Learning Curve

Cappy walked along on a relaxed rein alongside the road. The occasional car that went past drove slowly and there was ten to fifteen feet of grass before you would be in the gentle, easily crossed ditch that separated out where someone's yard really began. There was plenty of room for him to move away if he got nervous, but we both stayed calm and relaxed.

My destination was the yard near the end of the straight section of road that made a perfect place to school Cap. He had made it clear that the tiny arena up at Marilyn's would not be conducive to his education. Out here, he had more space, he remained focused on me, and he didn't panic about his balance. Our first ride out there was basically walk, trot, and a bit of what is supposed to be canter. He settled in and seemed content to work there. For this second ride in my new found "arena", I wanted to start training this guy.

He picked up a trot when I asked, and I asked for him to circle.Yawwing, leaning, drunkenness. OK, just turn. He craned his head, sort of, and leaned and just blech. Oh, cripes, you are like riding an autistic board of wood. Gahhhh!!

Funny thing is, he would start craning before I even asked him to turn. Oh for crying out loud, now you DO look autistic. OK, maybe we should work on canter instead of turning. I asked for his left lead. He picked it up fairly quickly, and started cantering a bit faster than I would really want, but he is green and can't be expected to canter in a frame. Hmm, maybe I'll just teach him how to rate speed, even though it is not slowing down because he is using himself. But I don't want him to just fly around all the time.

I was not using much contact with him, except for direction and speed change requests. I jiggled the bit lightly against his bars, saying, "And SLOOW." He slowed, although maintaining canter. WooHOO!!

I let him speed up, then asked for him to slow again. He definitely knew what I was asking. What a good boy! We may not be engaged, but at least we are not hand galloping anymore. I brought him down to a trot, then a walk. He got a few pats.

I decided to try the other direction. His right lead was his weaker lead. I set him up, asked for canter, and got two strides. I think they were crossed; I don't really know because at that point he bucked, feeling a bit discombobulated. I was flung up his neck. This freaked him out, and he put his head down and proceeded to do a hard launching buck. I did a flip off over his right shoulder, but held on to the reins. Simultaneous to my hitting the ground, he flung his head back, dragging me, and then the buckle of the rein broke at the bit.

He fled the scene.

I got up, a bit annoyed, mostly at myself, but concerned when I saw he was not heading back to the barn, but out past the curve to where this private drive met up with the main road. Where cars and trucks go by at 50 miles an hour. Shit.

I started jogging along the road. Cappy was in the field, walking along with his nice free walk towards the main road. I was trying to get ahead far enough to approach him in the field from the direction of the busy road, so he would turn toward home if he wanted to avoid me. I just wasn't jogging as fast as I needed, because he was heading diagonally away from me. But still towards the traffic whizzing by...

I started cutting through the field. One of the cars stopped along the road. Cappy stopped, suspicious. He let me catch him up, and the driver asked if I needed any help."No, I'm fine. Thanks for stopping!"

An inspection shopped that the rein was un-fixable for me to ride back. I looked about, frustrated. Ah, ha! The church hill! With the rein one long strap off of his left bit ring, I led him across the private drive and jogged up the steep church hill in hand. He pinned his ears the whole way up.

This sucks.
Well, you shouldn't have bucked me off then. Bucking me off does not get you out of work.
unnnhhhhhnnnn

We trotted up the hill, walking on the down slope, three or four more times, until I was worried that I would never breathe again. We then started the long walk back to home.

He was hot and sweaty, and I wanted to cool him off with the hose. I pulled it out to where he was, let him sniff it, and turned it on very low. Very low was not low enough. He spooked, set back on the crossties, and broke free.

I felt myself nearing tears. And maybe hate. "Horse, I am just trying to HELP you, creep!"

This did not allay his fears.

I got a bucket of water and sponge, hoping to cool him off that way. He was afraid of that, too. I wrung the sponge out as much as possible, and used only it.
Uhh... OK. I got it a bit damper, and started in with that.
Unnnhhhhhnnnnn. He shook, the way he shook when learning to load alone, but tolerated it.  I stood under the sassafras tree, horse in one hand, sponge in the other, and managed to at least swipe off the worst of the sweat. If he only would stay still, he could have been hosed off and cool now.

Obviously, the already broke horses I had known, and the easily trained youngsters I had worked with before, had not really prepared me for a greenie, especially one who had been field raised for so long.

I finally started thinking.