Solving the Equation

My philosophy as an equestrian coach has evolved quite a bit over the past few years. I initially started off as a biomechanics trainer, who focused solely on the rider’s seat. This is still the premise for all of my teaching as it is an easy starting point for all riders, no matter what their background. But there is so much more than biomechanics to riding and my hope is always to uncover these other, often hidden, issues people encounter with their horses. Mainly, I hope to bring my students to a place of mindful awareness of how their actions, attitudes, thoughts and emotions affect the horse. In addition, I hope for them to discover compassion and empathy, not only for the horse but also for themselves, because these emotions are the building block on top of which true partnership is built.

Everyone comes to my lessons from their individual starting point. You could be a very traditional rider with long-term goals or someone who mainly trail rides with a bitless bridle and a saddle pad. Or anything in between. All I ask is that you have a respectful attitude towards your horse. Although I do recognize that respect is an elusive term in itself and subject to interpretation. One person’s respect can easily be another one’s abuse. I always trust that the fact that they have chosen to ride with me, is a sign of something. If it is a natural continuum in their already budding curiosity of a different, more horse-centered way of being with horses or a subconscious call for help is left for me to discover.

Whatever the framework of each individual student, I proceed at first in a standard manner. Everyone understands biomechanics, at least once it has been explained to them. Whether we stay solely with the biomechanics is up to the rider and the horse. Sometimes it takes only one lesson with me to open up the floodgates of emotion, others ride with me for months before we dive deeper.

This past weekend I was working with a student on one of my favorite subjects: turning, something that is rarely explained to riders correctly during their formative years. My student was performing an exercise in which she rides a small square at the walk, working on turning the horse correctly at each corner. Mary Wanless, the British biomechanics guru, introduced me to this exercise years ago and it brilliantly exemplifies the correct turning technique, which has nothing to do with the reins and everything to do with the seat. In addition, it often helps the rider realize what it means (and feels like) when a horse is straight and aligned.

The most important fact about this exercise, however, is not in my opinion the mechanics, but that it always and without fail brings the following two realizations to the forefront of the rider’s consciousness.

1. Horses are extremely sensitive and responsive animals

2. We, as riders, manage to confuse the horse by over-riding, often with incorrect aids.

It never gets old to witness the shock on the rider’s face when she realizes her horse is capable of turning with what seems like only a thought, a breath, a wish. Because a horse will, every single time, if you let him. Without exception.

“Wow, my horse is really sensitive,” my student exclaimed on Sunday with words I have heard dozens if not hundreds of times.

No, your horse is not really sensitive. All horses are really sensitive. More sensitive than we can ever truly appreciate. They react to every movement of our bodies, every weight shift, muscle tension, the passage of breath, thought and emotion we have. Every second we spend on a horse’s back is merely a string of reactions for the horse. Therefore, if the horse is not turning left of bending right, it’s usually not because of the horse, but because of us.

Oh yes, it’s true that horses are crooked and stiff. But still, when we are riding a horse and we break down what we are doing into small, miniscule pieces, the finger eventually turns to point at us, the person sitting on the horse.

The horse is crooked to the right and is leaning over his shoulder? Adjust your seat over and over again until he can align himself. Getting pissed off and frustrated won’t help. Neither will name calling or using the whip. Not to mention pulling on the reins one way or another. None of this helps, especially if we are not aware of our responsibility as the likely culprit to our horse’s way of going. And even if we are not the direct cause, we are always – always – the solution.

That is why this aforementioned square riding exercise is perfect. Not only will the rider learn how the horse turns and straightens, she will also understand that when the horse doesn’t turn or straighten, instead of smacking the horse with the whip or kicking it resentfully while telling it to stop being a jerk, goddamnit, she needs to look in the mirror. The world you get is the world you give away. Or in other words, what comes around, goes around. As hard as it is to admit sometimes, this applies to horses, up to the hilt.

I know I can be a tough teacher to chew, because I think that nothing is ever the horse’s fault. That is, if we are looking for culprits, which I’m not. Why? Because I believe that riding is a string of exercises, problems, to which we must find a string of answers. Finding the answers is challenging, but very, very interesting and rewarding, and it is done one piece at a time, like a puzzle. There is no time for finger pointing and blaming, but plenty for empathizing and understanding. We analyze our, the rider’s, pieces, where they are and how they correlate with the horse’s pieces. Then we find out how to rearrange ourselves so that it fixes the horse’s alignment. Sounds simple, right?

Solving the equation, the puzzle, the problem, takes a lot of time, but it is so engrossing that it can completely consume you. The short-fused and resentful rider who I identified with in the past has in my case disappeared ages ago. She was replaced by a curious, creative rider, a person who is not afraid to question her own actions. Why would I get frustrated when I am presented with a multidimentional problem and an incredibly wise horse, who is more than ready to communicate and help me find the answers? What could be more interesting than finding the solution together?

Rarely does a rider grasp all this at once. The mechanics of it perhaps yes, but the emotions and attitudes that can follow not. Many find it hard to accept that the horse will do exactly what we ask, we just need to know how to ask correctly. It is so much easier to blame the horse. And to smack its shoulder that is falling in or out. And granted, that smacking/yanking/kicking/holding etc. will make it move towards correct for a split second. But it won’t fix the underlying problem, because that can only be solved by finding the root cause of it.

When I was living in Switzerland I knew a dressage rider, who was aspiring to compete the higher levels with her young horse she had trained from scratch with some help from her German trainer. The dressage rider, however, had a massive asymmetry in her body. I don’t know if she was aware of this or just in denial, but the effect it had on her gelding was tremendous. This was clearly visible in lateral movements, which highlighted the asymmetry issue tenfold. Often the gelding could simply not perform the movement correctly even though the rider did everything she could to make it happen. There were times when the rider’s aids were so conflicting that the horse performed the movement in the opposite direction than the rider had intended.

What can I say, this can happen to anybody. The sad fact about this particular case was that the rider repeatedly reprimanded her horse with a long dressage whip for “the mistakes he made” even though she was clearly the direct cause of these so called mistakes. Without going into a spiel about why positive punishment (i.e. the whip in this case) never works as a training tool and is not a correct way to treat a horse regardless of what it is doing, it was clearly completely out of line in this case. But the rider never stopped to question why her horse was responding this way and refused to discuss it with anybody who dared to try to explain their observations.

This past weekend, when I witnessed my student grappling with her own limited abilities to ride and communicate correctly with her horse, I realize once again how hard it is to let go of the idea that we know more than the horse. That instead of being partners, the horse is somehow below us, the one that always makes the mistakes. Or perhaps more accurately it is difficult to admit that we, too, make mistakes. Many and often.

On the other hand, when I watched my student, I could also appreciate the dedication and commitment in which she relentlessly tried to understand what was happening between her and the horse she was riding. Everyone is not capable of such introspection and I always have respect for those who do.

After the lesson we discussed the exercise and what my student had learned during it. What was the take away? Despite her wonderful insights I realized once again that the process which I had started during our lesson was simply too big to comprehend in one sitting. I watched her face carefully, trying to see the internal process that I knew was there. Would we have another lesson soon? Or ever? As I said before, this work is not for everyone.

I am unsure of what will happen in the future with this particular student, but I am happy for what transpired between us in the lesson. I was able to dislodge something, open a small door of awareness in her world. Once the door is cracked, it is best to let the door open in its own time, instead of kicking it down at once. If it were only about the biomechanics, this would be so much easier. But it isn’t. That is why when people ask me what I do for a living, I struggle to answer. Equestrian coach or biomechanics coach does not even begin to cover it, because as I said in the beginning that is just the starting point to a journey which can last a lifetime and take us to landscapes within ourselves we never even knew existed.

The degree to which a person can grow is directly proportional to the amount of truth he can accept about himself without running away. ~Leland Val Van de Wall

The Flower

An essay about Time, Teaching and Treasures

"The clock talked loud.  I threw it away, it scared me what it talked."  ~Tillie Olsen, Tell Me a Riddle

Last spring I ran into an old student, who had recently bought herself yet another horse.  She invited me to come and give her a lesson, “for old time’s sake”.  This I knew meant that she had run into problems with her new horse, as I had never known her to ask for a lesson with me unless the other trainers she rode with had failed to help her.  I agreed, mainly because I was curious, but also because I felt that I had never really been able to reach the woman in terms of helping her understand her horses.  She had always been very set on the traditional way of training.  She had goals for herself and her mounts; therefore she wanted results and she wanted them fast.  But, behind all this there was something else, something waiting to be ignited; she had, after all, periodically sought lessons from me. 

When I arrived, she had the new horse tacked up.  He had just turned four years old and was standing obediently in the middle of the indoor arena.  I noted the drawreins hanging on the horse’s neck.  I knew immediately this was the real reason I was there to give the lesson. My student read my thoughts. 

“I know I know, I shouldn’t use drawreins, but I just have them for security.”

“Security,” I repeated and gave the gelding a horse-human handshake by extending the back of my hand out and letting him sniff it.  There was something very touching about how he approached me, as if he was surprised I had acknowledged his presence. 

“He is normally really calm, but then suddenly, without any reason, he goes completely crazy.  He lifts his head up and takes off.  I just can’t have that.  It’s dangerous for one thing.”

 

I nodded, looking at the horse. The phrase that had caught my ear was “without any reason”.  There was always a reason.  But I didn’t say that out loud, because I knew that such a statement would surely end the conversation.  Nobody wants to hear that they are incompetent in interpreting their horse.  At least not point-blank within the first two minutes of the conversation.  I would get there later.

 “And does this occur every time you ride him?” I asked. 

“No, that’s the thing, I can never know when it’s going to happen.  One day he’s perfect and the next he flips out.  That’s why I have the drawreins, so I can stop him if he goes nuts.” 

 

“I see,” I said and stroked the neck of the young horse listening to him play with the bit in his mouth.  It made a jingling noise, something I had never paid attention to years ago, but which now sounded as loud as a church bell.  So many messages were hidden in every little thing that took place in a horse-human interaction, even in something as commonplace as this noise.  

I asked the woman more questions and found out that the gelding only had these episodes in the arena, never on the trails.  In fact, on the trails he was apparently “an angel”.  Also, the fits never happened while longing or long-reining, only under saddle.  The saddle had been checked, the osteopath had been consulted.  Even the vet had been out.

“He does it with the trainer, too, and she’s a good rider,” the owner concluded.  “So, it’s not just me.”  She sighed and looked sad.  “In the beginning he was the perfect horse, but now…  I don’t know, maybe I should sell him.  Or what do you think?  Do you think he can get over this?” 

I closed my eyes.  When people use the expression “perfect horse”, something stirs inside me, even though I don’t know how many times I have used that very same expression myself.   Sometimes I believe I teach students such as this lady just because I have a need to repent my past.   Facing your old self over and over again can turn into a sort of cathartic experience.  It also helps in defining the line between the person you were before and who you are now.  I searched for the right words to say, words that would sink in, instead of blow over.  

“Perhaps he feels he is being pushed beyond his limit,” I said.

My student shook her head and looked at her horse. “Yeah, but my other young horse never does this and we push him way more.”

 

“But perhaps this guy needs a little less pushing and a little more time.  We are all different.” 

 

The lady looked at me and wrinkled her brow. 

“But he’s a horse,” she said.   

Yes indeed, he was a horse.  A breathing and feeling sentient being.  I could see the wheels turning in the lady’s head.  She shrugged.  “We don’t have time,” she said.  “I was planning to enter him in some young horse classes this summer.”

“Here’s another thought,” I continued, ignoring her comment about the competitions and not having time.  I didn’t know if this was the perfect moment to share my earlier thoughts, but I had to go for it or the moment would be lost forever.  “What if you don’t look at this behavior as bad, but instead see it as a means of communication.” I pointed at her young gelding. “What do you think he is trying to tell you and your trainers?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying that there is always a reason why a horse behaves a certain way.  They are not trying to be naughty, but rather trying to tell us something. ” I stroked the gelding’s neck.  “It is your responsibility to figure out what the message is.” 

I could see that I had perhaps gone a bit far.  The lady looked very confused and perhaps a bit offended.  I decided to commence the lesson and come back to the subject later.  Sometimes, when you really challenge someone’s belief system, they shut down to all information.  I didn’t want to ruin the opportunity to awaken this woman’s budding realization of how to understand her horse.  

But something my student had said kept playing in my head; “We don’t have time”.  What was it with our current society’s growing obsession with getting everything made for them on the spot?  What ever happened to perseverance?  

Ironically around the same time I gave this lesson, I was learning about perseverance myself.  Little Love, my horse, has several traits that most people would call “deal breakers”, were they considering to buy her.  One of her long time issue has to do with her inability to enter small spaces, such as a trailer.  I, too, was faced with this problem when I bought her in the beginning of the year.  As I fought with her in the pouring rain for nearly two hours, I thought to myself: “Never again”.  I swore on the spot to work on the issue, giving it time, actual real time, to help Little Love get over her fear of the trailer. 

Luckily the place where I moved had a trailer, and not only that, but a trailer that opened from both the front and the back, so the horse could walk through.  This gave me the perfect opportunity to help Little Love with her fear.  The starting situation was grim; if the ramp was down, Little Love was immediately agitated and anxious, as if she was anticipating something bad to happen even if I never asked her to approach the trailer.   She needed something she had never truly gotten when it came to trailers and that was Time with a capital T. 

Giving my horse Time took some training on my side.  I, too, have a long history in an equestrian culture where you must produce results and fast.  I had seen all kinds of people from “horse whispers” to natural horsemanship trainers load problem horses.  All those methods were based on some sort of pressure and force, and were geared towards making the horse a perfect loader in a set time frame.  “Look, I can load the unloadable horse in less than 30 minutes!”  A few years ago it had appeared to me that those horses were “perfect” loaders.  It wasn’t until later that I understood that it came with a price.  Did I want my horse to be bullied into a trailer?  Definitely not.  

I decided to merely expose my horse to the trailer several times a week.  But I couldn’t help myself; I asked her over and over again to come on to the ramp with one foot.  Despite my good intentions, I was still falling into the trap of trying to get immediate results.  No matter how much I swore I had no time restraints or goals, it wasn’t true; I subconsciously hoped for progress and tried to push for it.  I also noticed my own heightened anxiety every time my horse approached the trailer.  Not only did my horse need time to learn to go into the trailer, I needed time to learn to let go of the “trainer” within.  I decided to always ask only twice and accept the answer, whatever that was.  

I won’t lie: I was happy when a few days later my mare was comfortable with standing on the ramp with her front feet.  I was encouraged about her progress, immediately visioning the next step and then the next.  But then I stopped myself.  What was I doing - again?  I looked at my horse as she backed off the ramp on her own.  I didn’t interfere.  I’m sure this broke the basic rule of most trainers in the world, for I too had been drilled since childhood to “never let the horse have the last word.”  But I realized that perhaps this was exactly the way to go. 

I stopped leading my mare to the trailer, but instead let her loose in the vicinity.  This gave my horse the opportunity to choose for herself.  She started walking to the trailer confidently, instead of anxiously.  She still only put her front feet on the ramp, but I told myself the rest would come later.  But it didn’t.  I put a bucket of food inside the trailer, but for days and weeks Little Love merely stood on the ramp.  I actually started to give up ever getting her inside without force.  Talk about perseverance... I kept on going.

Then one day, she walked in.  Just like that.  I didn’t lead her in, but rather opened the door and let my horse choose to go in.  From that day on, she always went in when I opened the trailer.  Slowly we started practicing standing in the trailer instead of just walking through.  When I closed the back bar for the first time, she walked out the open front, knocking the grain bucket over.  I didn’t try to stop her.  I had finally realized what it meant to “take time”.  It wasn't only about the time, it was also about what I did with that time. 

In the course of three months, I had a horse that would load by herself and trailer without sweating.  Were we done learning?  Hardly.  But my horse was learning to accept the trailer and I was learning what it meant to empower your horse.  I was also learning lots of things about what it meant to take time.  In the meanwhile, our bond became stronger and changed our relationship to the better.  It also changed me.  I am not in any rush now when it comes to horses.  My only wish is to convey this message to the world: if you take time, you stumble upon invisible inner treasures you never knew existed.  But how do you convey a message to people who are not ready to hear?  This was my problem with the lady who owned the young gelding.  

She called me back two weeks after our lesson.  The lesson had gone well from my point of view, but afterwards I was fairly sure I would never hear from this woman again.  Many things had surfaced during the hour and all of them had something to do with the ethics of horsemanship.  Should she push this horse past his limit?  Should she listen to him and see his “fits” as means of communication?  Could she look at her own riding and admit how much her own tension, her baggage and her expectations were affecting this sensitive animal and his reactions? Could she resist the urge to sell this “imperfect” animal and instead find the time to work with him?  Needless to say I was encouraged to hear her voice on the other end of the line.

“I’ve really been thinking,” she started the conversation, “that you may have a point.  I think we are pushing this horse too much.”  

I smiled at my cell phone.  

“I’m happy you have been doing some reflecting.  I could see at the end of our lesson that you were quite confused and perhaps unhappy.”

“Oh yeah, it was bad.  I went home and cried.  I was depressed for days.  But I needed to do that to really see what was going on.  The problem is now my two trainers.  They think I’m crazy.  They think the horse should just be shown his place, that they should force him to comply at any cost when he has his fits.  Last time they rode him, they fought with him for two hours.”

“Remember, he is still your horse,” I said.  I know I sounded calm and matter of fact, but I wanted to scream.  I don’t believe anybody wants to be violent towards animals; it is just the old traditions, the way equestrian sports have evolved, that make people unable to see anything wrong with what they are doing.  Hadn’t I been one of these people a few years ago?  How could I judge them now?  I knew anger would get me nowhere.

 “I know it’s scary to stand up to professionals in this field, but I really advise you to go with your gut feeling.  You are an experienced enough rider to ride him and teach him the basics.  Then you can do it on your own terms.  Or rather, the terms of your horse.”  

“Yeah,” my student said at the other end of the phone connection.  “I actually told the trainers we should take a break.  I think the gelding needs some time.  And I need some time to think.” 

I took a deep breath.  This is what I had been hoping to hear.  Tears sprung to my eyes, but they were happy tears.  Ever since I parted onto this other path, the Path of the Horse, I have experienced a variety of emotions.  Mainly there has been a lot of sadness as my heart aches for the things I have done in the past.  But there is also another ache, the ache for the present as there are so many horses in the world that suffer abuse on a daily basis.  Teaching riding is becoming increasingly harder for me, but it is moments like these that make it worthwhile.  I commended my old student for making the decision.  This particular horse needed probably more than a break, but a break was a step in the right direction.  

I believe each horse is perfect in their own right.  If your dream for your horse does not align with reality, perhaps it is time to either adjust your dream or the methods you are using to achieve the dream.  We talk about taking time with horses, either giving them the time to learn or the time to adjust.  But have we ever stopped to think what this really means?  What, for example, is enough time for a young horse to learn the basics of riding or to load into a trailer?  Two hours?  Two months?  Two years?  A life time?  When it comes to any learning, is there ever really an end station, or is it rather a long, long track that continues for our entire life?  Why do we always want to ride the bullet train instead of taking the man-powered trolley? 

Months later I heard my student had gone back to the trainers.  This was no surprise.  Most people go back to what they know; the other alternative is too scary.  I can’t say I wasn’t disheartened by this news of my old student and her young gelding, because I was.  But I also was hopeful that whatever happened between us during that last lesson was still present in my student’s heart; that the seed I planted remains somewhere under everything.  You never know, it may vegetate in her heart for years only to sprout into a real plant one day; a flower that blooms so spectacularly that it will lead her off the beaten path.   And that is exactly where those invisible inner riches reside, off the beaten path.  

I have decided to hold on to that image of the flower, as there are days when that is the only thing that keeps me teaching.  And it is important to continue teaching for so many reasons.

~K

“We cannot teach people anything; we can only help them discover it within themselves.” – Galileo Galilei

On Riding - Part 2.

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered. ~Nelson Mandela


Exactly one and a half years ago I wrote a blog entry about my feelings towards riding (On Riding 26th of May, 2009). Time has passed between then and now and has helped me refine my thoughts. I realize that after a slow and tender process, I have finally let go of the dressage rider within. To reach this point is monumental, as I have ridden horses for over thirty years and once swore I would be a dressage rider until I was a doddery old woman nearing her death bed.

I am now riding approximately 95% less than I was two years ago and, and until about three weeks ago when a student asked me to ride her horse, it had been months since I worked a horse in the arena. It felt strange to sit on a horse other than Little Love and even stranger to start working the horse into some sort of frame. He was bitless, of course, but nevertheless I felt oddly out of place on his back. Due to my sore tailbone I took it easy, but ended up riding for over forty minutes at walk and rising trot.

The horse I was riding was one of the biggest horses I have ever ridden, and I have ridden some pretty massive ones in the past, having been a vaulting trainer. I have known this horse for a few years now and have ridden him a few times before, so I knew going into the ride how much power and focus I would need. Due to the fact that I hadn’t truly ridden dressage for months, I felt slightly intimidated by the situation.

Before getting on, I sent the horse a mental message of what we would be doing together. I also explained that I would not ask for anything he could not physically do. I hoped for two way communication and promised to listen to what the horse had to say. I got into the saddle with a “one step at a time” attitude, trying to let go of any previous experiences, any set goals or plans for the ride, all possible premonitions.

I had nothing to worry about. What had previously been strenuous and perhaps a challenge with this particular horse now came easily and without a second thought. With relatively light effort and by making adjustments in my own seat I was able to guide the horse towards straightness. This resulted in him relaxing and starting to use his muscles correctly. In the end we had beautiful collection, something this young horse did not offer on a daily basis.

I was stumped. How could it be possible that after not riding for months, I seemed to be a better rider than before? Wasn’t it practice that made you perfect?

Ask any dressage rider what their ultimate goal is, and the word "connection" will pop up in the conversation. They are talking about the kind of connection that leads to harmony with the horse, another concept that so often seems out of reach. To reach this ultimate goal, most dressage riders spend their whole life taking lessons and perfecting their riding skills. And I, too, can recall being that person, diligently striving for that missing piece that would lead to bliss under saddle.

I drove home thinking about the ride on my student's horse. All these years I had believed that riding was a technical and physical task based on the laws of biomechanics - something it undoubtedly also is. But perhaps I hadn’t given enough credit to the emotional and psychological side of it. Something had happened in that arena with that horse that I had never truly understood before. Was this what connection and harmony could feel like? Was this the dream under saddle everyone was chasing? How ironic that I had had to first let go of riding, to feel this.

But how appropriate.

It was not the first time I had experienced something I thought was connection and harmony. At several occasions during my dressage "career" (if you can call it that) there had been times where I had felt that "Eureka!" moment. Those moments had always been a product of hard work, a result of struggle and hours of sweating in the saddle. I now realize that perhaps some of them had been contrived, based on a physical feeling rather than a holistic feeling. In all the training and practicing and honing of skill, I had lacked the connection that came from within. In fact, was it possible that by focusing solely on the physical aspect of riding, I had prevented myself from finding what I was looking for?

What is true connection? Is it the ability to go together in physical movement without hindering each other? Or is it something more, something invisible and unattainable by force? You can force a horse into movement and you can will yourself to follow that movement with your body, but can harmony be present in such an act? The American Heritage Dictionary says that harmony is "agreement in feeling or opinion". When we bridle and saddle a horse, is it even possible for him to feel harmonious? Is the harmony we seek just a subjective dream created by human?

The experience with my student's horse had been exceptional, yet it didn’t make me want to ride more. Actually, quite the contrary. I am no longer able to turn back and return where I once was, the dressage rider within is gone forever.

This fall one of my blog readers sent me some interesting information about the damage riding causes to horses’ backs. This extensive study talks about the sinking of the back (and thus pressure on the vertebrae); the tissue damage caused by excessive pressure; the fact that horses grow until up to the age 5 and even beyond, but yet are trained under saddle starting at 3 and even younger. Not to mention the harmful effects of the riders hands and bad body posture (seat). But even under the best rider in the world, harmful pressure is applied to the horse’s back. After the investigation of 443 horses, the findings concluded that only 7% of the horses had NO damage to their backs.

Seven percent.

These are sobering details. Many people will like to argue that this was just one study and it is true, it is just one study. I wonder why this subject has not been studied more. Perhaps because we are afraid of what we will find?

Under the current circumstances I still trail ride Little Love, but I can't help but wonder: If she was given free choice, would she ever let me on her back again? I'm not sure. Does any horse want to be ridden? Perhaps not. They did not evolve over millions of years just to carry us on their backs.

My friend Sam tells me that when children and adults interact with his horses in liberty, some horses occasionally invite people on their backs. I believe this does not happen because the horse wants to be ridden in the traditional sense, but because he wants to give the human the gift of riding. After all, love and friendship are about giving and allowing. The key factor in these situations is to respect the wishes of the gift giver.

One day, when Little Love's and my situation is different, I hope to be able to offer her that choice and let her decide for herself. In the meanwhile, I try to stay off her back as much as possible. The abovementioned study concludes that we should not ride horses for more than 15 minutes at a time and always in free collection. I am keeping this in mind and helping Little Love discover free collection during our liberty work. I make a point of dismounting and walking on the trails when possible. I cannot control how others ride this horse, but I can make these choices for myself.

Letting go of riding is not always easy. For some people it happens overnight and for some, like me, it is a slow and winding road. Then there are those who don't ever want to take that journey. We all must evolve in our own time, with our own horses.

 ~ K


It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts. ~K.T. Jong

I come from

I come from cream colored ponies in English saddles,
dusty outdoor arenas with weathered jumps sprawled in the middle,
brushes and bridles, hoof picks and halters, and the smell of saddle soap and leather and oil.
I come from grooming boxes and hairy Islandics with coats thicker
than the rug on my grandmothers wall and the Draft crosses that
won’t turn until they come to the corner and see the fence.

I come from the thrill of riding bareback for the first time, and mucking stalls
at seven in the morning while the horses are munching down the hay
and snorting through their noses into water buckets.
I come from jumping over cavalettis that turn into oxers
and steering from A to C in a straight line
with a perfect halt in the middle.

I come from cantering down the field and falling off
into the bush where the thorns scratch my face and the mud
sticks to my breeches, but don’t stop me from getting back on.
I come from clinging to the saddle with my thighs
as I attempt my first medium down the diagonal
without stirrups and the horse weighs seven tons in my hand.

I come from braiding the mane at five in the morning and
driving across the country just to have a go
at winning the championships and loosing it by a fraction.
I come from wrapping the front hoof with duct tape
twice a day for a whole two weeks
to take care of the abscess that developed over night.

I come from holding onto the horn and chasing down a calf in California
letting the horse take over because
he knows more about cows than his English trained rider.
I come from galloping over the moor in Sussex on
an old racehorse that suddenly remembers its past
and hoping it will know how to stop on its own.

I come from warming my fingers under the bareback pad
in the midst of a cold winter and the fresh snow
that sticks to the bottom of the hooves giving the horse five inch heels.
I come from watching a baby horse walk for the first time
and then three days later sprint like a pro while I hand walk
a gelding for the third month wishing his tendons are healing faster than possible.

I come from the vet saying that nothing much can be done
what already has not been and leaning into my
thousand pound friend trying to make sense of what is happening.
I come from trying so hard not to cry because
you know you are losing something you
can barely understand yourself but must address anyhow.

I come from just once trading money for a horse but
trading my heart more often and the love that always
seems to find me in the form of a four-legged animal.
I come from friendship and kinship, respect and gratitude,
and the incredible beauty, healing, understanding and peace that
was not only given as a gift, but was also achieved together.

I come from horses.

~K