It's not because I don't enjoy holiday decorations. I do. As long as they are in other people's homes. Or in decorating magazines. But I personally don't decorate for Christmas anymore.
There are a couple of reasons but I think the biggest, and the one I least understood for a long time, is because I am an introvert who draws a great deal of strength and serenity from my home. I thought I was a cranky over-extended grouch, but what I realize now is that my home is my center, the place where I recharge my battery. Disruptions here of any sort prevent me from getting that re-charge. I love my "stuff", I love where it is, and I don't like dislocating it even temporarily. Not to say I won't rearrange my "stuff" from time to time, but I don't like to do it on a set time schedule. I know things are not important, but I enjoy and appreciate my pretty porcelain dishes and opalescent glassware and the framed pictures of turn of century kids on ponies; they give me visual pleasure and serenity in the way they are arranged. I crave order and predictability in as many areas of this crazy life as I can possibly have control over. It's just damned emotionally exhausting to move all that stuff around, replace it with things that never quite work out in a particular space, and then relocate it just a few weeks later.
Decorating the inside of my house for Christmas is not any fun for me from a practical standpoint because there is nowhere to put a tree without a major relocation of furniture here at the Museum of Old Oak Furniture. Moving said Old Oak Furniture means storage of said relocated furniture, and space for said storage does not exist. And then I have to move the inventory of the Home for Slightly Chipped Yet Still Beautiful Bavarian China from the tops of the Old Oak Furniture, and...well, you get the picture. The whole thing becomes a production of moving things from Point A to Point B, etc. that I frankly find exhausting. Not exhausting physically but psychically (sp?). There is a flow and organization to this small house that works very well, and a random tree poking out awkwardly just screws that all up. There's that introvert-order-serenity thing again.
We don't have much company. Heck, we never have company. And we live at the end of a private dead end road. Most GPS systems can't even find our address. So what's the point of going crazy decorating, inside or out? Who's going to see it, the squirrels? (That would be the outside decor, not the inside. Just wanted to clarify.)
And then there is the clean up. Ugh. I am one of those who cannot stand holiday decorations in my house once the holiday is over. They look so sad and drab on the 26th. I cannot wait to put them away. Can. Not. Wait. I get grumpy and squirrelly with anticipation of the picking up, the packing away, and the restoration of order.
On occasion, I feel like I have had to defend my lack of holiday decorating to others. I hope if you read this, and you know someone who doesn't decorate for Christmas, you'll take a moment to consider why they might not decorate for the holiday. We each need our own way to maintain our serenity in this crazy world, and mine just happens to be by keeping my stuff in its place.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Random Thoughts for the Day
It's been a while since I have posted anything. Not intentional. It's been busy around here since the holidays and I've been working on divesting myself of some extra activities I became involved in over the past few years so I can have more time for my horses. Mind you, these activities were not bad, or negative, or detrimental to me in any way. They were good, positive activities. They simply infringed upon my time and the horses have received the end result of that infringement. I'm no longer interested in that being the status quo.
I love taking care of my herd. I truly do not mind getting up every workday and being out the door to the barn by 5:00 am. Rain or shine, hot or cold, feeding and caring for them is simply an honor and a privilege. I never mind, not ever. There is something very satisfying about meeting their needs, interfacing with them, spending a few minutes with my nose in someone's neck, in that spot right under the mane. Taking the time to run my hands over them, checking for any issues. I enjoy grooming them, even this time of year when a grooming session usually ends with me covered in more hair than them (particular thanks to Fina, aka The Grey Yak).
I feed three times a day: breakfast, dinner, and just hay before bed. They know the routine for breakfast and dinner: concentrate feed first, then the hay. Sabi first, then Aramis, then Fina and Jessie. Fina gets beet pulp with her concentrate and the whole thing is served wet. One episode of choke with her is enough for me, thanks. Sabi gets a token amount of concentrate, and Aramis gets a moderate amount. Jessie gets no concentrate. Doesn't need it. Have you seen her? Lives off air, that horse. The concentrate is Seminole Senior Wellness and that stuff smells divine. They get plenty of hay, and when the grass is in there is grazing in designated areas.
The last feeding of the day is before bedtime. Mine, that is. The before-bed haying gives me the chance to make sure everyone is fine and provides me with peace of mind. Besides, stretching feedings out over multiple smaller servings is just better equine management. In cold weather, it's the opportunity to blanket Fina and provide extra hay as well as drip faucets and secure Maximus Kittimus the outdoor cat in the barn for the night.
And then it's time to do it all again the next day.
I love taking care of my herd. I truly do not mind getting up every workday and being out the door to the barn by 5:00 am. Rain or shine, hot or cold, feeding and caring for them is simply an honor and a privilege. I never mind, not ever. There is something very satisfying about meeting their needs, interfacing with them, spending a few minutes with my nose in someone's neck, in that spot right under the mane. Taking the time to run my hands over them, checking for any issues. I enjoy grooming them, even this time of year when a grooming session usually ends with me covered in more hair than them (particular thanks to Fina, aka The Grey Yak).
I feed three times a day: breakfast, dinner, and just hay before bed. They know the routine for breakfast and dinner: concentrate feed first, then the hay. Sabi first, then Aramis, then Fina and Jessie. Fina gets beet pulp with her concentrate and the whole thing is served wet. One episode of choke with her is enough for me, thanks. Sabi gets a token amount of concentrate, and Aramis gets a moderate amount. Jessie gets no concentrate. Doesn't need it. Have you seen her? Lives off air, that horse. The concentrate is Seminole Senior Wellness and that stuff smells divine. They get plenty of hay, and when the grass is in there is grazing in designated areas.
The last feeding of the day is before bedtime. Mine, that is. The before-bed haying gives me the chance to make sure everyone is fine and provides me with peace of mind. Besides, stretching feedings out over multiple smaller servings is just better equine management. In cold weather, it's the opportunity to blanket Fina and provide extra hay as well as drip faucets and secure Maximus Kittimus the outdoor cat in the barn for the night.
And then it's time to do it all again the next day.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
I Am An Introvert.
I'm an introvert. Surprised? Many people are when I tell them I am an introvert.
I'm an introvert. What a liberating statement this is for me. For many, many years I thought there was something "wrong" with me. I've always felt a little odd, out of place, a bit left of center, not mainstream, isolated from peers, not part of any group. I couldn't stand most of the antics of my high school peers. Why didn't I want to socialize with people? Run in packs of friends? Go here, there, and everywhere? I dread social events (unless they involve horse people and horse activities) As a child, I would be deeply embarrassed if I made a mistake in public or in front of peers - consequently, I pretty much shut up and shut down. I was told I was "hyper-sensitive" as if being sensitve and in tune to the world around me was a bad thing. "Too serious!" people would exclaim. I hate loud noises. When I was younger, I was categorized as an underachiever, when in reality I was terrified of putting myself in a position of getting unwanted attention and the possibilty of failure. What was wrong with me???
Turns out, nothing.
Over the summer, I stumbled across an online personality test thingy that used the Myers-Briggs inventory (Click here to take the test yourself), and took it for fun. I scored as an introvert, with some other characteristics. When I read the report the online test generated about my score, it was as if someone had crawled inside my head and finally put words to all the things I knew about myself but could never verbalize before (note: typical interovert trait is difficulty expressing one's self about deep and profound feelings). Surprised, over the next few months I Googled some more personality test thingies, took them, and scored as highly introverted on the vast majority I took. Mystery solved! I wasn't a weirdo after all, I was an introvert. I'm not a fan of labels, but sometimes they can provide comfort, especially when they help you learn why you don't seem to fit in to the rest of the world very well.
I'm no expert, but essentially, the difference between introverts and extraverts boils down to this: introverts look inward for thoughts, inspiration, and feelings vs. looking outward and to others for these things as do extraverts. For example, extraverts enjoy social situations and draw their energies from others. Conversely, introverts must expend energy in social situations and react to this by needing to withdraw (sometimes for lengthy period sof time) to recharge when it's all over. Extraverts jump in and go for it, whilst introverts sit back, observe, then ease into the role.
Insert simplistic animal analogy here: Dogs = extraverts, cats = introverts.
Some myths about introverts busted:
I'm an introvert. To wit:
I'm an introvert. What a liberating statement this is for me. For many, many years I thought there was something "wrong" with me. I've always felt a little odd, out of place, a bit left of center, not mainstream, isolated from peers, not part of any group. I couldn't stand most of the antics of my high school peers. Why didn't I want to socialize with people? Run in packs of friends? Go here, there, and everywhere? I dread social events (unless they involve horse people and horse activities) As a child, I would be deeply embarrassed if I made a mistake in public or in front of peers - consequently, I pretty much shut up and shut down. I was told I was "hyper-sensitive" as if being sensitve and in tune to the world around me was a bad thing. "Too serious!" people would exclaim. I hate loud noises. When I was younger, I was categorized as an underachiever, when in reality I was terrified of putting myself in a position of getting unwanted attention and the possibilty of failure. What was wrong with me???
- We're not arrogant.
- We don't lack social skills.
- We are not necessarily depressed.
- We're not necessarily shy.
- We don't hate people. Well, not all of them.
- I'd rather be alone than in a group.
- I think waaaay too much and reside very much inside my own head.
- I would rather observe something before attempting it.
- I've been accused of being reserved or stuck up.
- I'm easily overwhelmed by stimuli: visual, auditory, etc.
- I need "me" time - and lots of it.
- I prefer to work for hours and hours uninterrupted on a project.
- When sharing deeper thoughts, I tend to speak slowly.
- I'd much rather have a deep, intellectual discussion one on one with someone than engage in meaningless chit-chat. Although, I can and do perform the meaningless chit-chat bit when required.
- Social occasions wear me out, even when they are enjoyable.
- I hate, I DESPISE, making and taking telephone calls. That's why I never call you.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
One Year Ago Today...
One year ago today, I made a wonderful, albeit spur-of-the-moment, decision.
One year ago today, I bought a horse.
One year ago today, LH Muscateer AKA Aramis joined our family and I am so glad he did.
I wasn't looking for a horse. I had three already. Well, two and a quarter (Jessie). But in the Yahoo group I belong to, someone had posted an urgent message looking for help for an older horse. The horse, it seemed, worked at a hack stable and was for sale. The poster indicated the horse was a great trail horse, and she knew him - had ridden him - and believed he deserved a chance to find a good home vs. an unknown fate at the auction.
I don't know what made me do it but I asked for pictures. When I got the pictures and opened them, I was immediately in trouble. He was physically exactly the type of horse I adore, a bay Arabian with four white socks and a blaze.
I could not stop thinking about this nice looking, older horse who worked at a hack stable, probably not enjoying his life, having no one person to call his own who would really love him and care for him. I wondered how he'd ended up there. I wondered what his fate would be at an auction. Probably not the meat truck, but perhaps a well-meaning but uneducated individual who might not appreciate an Arabian's sensitivities. I'd learned he had some allergies, and I wondered if anyone who bought him would care for his needs in this regard.
After a really bad night's sleep on a crappy couch (I was staying with my sister, and our other sister was visiting from California for a few days) I was probably not functioning at my usual 100% able-to-talk-myself-out-of-anything-random-and-adventurous capacity. I brought up the subject of the horse to my sisters and my they, always in search of a good time, immediately said, "Let's go look at him!" I called the stable to make sure he was still there and to say I was coming to look, and off we went over an hour away, me without proper footwear to ride a horse.
When we got to the stable, it was a clean, nice, well-kept place. The workers obviously cared for the horses in their charge. I first saw Aramis when he was still in his stall. He looked friendly, and stuck his nose over the wall for petting. The barn manager led him out and tied him for grooming and saddling. I could see Aramis' eyes looked a bit dull and uninterested during the procedure. I wondered what he was thinking. Another trail guide got on him first and rode him around a bit while I observed. He looked obedient and calm. I was liking him more and more.
I rode Aramis next. Not only wasn't I wearing proper footwear, I had on about the worst jeans I own for riding. It didn't matter, as riding him was pure pleasure. Someone, somewhere had taught this horse properly. I ride primarily English, and he responded beautifully to my aids. A piece of heavy equipment rumbled by, and he didn't even flinch.
Why was this horse for sale? The stable owner had another location in Tennessee, and Aramis had apparently been acting up with riders the last time he was there. Not having time, patience, or interest in adding stimulation to his life, or refreshing his attitude toward his job, the stable owner made the decision to sell him ASAP.
I want to point out that the gals who worked at this stable absolutely adored Aramis. They went far, far above and beyond the call of duty to make sure this horse got the kind of home he deserved. They only wanted him to leave them if it meant he could have a better life.
I was sold. I wanted this horse. Now, for the particulars - how much and did he have papers? I feel strongly about papers because if he has them, they are a horse's passport through life. Who he is, where he came from, how old he is, all the things he can't tell us that we might need to know. My legal mind also knew the value of papers as prima facie evidence of ownership. I'd already been through the nightmare of registration transfer in 2001 with Fina's papers. Absent any other proof, he or she whose name appears on the papers is the owner.
The price on Aramis was so reasonable I almost couldn't believe it. Put it this way, it cost me more to buy a Reese hitch and have it put on my truck this summer than it did to buy Aramis. As for papers, he was registered but the papers were not on the premises. Later, it would turn out the papers had been misplaced by the stable owner, but that was a blessing in disguise. He did have allergies, and you could see by his coat that he'd been itchy and had been rubbing against things. I agreed to buy him and return the next day with money in hand and my trailer.
I need to mention that my wonderful husband had told me, prior to me making this trip, that if I wanted to buy this horse, he gave his complete blessing. I'd told him about the horse one evening, and he said then that he trusted my judgment and if I wanted the horse, I knew whether I could handle another one. In reality, I think he was hoping my buzzkill impulse governor would keep me in check. FAIL!
Chris and I went to the stable the next day, minus the flame-fanning sisters who stayed home to plot another way for me to spend money, to pick up Aramis. We got Aramis loaded with a small amount of difficulty (I think he believed he was going to Tennessee!) and off we went for home and our new life together.
Riding a few months after his arrival:
The past year with Aramis has been great. I am so glad he joined our family. I am blessed and lucky to have this wonderful, sweet horse. He's steady as a rock, gentle, and willing to please. Luckily, he came with enough medical paperwork that I was able to find the lab that did his allergy testing and got a complete report from them. My vet didn't want to start him on allergy shots right away. On her advice, I employed the liberal use of fly spray and faithful use of a fly mask to control pests. As a result, Aramis did not have any significant issues with hives this past year. I also believe alleviating the stress that was surely in his life was a contributing factor.
I tracked down a former owner (his papers were officially still in her name) and learned quite a bit about the middle years of his life. She was glad to know he was safe and in a loving home. I made new friends for myself out of this deal as I have kept in touch with two of the ladies who worked at the stable. Over the past year, I watched Aramis as he lost his dull look and came alive. He was very reserved with me at first, as if he wasn't sure he was going to be staying and couldn't be sure he could trust me. His former owner told me once he trusted me, he'd do anything for me. After about a month or so, he really came around.
Best of all, Aramis got to go to the recent Buck Brannaman horsemanship clinic with me. He wasn't the first choice but when Ali Sabi refused to load the day of departure, good old faithful Aramis stepped in for him. We had a great time, and learned even more about each other as a result. If you haven't seen them, here's a link to an online photo gallery where there are several pictures of us at the clinic: http://bmader.smugmug.com/Portfolio/Horses/Buck-Brannaman-Clinic-Barbs/19480210_dmszzx
I am such a play-it-safe kind of person. I don't like to stick my neck out. I don't like to step outside my comfort zone. I like guarantees. Taking on Aramis in such a spur of the moment fashion went against a lot of my usual tendencies. There were no guarantees with him. But it worked out for both of us. The past year with Aramis proved to me that sometimes you just have to take a chance.
Aramis (left) and his "brother" Ali Sabi (on the right):
One year ago today, I bought a horse.
One year ago today, LH Muscateer AKA Aramis joined our family and I am so glad he did.
I wasn't looking for a horse. I had three already. Well, two and a quarter (Jessie). But in the Yahoo group I belong to, someone had posted an urgent message looking for help for an older horse. The horse, it seemed, worked at a hack stable and was for sale. The poster indicated the horse was a great trail horse, and she knew him - had ridden him - and believed he deserved a chance to find a good home vs. an unknown fate at the auction.
I don't know what made me do it but I asked for pictures. When I got the pictures and opened them, I was immediately in trouble. He was physically exactly the type of horse I adore, a bay Arabian with four white socks and a blaze.
I could not stop thinking about this nice looking, older horse who worked at a hack stable, probably not enjoying his life, having no one person to call his own who would really love him and care for him. I wondered how he'd ended up there. I wondered what his fate would be at an auction. Probably not the meat truck, but perhaps a well-meaning but uneducated individual who might not appreciate an Arabian's sensitivities. I'd learned he had some allergies, and I wondered if anyone who bought him would care for his needs in this regard.
After a really bad night's sleep on a crappy couch (I was staying with my sister, and our other sister was visiting from California for a few days) I was probably not functioning at my usual 100% able-to-talk-myself-out-of-anything-random-and-adventurous capacity. I brought up the subject of the horse to my sisters and my they, always in search of a good time, immediately said, "Let's go look at him!" I called the stable to make sure he was still there and to say I was coming to look, and off we went over an hour away, me without proper footwear to ride a horse.
When we got to the stable, it was a clean, nice, well-kept place. The workers obviously cared for the horses in their charge. I first saw Aramis when he was still in his stall. He looked friendly, and stuck his nose over the wall for petting. The barn manager led him out and tied him for grooming and saddling. I could see Aramis' eyes looked a bit dull and uninterested during the procedure. I wondered what he was thinking. Another trail guide got on him first and rode him around a bit while I observed. He looked obedient and calm. I was liking him more and more.
I rode Aramis next. Not only wasn't I wearing proper footwear, I had on about the worst jeans I own for riding. It didn't matter, as riding him was pure pleasure. Someone, somewhere had taught this horse properly. I ride primarily English, and he responded beautifully to my aids. A piece of heavy equipment rumbled by, and he didn't even flinch.
Why was this horse for sale? The stable owner had another location in Tennessee, and Aramis had apparently been acting up with riders the last time he was there. Not having time, patience, or interest in adding stimulation to his life, or refreshing his attitude toward his job, the stable owner made the decision to sell him ASAP.
I want to point out that the gals who worked at this stable absolutely adored Aramis. They went far, far above and beyond the call of duty to make sure this horse got the kind of home he deserved. They only wanted him to leave them if it meant he could have a better life.
I was sold. I wanted this horse. Now, for the particulars - how much and did he have papers? I feel strongly about papers because if he has them, they are a horse's passport through life. Who he is, where he came from, how old he is, all the things he can't tell us that we might need to know. My legal mind also knew the value of papers as prima facie evidence of ownership. I'd already been through the nightmare of registration transfer in 2001 with Fina's papers. Absent any other proof, he or she whose name appears on the papers is the owner.
The price on Aramis was so reasonable I almost couldn't believe it. Put it this way, it cost me more to buy a Reese hitch and have it put on my truck this summer than it did to buy Aramis. As for papers, he was registered but the papers were not on the premises. Later, it would turn out the papers had been misplaced by the stable owner, but that was a blessing in disguise. He did have allergies, and you could see by his coat that he'd been itchy and had been rubbing against things. I agreed to buy him and return the next day with money in hand and my trailer.
I need to mention that my wonderful husband had told me, prior to me making this trip, that if I wanted to buy this horse, he gave his complete blessing. I'd told him about the horse one evening, and he said then that he trusted my judgment and if I wanted the horse, I knew whether I could handle another one. In reality, I think he was hoping my buzzkill impulse governor would keep me in check. FAIL!
Chris and I went to the stable the next day, minus the flame-fanning sisters who stayed home to plot another way for me to spend money, to pick up Aramis. We got Aramis loaded with a small amount of difficulty (I think he believed he was going to Tennessee!) and off we went for home and our new life together.
Riding a few months after his arrival:
The past year with Aramis has been great. I am so glad he joined our family. I am blessed and lucky to have this wonderful, sweet horse. He's steady as a rock, gentle, and willing to please. Luckily, he came with enough medical paperwork that I was able to find the lab that did his allergy testing and got a complete report from them. My vet didn't want to start him on allergy shots right away. On her advice, I employed the liberal use of fly spray and faithful use of a fly mask to control pests. As a result, Aramis did not have any significant issues with hives this past year. I also believe alleviating the stress that was surely in his life was a contributing factor.
I tracked down a former owner (his papers were officially still in her name) and learned quite a bit about the middle years of his life. She was glad to know he was safe and in a loving home. I made new friends for myself out of this deal as I have kept in touch with two of the ladies who worked at the stable. Over the past year, I watched Aramis as he lost his dull look and came alive. He was very reserved with me at first, as if he wasn't sure he was going to be staying and couldn't be sure he could trust me. His former owner told me once he trusted me, he'd do anything for me. After about a month or so, he really came around.
Best of all, Aramis got to go to the recent Buck Brannaman horsemanship clinic with me. He wasn't the first choice but when Ali Sabi refused to load the day of departure, good old faithful Aramis stepped in for him. We had a great time, and learned even more about each other as a result. If you haven't seen them, here's a link to an online photo gallery where there are several pictures of us at the clinic: http://bmader.smugmug.com/Portfolio/Horses/Buck-Brannaman-Clinic-Barbs/19480210_dmszzx
I am such a play-it-safe kind of person. I don't like to stick my neck out. I don't like to step outside my comfort zone. I like guarantees. Taking on Aramis in such a spur of the moment fashion went against a lot of my usual tendencies. There were no guarantees with him. But it worked out for both of us. The past year with Aramis proved to me that sometimes you just have to take a chance.
Aramis (left) and his "brother" Ali Sabi (on the right):
Sunday, September 4, 2011
It's Complicated...Part I
My relationship with Ali Sabi, that is. It's complicated. He's my emotional child, I guess you could say. The kid I never had. The one I am so proud of, and want everyone else to love, too.
I raised him from an embryo. He was conceived next to the fiery rubble of our little shed-barn. I nearly lost him when his dam needed colic surgery when he was only 10 months baked. Despite all this, he lived. He was foaled in a light rain on an April evening. I missed the foaling, and in retrospect that was probably a good thing. After all that had happened leading up to the actual event, witnessing it myself probably would have sent me over the edge. And as eventful as all the lead up was, the event itself was, well, a non-event. A textbook birth by all evidence I could see.
I did a lot of things right with Sabi. I did a lot of things wrong, too. I'd never raised a foal before. My horses had all come to me grown and trained, Fina being the exception to the "trained" part. So when Sabi appeared I thought I knew what to do in order to teach him, but in reality I did not know enough. I taught him to give to pressure at his poll and drop his head. I taught him to be a gentleman about his feet and being touched all over his body. I taught him to accept the halter. I taught him many other good, useful things like being desensitized to the feel of a saddle.
However, I failed on some of the other more important things. I did not teach him to respect my space. He was so danged cute and cuddly. I treated him like a fuzzy toy. He got mouthy and I could not seem to break him of that habit. He got pushy as he grew and I did not know how to push back, or how to be a leader. He was an all-boy, alpha, intelligent horse and he knew he had me from the word go. Never studdish, and gelded at less than 10 months, but every day the question was asked - "Who's in charge? You or me?"
By the time he was four, he was in some ways a nice, manageable horse and in other ways, an ill-mannered hellion. That Khemosabi blood came through in the friendly, social, people-loving personality but the ZT Ali Baba blood showed itself in the pinned ears and mouthy demeanor (no offense to the late ZT Ali Baba but I always was given to understand he was a bit of surly individual). Sabi could be led, but he would push into you, walk ahead of you, etc. if the mood struck He would stand quietly for the vet and blacksmith, but had a mind of his own about what he wanted to do when it was just me and him. He would blow up if I asked him to do something he did not want to do. I'd become fearful, give up, and just go in the house.
I was at my wit's end. Be careful what you wish for because you might get it - and I did. I'd wanted a smart, handsome, athletic, capable horse. Check - got it all. Now what do I do with him? I'd brought him into this world and I was responsible for him. I could do nothing more and I did not even know where to start. I was embarrassed and ashamed at my own lack of responsibility in being better prepared to raise him. I'd seen natural horsemanship techniques on TV and in person at various events, but I did not understand how they worked.
As luck would have it, I have a friend who had a gelding three weeks older than Sabi. The colt had actually lived with us for almost a year after his dam died. My friend's blacksmith, it turned out, trained horses. He specialized in youngsters and only took on two at a time so he could give them his full attention. After meeting him and seeing how he handled his own horses, I did not hesitate to sign Sabi up for a stay at summer camp!
Sabi went off to be trained at four years old and it was a fantastic experience for him. He was there for three months and I believe he thoroughly enjoyed it. He loved and respected his trainer. The farm was not far from us, so I visited him several times a week. He looked happy and content. I rode him several times while he was there and while I was kinda nervous, I was so excited to ride my very own beautiful boy, I choked my fears back and carried on.
Sabi came home Labor Day weekend that year (2006) and the next time I tried to ride him it was a disaster. He would not go forward, he would not obey. Nothing. I tried several more times. I called the trainer, who gave me some advice. I tried what was suggested and it did not work. I became deeply fearful of riding Sabi. In despair, I gave up.
To be continued...
I raised him from an embryo. He was conceived next to the fiery rubble of our little shed-barn. I nearly lost him when his dam needed colic surgery when he was only 10 months baked. Despite all this, he lived. He was foaled in a light rain on an April evening. I missed the foaling, and in retrospect that was probably a good thing. After all that had happened leading up to the actual event, witnessing it myself probably would have sent me over the edge. And as eventful as all the lead up was, the event itself was, well, a non-event. A textbook birth by all evidence I could see.
I did a lot of things right with Sabi. I did a lot of things wrong, too. I'd never raised a foal before. My horses had all come to me grown and trained, Fina being the exception to the "trained" part. So when Sabi appeared I thought I knew what to do in order to teach him, but in reality I did not know enough. I taught him to give to pressure at his poll and drop his head. I taught him to be a gentleman about his feet and being touched all over his body. I taught him to accept the halter. I taught him many other good, useful things like being desensitized to the feel of a saddle.
However, I failed on some of the other more important things. I did not teach him to respect my space. He was so danged cute and cuddly. I treated him like a fuzzy toy. He got mouthy and I could not seem to break him of that habit. He got pushy as he grew and I did not know how to push back, or how to be a leader. He was an all-boy, alpha, intelligent horse and he knew he had me from the word go. Never studdish, and gelded at less than 10 months, but every day the question was asked - "Who's in charge? You or me?"
By the time he was four, he was in some ways a nice, manageable horse and in other ways, an ill-mannered hellion. That Khemosabi blood came through in the friendly, social, people-loving personality but the ZT Ali Baba blood showed itself in the pinned ears and mouthy demeanor (no offense to the late ZT Ali Baba but I always was given to understand he was a bit of surly individual). Sabi could be led, but he would push into you, walk ahead of you, etc. if the mood struck He would stand quietly for the vet and blacksmith, but had a mind of his own about what he wanted to do when it was just me and him. He would blow up if I asked him to do something he did not want to do. I'd become fearful, give up, and just go in the house.
I was at my wit's end. Be careful what you wish for because you might get it - and I did. I'd wanted a smart, handsome, athletic, capable horse. Check - got it all. Now what do I do with him? I'd brought him into this world and I was responsible for him. I could do nothing more and I did not even know where to start. I was embarrassed and ashamed at my own lack of responsibility in being better prepared to raise him. I'd seen natural horsemanship techniques on TV and in person at various events, but I did not understand how they worked.
As luck would have it, I have a friend who had a gelding three weeks older than Sabi. The colt had actually lived with us for almost a year after his dam died. My friend's blacksmith, it turned out, trained horses. He specialized in youngsters and only took on two at a time so he could give them his full attention. After meeting him and seeing how he handled his own horses, I did not hesitate to sign Sabi up for a stay at summer camp!
Sabi went off to be trained at four years old and it was a fantastic experience for him. He was there for three months and I believe he thoroughly enjoyed it. He loved and respected his trainer. The farm was not far from us, so I visited him several times a week. He looked happy and content. I rode him several times while he was there and while I was kinda nervous, I was so excited to ride my very own beautiful boy, I choked my fears back and carried on.
Sabi came home Labor Day weekend that year (2006) and the next time I tried to ride him it was a disaster. He would not go forward, he would not obey. Nothing. I tried several more times. I called the trainer, who gave me some advice. I tried what was suggested and it did not work. I became deeply fearful of riding Sabi. In despair, I gave up.
To be continued...
Thursday, August 25, 2011
All I Need to Know About Leadership, I Learned From My Horse*
- Reward a well-intentioned try.
- Make the right way easy and the wrong way a lot of work.
- Learn to be consistent and exact when asking for what you want.
- Be soft but not yielding; be firm but not harsh.
- If you don't get the results you seek, don't blame the horse. Look inside yourself first.
- Do nothing in anger. Anger can often cause you to do things which in a calmer mood you will regret.
- Become fluent in the language of those you seek to lead.
- Don't be sneaky. Be open about what you want to achieve and how you are going to do it.
- Respect and trust are essential to a good relationship, and each is a two-way street.
- Use a light hand and do not steer, but guide.
- Strive for true unity in purpose and execution.
Dare I say these principles might also apply to leading humans as well?
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
The Roundish Pen
For my birthday, I was given the gift of 8 more round pen panels. This meant I could create a round pen in Sabi's pasture for us to work in, for me to build confidence while riding him. But the pen is not exactly round. It's roundish. It's under a large oak tree, and there are some space constraints due to permanent structures such as trees and a canopy that are preventing said pen from being truly "round". Unfortunately, this is probably the ONLY place on this entire property where I can put it. There really is nowhere else that is open enough that would not be in the blazing sun without a drop of shade. And I want some shade, doggone it.
So we'll make the roundish pen work. Maybe it won't be as boring for him as a truly round pen. No mindless circle. He'll have to think about those slight angles. Well, he gets bored easily anyway so maybe this is for the best.
So we'll make the roundish pen work. Maybe it won't be as boring for him as a truly round pen. No mindless circle. He'll have to think about those slight angles. Well, he gets bored easily anyway so maybe this is for the best.
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