I’ve said for a long time that I want to know who Galahad is–his true nature, his personality without the veneer of enforced politeness, without the sullen acquiescence that he all too often shows. I want to know the real Galahad.

Well, it seems that with these new methods I’m learning, he feels much freer to express himself. Don’t get me wrong–he’s still respectful to me, and mannerly with others. That part hasn’t changed.

What is new is the energy he has about him, and his expressiveness. There’s a happy spirit and a fire in him that until recently I only saw when he was with his buddies. Now, I see it and feel it whenever we’re together. That’s a wonderful thing, to see him open up with me like that!

As I was leading him back to the pasture this afternoon, Galahad was anxious to get to the bucket of soaked alfalfa cubes that my friend was carrying. As I’ve said before, on a scale of one to ten, ten being a crazy bronc, Galahad’s bad-boy act is about a three…well, maybe a four. But he can be a handful, and we had to do some backing, turning, and repositioning. He did it all cheerfully enough, but you could tell he was full of himself.

His confidence has gone way up, even in his herd. That sounds odd, but it really seems to be true. I noticed him moving one of the other horses off with just a look the other day–and that was a horse who terrorized him when he first arrived.

About halfway across the pasture, I decided to turn him loose so that he could run and play. Knowing he was feeling frisky, I was careful to take the halter off while moving his back end away from me in a pivot on his forefoot. Good thing, too: he took off at a gallop as soon as I let go.

Beautiful to watch! He soon came circling back at a canter. I held up my hands in front of me and leaned forward: “Halt!” And he came to a sliding stop about fifteen feet away. Good boy!

After that burst of energy, he walked with me the rest of the way across the pasture, and I noticed an odd thing: he was better behaved OFF the lead than he had been ON the lead. Not sure of the explanation….

Anyway, we’ll continue doing traditional groundwork as we move along with Carolyn Resnick’s liberty methods. Giving him more freedom also means I have to step up a notch in leadership. But that’s just fine.

We’ll get there, my Galahad and I.

I’m enrolled in Carolyn’s Waterhole Rituals* online course this spring, and it’s been a real eye-opener!

First of all, it’s freed me of my obsession with needing to “do something” with my horses every time I’m with them. That attitude has been crippling, to the point where there have been times when I’ve dreaded going out to the barn because I haven’t know what my agenda should be. All I knew was that I should do something with them—but what?

The very worst thing about that mindset is that it has hindered my relationship with my horses, particularly with Galahad. “Work”—groundwork drills, riding around and around in the arena, and that kind of thing—are definitely not his favorite activities. In fact, he doesn’t enjoy them much at all most of the time. He did absolutely everything I asked of him, but clearly, he didn’t enjoy it.

What Galahad really does enjoy is having me around, close by, and then going about his own business. The few times I allowed myself to do that, he loved it! He’d go graze, then come and check on me, then wander off to graze again. He’d follow me when I left the pasture, wanting more.

More what? “Doing nothing?” Apparently so, but I “knew” that was bad. That was just spoiling the horse. I wasn’t riding him, wasn’t doing groundwork with him, so in effect I wasn’t doing anything with him. Bad Kay. Then I’d see others riding their horses on the trails and in the arena, but I was still afraid to do that with him. So I’d get in the car and drive away, feeling inadequate, kicking myself, and dreading my next visit to the barn.

Lots of tears were shed over this, believe me! I love my horses—all of them!—and they love me. I knew that—but it wasn’t enough.

I discovered liberty trainer Robin Gates via a friend who took a 4-day intensive from her last year. Through Robin’s site, I found her mentor Carolyn Resnick and the online Waterhole Rituals course. Watching Carolyn and Robin and their students dancing with horses at liberty, without bridle, saddle, or even a halter, was mesmerizing. That’s the kind of relationship with my horses that I want, I said to myself. So I signed up.

Now, here’s the interesting part: Carolyn’s method* relies on enacting rituals that horses do with each other in their natural state. What’s the thing that horses do most when they’re together? Hang out, “doing nothing” except grazing. So the first of the Waterhole Rituals is called Sharing Territory.

First and most basic: hang out with your horse in the pasture. I’m not going to go into any detailed explanations of any of Carolyn’s work—for that, you’ll need to get her book or videos, take her online course, or (best of all) attend a clinic. The important thing here is that our class assignment was to hang out with our horse in the pasture or arena. That’s it, at the beginning. Forget about any agenda, and don’t even pay attention to the horse unless he becomes a pest.

That is all.

Oh, yay! An assignment! That means I have permission to just hang out and do the thing that Galahad loves most in the world.

But then the second lesson in the course was explained, and the third…and all of a sudden I felt overwhelmed, behind the eight-ball, and totally inadequate. When I made the class videos of Galahad and me doing the lessons, I looked hard and could see where he was arguing with me, where he was being belligerent (though in his mild, inoffensive way). Or so I thought.

Carolyn, on our conference call, said, “I don’t see him as being belligerent at all!” Huh? And then, when I asked what to do when he doesn’t mind me, she said, “Don’t give it any attention. Don’t focus on it. Just say, ‘Look at how my horse is hanging out with me!’ and just keep your focus on that.”

Oh rats. I get it. It’s that old voice from my past that says, “If you’re sitting around ‘doing nothing,’ you’re wasting time. No sitting around slacking. You have to have an agenda, and you have to be doing something with your horse. And YOU MUST MAKE HIM MIND!”

Rats.

It wasn’t the first time I’ve recognized that particular inner voice and that old “recording” that plays in my head all the time. But at least now I’ve seen it at work with Galahad and me—and I have a way to erase that tape and make some new decisions for myself.

The result: the last couple of weeks I have pretty much just shared territory with my horse, and have not worried about moving beyond that. He and I are growing closer and closer—I can see his attitude change in step with mine. He enjoys my company when we’re together even more than before because he understands that I don’t want anything from him. He’s become more interested in following my leadership in the pasture and outside. It has become so much easier on both of us, and we look forward to our time together.

So now I see why Carolyn said, at the very beginning of the course, that her focus in the course is not on “how far” we get, how many rituals we “complete,” during our time in the class. My understanding is that the focus is on the quality of the relationship that we develop with our horse. There isn’t, and can’t be, a set time frame. It takes just as long as it takes for each step, and the work together is never finished. There’s always more to learn. And along the way, you discover the magic. That’s the point: the magic of connection.

So: “horse time.” Back to grazing. Back to being together, in the moment, and letting everything else drift away except for the love and the silent connection. Another life lesson.

Wow….

* Disclaimer: I’m a student, and I don’t claim to know ANYTHING about Carolyn Resnick’s methods. Don’t take anything here as coming from Carolyn, other than the quote. For information about her courses and methods, see her web site and/or her published material.

The other day at the Ranch, I had time to actually work with a horse. Or rather, with a mule: the talented and attractive Mr. Zane Gray.

Jay told me to go get him out, and I’ll admit to having to work through some nerves getting him out of the stall—performance anxiety. Da Boss hadn’t seen me work with a horse in a long time, and like any student, I wanted to impress my teacher.

We’ve seen how well THAT usually works out, so I was a little worried….

But it went fine–better than fine. Jay was gone for a bit, and while I was waiting for him to come back, Zane and I did all kinds of groundwork in the arena. He’s as good as Galahad at the basics, except for leading—he gets “mulish” and stalls out a lot, but that could be fixed pretty quickly.

When Jay returned, he made me get up on the top of the round pen (and I’m afraid of heights!) and try to get Zane to step up to me there as though I were going to get on his back. It was quite a challenge, given that I was perched on a rail ten feet off the ground and clinging like a barnacle. It got a little easier once my grip relaxed just a bit.

Zane came over the “regular” way with no trouble, but he wasn’t prepared to come up to me on the off side. I had to get pretty creative with my cues, given my precarious location, but he did come pretty close, and I was able to move him around a LOT in the process of trying.

The coolest thing was that Jay was impressed. That felt SOOOO good! It’s something I needed: Da Boss to tell me I’m doing a great job. He complimented me on my timing—I was rewarding Zane for even thinking of moving a foot in the direction I was asking.

Then Jay said, “I think that mule likes you.” Which, of course, is what they always say about him. Too funny!

I left the Ranch floating about five feet above the ground.

I ran into a couple of riding friends at the barn this morning—my instructor and her mentor. They had a meeting with the barn owners about a project. My instructor had never actually met Galahad, and I was anxious to show him at his best.

While they were in their meeting, I got Galahad cleaned up, as best I could clean up a horse who’d been rolling in mud. He smelled like a fish tank, I swear. Then I put his boots on. He loves his boots, and lifts his feet voluntarily for me to put them on.

We did a little groundwork and some trotting in-hand, as a warmup. I noticed that he was doing more head-tossing than usual, even while we were just running together on the ground. The weather, in part—this is perfect horse weather. 40-some degrees, overcast, and very little wind. Yay! Let’s run!

Then I put his bitless bridle on. He hasn’t worn it in several months (I usually ride with the rope halter) and he does not like it. He just doesn’t, and I’m not making that up. He stands nicely for me to put it on, but carries on a running commentary with his lower lip the entire time. But he looks so good in it, and I’m supposed to use a bridle, right?

He did agree to come up to the mounting block, though not happily, and I got on.

That was my first “bending” of our rules. Normally, if he balks at coming to the mounting block, I don’t ride. Instead, we do something that he finds more fun, like groundwork or exploring the ranch. But today, I wanted to show off for my friends. And he was cranky! It’s not that he doesn’t understand the rein cues—in fact, he’s very light and follows his nose readily, when he feels like it. This morning, he didn’t feel like it.

Now, in reality, on a scale of 1 (super good horse) to 10 (crazy bronc), even I will tell you he only rates about a 3 at his worst, with me at least (he has bucked a few folks off). But I don’t feel safe when he’s doing that and I’m bareback. I’d need a saddle before I’d do any serious work with him when he’s in his “bad-boy” state of mind.

And of course, he does not like saddles, either. We’re working on that.

I got on and off him several times, each time having him move forward nicely and then back up. If he didn’t, he had to yield his hindquarters, and then we’d give it another go until he did what I asked. Then I’d get off and do some more groundwork.

He wasn’t terrible, but I didn’t feel confident, and of course, he took full advantage of that by tossing his head and “offering” to trot. We did a lot of figure-eights (small ones) and lots of backing up, and he did pretty well overall.

Our last “ride” was into the small arena, where he proceeded to tell me he was a spooky wild pony and was going to jump around and run away. Again, I made him yield his hind end and then back up—that was the best I felt I could do. Then I got off. How embarrassing, I thought.

So this was an interesting test of the strength of our agreement, which says that we ride only when he’s in the mood. He clearly wasn’t in the mood, but I made him do it anyway. Then once I was on his back, I felt like I had to require him to mind for my own safety in the moment and going forward, which meant that I did insist that he do what I asked. We always “finished on a good note,” though they were tiny “wins” on my part.

I suspect the argument wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been so anxious to make a good impression. I was listening to my own needs, not to his opinion or to the state of the relationship at that moment. My insistence on riding was because I had an “audience.”

Things got worse when my friends finished their meeting and came over to greet Galahad. They noticed his plumpness and suggested that he needed exercise. True. Then I told them that he was being stinky this morning and wanted to run. Their response (they are both excellent riders and trainers) was, “Well, run him then! Or lunge him first. Run the nonsense right out of him!”

I could certainly do that. I used to do it all the time when I was riding him regularly a couple of years ago. Blow the stink off, get him to mind, by round-penning him before I rode him. If I do that now, though, where is our agreement? It’s impossible to do things the way a traditional trainer and rider would do them and still be true to our agreement. At least that’s how I see it.

So I was left feeling inadequate and bummed out on two counts. First, I felt like I’d let my horse down by making him do something he really didn’t want to do just because I wanted to show off. Second, I looked foolish in my friends’ eyes, because by their standards, I’m spoiling my horse.

Hmmm…. How strong is my commitment to my contract with Galahad? How firmly do I want to have a relationship of mutual respect and mutual pleasure? How strong is that? Can it withstand the disapproval of my experienced friends?

When Galahad tried to blow me off in the small arena that last time, I got off, took off his bridle, and decided to round-pen him right in there. As punishment. I was angry with him for “misbehaving.” But as soon as I put the bridle on the fence and moved in his direction, he offered, on his own initiative, a beautiful sidepass toward me along the wall—just gorgeous. And whatever I asked him to do without tack, he was willing to do.

How can I be angry with him? He’s happy to do anything I ask on the ground. It’s the riding part, or actually not so much the riding, it’s the tack that he objects to. And if it’s uncomfortable for him, doesn’t he have a right, under the rules of our contract, to object?

How interesting! What a journey we’re on!

Yesterday about 1:00 I got ready to leave for the barn. The weather had not been sunny and 50 degrees, as the weatherman had said. I was whining, whining, whining.

Whining about the ugly weather: 40 degrees, windy, spitting rain and sleet. Whining about the fact that it would be COLD at the barn. Whining that I wouldn’t get to have much time with Galahad because I had an appointment with a friend at 3:00, some distance away. Whining about the fact that I hadn’t gone to the barn earlier in spite of the weather.

You get the idea.

Well, it was COLD and windy and spitting rain—really raw! So I decided not to go until it got warmer. But I couldn’t just be OK with that decision. By the time I finally left the house, I had worked myself up into a really bad state of mind.

And then I momentarily misplaced my keys just as I was getting ready to leave. That was too obvious a signal to be missed: I slowed down, realized what was going on, and said (finally), “OK. That’s the decision I made, that’s the time I have, let’s just go.”

And really, that little snippet of time with Galahad was the sweetest half-hour!

He came over to me as I crawled through the fence. We did a little follow-the-leader, like we always do—walk, stop, turn, back up, go the other way…. Then I walked to the hay bale. Galahad seemed to think that I wanted more from him, and it took him a while to get back to eating. But he finally did, and we just stood there: he and his buddies crunching and grinding, me just watching. It was blissful!

It occurs to me now, looking back, that it would NOT have been blissful had I gone out there earlier. I would have been standing there in the cold and the wind and it would have been miserable. With more time, I would have felt compelled to DO something with him, work with him, whatever. What was really called for was BE-ing, not DO-ing—and that’s what I got to experience.

That half hour was all that I needed—it completely changed my mood. Another learning experience, but a good one this time!

Well! This has been a quiet month for the Alchemical Horse, and a bad month for illnesses of various sorts. Finally feeling better….

The big news here is that I’m moving our horses and our operations to a new barn in Fenton. This is an exciting change that will mean more convenience for my clients and more time with the horses (instead of on the road) for me.

I’ll be updating the site in the next couple of days, and will put up our Winter/Spring Newsletter at the same time. Spring officially begins in March, and so do our horse-related activities. Watch for the new appointment schedule.

Thanks for following our adventures!

The other night we decided to try again to get Midnight to walk over the “scary bridge” at the ranch. It seems to be made from an old boxcar, with girders attached and boards fastened securely over it. Though recently renovated and quite safe, it’s noisy, and you can see the creek below through gaps between the boards.

Midders has already made it clear that he doesn’t like the bridge. Over the past year or so, several of us have tried to lead him over it. He won’t cross it. Instead, he insists on coming and going through the gate that leads from the creek up to the road. Walking through the creek is fine; going over that noisy bridge is just wrong.

That evening, we led Midnight’s two pasture buddies, “Mike” and “Starman,” across it with no fuss at all.  Midders, following us at liberty, stopped just before the bridge and waited. His friends, once back in the pasture, turned to look at him.

Now, Midnight is a virtually bombproof, experienced trail horse. In his 25+ years, he’s seen and done just about everything. His owner, P.C., has lots of stories from their years of trail riding together. But there’s one in particular that always amazes me, though I completely believe it, knowing the two of them:

One day some years ago, he and Midnight were out for a ride, and P.C. wanted to find the tunnel that goes under the Interstate to the trails on the other side. Some of his friends used it frequently, but for some reason, P.C. had never been with them.

So he and Midders set out to find it for themselves. Down the trail and across the creek they went to get to the area where the tunnel was said to be. P.C. spotted a big, metal-lined opening that he and Midnight could easily walk through. This must be the tunnel, right?

P.C. recounts how the tunnel kept getting smaller and smaller the farther in they went. Midnight was reluctant, but P.C. urged him on. The tunnel got so narrow that P.C. had to duck his head…and then, Midnight finally had enough and refused to go further. But there was no room to turn around, so they had to back out the entire way.

Once they got out, P.C. says, they went on a little farther down the trail and found…the tunnel: wide, high, and cement-lined. Oops. That first one turned out to be a stormwater drain from the highway.

So you see, Midnight has done WAY scarier things than walking across this bridge.

That evening, my friend and I tried for nearly an hour to convince him to cross it. We tried leading him. We tried circling him, then leading him. We tried bribes: “Here’s a cookie, Midders! Come get it!” We tried encouragement: “Come on, Midnight! You can do it! You’re such a brave guy!” We tried shame: “Midnight, both your buddies went over it! Are you a chicken or a horse?” We even (I am embarrassed to say) tried traditional techniques: signal a “send,” swing the butt end of the lead rope with increasing velocity, then eventually tap him on the fanny with it. He just turned and looked at me.

He refused to budge. He would put one foot on the first board, then remove it and decline to put the second one on. He was very polite and not the least bit upset, but he made it completely clear that he was NOT crossing that bridge, no matter what.

So eventually we gave up and led him back to his normal gate. He looked at me reproachfully—I am not kidding!—and I felt like a real heel, doing that stuff to him.

My trainer friends would laugh at me, I suspect. I “should” have been able to get that horse to cross, if I hadn’t spoiled him so much and if I weren’t such a softie.

But here’s the thing: Midnight is a wise old horse, dependable, honest, and true. How important is it, actually, to force him to cross that bridge, when there’s no real need? He chooses not to cross. I suspect that if his life—or mine—depended on it, he’d go. That’s just the way Midders is. So I’m just going to accept his decision and not impose my own need for control.

After I took his halter off, I apologized to him, and he nuzzled me as if to say, “Are we OK now?”

Yup. We’re OK, my old friend. This is a partnership, and you get to have a say. And he wandered off over the creek and rejoined his buddies. Love that mean little black horse.

I had a great workout yesterday in my group lesson at Ladies Morning with my trainer, Sarah. I rode a fun, spicy little Arabian mare named Amira whom I’d never met before.

It took me a few minutes to get the rhythm of her energetic trot. She’s more than a hand smaller than the big horse I’ve been riding in lessons; smaller than Galahad, too, so it’s not surprising that it was an adjustment. I haven’t had enough butt-in-saddle time for it to be automatic.

Among the things we practiced during the lesson was a slowed-down, basic version of something called a “spiral spin.” Amira knows how to do it, but I’d never even heard of it. Sarah describes it as “a little, tiny circle.” As I understand the move, you gather your reins into your outside hand (closest to the rail as you travel), sit on your outside jeans pocket, slide your inside hand down the rein, and tip your horse’s head slightly toward the inside—you should only see the eyelashes and nostril.

Then, as the horse begins to turn toward the inside, you sit back and away, and pull up the outside rein slightly to signal the horse to stop forward motion and, instead, to move her front end around the back end in the spin.

The first couple of times Amira and I tried it, it was not pretty. The first time she just kind of walked around that circle. I realized I hadn’t pulled on the outside rein at all, so she didn’t get any help from that cue. Clearly, what we accomplished wasn’t a spin by anyone’s standards.

I swear, at one point I heard Sarah say, “Pull that outside rein up toward your boob.” (I could be wrong about that.) So the next time I tried pulling that outside rein. I pulled it! Amira stopped and looked at me with that inside eye as if to say, “Yeah? So you’re yanking my mouth both directions. Just exactly what is it you want me to do, lady? I’m going to stand here until you figure it out.” She stood there, glaring at me, until I let up the pressure. Then she walked in a circle again.

Hmmm….

The third time, I remembered hearing Sarah say, about another maneuver, to “pull the rein more softly than you think she can feel.” OK, I’ll give that a shot. So I gathered the reins, tipped Amira’s head just a tiny bit, sat back and away, and then carefully moved the outside rein to ask more quietly than I thought she could possibly feel.

And dang! We did it! That little mare sat back on her haunches and moved in the tiniest imaginable circle all the way around. Yup, I can honestly say that she “spun” (slowly) on her hind legs. It felt like magic. I am not kidding.

It’s really hard to describe just how magical it was. I kept thinking, “How can that possibly happen? How can that tiniest of tiny suggestions be enough to get this horse to respond in that way?” I found myself sitting atop the moving horse with my eyes as big as dinner plates and my mouth hanging open.

Looking back, I think the most astonishing part of the entire wonderful, exhausting 90-minute lesson was realizing how softly I had to ask in order for that mare to do what I was asking–and how willingly she did it when I got softer. That’s a lesson I’ll never forget, though it will likely take me the rest of my life to be able to be that soft on a consistent basis.

That experience was the closest I’ve ever been to “dancing” with a horse from on its back, and I’m really jazzed about it. It makes total sense when viewed through the lens of “dancing,” though. For me as a dancer, there’s not much worse than a rough-handed lead: How many times have I wanted to stop, glare at my partner, and say, “Buddy, you just do NOT get it. I’m outta here.”

It did make me realize that most of the time I’m horribly clunky and rough—but I have to learn, and I’ll get better fast. And I wonder what the effect on Galahad will be? And, for that matter, on my behavior as a leader? To be continued….

This post may not seem to have anything at all to do with horses, but if you read through it, it may make it a bit easier to understand the way I make sense of my work with horses, and life in general.

I’m trained as a depth psychologist, and that means that I pay a lot of attention to the symbolic and, yes, “archetypal” nature of the world and my life as I experience it. Dreams are important as sources of information, and so are events in my waking world. I watch for patterns, and for “synchronicities” that show up and practically beg me to look for their meaning.

My worldview has been greatly influenced by Carl Jung’s ideas, and in this post, I’d like to give you an overview of some concepts found in Jungian psychology that I’ve found useful. I promise to keep it short and sweet.

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