“Leading” Galahad

Apr23

Yesterday afternoon I wanted to work with Galahad in the west pasture—the one they are resting at the moment. Open space to work, and no other horses to try to eat his treats. I brought him in at liberty, with no halter to control him. That meant that there could be no “cheating” on my part. This was about me figuring out a way to get him to want to walk with me over to the south fence where I had set up the little piles of hay and soaked grass hay/alfalfa cubes (this time of year, the horses have ZERO interest in plain hay).

I knew he would be very happy to work with me over by the fence once he discovered that there were yummy hay cubes involved. The challenge was to get him to walk with me over to that area instead of going where he wanted to go: to the main pasture gate and out to where I usually feed and work with him.

When he first followed me into the west pasture, Galahad immediately started walking toward the main gate. I stopped him (which he does willingly) and asked him to walk with me toward where the treat piles were set up. He followed for a few steps, then refused and put on his “stubborn face.” That’s the expression he often uses when you first ask him to do anything that’s not his own idea.

Galahad isn’t categorically unwilling to do what’s asked, by any means. The thing is, if he perceives it as an order, he will almost always balk and get sulky. I really believe that’s a leftover response to the way he was trained initially, by the so-called “trainer” who was his original owner (yes, the one who starved him nearly to death). My own trainer used the same kinds of Natural Horsemanship methods (though with way more skill and understanding), and Galahad seems to think that anything that seems like “training” and not “fun” is something he needs to refuse, if he can. “No” is his default setting.

That’s why Carolyn Resnick’s methods work so very well for this horse: One of the most important ideas in her method is to make the training fun for both horse and human. Galahad responds to that beautifully!

(Disclaimer: I am NOT certified by Carolyn Resnick, and anything I talk about or show here is MY INTERPRETATION of what she teaches, not something she has approved. If you like what you see, I urge you to take one of her online courses, or go to a clinic like the one we’re offering this June here in Missouri with Certified Master Trainer Teddie Ziegler.)

So my task yesterday was to figure out a way to make Galahad WANT to walk with me instead of checking out each pile of poop on his way to the main gate. It was a fun challenge! I’ve got a little video clip of the process–quite by accident, and only because I had the camera running when I went to get him. Watch it full-screen if you can.

The first thing I did was walk away and ignore him for a while. He knows he needs me to open the gate, so he stayed pretty close. I just hung out, following him slowly but pulling weeds and doing my own thing, not pestering him. I tried catching his eye and drawing him to me, but he was having none of that. Too “natural horsemanship” for him. I needed to be more subtle.

I also knew that if I tried too hard to influence WHERE he walked right then, he’d take off at a trot and head directly for the main gate. So I just waited. After a while I went and stood beside him, letting him look around and graze. When I could feel his attention shift to me, I moved a little ways away from him and resumed pulling weeds.

It took a while, but he had turned his body and was keeping an eye on me. I continued to wait.

Eventually, he moved closer and I was able to call him over. I wanted to use a draw to get him to walk with me, not to push him, but I was on the wrong side; so after a while I moved carefully to his other side, turned slightly away from him, and he came along with me. Yippee! Still had to be careful, though, and wait when he stopped to look at something or other. But suddenly he was willing!

Times like this, when all the study and observation I’ve done pays off, are just magic. Even such a little thing as this is so special to me, because it means that the bond my horse and I have, the relationship we’re building, is growing. My Galahad loves me, there is no doubt, in the way horses love. But horses are not dogs, and “obedience” and “leadership” have different meanings to them. How amazing it is to know how to time my requests just right and express them in a language that he understands, so that he’s willing to follow my leadership!

So yesterday turned out to be a fun game for both of us, just like Carolyn suggests. No pressure, no time frame, and staying very much in the moment. Woohoo!

Wow…. This is a dream come true for me.

Galahad and the White Dog

Apr17

Part One: My Horse

[Note: the first White Dog post is here, on my other blog. This one will make more sense if you read that one first.]

Let’s start with a video made a couple of weeks ago for an online class. The task involved getting my horse to come to me, instead of going immediately to a pile of goodies placed in the center of the arena. When he comes to me, I take him to the goodies and he gets to eat. Galahad knows this game from past classes, and he likes it. He’s so good at it that he doesn’t even LOOK at the pile of treats—he just comes right over to me.

This time, for some reason, I interpreted the exercise differently, and decided it was about keeping the horse away from the pile. I wanted him to stop and wait and still not try to get to the treats. Why did I change the rules? I’m honestly not sure. It seemed clear to me at the time….

So poor Galahad circled me, round and round, very slowly, stopping occasionally to ask if he could come over to me so that I’d take him in for a treat. Every time he’d stop and ask, I’d send him off again. I just stood there, not even looking at him, policing the pile of goodies, keeping him away and refusing to let him come to me when he asked.

After 15 minutes, Galahad did stop. He stood there, looking pretty sullen, and did not attempt to go to the pile. Then, in utter frustration, he threw a very quiet hissy fit. I’ve NEVER seen him behave this way. At the time, I was almost happy that I’d gotten that reaction. Why? Dunno….

Eventually, I decided he’d been good long enough, and I called him over to me and took him to get the treats. He came, but he wasn’t happy with me; he wasn’t enjoying this game at all.

But I was so pleased with the video! I had kept my horse away from the treats and gotten him to stop and stand still! Yay!

On the conference call, my friend the instructor pointed out another way of viewing the situation—from Galahad’s perspective. Oh. Well. That looks quite a bit different. I was pretty shocked at this new viewpoint.

Had I been aware in the moment of the “game,” I would have seen the significance of Galahad’s “hissy fit”: He was NOT having fun doing what was supposed to be a fun exercise. But as usual, I wasn’t in the moment with my horse. Nope. I was in “trainer’s mind,” working to MAKE him stop and stand still. Furthermore, he had to stop without my influence—so I wasn’t even allowing him to get my attention when he asked for it. No wonder he had a fit! He must have been SO confused and frustrated—I had suddenly completely changed the rules of a game he knew well and really enjoyed.

OUCH.

Part Two: The Pain, Again

The last seven weeks have been a nightmare much of the time. The pain in my jaw and tongue returned on the third of March. Why? This time, I know the answer.

In February I started paying attention to the “Law of Attraction,” which in its simplest form just means that “like attracts like.” For years, I’ve known that people, things, and events show up in my life because of what I’ve always called “resonance.” People in our lives are there because there’s something in our experience or in our energy that is similar. We attract those whose life stories reflect our own in some way, or have similar themes. The Law of Attraction.

No problem with this—it’s just the way the world works. But enter Abraham-Hicks (Esther Hicks and the entity who call themselves Abraham), who specialize in large-scale events at which they share their patented inspirational messages on how to create our own reality.

Abraham-Hicks and their version of message has a pretty militant sound to it. Abraham, channeled by Esther Hicks, is a brilliant and inspirational speaker with a kind of take-no-prisoners approach. Control your thoughts; choose the best and highest thought in order to get “into the vortex” and manifest! Feel joy! That’s why you’re here—to experience joy! It’s up to you! The tone sounds just like my dad.

So I started controlling my thoughts, all right. I felt great! I felt joy! I monitored my thoughts at every moment and made sure I was feeling JOY! If anyone could get into the Vortex, I could—because I could monitor my thoughts!

Can you imagine someone hearing, “Be joyful!” and interpreting it as a command, with dire consequences for failure? No? Well, that’s exactly what I did. I drove myself nuts, policing my joy. But really, it’s not so surprising. That’s how I was raised. That’s how Arthur, my father, taught me. My dad was always DOING something, and it had to be perfect. No sitting around for him! Sitting around (and, presumably, experiencing joy) was a sign of sloth. And so we kids learned that we had to be busy. And oh, did I mention perfect, too? Yup. One “B” marring a report card full of “A’s” rated a scolding. I’m sure many of you know exactly what I mean.

So a few days into my “you will feel joy!” episode, I woke up in excruciating pain…again. It has gone on for nearly seven weeks now, and it’s just beginning to let up. A few days into it, I no longer cared about feeling joy. In fact, I couldn’t even imagine joy any more. All I could manage was to survive from one day to another. Once again, I found myself unable to eat, sleep, or talk. Anything creative was completely out of the question.

Part Three: Putting It All Together

Journal entry, April 15th:

Wow. The conference call last night was tough. I was so wrong about that video—I can really see that, now. But it fits a pattern, doesn’t it? It’s Kay-as-Arthur again, the Arthur who’s now living inside my head, the Arthur who taught me what the world was like and how to behave there. Arthur the Perfectionist, Arthur the Drill Sergeant, Arthur the Enforcer.

I still can’t get rid of the image of the White Dog. I’m certain that the dog has something to do with all this….

OMG: just now, a really scary understanding—that innocent, playful pup crushed beneath the wheels of my car; my own playful innocence also crushed. But what does the car represent?

And besides the white dog…. The pain this time began just as I was working—WORKING!— with the Abraham-Hicks stuff. Constantly policing myself, policing my joy, for Pete’s sake!

“Policing my joy”…. That image is the same one that was captured in the video of me and Galahad doing that exercise the other day. It could not be clearer.

There in the video is my poor Galahad responding as I probably did when I was a kid, when nothing I ever did was good enough for Dad…. And I just realized that Dad, if he ever thought about it (and he might not have ever done so until after he crossed over), would have been so sad to realize that the relationship between us wasn’t working the way he wanted; but he had no idea how to do it differently, or even that any different way existed….

The White Dog, crushed under the wheels of my car. My car—my way of moving through life. The dog, that happy innocence, crushed under the wheels of my way of being-in-the-world, which I inherited from Arthur, and he from his mother Anna, and she from (I suspect) a parent or grandparent. The saying in my family is, “There’s one in every generation.”

And me, little Kay, crushed under the weight of my father’s expectations. Wow.

That way of life, the way I was taught by my father, is relentless. “Relentless” is an excellent word for it. It never, EVER relents. There’s no relaxation, no peace, certainly no “let it be, let it unfold.”

After the accident with the dog, my Guides kept saying, “Some things cannot be prevented.” That’s true—on many levels. On this very personal level, it’s clear that with my current mindset, neither I nor Galahad (nor the unfortunate White Dog, for that matter) has any hope of anything changing. But now I can SEE what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, I can make a change.

So anyway. Joy. Innocence. Trust. Three things that seem to have been lost to me as a child. Three things I want to retain and develop in my horses, and regain for myself. But that can’t be done by coercion, by policing, or by suddenly changing the rules.

I am so grateful for all the events that have helped me see and understand the full significance of the way I’ve always lived my life. If you don’t see something, you can’t change it.

So I’m going to change it…but calmly, quietly, by letting things flow.

Wow. What a funny place this life is, eh?

[Cross-posted on It’s an Alchemical Life.]

Covering the Knots

Feb26

I went by the barn yesterday afternoon to feed everybody. I was planning on staying only a very short time, but the day turned out so lovely (40+ degrees and sunny!) that I could hardly tear myself away. I took some video of me working a little bit with Galahad and Nevada on the halter but with a slack or draped lead line.

What fun! Even out in the open (video here), HRH sticks pretty close with the rope draped over her back and only a tiny touch under her chin now and then. She’s generally very good about this in the small arena. She’s not that “well behaved” in the pasture, but I think that’s because she has her duties as a lead mare to consider.

Galahad isn’t as “easy” as Nevada is about staying with me—that’s just his nature. I don’t feel safe draping the rope over his back and just walking around. He’s apt to take off to play bite-face with the gelding in the pen across the road, or investigate the pretty mare tied up by the barn.

I covered the knots and the noseband of my rope halter the other evening to make it a gentler tool, and tried it out yesterday; I learned (at least) two things:

1. There is indeed some pain/discomfort produced by the rope halter’s knots. I know this because Galahad tested me a lot more yesterday than he normally does, most likely because he wasn’t having to avoid discomfort.

2. I have been jerking on his face with the lead rope, whether or not I intended to do so. If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have noticed the lack of discomfort yesterday, and he likely wouldn’t have tested me more than usual.

Interesting. Good information. Rather horrifying, actually.

It is much harder for me to do liberty work outside an arena or the pasture, because my barn requires that the horses be on the lead at all times when not in an enclosed area like the round pen or a stall. And when there is a lead rope attached, all my natural horsemanship training comes into play again, whether I want it or not.

Especially the “bump their nose” idea. If the horse is doing something you don’t want him to do, or isn’t paying attention, “bump his nose” with the lead rope. This transfers the pressure sharply to his nose via the knots on the halter. I never liked that part, though I can see the effectiveness of it.

I do try to be gentle with the rope halter, way more gentle than I was originally taught, and for the most part I get good results. But I find lately that because I don’t want to jerk the halter, I end up using just plain pressure—i.e., pulling steadily—which doesn’t work particularly well with a 1100-pound animal. No surprise, that.

My horses have had their noses bumped a LOT, both of them, by trainers and by me. The result has been that they do what they’re asked in that way, and they do NOT pull on the lead rope even when they’re spooked. They will dance all around me, pivoting on that lead rope, and it looks pretty impressive from the onlooker’s perspective. I’ve seen that happen many times, and until just this moment, as I type this, have thought it was a really good demonstration of their trust in my leadership.

“They trust me!” Um, maybe not so much, eh? Maybe they’re just avoiding pain! When I consider what the horse might be experiencing, it makes me never want to that to happen again. Which is more frightening to my horse: the scary object, or the threat of pain on a sensitive nerve bundle? Oh my goodness.

That doesn’t make me feel so proud.

I also watched the video that I took of me and Galahad yesterday, and saw how often the lead rope tightened in response to something he did that I didn’t want him to do. He wasn’t offered an option at those times—I just pulled (gently or not) on his head. I’m not giving myself a whole lot of grief about this, since it’s something I’m working on; however, I look forward to the day when I can work with the rope draped over his back and not pull on him at all.

Well, my goodness. Galahad is certainly my teacher, in this and so much else.

I’m not sure what to think about all of this. I don’t wish to pass judgement on any good-hearted and well intentioned horse person; there are many, many effective ways to train a horse. I sure don’t have all the answers. All I know is that I want to do what is best for my horse, keeping him and me both safe and happy in each other’s company; and I want to do so in a way that is cooperative, not dominant, and that builds a relationship based on trust and pleasure.

What a fascinating journey!

Measures of Learning

Dec5

It was an interesting day at the barn yesterday. Foggy, misty, cool but not really cold. When I arrived, the horses were grazing peacefully in the east pasture. Galahad followed me back to the fence, where I put on his halter and tied him so he’d stand still for me to treat his rain rot with iodine. Sometimes he gets bored and wants to wander off.

The peace and quiet didn’t last long. I had gotten maybe six square inches of that big, broad back treated when things got going.

It started with the mares in the other pasture. SOMETHING BAD, they said, was on the trail. Their intensity got the geldings’ attention, including Galahad’s. I couldn’t see a thing. The rest of the geldings were tense, snorting and dancing, not really sure what was wrong.

As everyone’s energy mounted, Galahad started to prance and snort, and I could feel my fear rising—an old reaction that I haven’t felt in a while. If he hadn’t been on the lead rope, I’d simply have moved him off to a safe distance. As it was, my mind called up the old image of a Raging Creature on a String. What to do?

First thing I did was take a breath and feel into the fear. Yes, I really did have the presence of mind to become conscious of it, and to understand that although I was afraid, I do now have the tools and training to handle the situation.

I’m quite proud of that split-second awareness! Guess I’ve learned something over these last few years!

The next thing I did was to untie the rope from the fence. Then I waited to see what would happen. Didn’t have to wait long. He reared and tossed his head. I bumped the lead rope, surprisingly calmly, and he dropped back down. Then I backed him about 25 or 30 feet, asked him to circle me on the line a time or two in each direction, then backed him some more. He did it all with a lot of energy, but no resistance.

Then I walked over and took the halter off, expecting him to whirl and run.

He didn’t. He stayed facing me, paying attention to ME and not to his herd mates, who were still milling excitedly around near the mares. In fact, I was able to back him up, circle him a bit more, move his hind end, and get him to change directions, all at liberty.

Then I sent him off to be with the herd. Pretty amazing.

In general, I think I did OK. My first thought was to control him—back to the natural horsemanship techniques that are (thankfully, sometimes) second nature by now. Control is probably not a bad thing to think about, considering that he’s 1100+ pounds of muscle, bone, and hoof. And goodness knows how tall he is when he’s standing on his hind legs! There was also the fact that he was not at liberty—I couldn’t readily send him off—and I needed to have him calm enough to get his halter off safely.

The unexpected and delightful part of this experience is twofold: First, he never actually tried to get away. His rearing was just a statement of what he’d LIKE to do. He wasn’t threatening me, and had he wanted to get away, he most certainly could have. I wouldn’t have tried to stop him.

Second, he trusted me way more than I trusted myself in this situation. Galahad did what I asked, even though the other horses were agitated and moving around. He chose me over his herd. I know that, because he did not leave me after I took his halter off, until I asked him to go.

Wow….

How interesting. Hopefully, next time I’ll remember all this, and not need to be afraid. My horse trusts me. That is amazing.

Summertime

Aug22

Summer weather here in Missouri is definitely not a favorite of mine. I do not function much at all when the temperature and humidity are up, so not much “training” gets done. That is, if you’re looking for training as in “directed activity outside the pasture.”

Feeding, sometimes, gets done outside the pasture, but mostly not. Walking around outside the pasture sometimes happens, but not often. There are too many days where I do a “drive-by” feeding: mix the food ahead of time and run by the barn to deliver it to each horse, along with a dose of fly spray and a quick check of each one’s physical condition.

The only other interactions are sitting around watching the horses, walking slowly around the pasture with the herd, or standing next to Galahad while he naps. This is his favorite summertime activity other than eating. Sometimes he will pester me into standing still and letting him nap with his head on me.

Yesterday it was miserably hot—mid-90s with the dew point in the 70s. The trimmer came to check Galahad’s hoof (he developed an abscess in his right front foot a couple of weeks ago), but we managed to find a shady spot to work in. Afterwards, in between bouts of grazing on a line, he came over and napped for a bit with his nose buried in my armpit.

Hmmm…. A curiously intimate moment, for sure, and strange from a human perspective. But it’s pretty heartwarming, too, given that the first thing he does when he goes back to the pasture after an absence of more than a few hours is to roll luxuriantly and get the good herd-smell back onto his body. My smell apparently is good and comforting to him.

Is this “training”? I think so: It’s relationship-building, for sure. And I’m happy that he’s developed that kind of trust and comfort in my presence.

The Benefits of “No”

Jun12

Galahad and I had a really great time the other day in the jump arena. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing—some ground poles were still in place from the jumping class, it was a relatively cool day, and there were no other appointments on my schedule.

I asked him to walk on a loose lead over the poles one at a time. That was scary, he said, but he could manage it.

I asked him to sidepass over one of them, but he declined; too scary. Now, this is a “trick” that this horse learned when he was three, so it wasn’t new to him, and he’s been in this arena many times before. I doubted that “scary” was his real reason (see below). He said he would paw at it. He would sidepass in front of it (so he could keep an eye on it, one supposes), but otherwise it was too scary.

Then I asked him to walk over a set of three poles arranged a few feet apart; he said that was WAY too scary. But he offered something else: What he could do, he said, was walk between them, up one way and back the other. This was entirely his idea, since I was still mentally focused on motion over them and wasn’t guiding him at all.

I love his creative “solutions.” It’s just one more example of his overall willingness and desire to work with me.

I didn’t press the issue—I just wanted him to have a good time. After a while I let him prance and dance off the lead, and gave him lots of treats. He went back to the pasture reluctantly; I love that he’d rather be with me than with his buddies (and no, it’s not just the treats!).

Some of my natural horsemanship friends are questioning me about “letting Galahad get away with” refusing a request. “That’s not how you do it. You need to apply increasing pressure until he does what you’re asking, then release!”

That’s the received wisdom, and it’s an effective way of training a horse. Clear communication with your horse, in that school of thought, includes communicating that there are unpleasant consequences for saying no. If that kind of training is done well, it produces a horse that quickly complies with whatever you ask. The horse trusts the handler, if it’s done well, because the communication is “fair” and there is no misunderstanding.

I’m good at those techniques. They resonate with me. I was raised that way by my dad, who insisted on instant obedience—or else. There was never any confusion in my mind about whether or not to obey because I didn’t dare to question him. There was always that “or else” hanging in the air between us, right up until the day he died.

Problem is, those techniques don’t lead to the kind of relationship I want with my horses. Sure, there are times that he must obey me, like when the vet or the trimmer comes to work on him. But for the most part, I want Galahad to be able to tell me what he likes and what he doesn’t like, and I want to be OK with that.

Liberty trainer Farah DeJohnette has a blog post on this subject—you can read it here. She explains the rationale very well and suggests some questions to ask when a horse says no:

I want horses to tell me No. I want them to tell me what they like and what they don’t like. I want to be able to accommodate their desires because I am going to request that they accommodate mine. If a horse is traumatized, the No is the best way to build that trust back up in humans.

These are the a few of the questions I ask when I see a “No” in a horse:

I ask myself, why is that No there?

Why did you feel like you had to say No?

Are you uncomfortable?

Are you afraid?

Are you Confused?

Are you unsure?

Are you used to being over pressured?

It may be none of the above. It could be simpler or more complex.

A lot of the time, I believe that Galahad refuses a task (especially when it’s something he’s been taught) because of the last reason she gives—pressure. In his early life, Galahad was pressured into performing. I know I’ve done that to him at times, especially in the beginning when I didn’t understand natural horsemanship very well. Galahad has never reacted well to pressure. He shuts down; even though he may perform the task, there’s “nobody home” behind those eyes.

Here’s a little video clip that will show you exactly what I mean. I had been asking him to do some simple groundwork routines because I wanted to polish up his manners on the lead line, and I was using the standard natural horsemanship techniques. He did what I asked, but nothing more. Once I actually noticed his mental/emotional state (I’m kinda slow on the uptake sometimes), I thought I’d take off the halter and ask him to touch the mounting block with his foot. Usually, he enjoys that and will get pretty enthusiastic about it.

That day? Not so much. Take a look: He’s DONE. As a video, it’s kind of funny, but it gives you an idea of just what a horse that’s accustomed to too much pressure can look like. It’s taken me a year to get past this issue with Galahad—that afternoon was the first time I had seen him this way in a VERY long time, and I don’t want to see it again, ever.

At this stage in his training, I’m perfectly happy for him to say “no.” As we progress and his willingness increases, I’ll be able to make requests without him shutting down, because he will have come to trust me enough.

Meanwhile, I have an increasingly happy horse who loves my company and is happy to do more and more playful activities with me. That’s plenty for us to go on!

Happy

Jun8

Had a lovely afternoon on Wednesday. Galahad, when he first caught sight of me coming through the fence, galloped over. It was clear that he was really glad I was there, and happy to come over and greet me. I squirted him with some fly spray and we chatted for a couple of minutes. Then I walked off. He followed me for a ways, then trotted back to the other geldings, who were standing in and around the shed.

He went back to his herd the same way he had come to me—happily. It was obvious that he really liked going back to the herd. The key word is “happy.” It wasn’t that he was just going back to the herd because that’s what he was supposed to do, or that he just kind of wanted to, that he didn’t have anything better to do. He went back to the herd the same way he came over to see me—he was happy! He really liked being with his herd—he exuded happiness.

Then a few minutes later, one of the horses took off at a walk toward the water tank (with a planned stop to check on me, which I discouraged with a wave of my reed). The other three followed—and again, I could feel how happy Galahad was to be in his herd, to hang out with his buddies.

I begin to see what Carolyn Resnick’s method is after. There will come a point where Galahad will be happy to do whatever activity I want to do, too. With his herd, it doesn’t look like it matters to him in the least what they’re doing. Eventually that’s the kind of feeling I’m going to have with him. It’s really beautiful to watch, and I’m excited to look forward to that.

It will take time, but however long it takes, it will be so worth it! He and I have years. There’s no rush.

Galahad is my teacher

Mar3

An interesting late afternoon with the horses. I spent some time with Nevada, who’s just a sweetheart: she hangs out with us, content to just stand around if that’s what we’re doing, or to trot around or do groundwork or (especially) eat grass.

Galahad’s a harder one for me to understand, or so it sometimes seems. But I think it’s just that Galahad has so much to teach me, instead of the other way around. I need to learn from him, instead of beating myself up about it when things don’t go as I plan.

This afternoon I had him in the small indoor arena, supposedly just to hang out (I’m starting a Carolyn Resnick course this month). But I started out by trying to round-pen him in there, which Nevada does easily, probably because she thinks it’s fun. Galahad has been round-penned a lot, and it has NOT been fun, by and large, so he’s not as willing.

After a while I remembered that my original idea had been to just hang out with him. Oh. Yes. Forgot that part.

Galahad kind of wandered around the arena, checking out the “messages” left in the sand by other horses, hanging his head over the fence and watching horses and people outside. He did come over to me a couple of times, checking in. But not often enough to satisfy me, I guess.

He came by when I knelt down and started scratching the sand with my hand—he wanted to see what I was up to. Then he left, which was fine. I went over and sat on the mounting block for a while, and he came over once.

As I write this, I’m noticing that what actually happened was not what I initially remembered. The way I remembered it, he totally ignored me. Um no, it wasn’t like that.

I mean, really! What do I expect from him? Can we say, “unreasonable”?

I started walking around the arena, pretending to pay no attention to him, and he was standing looking out over the gate to the outside. I walked past him and away, with my back to him. Then I heard what I thought were a person’s footsteps, and I swung my head around to see who had dared to disturb our space.

The sound was actually Galahad’s footsteps, following me. But he stopped instantly when I swung around. The message I unintentionally sent, oh so clear in horse language, was “Stay back. Don’t bother me!” The equivalent of swinging my head with my ears pinned.

I was so disappointed with myself! That wasn’t at all what I had in mind! There was no way to take it back, of course. I kept walking, but he didn’t follow any more.

I immediately started beating myself up about it, and I know he felt that disappointment. Nevada can deal with me when I’m like that: she just lets it blow right on past.

But Galahad is the most sensitive soul I’ve ever encountered, and his ego really isn’t all that strong. Galahad isn’t like Nevada. He worries. If I’m disappointed, he worries that he’s done something wrong—he has no idea what, but he expects to be blamed.

That’s another remnant of his unfortunate experiences as a youngster before he was rescued. And even our first trainer, successful though he is, used methods that demand pretty much instant obedience, not thinking about building up the horse’s self-confidence.

And then there’s me: I took to those early training methods so well because they are exactly what my dad would have used. That’s how I was taught: obey instantly, or face the consequences. Dad’s love was conditional on my behaving in a way that he could approve of, and preferably in a way that made him look good. So I get it.

The hard part is realizing how much of that internalized, patriarchal, “Arthur” energy I still have inside me, and how far I still have to go to learn what it’s like to express unconditional love. I would love Galahad no matter what he did, but he has no way of knowing that, and until he does know that, we can’t have the kind of relationship I’m looking for.

So he’s shown me, once again, exactly what I need to learn. And I will learn—but it’s going to take a lot of time and patience. I’m hoping the new course will help me develop better habits and learn to be patient and loving not just with Galahad, but with myself, too.

The real student here is me, not my horse.

[Note: This lovely photograph is by my good friend Aimée at Aiming High Photography.]

The Alchemical Horse

Equine Guided Learning

Tag Archives: Galahad