Slowly Bethany dismounted. I could see the reluctance in her. I walked over and mounted up before she could change her mind. When I looked down Bethany was still clutching the reins. There was outright panic in her face. “He needs to be ridden in a very specific way,” she blurted out. “Or his training will suffer.”
I put on a cold smile. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I know exactly how he needs to be ridden.” I gathered up the reins and she let them slip away from her fingers.
Erica
I heard their exchange. I saw the young gelding move and then I had to look away. It wasn’t beautiful or joyful. It wasn’t what I’d gotten used to seeing, sequestered away at Lawrence’s. I thought of Harry overflowing with life, his energy spilling out as he danced light-footed and free. I held onto that image in my mind as the tears gathered, hovering around my eyelashes.
This was Trucker all over again. It was the same training, the same destructive need for a perfect show horse right now. The same lack of compassion, that relentless drive for perfection. It was too familiar. I was trying to hold it together, but I kept seeing things that just cut me open.
When I lifted my head again the dressage queen was standing at her horse’s head. She wore all the right things. The pricey uniform. Cavallo boots, full seat breeches. Gleaming spurs. A long sleeved shirt and slim-fitting vest. Her equipment was top of the line and spotless. Her horse was painstakingly groomed.
She looked on anxiously as Lawrence swung onto her horse and said something, almost a desperate plea. Then she was left standing there.
She clearly cared about what she was doing. She had worked tirelessly to look the part. She wanted her horse to look the part as well. But this wasn’t dressage, what she was doing. And I wished I could explain that to her, and have her understand.
I looked out at Lawrence. I wanted him to be able to help that horse. I needed him to help that horse. I needed to see that happen, because Trucker was still out there.
Lawrence
I gave the young gelding a touch of leg and asked him to walk. He was very responsive, but my aids seemed to worry him. The overwhelming feeling I got from him was anxiety. The steps he took with his legs didn’t flow through his body. The movement was all jammed up.
I let the reins slide in my hands, let them get slack. The horse’s head position stayed the same. I guess that’s what they’ve been working so hard on. Headsetting. The young gelding had been taught nothing about how to carry himself and engage his hind end, in fact they had taken away all his power. They’d shut it down.
He was sensitive and ignorant. They’d sharpened him up without taking the time to explain what was actually required. He’d been overbitted and overfaced. They had tried to create a show horse out of nothing without giving it time to happen. Now the aftermath was in my hands.
Experimentally, I dropped the curb rein. I saw Bethany’s eyes bulge and I ignored her. Bethany was not my priority right now. Making Bethany happy was not important to me. This was a fine young horse, and he was worth salvaging.
Even with no contact on the curb, it was still a weight in his mouth. A reminder, and probably a reminder of fear. I needed to take it away.
I halted the gelding and dismounted. I unbuckled the noseband and throatlatch before sliding the bridle down his face. The bits dropped out of his mouth, and the gelding chewed and licked. I quickly unhooked the snaffle and curb, draping them over the rail as Bethany stared. I took one set of reins and attached it to the noseband. Then I put the modified bridle back on, leaving the noseband comfortably loose. I remounted, holding the reins at the buckle. “Walk,” I said to the gelding. He kept standing there. Interesting. I touched him with my leg and he moved off immediately. He doesn’t even know voice commands? Jesus. The gelding traveled down the rail, never straying or leaning in. He was still all bunched up.
I turned him off the rail, since he had obviously been worked on the rail way too much. I rode random lines and threw some turns in, nothing that resembled a 20 meter circle. And he started to melt out of his stiff, frozen frame, a little at a time.
He didn’t know a thing about rewards, I discovered. A pat on the neck was meaningless to him. So I worked on helping him understand that it had meaning.
I saw Amber at the rail watching. I didn’t know how much time this was taking and I really didn’t care. I had one shot with this horse. For whatever reason, Bethany had been lured away from her rigid dressage trainer, and I had a chance, right now, to fix the horse. It was probably for nothing, because as soon as I handed him back too Bethany she would likely frame him right back up again. But at least I could show him, and her, that there was a better way.
I shifted my aids back and forth, turning the gelding in a shallow serpentine. When I let him go straight again I felt the lock break up. His body started swinging. His head lowered, nodding deeply with every stride. He filled up the contact, making a connection even though the reins were long. He made the connection. I grinned in open happiness and rubbed his neck. I knew the subtlety would be lost on nearly everyone, especially Bethany. She was probably freaking out about his head nearly dragging on the ground, or something.
But I looked up into the only face I cared about seeing. She understood. She could see what most people didn’t bother to look for. And we both knew the significance of that walk on a long rein.
I paused, wondering what to do next. The trainer in me said to get off. I’d gotten my breakthrough, and this was the clear stopping point. If I had this horse in training, I could reward this effort and build on it tomorrow. But I didn’t have tomorrow. This was all I had.
I glanced at Bethany. She looked like she wanted to rush in and micromanage but so far she was stopping herself. She was misguided and high strung, a terrible match for this young, clueless horse. But she had come here.
I looked down at the bay gelding. He was unlocked now. I tested it, gingerly picking up the reins. He didn’t revert to his rigid frame. I knew I was going to have to be very careful. I couldn’t let the contact get at all heavy or I’d lose everything I’d gotten.
If I tried for brilliance, it could absolutely backfire. If I pushed a little too hard the tension was going to come right back. But I had to try for more. I needed more, not for me, but for Bethany. She needed to see real dressage. I didn’t know if this would work, but it was the only way that might.
I gave him a soft squeeze to send him into the trot, and something happened. From the very first strides I felt it. He was bounding, propelling himself into the air and hovering before settling back onto the ground. He had grown and filled out. He felt taller. It was all the right muscles coming into play. It was that simple.
Erica
I saw the change as it happened. It was clear, distinct. That confused young horse who only knew a headset and anxiety was calm, collected. His whole body was loose, but not sloppy. The energy surged through him without snagging and getting hung up somewhere. There was no tension, no interference binding his movement or creating false, disjointed flashiness. He was under Lawrence’s control, indisputably. But he was also free.
Lawrence
I kept the gelding moving. I worked him through every dressage movement I could think of that I had a clue how to do. I wanted there to be no question. No doubt.
I asked for the canter and he jumped into it. I sat in the middle of him, doing all I could not to disturb this balance. I needed just another minute. I had one more point I wanted to make.
I turned him onto the diagonal, breathing shallowly. I followed him with my seat, sitting deeply into him. His ear stayed back. He was listening, and poised. I waited, feeling for the period of suspension. And at the optimum moment I quietly shifted my aids. Suggesting a new lead.
I felt him lift up even more, and when he came down he was on the other lead. The change was clean. It was even a little brilliant. So I gave him a pat and then braced my spine against his movement. He stopped dead and square.
I stood with
him, giving myself a chance to live the moment. I was starting to feel the fatigue set in. There was actual applause coming from the rail, but that wasn’t what I was seeking. I took the gelding by the reins and I went to find Bethany.
Bethany stood in the same spot I’d left her. I figured her mind was probably working overtime, but on the outside she was frozen.
“You have eyes,” I said. “You know what just happened. You saw. You have a great horse here, Bethany. He can do anything you want him to. But if you keep doing what you’ve been doing, you’re going to ruin him. He can’t stand up to that kind of pressure. He needs time, and he needs his goddamn head. If you keep holding onto his head all the time you will break him down. You’ve seen what he can do, Bethany. Do you really want to go back to how it was?”
I lifted the reins over the young gelding’s head. “Now I’m going to hand this horse back to you. I don’t want to, because I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. I think you’re about to throw this horse back on the trailer, take him back to your shitty hack trainer and forget you ever came here. I think you’re going to keep doing what you know, because you’re too afraid to do something that feels right but seems crazy.”
“That’s what I think,” I said as I handed Bethany her horse’s reins. “I really hope you prove me wrong.”
Erica
I had been watching for Jennifer’s rig, and fortuitously enough I saw her pull in during a break in the action. I abandoned the plastic-wrapped piece of cake I’d been hastily scarfing and hurried to greet her. I waved as Jennifer climbed down from the cab of her dually pickup. “Hey. I’m so glad you could make it!”
“Yeah, me too!” Jennifer shut her door and gave me a quick hug. “How has it been so far?”
“Awesome,” I said with feeling. “It has been awesome.”
“Cool.” Jennifer glanced at her trailer which was shifting a little. “I should unload Pointer. You know how she hates waiting.”
“Yeah, let’s get her out.” I walked over to the rear of the trailer while Jennifer went in the side door. I eased down the ramp and Jennifer untied her black mare and led her out of the trailer. Point ‘n Shoot glanced around dispassionately, taking in the brand new surroundings with the eye of a seasoned show horse. Jennifer gave her a pat and tied her to the trailer. “Where’s D.M.?”
“Oh, Lawrence took pity on him and let me turn him out.”
Jennifer raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. “Wow, that’s nice of him.”
“Well, otherwise poor D.M. would’ve been standing tied all day long. I got here at like 7:45.”
Jennifer laughed. “Clinic junkie. Erica, you’re hopeless.”
We cut across the yard laughing. I saw Lawrence standing over by his house, getting briefed by Amber, no doubt. He was resting one leg. My eyes were drawn to those boots yet again.
Jennifer’s eyes followed where my head turned. “Is that him?”
Almost startled, I said, “Uh, yeah.”
“Um, wow,” Jennifer hissed. “You didn’t say he was totally gorgeous, Erica.”
I giggled nervously in reply. Jennifer turned her head back once more to stare at Lawrence. I started to feel faintly nauseous as she assessed him.
Lawrence
I made my way over to the blonde. She sat casually on her horse, waiting for me.
“Hey, I’m Lawrence,” I said to her.
“I know,” she said back.
I looked over her horse, a tall, smoothly built black mare. Her expression was intelligent and indifferent. I patted her shoulder. “Beautiful horse.”
“Thanks,” the blonde said. “I’m Jennifer, by the way,” she added on quickly.
“What’s her name?” I asked, still looking at the mare.
“Point ‘n Shoot, but I just call her Pointer.”
“Cool.” I stepped back, removing my hand from Pointer’s silky shoulder. “What’s your goal for today? What do you want to change, improve or add?”
Jennifer sat back a bit. “Well, Pointer is a great horse for equitation, but our time is never fast enough for jumping. I’d like her to be more of an all-arounder, I guess.”
I studied Pointer. She was long-backed and powerful behind. The mare sure looked athletic to me.
“Is speed your main problem?” I asked.
Jennifer nodded. “She won’t really gallop out for me in the ring. It’s like she’s stuck at a certain pace. She goes fast on the hunt field, and she always jumps clean, so I know she can do it. It’s just like we can‘t get it right when we show.”
I nodded slowly. “Show me her paces,” I said.
Jennifer nudged Pointer into a bold walk. This mare is class for sure, I thought as she moved up to a trot.
Jennifer was a show rider, I could tell. Her form was perfect and her technique was solid. She was not a trainer. I didn’t see her making all those little adjustments you have to make at each stride. Pointer had been well programmed by someone, and she went along in a perfect rhythm. She went right to the bit and stayed there. They made a very pretty picture, but I wasn’t surprised that Jennifer was feeling unsatisfied. Their partnership was somewhat limiting.
When she’d ridden a few minutes I called Jennifer over. She reined in Pointer. “So, what do you think?”
“I think your mare isn’t listening to you,” I said.
Jennifer looked more than surprised. “But…what do you mean? She never does anything wrong.”
I nodded. “She’s doing everything right, but she isn’t listening. She’s on autopilot. It’s a common thing with show horses. I think she’s been trained to death, she knows her job and she’s sticking to it. That’s not a bad thing. But if you want to try different things, you’re going to have to teach her to listen to you. She needs to do what you ask, even if she thinks what you’re asking is crazy and wrong.”
Jennifer laughed. “So how do I teach her that?”
“Well, you need to wake her up a little. You need a different cue, something that’ll energize her.” I was thinking hard. “Do you use a different bit when you ride out on the hunt field?”
Jennifer brightened. “Yeah, I use a slow twist. I barely have to touch it, but it helps if it’s there when she starts to hot up.”
“Okay. Use that when you practice jumping, and especially in the show ring. Horses are really smart about equipment changes. She’ll learn that a different bit means something. In the meantime, you need to get her listening.” I walked over to where she’d halted the mare. “I’d like to try her for a minute if that’s okay.”
“Sure.” Jennifer leapt down agreeably.
I glanced around the arena, where various pieces of tack and equipment were lying around, thrown to the side or over the rail. The rider from the lesson before was standing by the rail watching. Her little reining horse stood dozing, his eight foot split reins drooping on the ground.
I walked over to the woman. “Hey, can I borrow your reins?”
In a minute I made the switch and mounted up on Pointer. I quickly settled into her even rhythm as she strode out at a walk and trot. The mare was responsive and handily shifted between gaits. She collected and extended easily. I did some back-and-forth with her before asking for the canter. Pointer flowed into it and went around steadily. She was an incredibly easy horse, and she was boring as hell to ride.
I put my heels into her. Testing her. She didn’t give me too much. She didn’t give me the reaction I was looking for.
I gave the aid again, a clear shove with my calves. Pointer’s ears flicked back in irritation. She was listening, but she chose to keep doing it her way. So I picked up the long, trailing reins and in a split second I flicked them over both her flanks.
Pointer shot forward, head up, eyes open in surprise. “Good mare,” I said, patting her neck with one hand. I kept her going at a hand gallop once or twice around the ring and then asked her to slow down. Pointer returned to her preferred pace, dubiously keeping one ear on me.
“Well
, that woke her up,” I said to Jennifer, who was standing at the rail grinning. “Let’s see if she listens a little better now.”
I closed my calves again. Pointer hesitated for a moment, but before I could grab the reins she launched into a gallop. I rewarded her and repeated the transition a few times before halting the mare and stepping down. Jennifer walked over, looking amused.
I handed her the reins. “Try it,” I said. “You know you want to.”
Jennifer laughed and quickly mounted up. She took Pointer up to a canter, and I saw her calves tighten. Pointer’s rhythm didn’t change. Jennifer snatched up the reins and brought them down on her mare’s flank with a light slap. Pointer burst into motion, pitching Jennifer forward. She recovered and urged Pointer on. The reins zipped through the air.
Eventually Jennifer reined Pointer in. She was grinning widely. Pointer was a little sweaty and wide-eyed but she dropped her head and looked quietly pleased when Jennifer gave her a big pat on the neck.
Jennifer dismounted. “Oh, my gosh!” she exclaimed when she saw her mare’s damp neck. “I didn’t know I rode her that hard.”
I smiled. “She’s fine. I was going to flag you down if you got too carried away.”
Jennifer grinned. “That was fun. Kind of addictive, too.”
“Well, hopefully this lesson will stick in her mind, but if it doesn’t, you can always pick up some split reins.” I went to Pointer’s head. “I don’t think you’ll have any issues, though. She’s a smart mare. I think you can do whatever you want with her.” I gave Pointer a quick scratch between her eyes and then turned away. Jennifer was saying something, but my mind was already on the next horse and rider.
Erica
I set my saddle down on D.M.’s back. I shifted it into the right place. It didn’t look right, so I shifted it again.
I had forgotten how to tack up my horse. The motions I’d gone through countless times had fallen out of my muscle memory. The sequence of adjustments that time and repetition had carved into my subconscious were inaccessible. My hands shook and my teeth rattled, so I gritted them together. I attached the girth to the billets and tried to stop thinking.
Training Harry Page 45