29/03/2024
âShepherd is convinced it will be a wonderful day.â đ
Living with my horses at my house has introduced a whole new set of cues. Now the back door opening often is followed by a chorus of nickers because an open door often means feeding time. The scrape of the wooden tack room door means work may follow. A trailer rattling into the driveway means a new friend, farrier, or vet visit. Horses crave routine and comfort, and the predictable cues throughout their day can bring them a bit of peace and predictability.
At the break of dawn, Pan will come galloping up the stairs, faster than the speed of light. Heâll turn right at the top of the landing, take the length of the attic bedroom in two bounds and sail onto the bed, landing light as a feather.
He is saying âGood morning!â like he really means it.
Of course, the reason Pan is not upstairs in the bedroom to begin with, is that he knows we'd make him sleep on the mat on the floor. I have my suspicions he is spending his nights surfing on our couch, instead.
Pan has done his daily wake-up call, since he was old enough to scale the bed. I remember that this heinous act used to horrify the old dog, Glen. Pan's flying leaps were so cute, such sweet surprises, that we did not discourage his naughty behaviour. Farm dogs, especially those fresh from the corrals, are not supposed to sail onto the furniture. Pan was exuberant and in the somewhat timid dog, it seemed a real leap of bravado. A real victory.
And the grown dog? Not quite so cute but there we are. Weâve created an endearing monster. Weâve also unwittingly taught him to howl, constantly interrupting our conversations, because it was adorable in the wee pup.
âWoo-oo! Woo-oo!â he still howls, in a falsetto to greet the morn.
Pan is certain that this will be a wonderful day. I have tried to follow his lead, for it is only my human tendency towards pessimism that prevents me from openly showing such joy. In the dark. Before daylight. Certainly, before coffee.
At first, I worried that the dog would begin pushing his morning greeting ahead, in anticipation. But no. He waits until 6:00 am on the dot. What a brilliant mind! Iâd first thought, until finally realizing that he was waiting for the cue of the automatic coffee maker.
We can train our horses in the same way, often without meaning to.
This ability of Equus to read the room, so to speak, is both a blessing and a curse to their people. This is where the subtlety comes in to our riding, this is where the bystander begins to wonder if the horse is doing everything on the riderâs thought. Often, that cue to canter is preceded by a slight change in posture and breathing in the rider. Away rocks the horse into third gear, at the exact time the rider gives the actual aid.
This is where the riding becomes beautiful. I have never considered this sort of âanticipationâ in my horses to be a bad thing, considering it more a confidence in their knowing how to do their job.
It becomes more problematic when the horse reads the subtle cues, like a microphone clicking on when the announcer of the show class prepares to call for a change of gait. Boom! The clever show ring performer is snatching at his reins, coiling for the take off, becoming chargey in anticipation⌠or else, falling gracelessly to a walk right in front of the judge, while the rest of the class is still cantering around, as though on a carousel.
And... there goes your big win.
The same problem happens when one practices her dressage test over and over, in an effort to nail down the blasted thing. You struggle with remembering what to do at âFâ but your horse knows exactly what is going to happen, somewhere between âMâ and âBâ.
Reining horses can have the same need for a âschoolingâ session at the next showâwhere we forfeit any chance of a placing in order to make our point in the listeningâfor there are only a small number of recognized patterns. Horses have incredible memories. Soon, they begin to know when thereâs a rundown and stop, or a large fast circle coming up.
Training, whether horses or dogs, isnât easy because whether or not we are thinking about doing it, we are always training. Every single time we are with them, our horses are reading our bodies, subtle cues, intentions and habitual behaviours.
We are either making them better at their jobs, or a little bit worse, each and every moment we share space.
In a pattern-seeking Border Collie, one wants to be careful. Too late now, perhaps. Like so many people who are very particular with how they handle and school their horses, Mikeâs and my dogs are like big babies, lolling about on the couch and begging potato chips. Or, leaping with gusto, onto the lovely old quilt upon the bed. Iâm not proud of our brand of dog training, but there it is. You're here for the horses.
By now, Iâve learned there are far worse ways to start my day, than to begin with Panâs morning woo.
Here's a memory of a day with the main men in my life, recalling an exuberant Pan leading the way for Mike, twenty-eight-year-old Cody and Glen.