Of all the horses I've ridden, Oakley is quickly proving to be the most challenging to figure out.

He is also variously frustrating, exhilarating, joyful, puzzling, embarrassing, irritating, exhausting, satisfying, and a dozen other feelings I cannot yet name. He is a real test of my patience and just beyond the limit of my skill and knowledge. There is only so much one can learn from reading and a lot of what gets written explains exactly what to do, but almost inevitably leaves out certain crucial details or observations because the author does not realize they need to be explicitly described. This is true of every field of knowledge I've ever learned. You read how to do something, try it and fail, try again and fail, try again and succeed just a little until the light goes on "oh, they meant like this" and with that little extra knowledge from experience, success builds on success. It's easier with a teacher, of course, but mostly it doesn't matter.

Mostly.

When dealing with a horse or a dog, learning through trial and error is a very lousy way to go, because while you're figuring out how to do it right -- and there is no guarantee of that -- the poor critter is inadvertently being taught all the wrong lessons. If there is an option to get knowledgeable advice, go get it.

Fortunately, I have an excellent coach with many years of experience to advise me on where things started to go a little off.

When I first rode Oakley, he was like, well, he was powerful, poised, smooth, graceful. However, after a couple of days, his demeanor changed. His transitions, for example, became very difficult, hollowed out, his trot choppy, his canter wild. A very kind judge in a generous mood might give it a 2. I knew I was technically riding properly, with clear, signals and definite aids, but it still wasn't right. Then he began to spook at virtually everything, from trot poles on the ground to butterflies in the field. After we moved to the new barn Oakley became even harder to work with, even on the ground. I read everything I had, trying to figure out what was going wrong.

Now, experienced horse people, at this point, have already figured it out: Oakley, it seems, is my first alpha-horse and he wants to be the alpha in our relationship, too. My coach quickly explained what was happening.

Within two days of moving to the new stables, Oakley became the apha-horse of the whole barn, much to the annoyance of the alpha-mare. He chased the other horses around in his field, and even manages to intimidate the horses in the surrounding fields, too. Trouble is he was doing that to me, even though I didn't realize it.

So my new lesson that I am in the process of learning is that, to a horse, if you are not a threat, you are another horse, and therefore either higher up or lower down in the hierarchy. (I thought people anthropomorphized animals!) The action is to treat him as he would treat another horse. Minus the biting and kicking, of course; I don't want a mouth full of muddy hair and I can't be doing flying drop-kicks in the stalls while holding tack. But, while I've known that the rider has to be the herd leader (herd of two), I've never before really acted the part. It's one thing to know something, and another to viscerally experience and that is the crucial difference that I am learning right now.

What I've learned is to detect and immediately respond to any challenge, just as he does to his stable-mates. No pause, no hesitation. From the moment I arrive at the barn, I have to be in charge and he's got to acknowledge it, because even if he's in his paddock, he knows I'm there. I've got to be sharp and prompt with discipline, without being cruel or hurtful. Yet horses will be far more cruel and harsh with each other than I ever will be; it's part of herd life. So, thankfully, are gentleness and friendliness and reward for behaving well, but only for behaving well.

The result is that his rides are getting smoother again. His transitions up and down are smooth and beautiful and his figures and lateral work is back to where it was when I first rode him. It has not been an absolute unqualified success, and never will be: it's not in either of us. I'm still lost as to what to do much of the time; he still offers up a challenge to me every time we ride, but less and less as the weeks go by and he is beginning to trust me more.

More, but not yet absolutely. He spooks frequently, every time we leave the paddock or the barn, which is, of course, a symptom of me not being entirely in charge, because his attention is wandering around, and not taking his cue from me. Yet, now I can feel when he's genuinely spooked or afraid and when he's just messing around to challenge me.

We still have a long time and a long way to go, but that's fine, because, after all, it's the journey, not the destination that counts.