Horsewomen and the Reverse Banana Peel Approach

Do you ever just stop in your tracks, look at your (insert your choice: horse, dog, child) and go blank? It’s like the music stopped halfway through the dance. It’s so quiet you could hear a clock ticking. You’re not sure what you were doing, but you have a feeling it was important. Of course, you have. It happens when the usual thing didn’t work. Now you’ve both lost your place, a little spooked. Your horse’s poll braces. Your dog yawns nervously. 

Sometimes you wish a quick whack would fix it, but you have a problem with that because you know that violence comes from a place of weakness, not strength. It’s a slogan, sure, but it’s also the blunt truth. Most of all, you are not that person.

You are a horsewoman, you are no fool, so being a doormat isn’t an option either, thankfully. Things still need to get done. Newbies might look around for someone to ask, but I really hope you take a breath. They say “Necessity is the mother of invention.” Slow down a moment and think. What is it women have that makes us good problem solvers?

I got this message from my wise animal friend and ex-dogcatcher, Sandy: “I was making my smoothie this morning. I happened to open the banana from THE OTHER END!! Yes, the butt of the banana. Call it what you will, but it was the easiest banana I’ve ever opened. I thought back to all those years of struggling to open a banana in the car, at a horse show, on a boat, in the dark, (do not ask) and the list goes on… Because if you didn’t have something sharp, getting that sucker to peel, usually left the stem-end of the nanner in a bruised and soggy mess. Using your teeth to open it resulted in the entire nanner tasting like sh*t. Right???

“OUT OF THE BOX SHE GOES!!  …and the moral of the nanner parable?? Use the other end of your brain when the first end needs a sharp stick and you’re fresh out of sharp things. Should be the mantra for all “trainers of horses” and people and dogs.

I agree with her. What I love about her discovery is that it just happened. There wasn’t a master plan, there was no divine intervention. No google searches were involved. It was only in hindsight that she noticed she didn’t have that taste in her mouth. She used the other end of her brain before she could overthink it. Best of all, she gave herself a big cheer and shared it. We don’t brag enough and we should. There’s no shame in getting it right.

We have to adapt to the animal, not the other way around. It’s why not all techniques work on all horses. Knowing the right way to do everything isn’t an asset. Book learning is good for understanding, but being able to recite a training manual word-for-word isn’t what the real world needs. Being willing to go in the back door of the banana, or the session with your horse, might be the right less-is-more answer, as nebulous as that sounds.

The path most traveled for horse training has never been that great for horses and it may have left a nasty taste in your mouth, too. I say it all the time. Horses don’t naturally give to pressure. Release trains release and resistance trains resistance. When resistance accumulates, horses don’t trust us. Dogs don’t sleep with their heads on our feet. And the same unsettled feeling invades us. The more resistance we hold, the less we trust ourselves. The more we lose faith in ourselves.

Being mothers of invention, creativity is our natural state. It seeps through the cracks in the floor and sneaks up our ankles. It lounges in our coffee dregs when we’re only half awake. It stares at us in the shower. We have to make space to notice creativity, clear out the inner critics and let go of the past mishaps. We have to loosen our grip on needing perfection to make room for our natural perfection. Because being on the nebulous open ground is where we want to be.

People always say that their horse did the thing they cued just when they gave up or least expected it. That the dog invented a game that it took them a while to pick up on. It happens our guard was down. When we weren’t asking, or impatient, or trying too hard. We must allow ourselves to be in a nebulous place with no obvious answer. It means we hold our tongues, keep our hands to ourselves, and don’t furrow our brows until our eyes are rat-like. 

Humans are a bit uncomfortable with what seems like nebulous murk. Right up to the moment where we find out that’s where our horse’s mind is grazing. Where our dog’s curiosity is dozing. And where children are daydreaming. That nebulous place is where things become unstuck and possibility exists. 

You are smart enough to ask for help if you need it, but don’t be too quick. Trust yourself because you are not cruel. A moment of confusion will not seriously damage your horse. Instead of thinking others have all the answers, give yourself time to try things. Don’t be hampered by worry that you’ll do the wrong thing. If it doesn’t work, your horse won’t care. It isn’t like you hit him with a two-by-four. You just ask a question, not that you care. Take a breath and listen, not that you care. Let your horse ponder things with you. Let him participate in the discovery. 

Any technique works if we alleviate the animal’s anxiety, but none works if we ignore their concerns. When we listen to calming signals, we can release the animal’s anxiety when it’s small. But our anxiety has to settle first. Building trust is a quiet job. Listening with intuition might feel like dead air, but let that be okay. What if we are the ones horses have been waiting for? The ones who bring comfort and safety. The ones who laugh it off and try again.

Contrary to popular belief, training horses was never meant to be a rodeo. Know that you are a modern day pioneer queen with an undomesticated streak and a proud history. Think Belle Starr, Annie Oakley, and Calamity Jane all wrapped up in one. You have earned the right to confidence. We’re better at this than we think we are. And we’re just who every pony wishes for on Christmas.

 

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14 thoughts on “Horsewomen and the Reverse Banana Peel Approach”

  1. I remember reading that chimps and other monkeys open bananas that way. Maybe monkey mind isn’t such a bad thing after all!

    Reply
  2. « Any technique works if we alleviate the animal’s anxiety, but none works if we ignore their concerns. When we listen to calming signals, we can release the animal’s anxiety when it’s small. But our anxiety has to settle first. Building trust is a quiet job. Listening with intuition might feel like dead air, but let that be okay. What if we are the ones horses have been waiting for? The ones who bring comfort and safety. The ones who laugh it off and try again.« 

    I wish equine health professionals would learn about calming signals. Listening, intuition, trust, anxiety… Yesterday anxiety trumped the rest and I lost my steadfast compass, Moe my blind 28 yr old mustang. A stoic and dignified old warrior.
    I was called to the barn at 07:00. The stable lad on morning shift found him lathered in sweat under his light weight rug (night temperatures are minus zero). He was colicking for the first time in the 24 years I’ve known him. On his feet though and raring to walk… So we walked… no halter or rope as usual… he walked to my voice. He walked fast… before and after my vet left…. with pain killers, an anti-spasmodic, and a laxative… He wanted to walk so we walked untill noon. He slowed down enough for me to offer a drink he refused… his mouth felt and looked dry. Dehydration followed by the fear of possible kidney failure… and anxiety gains ground over waiting. I should have waited for my vet to return in the evening, Despite myself, I took him to the nearest clinic trusting them to ensure him the warmth and compassion an old blind horse has the right to.
    I wanted simple hydration in a warm straw-bedded stall and if it came to the worst, peaceful euthanasia. My dream end of life scenario for Moe.
    We got contention bars and hard concrete flooring on which he could slip if he panicked in the hands of clinically minded experts. We got re-examination for a re-diagnosis because my vet’s diagnosis was not enough. We got a vet who could not find a vein because blood must be drawn and a catheter inserted. We got an ultra sound to locate the plug… The last straw for Moe. He finally did what horses do. Flight. But for the contention bars. He slipped and went down hard. Twice. When I tried to help him with calming signals he understood, I was told get out of the way and let the vets do their jobs. And so they did. They euthanised him on that cold hard floor.
    He trusted me to have his back but I gave in to anxiety. I can’t shake off the horrific re-runs in my head. I keep reliving his pain. Neither of us deserved this.

    Reply
    • Oh Prita, there are no words. Just know that like-minded hearts break with yours. Please don’t beat yourself up – Moe would forgive you.

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    • No Prita. Neither of you deserved it. For what it’s worth, those protocols are the usual ones, regulations require. I am so sorry. A longtime vet might listen, but never emergency vets.
      I share your sadness for your loss. I was in the same situation and the pain echos.

      I will add, we love them but we are not gods. We can only do our best. Horses read our intention, he understood you. And one bad day will never erase the life you shared together.

      (I’ve given in-service trainings on calming signals in other countries, but not here.)

      Reply
  3. Gosh, as a quiet reader of yours for some time, I think this is one of your most beautiful, ever. All I needed for Christmas. Thank you.

    Reply
  4. Thank you for your words.
    Everybody always said how lucky Moe was… truth is… I’m the luckiest person of all time to have met him and learned… He is my compass.. headed me towards new discoveries and marvellous people, to you Anna and calming signals, to food tracking, to Jim Masterson, Horsespeak, Steven Peters, biotensegrity and a host of other like-minded perspectives and people, to whom it’s all about the horse. It’s been all about Moe for the last decade and a half… I stepped down to walk beside him and the Earth tilted. In the fathomless emptyness of his absence, the manner of his passing shrouds the rest. I am losing my bearings in the fog. If he’s taught me anything, it’s that this too will pass. Your words help.

    Reply
    • We are the lucky ones. Every time. And I trust this is a huge turn in the road, but know you are still on the road… Rest up. And thank you for sharing your boy with us, Prita.

      Reply

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