During my natural horsemanship journey I have often had instructors tell me to reward the slightest try and I have worked hard to do that with my partner, Sonny. But this summer during a clinic with John and Kathy Barr I gained a new appreciation of just how subtle the slightest try might actually be.
The clinic was being held at Willow Brook, Peter Fuller’s magnificent facility near Bethlehem, PA. Willow Brook is a wonderful place to play with your horse. There is a large, Parelli friendly playground with a variety of obstacles, including various bridges, a teeter-totter and a car wash that I don’t have access to at home. There are also two large arenas, one indoor and one outdoor and a lovely pond where the horses can enjoy a swim. The staff is both friendly and helpful and everyone does their best to make you feel welcome and comfortable.
John Barr had been my instructor when I attended Fast Track at the Parelli Center in Florida during November of 2010. I had really enjoyed his teaching style when I was in Florida, but with 45 students and 6 other instructors at Fast Track, I didn’t have many opportunities to work with him individually. I had been excited when I learned he was coming to Willow Brook and looking forward to the opportunities presented by the smaller class. John’s wife, Kathy had also been in Florida but she spent less time with the Fast Track students because she was teaching another course. The two presentations she had made to us in Florida had been both informative and entertaining and I was looking forward to spending more time with her.
Unfortunately it was mid July and it was almost unbearably hot and humid, even in the Lehigh Valley which is usually a few degrees cooler than Delaware in the summer. There is not much shade on the Willow Brook playground so after a morning of playing with our horses on line, everyone was happy to head for the picnic grove where we could have lunch under the tall evergreen trees and enjoy the shade and slight breeze. After lunch each day, John and Kathy would let us sit in the shade and ask any questions that might have come up from our morning activities. The second day, the conversation turned to the idea of rewarding the slightest try and someone asked Kathy what she looked for to tell her a horse was trying.
“Well,” Kathy answered, “it depends a lot on your horse’s horsenality. With an extroverted horse, you might see more than with an introverted horse and if your horse is a left brain introvert, you might not see much at all to begin with.”
At this point, Kathy really had my attention. Sonny is inherently a left brain introvert. He is much more dominant than my previous horse, a right brain introvert, and when I first purchased him, I was surprised by some of his behavior. For example, whenever I had treats, he would come at me with his ears back and an expression that generally communicated, “Give me the carrot and no one gets hurt!” He also was very stubborn and when I was asking him to do something he often had an expression on his face that I came to think of as the “You and what army are going to make me do this!” expression.
“Let me demonstrate. I’ll be the horse. John how about if you are ask me to yield his front end,” Kathy said,
John took the carrot stick and wiggled it toward Kathy’s nose. .Kathy crossed her arms over her chest, hunched her shoulders, wrinkled her face into a frown and stared directly forward.
. I knew that expression instantly. It was Sonny’s “you and what army” face.
Kathy shifted her eyes to the right and then back forward, maintaining the frown. “I might reward that the first time,” she told us. “But the second time I would expect a little more.”
John wiggled the stick at Kathy again. This time she turned her head the slightest bit to the right and then back forward. “That would be a good second try” she told us.
On the third try, her head turned a little more and this time her expression began to soften toward John. Finally, on the fourth try, she took a step sideways.
A low hum broke out among the students. I don’t think any of us would have thought of a shifting of the eyes as a try and that was what one of the students said out loud.
“With an introvert, sometime the first or second try will be very slight and subtle.” Kathy reiterated. “You really need to learn to read your horse. You may not think you are putting much pressure on your horse but many times you are almost yelling at them with your body language and expecting way too much.”
This little demo had given me a lot to think about and I was anxious to get it a try. When I saddled Sonny for the afternoon riding session, I was determined to see if I could apply what Kathy had showed us during our warm up. I took him out on the play ground on line, positioned myself in front of him and asked him to yield his nose. As soon as he began to move his nose away a fraction of an inch, I stopped asking and went back to neutral. Sonny stared at me. I rubbed his nose and then asked again. As soon as Sonny flexed his nose away a tiny bit more than the first time, I stopped asking. He lowered his head a bit; ears pinned forward at me and very slowly gave a secretive little chew. I waited a moment and asked again. This time he turned his head away to the side and I immediately stopped. Sonny’s focus instantly came back to me and this time he blew and then really started to chew in earnest.
“Wow!” I though to myself, “Kathy is really on to something. I think I have been wanting way too much as the slightest try.”
For the rest of the clinic I continued to experiment with just how little Sonny’s slightest try might be. By the end of the clinic he was showing more exuberance than I had ever seen from him before. He was giving me traveling circles and jumping the largest logs on the playground with hardly any encouragement from me. This small adjustment in my expectations had made a huge difference in our relationship in a very short period of time.
Since attending John and Kathy’s clinic at Willow Brook, I’ve continued to experiment with this idea of how small the slightest try might be. I’ve become much better at reading Sonny’s expression and rewarding his slightest efforts and as a result, our progress has really accelerated. But I don’t think we would be where we are today, if I hadn’t had Kathy Barr’s help in refining my idea of just how small the slightest try could be when dealing with a left brain introvert like Sonny.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Savoring an "Ah-Ha" Moment
I had an “ah-ha” moment in my riding lesson this week and I want to savor it. You see I am not much of an “ah-ha” moment learner. My learning progress is one more of reflection than instant flashes of insight. I’ll do something and then I will go home and think about what happened. I mull things over, replay them in my mind and eventually insight might dawn on me. But to have that exciting flash where everything is suddenly clear, well that just doesn’t happen too often.
That isn’t to say that I have never had an “ah-ha” moment with my riding. The earliest one I can recall happened long ago when I was first learning to ride. It was long before I had ever heard of natural horsemanship or Pat Parelli. I was taking riding lessons at the Carousel Park Equestrian Center in Delaware and at 28, I was the oldest student in the class by at least 15 years and generally embarrassed by that.
Most weeks I rode a chunky, evil tempered bay mare named Gracie. She was a ‘been there, done that’ kind of lesson horse and she was committed to doing as little as possible during our lessons. I didn’t have too much trouble when at the walk or the trot but the canter was a problem. I usually could get Gracie into a canter if I worked hard enough at it but I couldn’t keep her cantering.
The instructor was a rail thin, middle-aged woman who was always impeccably turned out in riding breeches that looked like they had never seen the back of a horse. She was clearly more comfortable teaching students younger than I and never seemed to be paying attention to what I was doing. She rarely spoke to me except when Gracie dropped out of a canter and then she would turn and bark “Keep your leg on that horse!”
This annoyed me no end because it was obvious to me at least that my leg, in fact both of my legs, were on the horse. So I would urge Gracie back into a canter by digging my heels into her sides and then try to maintain the gait once more with some enthusiastic clucking and flapping of my legs. Most of the time it was to no avail as Gracie would canter perhaps half a lap before dropping back into an incredibly fast and hard to ride trot. It was frustrating for me and probably not much fun for Gracie either.
This went on for the better part of a year. Weather permitting, I rode twice a week, taking one evening lesson and coming out on the weekends for a trail ride. My body was getting used to the rigors of riding and by early spring, my legs were no longer sore after each lesson. Other students in the class progressed to more advanced horses, that were more athletic and willing partners but I was stuck with Gracie.
Then one Wednesday evening in April, a miracle happened. The instructor gave the command to canter our horses and I pushed Gracie up into the faster gait. My legs were wrapped around her ample barrel and after half a lap when I felt her start to break into a trot I tightened my grip with my legs. Gracie maintained the canter; in fact she increased her speed slightly. As we lapped the arena, once, twice, three times, sustaining gait the entire way, I could feel my legs maintaining a steady pressure on her sides. “Oh my God!” I thought to myself, “This is what she’s been talking about all these months when she told me to put my leg on the horse.” I wanted to shout to the instructor, “Hey, look at me! My leg is on this horse!” When I glanced in her direction, she was busy looking elsewhere but it didn’t spoil the moment because in that instant, I had understood what she had been trying to tell me for the past eight months.
Over the years I have had other flashes of insight but they have generally been few and far between, which is why what happened in my lesson this week was something to celebrate.
I’ve had my current horse, Sonny, for six years. He was six when I bought him and before I owned him, he was a “husband’s horse”. He had been used primarily for trail riding and was rock solid on trails but he wasn’t overly flexible and he has never had a consistent right lead when cantering. Two Star Parelli Instructor Jane Bartsch has been helping me with this problem. Occasionally I have been able to get him to take the correct lead when circling to the right but it has been far from consistent and despite Jane’s best efforts, I’ve been having a hard time trying to visualize what I needed to do with my body and what Sonny needed to do with his body in order to make it easier for him to take this lead. To make matters worse, as Sonny has become more supple and athletic, it has become harder for me to determine if he is on the correct lead or if he is counter cantering, making it difficult to work on the problem when I was along. It was become very frustrating.
I was working Sonny in a circle to make it easier for him to pick up the correct lead. Jane had been trying to explain to me where Sonny’s ribs and back feet needed to be in order for him to pick up his right lead. “His ribs are pointing to the inside of the circle,” she told me. “That makes it hard for him to pick up the lead. You need to stay out of his way. Your weight is too far forward.”
I repositioned my body and mentally reviewed the litany of instructions she had been giving me.
. “Sit back. Lead with your right hand. Now reach around with you left hand and tickle him on his butt with the mecate.”
Sonny popped immediately into the canter. As we cantered around the end of the arena I looked over at Jane and asked if he was on his right lead.
“No.” Jane answered, “He’s on the left lead.”
I slowed him into the trot but before I could circle him for another try, Jane instructed me to trot down the long side of the arena and ask him for the canter when I came to the next corner.
Trotting down the rail I noticed that Sonny’s neck and nose were flexed away from the inside of the circle. If he was going to canter properly, I knew that I needed to correct that. When we reached the corner, just as sat back and chirped at him to ask for the canter, I pushed on Sonny’s right side with my inside leg. I saw Sonny’s neck and nose flex toward the center of the arena just as his ribs moved away from my leg, putting a bend in his body. He popped into the canter and this time I knew immediately he was on the correct lead. Cantering down the long side of the arena I whooped at Jane. “That was right, wasn’t it?” I asked her.
When I reached the other end, I stopped Sonny and gave him a cookie. Then I asked for the canter again, making sure to apply my leg to move his ribs out of the way. He took the correct lead a second time. We stopped and tried it again, and for a third time he took the correct lead. By this time I was smiling from ear to ear, because, in a flash, I had finally understood what Jane had meant about just getting out of Sonny’s way. For some reason, seeing Sonny’s ribs move away from my leg had been the key to understanding all of Jane’s earlier explanations and I was thrilled with the outcome.
I know that my goal to become a skilled horsewoman is actually a journey and I know that despite today’s success, Sonny and I have a long way to go before his right lead is as solid as his left lead. I expect that most of what I learn along the way will come from hard work and reflection but there will also be those rare occasions when a flash insight hits me and I intend to savor those ah-ha moments.
That isn’t to say that I have never had an “ah-ha” moment with my riding. The earliest one I can recall happened long ago when I was first learning to ride. It was long before I had ever heard of natural horsemanship or Pat Parelli. I was taking riding lessons at the Carousel Park Equestrian Center in Delaware and at 28, I was the oldest student in the class by at least 15 years and generally embarrassed by that.
Most weeks I rode a chunky, evil tempered bay mare named Gracie. She was a ‘been there, done that’ kind of lesson horse and she was committed to doing as little as possible during our lessons. I didn’t have too much trouble when at the walk or the trot but the canter was a problem. I usually could get Gracie into a canter if I worked hard enough at it but I couldn’t keep her cantering.
The instructor was a rail thin, middle-aged woman who was always impeccably turned out in riding breeches that looked like they had never seen the back of a horse. She was clearly more comfortable teaching students younger than I and never seemed to be paying attention to what I was doing. She rarely spoke to me except when Gracie dropped out of a canter and then she would turn and bark “Keep your leg on that horse!”
This annoyed me no end because it was obvious to me at least that my leg, in fact both of my legs, were on the horse. So I would urge Gracie back into a canter by digging my heels into her sides and then try to maintain the gait once more with some enthusiastic clucking and flapping of my legs. Most of the time it was to no avail as Gracie would canter perhaps half a lap before dropping back into an incredibly fast and hard to ride trot. It was frustrating for me and probably not much fun for Gracie either.
This went on for the better part of a year. Weather permitting, I rode twice a week, taking one evening lesson and coming out on the weekends for a trail ride. My body was getting used to the rigors of riding and by early spring, my legs were no longer sore after each lesson. Other students in the class progressed to more advanced horses, that were more athletic and willing partners but I was stuck with Gracie.
Then one Wednesday evening in April, a miracle happened. The instructor gave the command to canter our horses and I pushed Gracie up into the faster gait. My legs were wrapped around her ample barrel and after half a lap when I felt her start to break into a trot I tightened my grip with my legs. Gracie maintained the canter; in fact she increased her speed slightly. As we lapped the arena, once, twice, three times, sustaining gait the entire way, I could feel my legs maintaining a steady pressure on her sides. “Oh my God!” I thought to myself, “This is what she’s been talking about all these months when she told me to put my leg on the horse.” I wanted to shout to the instructor, “Hey, look at me! My leg is on this horse!” When I glanced in her direction, she was busy looking elsewhere but it didn’t spoil the moment because in that instant, I had understood what she had been trying to tell me for the past eight months.
Over the years I have had other flashes of insight but they have generally been few and far between, which is why what happened in my lesson this week was something to celebrate.
I’ve had my current horse, Sonny, for six years. He was six when I bought him and before I owned him, he was a “husband’s horse”. He had been used primarily for trail riding and was rock solid on trails but he wasn’t overly flexible and he has never had a consistent right lead when cantering. Two Star Parelli Instructor Jane Bartsch has been helping me with this problem. Occasionally I have been able to get him to take the correct lead when circling to the right but it has been far from consistent and despite Jane’s best efforts, I’ve been having a hard time trying to visualize what I needed to do with my body and what Sonny needed to do with his body in order to make it easier for him to take this lead. To make matters worse, as Sonny has become more supple and athletic, it has become harder for me to determine if he is on the correct lead or if he is counter cantering, making it difficult to work on the problem when I was along. It was become very frustrating.
I was working Sonny in a circle to make it easier for him to pick up the correct lead. Jane had been trying to explain to me where Sonny’s ribs and back feet needed to be in order for him to pick up his right lead. “His ribs are pointing to the inside of the circle,” she told me. “That makes it hard for him to pick up the lead. You need to stay out of his way. Your weight is too far forward.”
I repositioned my body and mentally reviewed the litany of instructions she had been giving me.
. “Sit back. Lead with your right hand. Now reach around with you left hand and tickle him on his butt with the mecate.”
Sonny popped immediately into the canter. As we cantered around the end of the arena I looked over at Jane and asked if he was on his right lead.
“No.” Jane answered, “He’s on the left lead.”
I slowed him into the trot but before I could circle him for another try, Jane instructed me to trot down the long side of the arena and ask him for the canter when I came to the next corner.
Trotting down the rail I noticed that Sonny’s neck and nose were flexed away from the inside of the circle. If he was going to canter properly, I knew that I needed to correct that. When we reached the corner, just as sat back and chirped at him to ask for the canter, I pushed on Sonny’s right side with my inside leg. I saw Sonny’s neck and nose flex toward the center of the arena just as his ribs moved away from my leg, putting a bend in his body. He popped into the canter and this time I knew immediately he was on the correct lead. Cantering down the long side of the arena I whooped at Jane. “That was right, wasn’t it?” I asked her.
When I reached the other end, I stopped Sonny and gave him a cookie. Then I asked for the canter again, making sure to apply my leg to move his ribs out of the way. He took the correct lead a second time. We stopped and tried it again, and for a third time he took the correct lead. By this time I was smiling from ear to ear, because, in a flash, I had finally understood what Jane had meant about just getting out of Sonny’s way. For some reason, seeing Sonny’s ribs move away from my leg had been the key to understanding all of Jane’s earlier explanations and I was thrilled with the outcome.
I know that my goal to become a skilled horsewoman is actually a journey and I know that despite today’s success, Sonny and I have a long way to go before his right lead is as solid as his left lead. I expect that most of what I learn along the way will come from hard work and reflection but there will also be those rare occasions when a flash insight hits me and I intend to savor those ah-ha moments.
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