because of this girl and her good horse. Amateur riders with a horse and a dream are the reason <strong>I refuse to hand my beautiful sport over to the haters.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Back at the Olympics, the woman who won the individual gold medal in dressage wore a helmet. She and her horse didn’t have an easy start in the beginning; she needed courage and wits to match his fire and sensitivity. They forged a partnership out of chaos. Sound familiar? For their final test she was nervous, aware of the distance they’d come and her desire to do well. But once they started moving, she said, <em>it was as if her horse held her hand.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">A gold medal rider in two Olympics is talking like a horse-crazy girl. That’s my dressage, too.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">…</p>
<div><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
<div><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
<p><img src="https://ci4.googleusercontent.com/proxy/FJGYyX5cD7bbhe4hBxvyclMxZ9gv0O4GfUrJ8RCUo1AVTQ04424Yj2WVOAuc_lQ_fkHFi-cp9zuKqHyCceB6ii8vhGYT_Jfy5VhwIJFH-Og9k-yFF0Cz_5xDSxcHuc8iBcQRT7z-ACaLylPEQr562XIrWSGHGz0KZ-RW-1BuoNGeCpYVE52UlPBmXtoo2v8YymgAekeoCrEFq5Q=s0-d-e1-ft#%3Ca%20href="/></p>
<p></p>A Trailer of One's Owntag:www.barnmice.com,2016-08-12:1773158:BlogPost:7884002016-08-12T12:00:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p style="text-align: justify;"><img alt="WM trailer Nova" class="wp-image-76049 aligncenter" height="362" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/wm-trailer-nova.jpeg?w=857&h=548" width="572"></img></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">A horsewoman told me that, at sixty-three, she was the proud owner of her very first horse trailer. I let out a congratulatory yell and I’ve been smiling all day. Trailers add a layer of independence to the freedom we feel with horses.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Do you remember your first horse trailer? Mine was a navy blue two-horse straight load. It was the late ’80s and no one I knew wanted to…</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;"><img class="wp-image-76049 aligncenter" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/wm-trailer-nova.jpeg?w=857&h=548" alt="WM trailer Nova" height="362" width="572"/></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">A horsewoman told me that, at sixty-three, she was the proud owner of her very first horse trailer. I let out a congratulatory yell and I’ve been smiling all day. Trailers add a layer of independence to the freedom we feel with horses.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Do you remember your first horse trailer? Mine was a navy blue two-horse straight load. It was the late ’80s and no one I knew wanted to show their horse but me. I’d been preparing for years, buying spare buckets and hay nets and trailer gadgets. Finally, I talked a friend into buying one together. It weighed a bit more than my truck–without horses in it. The inside had rust that you couldn’t really see because it had been spray painted silver. There was a tiny dressing room up front with saddle racks at an impossible angle and I could not believe my wild luck.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Then came the day <em>I grew up</em>. I loaded my horse and my gear and headed off alone with Jerry Lee Lewis roaring from my tape deck. Driving with all the tense earnestness of a high school student with a learner’s permit, I made my way carefully to the fairgrounds in the next county. It might as well have been another country; I knew no one but it was my first Appaloosa show and I was sure it would be perfect.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">There was also a goat show at the fairgrounds that weekend. Have you ever heard a few hundred goats bleating? No? Neither had my young horse. He visibly quivered–out and out vibrated–as I tacked him up. It was contagious. I’m always saying goats are the remedy for Type-A personalities, and this is where I learned it. Lucky we were a day early.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I wanted to quit and go home, but I’m no quitter. Quite a dilemma. So we worked a while and the best I could say was that I managed to stay on. Before dark I was laying on a camp cot in my trailer and wishing it was over. By morning my horse was a little better; no one can hold that level of adrenaline forever. I hosed off my head and felt awkward in my show clothes.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Naturally I’d entered every class I could because I didn’t know any better. It was probably more about persistence then riding well, but by the trail class Sunday afternoon, we counter-cantered, just on the other side of the fence from the goat pens. <em>Intentionally</em> counter-cantered. No blue ribbons, but I did win the reserve high-point award, I think just by sheer numbers. My prize was a purple plastic spray bottle–like the $1.29 ones at the drugstore. I was insufferable. After thousands of dollars in board, training, this trailer, and a truck to pull it, <em>I won a prize!</em></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"> In my years since that first haul, I’ve honed my skills. There have been sunny days at horse shows and trail rides with friends, but much more important trips, too. I’ve pulled horses from auctions in the nick of time and picked up rescues from people heartbroken to surrender them. I’ve hauled foals to vet schools for surgery and made midnight emergency colic runs with sick horses. A trailer buys safety for your own horse, but also the ability to help others. We’ve had some fires in recent years and I’ve gotten choked up seeing lines of trailers ready to help evacuate. It makes me proud.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The new trailer owner’s husband asked that the trailer be <em>her</em> responsibility. That’s good news. Husbands and wives tend to agree about trailering about as much as they do driving, I suspect. Beyond that, no one prioritizes horses like an owner does and the ability to <em>not</em> <em>be dependent</em> on others is priceless. With no objection, she soon hired a trainer to help sort out the details. She had to overcome some nervousness of her own, so she’s feeling pretty proud of herself now, I’ll bet. Enjoy the new layer of confidence, my friend, it’s never too late to hit the road, singing along with <em>Born to be Wild.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I know owning a hauling rig is expensive, in ways you can’t imagine in the beginning. But at the same time, it isn’t really a luxury, either. I prefer a simple, affordable stock trailer. At the risk of sounding dramatic, lives do actually depend on it.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">If it’s fear holding you back from hauling, maybe now is a good time to step up to the challenge. Yes, it’s traditionally been men’s territory, but it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been stretched out of shape for your horse. Take a ride in back and figure out how slowly you should corner the thing. Spend some time pulling it empty at first. Head to a parking lot and take your time. Make a mess of backing until it gets easier because having people direct you is just crazy-making. Now head for a gas station and work on steering through narrow places. Notice that slight swagger as you walk back to check the latches? Take a breath; the whole thing is so much easier than learning to ride.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://annablakeblog.com/?attachment_id=76053" rel="attachment wp-att-76053"><img class="alignleft size-large wp-image-76053" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/wm-trailer-goat.jpeg?w=942&h=536" alt="WM trailer goat" height="360" width="640"/></a></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">If a trailer isn’t possible, do you have an emergency plan for your horse? Does that trailer owner know she’s your emergency plan? Now might be a good time to consider asking that person for hauling lessons. Offer to be a back-up driver and learn to hook up. Trailer knowledge shouldn’t be limited to owners; in the worst case scenario, you could save the day.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Owning a horse requires an unusual and ever-growing skill set. Hang around a barn long enough and there is nothing you won’t be asked to do. It takes a fair range of courage out of the saddle, too, because horses depend on us in this messy world. We’re lucky we’re such hard-headed, relentlessly persevering folks.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">And oh, one last thing. Practice your steering wheel wave. It’s like our secret handshake. Traditionalists like a subtle one finger lift, an acknowledgment of solidarity. It’s understated but the meaning is clear: I’ve got your back. You can count on me… and so can your horse.<br/><br/></p>
<div><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro<br/><br/></div>
<div><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
<div><img src="https://ci4.googleusercontent.com/proxy/FJGYyX5cD7bbhe4hBxvyclMxZ9gv0O4GfUrJ8RCUo1AVTQ04424Yj2WVOAuc_lQ_fkHFi-cp9zuKqHyCceB6ii8vhGYT_Jfy5VhwIJFH-Og9k-yFF0Cz_5xDSxcHuc8iBcQRT7z-ACaLylPEQr562XIrWSGHGz0KZ-RW-1BuoNGeCpYVE52UlPBmXtoo2v8YymgAekeoCrEFq5Q=s0-d-e1-ft#%3Ca%20href="/></div>How to Ride Creatively.tag:www.barnmice.com,2016-08-05:1773158:BlogPost:7885052016-08-05T13:30:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
<div class="entry-content"><p><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/08/05/how-to-ride-creatively/wm-moon-ride/" target="_blank"><img class="align-right" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/wm-moon-ride.jpg?w=480&h=705&width=321" width="321"></img></a> Riding a horse is the simplest thing in the world. Just point ’em and kick. What’s so hard about that? And as long as you don’t care where you go or how you get there, no worries.</p>
<p>But we’re humans prone to having expectations and goals. And horses are sentient with thoughts and emotions of their own. Perhaps the first thing that horses and humans…</p>
</div>
<div class="entry-content"><p><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/08/05/how-to-ride-creatively/wm-moon-ride/"><img class="align-right" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/08/wm-moon-ride.jpg?w=480&h=705&width=321" width="321"/></a>Riding a horse is the simplest thing in the world. Just point ’em and kick. What’s so hard about that? And as long as you don’t care where you go or how you get there, no worries.</p>
<p>But we’re humans prone to having expectations and goals. And horses are sentient with thoughts and emotions of their own. Perhaps the first thing that horses and humans have in common is a dislike of random chaos.</p>
<p>So then the horse or rider might decide some sort of leadership is needed and that’s when training starts. You ask for something simple: Go away from the barn. Walk on the rail. Canter. But they don’t.</p>
<p>About this time, it occurs to us there might be more to riding than we previously thought. Seeing others ride happy horses with finesse and relaxation, you might even start to think there’s an <em>art</em> to riding. Perfect.</p>
<p>Because a horse has in-the-moment awareness, if you’re in the saddle, you’re the trainer. In other words, you’re the <em>artist</em>. Creativity is your fuel.</p>
<p>Ever tried painting? Paint-by-number exists because a paint brush is hard to control. Tried sculpting? Eye/hand coordination isn’t as easy as you’d think. The worst part is that judgment, seeing what’s wrong in a picture, is always the easy part. Now lay down the paint brush and add a live horse to the mix. All the muscle strength in the world can’t make a masterpiece, but your creativity can.</p>
<p>Being an artist in the saddle means answering a question with creativity. Is this the kind of nebulous idea that makes your head want to explode?</p>
<p>Start here: Any work of art starts with a foundation of technique. In this case, find balance in your seat, be aware of your body is doing, especially your hands. Most importantly, relax. Creativity doesn’t respond well to tension or force, any more than a horse does.</p>
<p>Step one: Let go of expectations and judgment. They only make your mind run like a rat on a wheel. Checking your mental list for mistakes doesn’t help, but even worse, the deafening clatter of self-doubt makes it hard to hear your horse. Breathe; go silent and listen.</p>
<p>Step two: Have an idea about what you are asking for; it might be lateral work or trotting a box or making a water crossing. Then let it go; repeat step one.</p>
<p>Step three: Know they will get it wrong, but since you aren’t judging, you don’t care. Lower your expectations for perfection. Training something new is like you and your horse feeling around for each other in a dark room. He doesn’t know what you want, and you don’t know what he’d respond to, so lighten up. Not because you are a patient saint, but because the most important thing is that your horse gets encouragement to try. Be positive because if he feels like everything he does is wrong, he’ll stop trying. Sound familiar at all?</p>
<p>All animal training systems begin with rewarding a good basic response. The word dog trainers use is “shaping,” meaning the progressive building of a response, step by step. In behavioral science they call it “successive approximation” or implying an <em>approximate</em> answer, not the correct one. It’s a technique you learned early. Remember playing Hide ‘N Seek as a kid and calling out “warmer, warmer, HOT” to help the seeker?</p>
<p>In the saddle it means that you think of a logical cue and ask for something. Then when he gives you the wrong answer, believe him because making him wrong ends the conversation. Reward him, not to affirm the wrong answer but because he responded and a responsive horse is the foundation goal.</p>
<p>Here’s where the creative part comes in: Because asking the wrong way louder never works, ask the same question using a slightly different cue. Let his first answer inform the next cue. If he gave you an answer that was more sideways than forward, for instance, take him at his word and ask again politely, but with a bit more forward. It’s a short ask and a quick reward.</p>
<p><strong>A horse learns what he did was right <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><em>after</em></span> you reward him for it.</strong></p>
<p>Teaching an impatient horse to stand still can a challenge. Ask for the halt and if you get anything kind of like slowing down, reward him. Walk on and ask again. If the halt is just a bit closer, reward that and walk off. Collect good tries and ignore the ones that don’t happen. If you lose sight of the goal and start correcting him for moving, before he knows what <em>halt</em> means, then it’s not fair. It’s scribbling on the <em>Mona Lisa</em> with a sharpie pen. Take a breath and don’t kill his try with correction. Get open-minded and find a cue that he can succeed with. Most likely a smaller cue.</p>
<p>A couple of years ago, I was training a mini-mule to drive. Focus was erratic and we had a time finding our rhythm. Our halts were a nasty combination of distraction and anxiety. The usual exhale/butt-scratch did nothing, and even as she spun around in the long lines, I had to stay behind her in the driver’s position. Her anxiety was getting louder…</p>
<p>Is the leadership being questioned? By either you or your horse? Wonderful. Take a breath. Do you want to inspire your horse to confidence and partnership? Now is a good time to remember training is an art. And you are an artist. Exhale again.</p>
<p>… So rather than increase the mule’s stress, I found another place to scratch. It’s that hairless place on the underside of the top of their tail. Do you know the spot? Horses love it too. Sure, passing cars wonder what you’re up to; another reason to be glad that you gave up judgment of <em>both</em> you and your partner. Meanwhile, the mule got quiet and still, loving that gentle touch on the downside of her tail. She cocked her hip and we let time pass in this positive place, even if my hand wasn’t thrilled at the location. Beyond that, we waited long enough that she had some time to assimilate the whole interchange into the big picture. It involved her seeing me differently. Soon an exhale and hand on her hind was a reward enough, and from there, just my exhale brought the relaxation of a reward.</p>
<p>(Just in case you think what works with a mule is different that what works with a horse, you are totally correct. If it works with a mule, it works at least <em>twice</em> as well with a horse.)</p>
<p>One training technique will not work on every horse; they’re individuals who respond individually. Looking at training this way, isn’t creativity a greater asset than a huge, expensive box of harsh aids? Now it boils down to the confidence you feel in your own creativity.</p>
<p>The bad news: you can’t buy creativity. The good news: we are born with infinite creativity. So it follows that we can all be Nuno or Klimke or Hunt or Dorrance…at least in our own minds, but that’s exactly where it matters to a horse.</p>
<div><b>…</b></div>
<div><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
<div><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
</div>Money: If Wishes Were Horses…tag:www.barnmice.com,2016-07-29:1773158:BlogPost:7881632016-07-29T19:00:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/07/29/money-if-wishes-were-horses/wm-infinity-farm/" rel="attachment wp-att-75962"><img alt="WM Infinity Farm" class="aligncenter size-large wp-image-75962" height="262" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/wm-infinity-farm.jpeg?w=840&h=366" width="602"></img></a></p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">“How much does a horse cost? Do you have to be rich to own one?”</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I can tell you how much hay they eat, warn you about vet bills and farrier visits. There are many articles and books written about equine…</p>
<p></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/07/29/money-if-wishes-were-horses/wm-infinity-farm/" rel="attachment wp-att-75962"><img class="aligncenter size-large wp-image-75962" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/wm-infinity-farm.jpeg?w=840&h=366" alt="WM Infinity Farm" height="262" width="602"/></a></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">“How much does a horse cost? Do you have to be rich to own one?”</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I can tell you how much hay they eat, warn you about vet bills and farrier visits. There are many articles and books written about equine economics, but the first truth anyone with horses learns is that owning a horse is nowhere near simple math.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I know talking about money is rude, or at least uncomfortable. Still, I’m endlessly curious. Money is a vehicle that carries dreams and wishes into the real world; simple math done on a spiritual obstacle course. <span id="more-75959"></span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Lottery winners and philosophers tell us that money doesn’t buy happiness. Words that are foolish and flat when compared to the vast return we get from a puppy’s adoption fee. Or your first horse. Money has a concrete value but we always have to reconcile that literal value with our personal feeling of abundance or lack.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Let’s begin here: if we were somehow required to have a bank account to cover any issues that might come up in the future in the lives of our animal companions, most of us could barely afford one cat. So this is where the magic comes in. It isn’t obvious divine intervention; hay bales don’t multiply in a loaves-and-fishes miracle. Sometimes it’s barely noticeable, like the truck <em>doesn’t</em> break down or a few months go by <em>without</em> emergency vet calls.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Just when you get comfortable, money goes worthless. It can purchase a horse, but it has never been able to buy relationship and skill in the saddle. Horses are the great equalizer; you can’t buy the ride. Or the other priceless things: freedom, friendship, and self-esteem.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">If money is a vehicle, it’s still up to us to steer it. One horsewoman complains bitterly about the cost of her farrier and always asks for a discount. She also drives a brand new red sports car; I notice the tires are good. I met a man who admitted that he’d spent $40,000. on surgery for his dog’s brain injury. He was so sad about losing the dog, not the money. Some of us have brand new trucks and skinny horses. Some of us need a larger geriatric pen, while others switch horses in and out every year. It’s investment and return. Are you horse rich or horse poor?</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">In my case, I knew the costs early. I’d paid for my horse with babysitting money as a kid. After I left home, I was responsible. I waited, counting every dollar and every miserable day, until I was… well, <em>stable</em>. I knew the costs of keeping a horse as well as the costs of living without one. I had a plan and a budget. And six months after bringing my new horse home, my husband filed for divorce. Surprise! Game on.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">It can all feel like chaos. Do your very best, yet all the plans, prayers, and affirmations won’t hold if the universe has a different lesson in mind. The only thing you can count on is money will be an ingredient that kind of disaster every time. Then, against the odds, the truest blessings in life come right after the very worst days. It’s like money in the bank.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">When I look around my circle of friends not everyone is where they thought they would be financially. Life happens: health issues develop, work changes, relationships crash, and we’ve already re-invented ourselves more than once. Life throws us a few curve-balls but even then, past the whining and bragging and wishing, it’s easy to know a person’s true priority. It’s as clear as a check register. We put our money where our heart is.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">How do I budget? Sometimes I have to make hard decisions. I always know that I can’t afford catastrophic surgery. Spending several thousand dollars on one animal isn’t possible if it endangers the well-being of the whole herd. I’ve been lucky with that side, the Universe knows my budget and doesn’t push me too hard. I’ve learned to trust that.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I think the first thing I ever charged was a vet bill and I’m usually paying off one animal bill or another. At this point, it’s nostalgic.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">We all agree it’s about quality of life and that’s what we celebrate here. There are always a few seniors who are frail. It isn’t a crime to get old and when it’s time, I’m happy to ease their way. Financial debt has become part of the mourning process. Everything heals in time, money and hearts.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Keeping horses gets more expensive each year and the days of a rural culture with horses grazing in the pasture are fading. I’d hate it if horses became a hobby only for the wealthy and I fear lives in the middle, like mine, will become even more challenging. If the day comes that horses aren’t around to save horse-crazy little girls and give them wings, it would be a very sad time. So I’ll hold to this little farm and pay my blessings forward.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Am I on the road to becoming that crazy cat lady, only different? A crazy horsewoman with a full barn and gnarled hands perpetually gripping a muck fork? I hope so. I can’t put a dollar value on the particular smell of a horse’s mane, or the warmth of a donkey pressing his head to my back, or the sound of dog paws following along. In the end, it’s easy to live the dream. You just give up everything else.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">But money remains a mystery to me. It’s somehow attached to the Circle of Life because I’ve seen the two of them whispering together. If money is a vehicle, then as far as I can tell, I’ve always had outside help turning the wheel.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">“How much does a horse cost?” I’d say they cost everything you have.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">“Do you have to be rich to own one?” No, that comes later.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;"></p>Rescue: Training the Things We Take for Grantedtag:www.barnmice.com,2016-07-22:1773158:BlogPost:7879562016-07-22T14:01:39.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span class="_Tgc"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/07/22/rescue-training-the-things-we-take-for-granted/wm-preacher-sploot/" target="_blank"><img class="align-right" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/wm-preacher-sploot.jpeg?w=513&h=591&width=342" width="342"></img></a> Lethargy. Sweltering with a non-specific stickiness. Flies. More flies. Dilly-dallying.</span> These are the wilting Dog Days of Summer, named for <span class="_Tgc">Sirius, the Dog Star. No connection to the napping habits of dogs so deflated by the heat that a sploot position on the linoleum is the…</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><span class="_Tgc"><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/07/22/rescue-training-the-things-we-take-for-granted/wm-preacher-sploot/"><img class="align-right" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/wm-preacher-sploot.jpeg?w=513&h=591&width=342" width="342"/></a>Lethargy. Sweltering with a non-specific stickiness. Flies. More flies. Dilly-dallying.</span> These are the wilting Dog Days of Summer, named for <span class="_Tgc">Sirius, the Dog Star. No connection to the napping habits of dogs so deflated by the heat that a sploot position on the linoleum is the smart choice.<br/></span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Preacher Man is having a good summer. I haven’t been able to find the toenail clippers and sometimes a good day can be best described by what doesn’t happen.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">It was two and a half years ago when this rescue dog arrived like a mail-order bride at the local airport. Preacher Man left a trail of kind hearts and burst eardrums in Texas.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">He has a tendency toward the incessant operatic bark; a clear ringing tenor that rises seamlessly above his inhales and exhales. Or it might be a previously un-diagnosed case of canine Tourettes. It’s a syndrome fairly common among horsewomen as well.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">In my experience, rescue dogs fall into two categories. Some are pragmatic; they stand in the front door taking a long look from the couch to the kitchen, assessing the possibilities. Immediately satisfied with the accommodations, they circle three times and fall asleep hugging the cat. Everyone resumes a peaceful routine with just a bit more dog hair in it. Everyone gets to feel magnanimous.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The other category is like entering long term-addiction therapy with your new stalker. Sure, herding dogs are a bit of a challenge on the rescue spectrum. It’s their job in life to make sure everyone stays together so there’s a testy balance of guilt and hysteria at finding themselves in rescue. “No!” Preacher howled to the ceiling, “This incarceration is a big mistake.” The jailers at the rescue shrugged; all the dogs desperately plead their innocence. Jailers agree.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/07/22/rescue-training-the-things-we-take-for-granted/wm-corgi-selfie-stick/"><img class="align-left" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/wm-corgi-selfie-stick.jpeg?w=431&h=509&width=287" width="287"/></a>Preacher Man was named for loving the sound of his own voice just a bit too much. He’d been in and out of a few too many packs and he was crazy with the shame; he believed he couldn’t survive that failure again. He was confident that trying too hard was just the ticket.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">As for me, I began to train the things we take for granted. The everyday habits that define normal. My first task was convincing Preacher that the cats were not agents of the devil. I know what you’re thinking; it’s pretty much true, but we are not a species-racist farm. We do not tolerate intolerance. We have a goat to prove it.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">On day one, there’s the big tabby cat sitting nonchalantly in the doorway and Preacher warned me like an air raid siren all day. Every hour-and-a-half or so, he paused to catch his breath and I gave him a cookie. It’s positive reinforcement for the split second of quiet but positive training also requires a split second of hindsight… that instant of connecting the dots but Preacher knows if he slows down even that much, his past might catch up. Instead he thinks that I have given him the cookie to keep his strength up in battle, and the one-sided fight begins again. Eventually Preacher wins when the cat gets bored enough to leave. Preacher settles under my chair, confident that if he can just keep up the bark work, he’ll prove he’s indefensible. Or indispensable. One of those words.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Preacher barks especially loud, if that’s even possible, at meal time. The other dogs, a little pudgy around the middle, don’t quite believe the call to arms but it seems like a good idea to join in. You wouldn’t want the short dog to get all the food. Their conversation soon degenerates to name-calling, and by the time I’m there with bowls, it’s more like a controlled explosion.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">How am I doing at training Preacher to be normal? It’s about now that I decided to take the high moral ground and pretend he was never housebroken in the first place. I did it for my own sanity. And his.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The hardest training had to be done after dark when the monsters roam. I guess I thought all corgis slept belly up and snored like your weird uncle. Preacher spent the first year sleeping under the bed. The second year, he came out and tentatively pressed his backside into my ear, keeping one eye open, ready to launch across the room in attack mode should a mass-murderer or a stray cat wander by in the dark. After an hour or two, he went back under the bed. It was just too much responsibility, even for him.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">But lately Preach manages to sleep through a couple of nights a week. He still has to face the door, but sometimes the back of his little flat head presses hard against my cheek. Sometimes in the dark, his nose rises up and falls back toward me. All the way back, like a contortionist, till his white throat glows all the way to his belly. I exhale long and he flips around on the bed like a sturgeon out of water. We forget where we came from for a little while and our inner puppies wrestle until we fall into a fearless sleep.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/07/22/rescue-training-the-things-we-take-for-granted/wm-corgi-back/"><img class="align-right" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/wm-corgi-back.jpeg?w=590&h=443&width=393" width="393"/></a>Normal is like gravity; a steady force for balance.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Come morning, Preacher Man is back on task, ferocious that the Dude Rancher is using the bathroom. I remember to let him out before I sweep. Preacher seems to know an alternate use for broomsticks and he’s trained me a new normal on that.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">In this oppressive season, it’s easy to find danger at every turn. To feel that the world is a scary place and any connection we have found will fray and break. Sometimes amid the stress of fearing for the worst, we let our habits change, and before we know it, purrs sound like growls. It’s hard to imagine that in a still quiet moment, if you could just trust yourself. That in a moment of vulnerability, you could feel safe.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">What they don’t tell you about rescue is that it’s an inside job.</p>
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<div><b>Anna Blake at Infinity Farm<br/></b></div>
<div>Horse Advocate, Author, Equine Pro</div>
<div><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anna.blake.54" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="mailto:annamarieblake@gmail.com" target="_blank">Email</a> <a href="https://annablake.com/" target="_blank">Site</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnnaBlake.Author/?fref=ts" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/annablake" target="_blank">Tweet</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anna-M-Blake/e/B010WAABVU" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>Defending Horses with Words and Moneytag:www.barnmice.com,2016-07-17:1773158:BlogPost:7877522016-07-17T02:30:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/07/15/defending-horses-with-words-and-money/wm-brisaeye/" target="_blank"><img class="align-left" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/wm-brisaeye.jpeg?w=597&h=699&width=398" width="398"></img></a> Fair warning: I'm going to ask you to do a favor for horses. It will involve some of your time and the money that you spend anyway.</p>
<p>I try to avoid any photos of abuse. I don’t share them because they titillate perpetrators. Besides, I’ve seen enough cruelty for a thousand lifetimes.</p>
<p>One got by me this week on Facebook; it was a photo of a dog…</p>
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<p><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/07/15/defending-horses-with-words-and-money/wm-brisaeye/"><img class="align-left" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/wm-brisaeye.jpeg?w=597&h=699&width=398" width="398"/></a>Fair warning: I'm going to ask you to do a favor for horses. It will involve some of your time and the money that you spend anyway.</p>
<p>I try to avoid any photos of abuse. I don’t share them because they titillate perpetrators. Besides, I’ve seen enough cruelty for a thousand lifetimes.</p>
<p>One got by me this week on Facebook; it was a photo of a dog who had fireworks set off in his mouth. He was a German Shepherd with kind, intelligent eyes and a mass of blood where his mouth had been. Brutal, stupid, and the work of his own human. More and more, that’s how I see riding abuse in horses.</p>
<p>Riding abuse is a catch-all term I use for any mounted behavior involving violent hands, <a href="http://www.barnmice.com/profiles/blogs/bits-metal-on-bone" target="_blank">metal on bone</a>, and a horse’s mouth. In dressage the FEI has gotten many complaints, so they debate what to call Rollkur. Or Hyperflexion. Or LDR (l<span class="st">ow, deep, round). They’ve changed the name a few times to make it <em>understood</em> better. It’s defined as an exaggerated flexion of a horse’s poll and neck, that got “popular” in the 1980s when Nicole Uphoff of Germany used it in training her horse, Rembrandt. It became a fad used by successful competitors. Now young horses in lower level dressage in the U.S. get pulled behind the vertical. In spite of dressage fundamentals and USEF rules.<br/></span> <br/> <em><span class="st">Dear FEI, It isn’t that we don’t understand the words; it’s the cruel and destructive training method that we despise. (<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tug-War-Classical-Incorrect-Negatively/dp/1570763755/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1468548960&sr=1-1&keywords=gerd+heuschmann" target="_blank">Tug of War, Heuschmann)</a></span>. We want it outlawed.</em></p>
<p>This week the internet bled with photos from the Falsterbo Horse Show in Sweden. Images of riders in warm-up abusing elite horses, their noses pinned to their chests, while the riders braced back, pulling hard. Even with all the complaints, this painful method continues. <em><strong>They may be competitors in the discipline that I love… but what they are doing IS NOT DRESSAGE.</strong></em></p>
<p>The debate has torn dressage riders apart. Classic dressage proponents talk about disowning competitive dressage riders, even though most dressage riders competing today <em>do not use</em> hyperflexion. Competitive riders who are innocent feel attacked, even as they hate the cruelty that exists.</p>
<p><span class="st">After we lump all the dressage riders who show their horses together in an unfair pile, we also</span> blame the judges, although the worst of it goes on in warm up. And the technical delegates and stewards who have the job of reporting infractions. People rant against dressage when the cause has much more to do with money. We point to everyone but ourselves. What if we contribute to change and not more blame?</p>
<p>This brutal week for horses got a bit worse with the release of a Clinton Anderson video. Erica Franz wrote a great article on her <a href="https://www.writingofriding.com/" target="_blank">Writing of Riding</a> blog titled, <a href="https://www.writingofriding.com/in-the-media/clinton-anderson-asshole/" target="_blank">Clinton Anderson isn’t an Asshole</a>.</p>
<p>Many of you sent the YouTube link to me privately, and I will admit to a meltdown. To my eye, the most brutal hyperflexion techniques exist in western riding and it’s personal; it was reining that led me to dressage in the first place. I wasn’t born with a dressage saddle; I love a hot spin and a cool run-down, but I’ve worked with a handful of Anderson method horses. They had a story to tell, too.</p>
<p>To add gasoline to the fire, at the end of that <a href="https://youtu.be/1DhWU4y6wIs" target="_blank">video</a>, Anderson shares an unprofessional rant, in guise of bragging about not being politically correct, while insulting his very clients. The other word for that is bullying.</p>
<p>Have we all become haters? Is that where we are now? Did classical masters like Klimpke, Oliveira, and the Dorrance brothers give in to cruelty? The exact opposite; they spoke for training with kindness and understanding–above brute force.</p>
<p>Then there are people like me. I train fear-free with positive techniques, often working with horses who have flunked out with other trainers. Sometimes with stallions and other times, with Anderson’s “tree-hugging idiots that ride in a bitless bridle.” Just my kind of rider, frankly.</p>
<p>And I write this blog. The most common comments and emails are from riders whose experience with trainers remind me of stories about domestic violence. Riders who escaped with their horses and believe that herd behavior is a little more nuanced than “the meanest one wins.” Every week, my readers get to feel good about understanding that leadership is about providing safety, not fear. I preach to the choir but it isn’t enough. The horses need more.</p>
<p><strong><em>“My doctrine is this, that if we see cruelty or wrong that we have the power to stop, and do nothing, we make ourselves sharers in the guilt.” -Anna Sewell, Black Beauty, 1877.</em></strong></p>
<p>We always wring out hands and coo to each other about the suffering caused by cruel training. Enough already.</p>
<p><span class="st">Training disasters are like fashion disasters: Mullets and white patent leather shoes went away when we stopped buying them. We have to do our part instead of grumbling while horses suffer.<br/></span></p>
<p><span class="UFICommentBody"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">When equestrian consumers take a stand and quit supporting abuse with our considerable money, the real change will begin. And yes, change is as slow as rust. We don’t have a moment to waste.</span></span></p>
<p>I spent a lovely evening this week, with a glass of wine and my computer. First I wrote a short paragraph explaining that I was boycotting their company because of cruel training methods and unacceptably rude words from a professional they sponsor, and ended by saying I would encourage others do to the same. Then I went to the <a href="https://www.downunderhorsemanship.com/Sponsors/Sponsors" target="_blank">Down Under Horsemanship</a> sponsor page, made easy with clickable links. Two of the sponsors were companies that I’ve done business with for decades. So I pasted my complaint on email after email, sipped my wine, and felt better than I had all week.</p>
<p>Or go to <a href="http://no-rollkur.com/" target="_blank">No Rollkur</a>, read up, and sign the petition. Relabel yourself; <strong><em>Horse Advocate</em></strong> is a good title. Then stand up proud to put horses first.</p>
<p>Each week, take a few hours away from your horse (or better yet, cleaning the bathroom,) and instead of complaining to your friends who agree with you already, add your voice to your dollars. Smartpak will notice. Then contact national organizations, like USEF, USDF, or your breed organization, and speak your word for horses.</p>
<p>And if you are going to send off complaints, also compliment sponsors who back trainers and events that you respect, as well as sending off notes to show management about good judges and show officials that promote the true standard. <em>VOTE, dammit</em>. Your word is stronger than you know.</p>
<p>A few weeks ago, I posted that some friends and I were going to the FEI World Cup in Omaha next spring. There were comments that dressage was cruel and boycotting it was necessary. If that’s how you feel, by all means boycott, but please write a pile of notes to let the organizers know your thoughts. Scream bloody murder; be heard.</p>
<p>As for me, I’ll be there cheering loudly for the best horses and riders and taking names of the rest, soon to become my new pen pals. I hope the dressage world finds a path back together. That we won’t let that ideal of the art and beauty of a horse and rider partnered in oneness ever be destroyed. That those who understand what’s at stake will refuse to hand dressage over to the haters. That we will stand with the horses who taught some of us at least, to rise above our human shortcomings.</p>
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<p>Anna Blake, Infinity Farm.</p>
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<p></p>The Trailer Isn’t the Problem.tag:www.barnmice.com,2016-07-08:1773158:BlogPost:7876202016-07-08T17:00:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/07/08/the-trailer-isnt-the-problem/wm-trailer-grace/" rel="attachment wp-att-75765"><img alt="WM Trailer Grace" class="alignright size-large wp-image-75765" height="505" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/wm-trailer-grace.jpeg?w=840&h=638" width="665"></img></a></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The owner said his horse had trailer issues. He’d watched a video and used a whip and rope, with bad results. Then he hired a local trainer but after two hours of fighting with his hysterical horse, she gave up and left. Now the horse was even worse, the owner said, and…</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/07/08/the-trailer-isnt-the-problem/wm-trailer-grace/" rel="attachment wp-att-75765"><img class="alignright size-large wp-image-75765" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/wm-trailer-grace.jpeg?w=840&h=638" alt="WM Trailer Grace" height="505" width="665"/></a></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The owner said his horse had trailer issues. He’d watched a video and used a whip and rope, with bad results. Then he hired a local trainer but after two hours of fighting with his hysterical horse, she gave up and left. Now the horse was even worse, the owner said, and dangerous.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><em>The trailer isn’t the problem.</em> It’s always my first thought.<span id="more-75540"></span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">It was a <em>very slow</em> load but the horse got into the trailer and I brought him to my barn for training. He was smart and very athletic. A sensitive breed; the sort of horse some people would label hot, unless you looked at his eyes and saw his fear. The really crazy part was that the horse wasn’t crazy. He’d been an endurance horse and was spectacular on the trail. Calm, forward, and happy; wonderful to ride. It’s just the trailer, the owner said.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><em>The trailer isn’t the problem.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The gelding and I worked a little bit every day trying to build his trust back–a glacially slow process. Eventually he loaded faster, just one step at a time. I showed the owner my method and he felt he could continue on his own. Patience was crucial. We agreed.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I was at their boarding barn a few months later and saw them tacking up. The horse was tied to the trailer pulling back and rearing, while the owner, with the lead wrapped around his arm, leveraged his body off the ground and onto the rope, using his weight to add to the pressure the rope halter already cutting into the gelding’s poll. The poor horse managed to pull back even more frantically, his eyes wild with terror. There are no winners in this war. It’s been three years and our failure with this gelding haunts me still. It’s enough to make you think it’s time to lock the front gate and take up needlepoint.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Any horse can have a bad day loading. Sometimes it happens when a rider is loading the way they always do; everything is fine. Then someone innocently asks to borrow fly spray, so the rider says, “Yes, it’s in the truck,” and all of a sudden her horse won’t load. Meaning a small thing can alter the usual rhythm of the process and then <em>normal</em> becomes broken; the horse hesitates. At that moment, the rider has an opportunity to <em>not</em> turn loading into a training issue.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Step One</strong>: Standing next to your horse, announce in a loud and clear voice, “We’ve got all day. Take your time.” Breathe. It’ll take twice as long if you hurry, so repeat, “No rush, what a good horse.” Obviously this cue is meant for you.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Step Two:</strong> Stop worrying about the trailer. Humans have much more anxiety about trailers than horses do. It’s why some folks have trailer issues with generations of horses. <em>It’s not about the trailer.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Step Three:</strong> What is the horse really afraid of? Imagine an area the size of a living room rug, around 12’x 10′, on the ground just at the back of the trailer. They’re afraid of that space of ground because that’s where the fight happens. Horses are smart enough to see the big picture and they’re conflict avoidant. They want to avoid the “scene of the crime.” So <em>DO NOT EVER</em> pick a fight there. Instead, bring them to that place as peacefully as you’d lead them to water. Go one step at a time, if needed, with a release and reward each step.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Step Four:</strong> Do you feel like this is all just a bunch of coddling and that firm discipline is needed? Do you want to make something happen? Go to the tack room and get a whip. Then flog your face with it until you’re obedient. See how well that works? Now call a friend and get a set of polo wraps out. Have your friend take one end of the wrap and wind it around your torso, starting about mid-chest and going down to just above your wrists, so you are able to move your hands a bit but not use your arms at all. Then go back out to the horse. In other words, <strong>discipline yourself</strong>. Do less, go slow, be polite.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Step Five:</strong> You may ask him to move up from his hind, but no pulling on the lead. Not once. Sing it out, <span class="st">“<em>All we are saying … is give peace a chance</em>“.</span> If you still need to pull on his face, repeat step four.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Note: Using feed to tease him into the trailer might work on a sunny day with no wind or challenge, but attraction to food fails when the stakes go up. When faced with multiple horses or injury or natural disaster, <em>a relationship with treats will never save your horse.</em> He needs a relationship with a leader for that. Feed him when he’s in if you want, but not during the process.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Step Six:</strong> Once the horse’s head is near the back door and he’s standing quietly, can we all agree that the horse knows what’s being asked? There’s no need to get loud now; you’re there. Ask for anything remotely like another step toward the trailer and reward that. Be cheerful; you’ve refused to escalate so far and that’s wonderful for someone of your species.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Now is a good time to ask how much importance your ground work plays in your daily routine. Do you do leading exercises consciously? Does he move forward when you ask without pulling? Is going into the trailer any different from stepping on a tarp? Use your best groundwork language every day, connect and ask for light responsiveness as a habit, and know it’s about your relationship. <em>It’s not about the trailer.</em></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">If you’re looking at your watch, you’ve lost. Time is a human currency and if you haven’t planned enough time to load him, that’s totally your problem, not your horse’s. Blame yourself.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Still have emotions or frustrations? Need control? Absolutely normal. Breathe, overcome them. Force a smile and become a real leader.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Last Step:</strong> He still knows what you’re asking. His head is in the door and you ignore everything that isn’t forward. You reward everything that’s even a thought of forward. Then he simply steps in. He volunteers when he’s ready. It may end up taking less than a minute or over two hours, but he did it and you reward him, knowing that he will remember and go faster next time. <strong>Each time you load, the most important thing is what your horse will remember the next time you load.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Then celebrate <em>not</em> resorting to violence. Notice how good it feels <em>not</em> being filled with frustration and anger. Smile for real; this is what winning feels like.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">Anna Blake, Infinity Farm.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;"></p>A Lesson about Squeamishness and a Donkey.tag:www.barnmice.com,2016-07-01:1773158:BlogPost:7872772016-07-01T13:25:18.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<p style="text-align: justify;"><img alt="WM mucking attire" class="wp-image-75548 aligncenter" height="311" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/06/wm-mucking-attire.jpeg?w=828&h=467" width="552"></img></p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">Look, it’s a selfie of me mucking last week. I like to get an early start in the summer. Over six hundred blog posts about this horse/life, and no one ever asks me for fashion tips. I wonder why?</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I wasn’t always this sophisticated. I remember when I was maybe fifteen; it was morning and I was standing out waiting for the school bus. I…</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;"><img class="wp-image-75548 aligncenter" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/06/wm-mucking-attire.jpeg?w=828&h=467" alt="WM mucking attire" height="311" width="552"/></p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">Look, it’s a selfie of me mucking last week. I like to get an early start in the summer. Over six hundred blog posts about this horse/life, and no one ever asks me for fashion tips. I wonder why?</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I wasn’t always this sophisticated. I remember when I was maybe fifteen; it was morning and I was standing out waiting for the school bus. I glanced to scrutinize my outfit. I didn’t dress a whole lot better back then, but I certainly worried about it a lot more. That was when I saw them–maybe ten or eleven dark brown hairs that I’d missed while shaving. They were on the inside of my ankle, like a furry cuff. Like a <a href="http://www.gopetsamerica.com/horse/images/friesian-1.jpg" target="_blank">Friesian fetlock</a>. I simply could not be seen in such blinding disarray. It was <em>totally mortifying</em>. Then the light on my fetlock went into shade and the school bus door opened.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Not many of us remember small ordinary things. Scientists say the brain remembers an incident if our emotions color the event. It makes sense, looking back at memories is a parade of special occasions. Some of us have fewer memories because we didn’t attach our emotions. Some of us are haunted by trivia because we have emotional <em>runaways.</em> Naturally I remember this incident rationally because it meant any possibility of dating would be put off until after high school. Because teenage boys are so fastidious about personal appearance.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Snap out of it. I was ridiculous–squeamish about ankle hair and in the habit of being my own worst enemy. If horses hadn’t taken me into their care, I might be whining about chipped nail polish right now. Being squeamish is a luxury that gets in the way of mucking, cleaning messy leg wounds, and getting mice out of the grain bin. I gave it up.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I can’t imagine what would qualify as <em>totally mortifying</em> at this age. For crying out loud, if I’ve been known to do a quick sheath cleaning in the middle of a riding lesson.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Alas, I’m not perfect. Last fall I had foot surgery, with a heaping side of squeamish. It was all I could do to let myself be wheeled in to the operating room where the sharp knives are kept. Once I was home, I was afraid of my own foot, and afraid of the pain meds; they made me sick and crazy. And if you aren’t squeamish about physical therapy, you’re doing it wrong.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I’m sure my hair was a mess, too. So what?</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">At the same time, I noticed my compassion for chronically lame horses increased. I wondered about what it would feel like to have this kind of chronic pain, but be a flight animal. To feel the fear of predators, and then on top of that, the fear of knowing that there was no escape.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">So, I started taking lessons from a new foster here at Infinity Farm. She’s a donkey so old we make jokes about carbon-dating to find her age. Her neck has broken over into a slouch and there’s a hitch in her hind. She has no teeth and a few seasons of hair, felted into a crusty shell over her body. She’s squeamish about people, but that’s just sound common sense.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">It had been “Donk’s” job to protect calves from coyote, but the cattle left the land a decade ago. It was just her and a lame gelding, with no way to run. Did she stand her ground and bray when the coyotes came? Her voice is still strong. She’s prairie tough but being “rescued” nearly killed her.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Change is just so very hard. At first she didn’t eat or drink. She was frail and when I came close, she’d turn her wobbly backside to me and kick… clearing the ground by maybe four inches. She stood outside in storms and I thought she might die. She had earned that right at her age.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Donkeys are funny about water containers but she finally drank out of the third one I tried. I brought her an overripe pear and she carefully considered her options for a few days.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Then she surrendered to change. It was crazy; there was mush and Thrive feed a few times a day and soon her belly appeared. She was terrified if hands come near her ears, but she had to admit those same hands did a great job of scratching. Years of hair came off. Like me, she’s still touchy about her feet…and she can kick as high as my knee now. But she’s decided to have an open mind; she even asks to be turned out with the home herd.</p>
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<a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/07/01/a-lesson-about-squeamishness-and-a-donkey/lillith-then-and-now/"><img class="align-left" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/lillith-then-and-now.jpg?w=465&h=420&width=310" width="310"/></a>Then and Now<br />
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<p style="text-align: justify;">This ancient donkey thinks my ratty little farm is the most elite equine facility in the world. Perception is really all that matters.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">By the way, I don’t recommend Crocs for mucking. I’m in favor of boots for barn wear; I just can’t get my foot in any. I was a size 10 before. Now I’m a size 10 on the right and size 10, wide and thick, on the left. It’s been the better part of a year since surgery and the swelling is gone. So are all my shoes and boots; I’ll never fit in them again. I’m gratefully back to training for long hours, the work I love. Surgery helped, but like most of us of a certain age with chronic lameness, it’ll never be as good as new.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">This week I’ll go boot shopping again, but this time I’ll try the men’s department. Have you taken a look at their feet? I’m sure something will fit. Yes, I’m turning into one of <em>those</em> women. So it goes, with thanks the equine gods for rescuing me once again, from squeamishness and superficiality. And women’s shoes.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">On the high side, I’m always looking for a mentor and I think I’ve found one. She brays like the roar of a lion, she never misses a meal, and against all odds, she’s curious about her future.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Anna Blake, Infinity Farm.</p>Admitting You're Wrong.tag:www.barnmice.com,2016-06-24:1773158:BlogPost:7869872016-06-24T13:30:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<div class="entry-content"><p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2014/08/29/needs-confident-rider/wmnubetacksky/" target="_blank"><img class="align-left" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2014/08/wmnubetacksky.jpg?w=654&h=804&width=436" width="436"></img></a> Do you remember the first time you wanted to be right? It might predate memory or even language. Being good is immediately quantified after birth; we’re tested before we even leave the hospital. It’s our first “percentile.”…</p>
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<p><span class="entry-byline"><span class="author vcard"><br/></span></span></p>
<div class="entry-content"><p style="text-align: justify;"><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2014/08/29/needs-confident-rider/wmnubetacksky/"><img class="align-left" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2014/08/wmnubetacksky.jpg?w=654&h=804&width=436" width="436"/></a>Do you remember the first time you wanted to be right? It might predate memory or even language. Being good is immediately quantified after birth; we’re tested before we even leave the hospital. It’s our first “percentile.”</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Learning a foundation of right and wrong is job-one for babies of any species. It keeps us healthy and safe. Some of us had parents who used positive reinforcement to teach us and some of us were motivated by fear, but by the time we were in school vying for gold stars, we were well on our way. Some choices were spiritual and some were cultural. It got confusing; some <em>bad</em> things felt very <em>good</em>! Sometimes doing the right thing turned wrong quickly. In erratic and unpredictable ways, black could seem like white.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">In other words, life is the act of sliding around somewhere on the gray spectrum. We’re able to imagine the final destination of success or failure, but we spend most of our time ankle-deep in muck, negotiating the trail to get there and trying to make peace with compromise. Seeing things as black or white becomes almost nostalgic.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Meanwhile, some of us are on horses. We might be thoughtless and rude in our feeling of entitlement. Or maybe we’re holding our breath, trying too hard, and scrutinizing every step looking for fault. Humans are tedious.</p>
<p>Let’s say things start just fine. You and your horse are tacked up and ready to go. You have a plan for the ride that might involve learning something new or completing a task. Or you could have a nearly impossible goal–to just enjoy the ride. Then your horse takes his first steps. It’s right about here that your plan gets challenged and you might over-react. After all, your fundamental beliefs are being poked.</p>
<p>It doesn’t actually matter what you asked your horse. Maybe the cue was unclear, or maybe your horse volunteered something else. What you know for sure is that there is <em>wrongness</em>. It isn’t what you asked for and now it’s life or death–heaven or hell–and every future moment of leadership and training hangs in the balance. We’re taught that this instant will define your ultimate success with your horse…good or bad.</p>
<p>Did I mention humans are tedious? We come by it honestly. There was that problem you had with reading comprehension in second grade that threatened your entire adult career. That bad hairdo on prom night that destroyed your chances of ever marrying well. Not to mention the deal you made with your math teacher, trading a passing grade for a promise to never return. We acquire an inflated definition of cause and effect early on.</p>
<p>If you notice yourself looking for someone to punish, human or equine, just stop. The real challenge is breaking the habit of seeing everything in our Technicolor world on some fuzzy, old, black-and-white television.</p>
<p>When it comes to horses, I’m not sure which is worse: the arrogance of believing you’re divinely <em>right</em> and someone who must be blindly obeyed, or the insecurity of feeling <em>wrong</em> and fearing that no matter what you do, it won’t ever work out. Either way, this is the place where horses do their very best work with us.</p>
<p>In other words, get over it. Be the first to be flexible, to forgive and move on. In the end, the one who has the most creative perception, the one who can see the spark of good and rewards that instant, wins their freedom.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Meanwhile, back in the saddle, you take a breath. He didn’t give what you thought you asked for, but it was a response. Say thank you and ask again. The real conversation between horse and rider begins after the first steps, after you’ve avoided that first obstacle of needing to be perfect. <em>Because riding well has little to do with the horse and more to do with our need to be right.</em> Instead of being ruled by extremes, remember the games we played as kids and reward him when he’s getting warmer. Most of all, give yourself permission to do it <em>wrong</em>, on the way to doing it <em>right. </em></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The problem with being right is that it needs reflection against something wrong, so almost by definition, it polarizes your horse. Judge less, negotiate more. Become lost in the conversation,</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;"><em>“Just a bit more forward, that’s good. Would you trot, please? Thank you. Try this slower rhythm. I know, but try to balance back. There, that’s perfect. Feel that cool breeze, being together is good. Now, let’s walk…”</em></p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">We take training so seriously, and of course, positive progress matters. But in the process, if we judge ourselves in the extreme of good or bad, we get stingy and small. There isn’t much room for joy and passion and fun–the fuel that sparks partnership.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">So much about good horsemanship is perception gained from hindsight–the other side of the experience. Needing right-ness narrows that view and chokes down the opportunity for learning. And for those of us with insecurities, needing right-ness about our own shortcomings might be the most limiting thing of all.</p>
<p>When I’m giving a lesson or a clinic, and I make a decision with a horse that doesn’t work, I like to point it out. I call it a mistake right there in broad daylight. Then I ask another way. I know that in the end, I’ll find understanding with the horse but in the meantime, I invite everyone to watch as I demonstrate what it looks like to be human. It isn’t the worst thing.</p>
<p>Mistakes happen. If we believe horses are sentient beings, <em>and we do</em>, then know they are capable of understanding our full selves; our strengths as well as our shortcomings. They prove it by forgiving us. Breathe, apologize and start again, this time in the lightness of living color.</p>
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<p style="text-align: justify;">Anna Blake, Infinity Farm.</p>
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</div>Reciprocity: A Softer Ask, a Softer Bendtag:www.barnmice.com,2016-06-17:1773158:BlogPost:7870762016-06-17T13:30:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<div class="entry-content"><p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/06/17/reciprocity-a-softer-ask-a-softer-bend/wm-clara-shoulder/" target="_blank"><img class="align-left" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/06/wm-clara-shoulder.jpeg?w=582&h=436&width=388" width="388"></img></a> I overheard some riders complaining like old campaigners. Asking a horse for bend sounded like the <span class="st"><em>Hundred Years</em>‘ <em>War.</em></span> They weren’t mean, just grumbling that it was hard to make the…</p>
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<div class="entry-content"><p style="text-align: justify;"><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/06/17/reciprocity-a-softer-ask-a-softer-bend/wm-clara-shoulder/"><img class="align-left" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/06/wm-clara-shoulder.jpeg?w=582&h=436&width=388" width="388"/></a>I overheard some riders complaining like old campaigners. Asking a horse for bend sounded like the <span class="st"><em>Hundred Years</em>‘ <em>War.</em></span> They weren’t mean, just grumbling that it was hard to make the horse do what they wanted. Their voices heavy with dread, I had a feeling that their horses probably weren’t wild about them either. Bottom line: If it all feels like forced work it’s hard for anyone to be enthusiastic.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">I’m almost superstitious about the power of words; our thoughts effortlessly take hold in this world and we should pick them carefully. I think these riders had good intentions and loved their horses. They just communicated it in a dowdy, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Church_Lady">Church Lady</a> sort of way.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Of course riding well is a challenge. It’s addictive and frustrating and sometimes counter-intuitive. It involves an outlandish level of control of own our body, which is easy to confuse for trying to control the horse’s body.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Then some loud-mouthed trainer (me) says, “Breathe, let it be <em>simple</em>.” Like there was even one easy thing about <em>simple</em>.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">We’re humans; we think too much and use our senses too little. Then if we do manage a good moment, we want fifty more right now. Our enthusiasm that makes us greedy so in the next heartbeat, we’re trying way too hard.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Are we fighting their resistance or our own?</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Here is the first thing to know about stiffness in horses: <em>It’s real.</em> They are literally tight<span class="st">, usually to the right because the muscles on the left side of his body are contracted. In other words, even when walking straight, the horse has a slight left bend. Simply using your rein to pull him his head to the right will result in resistance for a very good reason–physical discomfort.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Stiffness is honest. He isn’t being belligerent or disobedient; it isn’t his diabolical scheme to make you crazy. While we’re at it, dogs don’t fart on purpose either. Get over yourself; it’s a much lighter ride without the ego. Consider that resistant side of your horse as natural as being right-handed. Now you can begin the help him become ambidextrous. The other word for that is balanced.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Start your ride with a <a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2012/07/13/the-dressagemassage-warm-up/">warm-up</a> on a long rein. It takes twenty minutes for his synovial fluid to warm his joints and if you put him to work before he’s physically ready, you won’t get his best work. But the way, your own synovial fluid doesn’t warm any quicker.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">How to ask a horse for bend:</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Step one: Forget your horse has a head. Then forget you have an inside hand. Bend refers to a curve the length of his body, not just his neck, and as inviting as it may seem, it’s never cued by pulling on a rein. Instead feel his shoulders… right there between your knees. Begin riding to his soft side, usually the left direction. Notice that as he walks forward, your legs follow the swing of his barrel as light as bird’s wings. As you glance down to your hands, you see his withers right between your hands, as he walks straight. Your movements mirror your horse’s, not bigger or smaller. Think oneness.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Step two: Still on a long rein, walk a large circle by turning your waist and letting your inside calf pulse as your horse’s barrel swings to the outside. So it’s like your inside leg emphasizes the swing out, in the <em>attitude</em> of a leg yield: Inside leg to outside rein. Be tiny; understate all your movements. Match the rhythm of his walk and peacefully visualize his withers gliding toward your outside hand. Continue this pulse quietly and wait for a response.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Now is a good time to NOT grab the rein. Feel your inside leg slowly warm your horse’s shoulder like a gentle massage, and in a few more strides, he might swing more, or blow, or his stride will get longer. Hopefully his neck will stretch out a bit as his spine and ribs release. Say <em>Good Boy</em> and reward him generously. Let him know he’s on the right track even if it isn’t perfect. Build his confidence to try again. And yes, let it be simple. You’re <em>massaging</em> him into a bend without pulling, and all the while, his stride is big and loose. This is exactly what you want.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Step three: Reverse direction at the walk, so now you are going his stiff direction, usually to the right. The reins are still long and hinting at resistance. It looks like a counter-bend. Ignore it; it’s just his natural position to start. He might even be anticipating being pulled on, meaning stiff from memory. <em>Lucky for you that you have forgotten his head and your inside hand.</em> Instead, feel the swinging rhythm with your new inside leg. Pulse light and sweet, in rhythm with his stride, and expect nothing. Let the circle be imperfect in the beginning and know that his resistance is honest. Slowly warm his shoulder like you did the other direction, but be doubly patient with his physical reality this way. Slowly his withers will melt toward your outside hand. Let him release it, give him time to experience it. Those contracted muscles are not going to melt in a day. Be patient, and let the bend develop. The moment when your horse feels that warm balance and supple shoulder is the moment you start to look less like the Church Lady. Call it trust.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Become familiar with the notion of sending your horse’s withers to the outside on curves. It’s a different way of stilling our over-controlling brains by being more aware of the feel of the ride. As the warm-up continues, change direction frequently; so much so that you can’t quite remember which side was stiff in the first place. Fluid turns, <em>relaxed and forward</em>.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">There’s a sweet and somewhat selfish reward that comes from training this release method. On cold, stiff days, you can give him the time and rhythm to loosen his back and open his heart to the dance. On the days when you are stiff with worry or fear or just mental buzz, he can give you relief by welcoming you to the present moment. With each stride, he’ll gently massage the stiffness out of your spine by gently rocking you back and forth to softness.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Reciprocity is the true name of all horses and it’s a sweet place, riding on the kind side.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Anna Blake, Infinity Farm.</p>
</div>Mansplaining in the Barntag:www.barnmice.com,2016-06-10:1773158:BlogPost:7867732016-06-10T14:30:00.000ZAnna Blakehttp://www.barnmice.com/profile/AnnaBlake
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<div class="entry-content"><p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/06/10/mansplaining-in-the-barn/wm-nube-hat/" target="_blank"><img class="align-right" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/06/wm-nube-hat.jpeg?w=677&h=944&width=372" width="372"></img></a> Thirty-five years ago<span class="UFICommentBody">, I stood with a group of women protesting a murder sentence given by a judge in Denver. The defendant had shot his estranged wife in the face, point-blank. The judge gave a ridiculously light…</span></p>
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<div class="entry-content"><p style="text-align: justify;"><a target="_blank" href="https://annablakeblog.com/2016/06/10/mansplaining-in-the-barn/wm-nube-hat/"><img class="align-right" src="https://annablakeblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/06/wm-nube-hat.jpeg?w=677&h=944&width=372" width="372"/></a>Thirty-five years ago<span class="UFICommentBody">, I stood with a group of women protesting a murder sentence given by a judge in Denver. The defendant had shot his estranged wife in the face, point-blank. The judge gave a ridiculously light sentence, saying she had provoked her husband by leaving their marriage. Then in this week’s news, reports that a judge gave a puny sentence to a Stanford swimmer, found guilty by jury, of three sexual assault felony convictions. Even after <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/early-lead/wp/2016/06/04/you-took-away-my-worth-a-rape-victim-delivers-powerful-message-to-a-former-stanford-swimmer/?postshare=61465128577706&tid=ss_fb">an extremely eloquent statement from the victim</a>. Sometimes it feels like we’ve made very little progress indeed.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Why would a horse blogger speak up on this issue?</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Partly because after I was raped, I didn’t tell the police or anyone else. When my rapist was finished, he mansplained–in a paternal, sarcastic tone–that no one would ever believe me. I crumpled into silence. Well, I got my voice back.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">And secondly, because when news about sexual violence hits, we’re sadly reminded of our own pasts, or of those we know who’ve been hurt, or we have a backward flutter of relief that it wasn’t us. Even if the intimidation doesn’t rise to the level of violence, when there’s a verbal assault or insinuation, the threat still hangs in the air and we can’t trust that line between talk and action.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">So what do we do when our hearts hurt, when we need peace, and a friend to lean on? We go to the barn. Some of us have escaped to the barn all our lives.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">But there’s mansplaining in the barn, too. If you choose a positive training method, you’ve heard it.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Mansplain means “to explain something to someone, typically a man to woman, in a manner regarded as condescending or patronizing.” Lily Rothman of <i><a title="The Atlantic" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Atlantic">The Atlantic</a></i> defines it as “explaining without regard to the fact that the explainee knows more than the explainer, often done by a man to a woman.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Mansplaining is generally served up a with a dose of White Male Privilege. I got in trouble for using that term this week, so if you feel any better, use the traditional term: The Good Old Boys Club. Either way, it’s that person who likes to be in charge, but can only feel good by putting someone else down. It’s the leader who dominates with fear, as if showing disrespect to others is a sign of strength.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Some examples:</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The cowboy farrier who told my client I was babying her horse and all any horse needed was a cowboy to ride him. Or the rancher who looked at his twelve-year-old mare, crippled beyond painful imagination, and proudly proclaimed, “We use ’em hard.” Or the sheriff’s deputy who repeated again and again, to a long-time horsewoman, that horses don’t need water; they can live on snow. Or the old cowboy at my book talk who told me that his horses weren’t like mine; his horses had to work.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Or the thing I hate the most; a “natural horsemanship” video trainer, who holds a wild-eyed horse’s lead-rope short enough to be able to attack the horse’s face with his celebrity-whip. All the while he’s crashing on the horse, he’s playing to the audience and verbally disrespecting the woman–it’s always a woman–in the same way that he is disrespecting her horse. She nervously agrees, sharing her horse’s fear and confusion.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;"><em><strong>I don’t feel the cowboy magic.</strong></em> I am sick of seeing spur rowels and steel tie-downs on terrified horses. Tired of horses being shown who’s boss, by riders who’s insecurity masquerades as bravado. Dominating males are so ingrained in our culture, so common, that sometimes we get contrite just to stop the mansplaining short of a bigger fight. We’ve been taught to hide ourselves in plain sight, in a cloak of silence.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">To be clear: I have nothing against cowboys. For crying out loud, Ray Hunt was a cowboy. What I hate is a bully.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">And it turns out that the FBI does, too, moving animal cruelty up to a Class A felony, the same as murder and arson. It isn’t that the FBI has gone soft for kittens. Statistics show a majority of violent crime begins with animal abuse. If they see cruelty as a precursor to worse violence, shouldn’t we?</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The second reason I know this is a big deal, is the number of emails and comments I get from riders who resist being told by trainers that fear equals respect, and that we must have our horse’s respect at all costs. They’re relieved to find training methods that value intuition over violence; thrilled to experience an even better response from a horse for NOT being a bully. They understand that a horse can clearly tell the difference between kindness and weakness.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">The best horse-people know that rodeo isn’t the highest form of horsemanship. They train with gentle hands, take good care of their horses, and show respect for others. Having compassion can sometimes be as challenging as riding a bull, but they lift the conversation above name-calling and innuendo, and stand up for others, patiently holding space for them until they can stand up for themselves.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">A special reminder to horse-women; we <em>ARE</em> the horse world. We’re literally 80% of the competitors at shows, and the percentage of pleasure riders is probably larger. At the Olympics and other world competitions, women compete–not in “ladies” classes–but as equals to men. And we frequently win. Women are a huge financial power; we outspend men by far. Instead of that being a joke, <em>we</em> should take it seriously. Money is power.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">And perhaps the most world-changing women’s trait; we understand, usually first hand, that fear and domination do not equal good leadership. We know that just like intimidating women and kids doesn’t create a trusting relationship, neither will harsh training techniques create a committed equine partner. Fear will never be a dependable motivator as long as the victim has a heart beating and a breath to move forward.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Horses teach us to elevate the conversation; that a small, well-timed <em>ask-and-reward</em> is always kinder and more effective that a huge fight.</p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">So the next time you find yourself standing in a puddle of mansplaining, take a breath. Put a smile on your face and speak the truth: “Officer, that just isn’t right.” Or take your horse’s reins back with these words: “No thanks, you’re fired.” Stand up to bullies and hold your ground with your own calm, but equally proud proclamation: <strong>“We don’t do it that way here.”<br/><br/></strong></p>
<p style="text-align: justify;">Anna Blake, Infinity Farm.</p>
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