*I’m a full-time horse trainer who has written about horses (here) since 2010. My dogs think it’s their turn now.*
We’re driving and only an hour from home. Just prairie between Pikes Peak and us. It’s not just the last stretch of road; it’s the last trip this year. I’m a homebody who hears the call of the road. Coming or going, it’s bittersweet, the exact right word for most things.
I like the strangers I meet on the road. They’re not red or blue; they’re would-be neighbors. They let you in traffic with a wave and are friendly at gas stations. They can’t soothe the sting of $100 a tank, but they don’t like it any more than I do. They remind me that we’re all Americans. More alike than the trolls want us to think. I can get a little sour on the rampant negativity that spews online. Road trips tune me up.
We are returning from visiting clients in Kansas. They take online lessons, and I wanted to get a few moments with the horses I see in class. To make sure I’m not missing anything. Mostly, I want to thank their people for their commitment to learning. Nothing about horses or riding is intuitive, other than the immediate addiction most of us feel. The rest is a lifetime of study and practice. I’m surprised more folks don’t work with a trainer, especially with the ease of online lessons. But that’s me.
Once we got home, I did the barn check. Edgar Rice Burro is always the first to greet me. He starts hollering like a tuba band before we’re out of the truck and doesn’t stop. It’s quite possible he counts the days I’m gone. The long ear toll is due immediately and must be paid in full. This sweet old fart who stands in the way, positioning his itchier parts within my reach. I’m done when he says so. Edgar has a big body on small hooves, and those fetlocks have seen better days. Neither of us is in any hurry for the only cure. I pray winter will be kind this year.
The horses are only a bit younger but in decent shape. There are the usual number of nicks and bite marks. Just enough to let me know the soap opera continues. My mare works to keep the geldings in line. Even now, her movement takes my breath, but the geldings continue to deny her authority. Retirement is rich with drama.
The sheep are complaining. Plaintive bleats, emotionless eyes. Blaah. Complaining is pretty much the only conversation sheep want to have. Blaah. They’ve been locked in a pen while I’m out of town. Blaah. I open the pasture gate, and they complain while considering their next move. Blaah.
I’m still scratching the ass’s backside while planning what to winterize over the next month. A load of pea gravel to stay the wind erosion and fill holes around the water tanks. That with some sand to put better drainage in the duck pen.
Jolene has one more sent work trial before we tuck in for the winter. Then it’s hibernation. The tradition when schooling my horses in dressage was to pull in close and work hard over the winter so that the next spring would show improvement. Mister says, that’s not really the meaning of hibernation. He would like his own space heater.
A couple of weeks ago, I volunteered to scribe at a herding trial. Jolene stayed home with Mister, and I hit the road before dawn. My job was to sit next to the judge and write down her comments and scores as she kept her eye on the course. This is exactly what we do in dressage, and I learned as much scribing as I did competing. Watching several riders do the same test on a variety of horses was an invaluable lesson.
Decades later, I’m at it again and just as eager. Sitting next to the herding judge, doing my best to hear her and watching each run from the best seat. There were two courses, with around twenty dogs in each. Most were at the same level as Jolene. I was hoping for an overview of what’s ahead.
I saw several breeds run with different herding styles. Most of the dogs were much larger than Jolene. There was every kind of handler, too. The runs were erratic, but this next level of herding is a huge leap, with obstacles and serious cues to follow. We all want to chase the sheep. Not many of us want to wait to be released.
Jolene could’ve run in this trial, but not in the way I would want. Just like dressage, we’ll practice fundamentals over the winter. Jolene and I will work out an affirmative training approach, horse training translated to dog training. Whenever we can get a lesson, we’ll go, but most will be self-taught. I trust my ability to read Jolene’s calming signals and come up with training methods that work for us. In the end, the journey with dogs or horses is always solitary on the human side.
This is the true challenge of affirmative training. Working with youngsters is pretty easy because the parameters are wide. It’s all good. It gets complicated when the cues are subtle, and behaviors need to be more precise. Jolene has a serious aversion to strictness of any kind, she’ll have you know.
Jolene has never been punished. She is soft, sensitive to pressure. Just watching some of the handlers would have terrified her. Maybe I’ve done her a disservice and herding will be too stressful. Maybe it will be like horses, and our sensitivity will be our strength. This will be the part of our story where we are challenged. It’s the good part.
Finally, chores are done and the trailer is unpacked. It’s been a long day. I take a small container of peas into the duck pen and have a seat. The ladies race out of their house with Eilene in the lead. I have previously referred to Eilene as the aggressive duck. Isn’t that what they always say about women who speak their mind? We are not angry, and it’s not a crime to speak up. So, Eilene, I apologize. You are the assertive duck …who has just raced over and used her beak like a battering ram on the bottom of my pea container. Half of the peas leap into the air to the gleeful quacks of her friends. It’s the pea heist of the century.
Glancing beyond their beady eyes, I see the door didn’t close all the way. Mister was leaning over the threshold, looking for some fresh duck treats. I asked Mister to wait. In a rare mood, he acquiesced. My pleasure, he said. But then the ducks notice him in the open doorway and turn as one. They waddle quickly toward him, poking their beaks out, threatening his very eyeballs. There’s really no other word for it. Mister ducks.
This is my world. It’s smaller than it used to be. Sometimes I wonder, as my body ages and the world changes, what will happen to my greatest wealth. No, not my little farm or my immense but imaginary retirement fund. My greatest wealth is a lifetime of studying horses. A lifetime of learning, extrapolating different sources, and hoping to push the art of training further. Sounds a little arrogant since I lose my phone every day, but yeah. Where will my mind go when my body can no longer hold it?
Then Jolene tosses her filthy otter tug-toy on my lap like a hook, and I take the bait. Jolene says, right here. Right now.
… #noai #humanart
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Women Aging Cantankerously
