So, after a couple of days off, Oakley had a good session, did some light longeing, good flatwork, and it was a very pleaseant June evening...except it's March, where it didn't belong, but overall a good day’s ride. At the end of an hour, Oakley was sweating in the unseasonable heat, so I decided a good end would be a walk up the trail: not muddy, but not baked hard, either. A pleasant evening twenty-minute cool-down walk up the hill.

Nope.

Oakley started playing scared -- his way of trying to get back to the barn sooner.

He started at the fallen telegraph pole, that he's passed two dozen times.

He flinched at boulders and rocks and at various bushes along the way.

Now, the first few spooks got quickly and easily sorted out by making him move his feet: turning around on the spot, circling back and around so that he was too busy to spook. That quieted him down pretty quickly and worked beautifully… until we came to some rocks at a trail junction and he decided we were absolutely, positively not going to go there.

Oh, yes we are.

Circles, workout, move the feet, listen to me, stop worrying about anything else.

At first, good. Then he had a complete meltdown. He tried to buck and rear, but the easiest way to deal with that is to disengage his hindquarters: he cannot buck or rear if his rear legs are crossed. That trick worked perfectly, for about three spins... until he spun round right under the branches of a pine tree. I, however, didn't spin through the tree, I caught a branch in the face, one in the arm, one in the stomach, and was swept from the saddle as if by a broom. I landed on the ground on my feet, fell away to the side, out from under Oakley's hooves, and he was off! Free! I’m outta here! He cantered back along the trail, slowed to a trot near the crest of a hill, paused, glanced back at me with what I swear was a satisfied look on his face, then disappeared over the crest.

As I jogged back across the fields, I caught a glimpse of him on the far ridge, galloping full-tilt back towards the barn.

Now what?

If I just call it quits, he's just pushed me around in an completely unacceptable way and, moreover, found a way to get home at will. Besides, neither of us is injured, as far as I could tell, so that option is out of the question. Moreover, I figure if he's got the energy to run all the way home, after his training workout, then he has the energy to get back to the spooky place and get his attitude sorted out.

But exactly how? Obviously doing a one-rein stop kept him from rearing, but it didn't work in the trees. Well, one aphorism I've learned is the way to get a calm, quiet horse is to put miles and miles under his feet. What else? If we have some part of the arena he feels drawn to, say, the main door, because he wants to leave, then we work hard near that place and if he has something he's shying from or some area, like corners, that he doesn't want to go into, I rest him there. Pretty soon, he isn't shying at the tarp or the bucket and going into the corners and he isn't trying to make a beeline for the gate. So, obviously we have to use the same lesson on the trail: speed up on the way home, you'll do more work. Frightened by the pile of rocks? We'll just stop there to let you catch your breath. OK, now I have a plan.

When I got back to the barn, I found he'd gone right back into his stall, looking for his evening feed.

So I promptly took him back out and we cantered, not walked, not trotted, back over the hills to the spooky place. There I let him stop for a rest, dropped the reins, grabbed the safety strap, and waited for him to quiet down and stop moving. After 30 seconds of him nervously dancing around, I did a turn on the haunches, asked for a canter, and gave him his head. He started to bolt back towards the barn. Okay, fine, you've got all that energy, but you don't have a map, because this part of the trail has a loop that leads right back to the junction, and, by george, you are going to follow it, at this speed. All along the loop he tried to freak: at the branch on the ground pretending to be a snake, at the boulder crouching in the bushes, at some shadows... but we went right back to the spooky place, where I offered him another rest, which he again declined, so off we went, again, just like before, spooks and all.

By the third time around the loop, however, he stopped starting at anything and by the fourth time, he was cantering along, his nose was about six inches off the ground, and didn't even notice when the bird flew out of the bush in front of him. At last, when we got to the junction and stopped, he stood stock still, breathing hard and dripping wet. I flexed him gently from side to side with neither resistance, nor complaint. He just stood, albeit with his head alert, not moving. I dared him him to move. I slapped him on his rear, his neck, shoulders, shifted in the saddle, being absolutely careful not to give him any actual let signals, for three full minutes.

Nothing.

When I asked for one step forward, he promptly and obediently took a step towards the rocks and I rewarded him by turning away and walking back along the trail.

Along the way, he walked so quietly and calmly and without the the slightest inclination to spook or hurry, that I could even send a short text message to my coach while enjoying – finally – the pleasant evening cool-down that was supposed to happen 45 minutes ago.

How do you get a calm, quiet horse? Put miles and miles under his feet.

(He wasn’t happy to see me the next day, but he has been much better behaved all week. We’ll have to see what the next couple of days off brings.)