Jolene Says It Isn’t Easy Being My Dog

Be Brave Enough to Suck at Something New the meme said. Well, sign me up. Who knew it would be so remarkably easy. You should try it.

I had a client several years ago who complained about her horse. He was too lazy; she needed a more advanced horse. Her horse told a different story. So I climbed on her stout, midlife Quarter horse and praised his walk. I moved in rhythm with him, and he puffed out his chest and lifted to a light trot. He felt strong and arched his neck on a slack rein. We danced as horses will when the cues are invisible.

It’s always a gamble climbing on somebody else’s horse. Owners run the gamut of emotions, and often all at once. This owner chose envy and anger. She was an artist and writer, a proud mother, and she traveled often with her husband. Meanwhile, I spent years taking multiple lessons a week and riding any horse offered to me. I tore myself down to rebuild a rider that a horse would welcome in the saddle. It takes practiced effort to make it look so effortless. I wish that owner were here now. I hope she’d find my floundering as amusing as I do.

I’m going to translate my herding lesson into a riding lesson. It will sound familiar if you are someone who’s taken lessons from me. Or been at a clinic and watched me with a horse and had an instant of something resembling hero worship. Maybe you think I was just born with a gift from the horse gods. No such luck, no magic spell. It takes self-surgery with no anesthetic to change your instincts and get on the horse’s side.

We arrived for our second herding lesson, and I parked in the wrong place for the second time. So, the lesson got off with a half-halt. I am undaunted. Then, the instructor showed us how to enter the gate. Not to the sheep, just an exterior gate. This method wasn’t much different from how we do it at home, but we failed. Jolene darted ahead, and I got hung up on her leash. Then she got nervous and pretended she didn’t know me. Jolene begged. Not in front of the sheep, she says.

We finally made it to the pen with three sheep waiting. One ewe looked very pregnant and extremely humorless. I made a mental note to watch her. The instructor told me I would go in with Jolene and the sheep. Last time, I took photos like a tourist. Then she handed me a short whip with a flag that I should use if Jolene needs direction.

It’s a tool that I would never use around a horse. If for some unimaginable reason I had one, I would drag it on the ground. The instructor tells me about twenty times to keep the flag up, so I can drop it down if I need it. She shows me how to hold it, but it translates to about eye level on a horse. It’s physically impossible for me. Thanks, muscle memory.

I flounder on, stick in one hand and long lead in the other. Sometimes I have to switch them, which I do with all the grace of someone learning double reins. Meanwhile, Jolene is more confident than the first visit. She pushes. She waits. She has a recall I’ve never seen before. Jolene knows the job. The instructor is giving her non-stop praise. Me, not so much.

That’s when the instructor told me to drop the leash. I froze. It’s always good at a moment like this to have a traumatic childhood flashback. I think you know what happened to our dog who drew blood on a sheep.

“Drop the leash?”

And she repeated it, enunciating every word. I had the same incredulous look on my face as riding clients when I tell them to drop their reins and use the neck ring. I look crazy as I drop the lead. Jolene is even better. More agile, calmer. Then someone steps on her lead, and the ring snaps off her harness. I blame the pregnant ewe.

When the instructor couldn’t stand it anymore, she entered to help us. Boy howdy, do I know this one. I’ve rescued horses from their own riders just this way. It’s hard to say which one of us was the most relieved.

I stood in a corner with my mouth gaping open for a while. Then the instructor called me in to shadow her, hoping I’d get it from that vantage point. A moment later, the three sheep and I were standing in the middle of the pen, and the instructor was praising Jolene. I knew enough to know I was on the wrong side. That’s when the pregnant ewe pushed her head up under my hand. I think she felt sorry for me.

The instructor raved on about Jolene. Such instinct and drive, yet listening so well. She tells me Jolene needs a confident leader, not to dominate, but someone she can trust. I remembered my mentor telling me to love my horse a little less and show up for him more. It was the honest criticism that I wanted because my horse needed the best from me. Now Jolene needs the same.

We pay her, say thank you a dozen times, and promise to be gate-trained by the next lesson. As we pull out of her driveway, I check the time. Twenty minutes have passed. I might need to pull over for a nap on the way home.

An hour later, Mister greets us. He’s well-rested and ready for an ear scratch. We’re spending more time in the Dog Barn and Literary Lounge lately. I’ve figured out the solar panels, which was as complicated as plugging in a toaster. So, I have power and a mobile hotspot device. I can make tea and popcorn.

Sometimes when the three of us are out there, I quietly close the door and lock Jolene out. I call Mister up into my lap and his ears go a little gooney. He gets some lunch kibble. He prefers I serve it to him like a servant girl feeding grapes to Errol Flynn. After a year at Jolene’s Fat Farm, he’s the skinniest he’s ever been. He could use a few extra calories. Mister’s proud to be the only corgi on the face of the Earth that has never heard that sentence.

Jolene ate my glasses this week. She hasn’t chewed on anything until now, but in the last couple of weeks she has learned to levitate. Yay, prescription glasses, of course. Making up for lost time, she chewed the handles off two pairs of scissors and destroyed the buckle on her harness. None of these things were left within her reach. Mister, who is looking more like Eddie Haskell every day, has a syrupy-sweet smile. He says things always even out in the end. Then he lifts his nose with the smug confidence of a vacuum cleaner salesman.

I’m trying to befriend the lone meadowlark, in memory of Peg, the one-footed ancestor who stayed close in my early years here. I heard his trill in the south pasture and tracked him down in a tall stand of prairie grass. Birding from an ATV with manure spreader attached didn’t seem odd to him. More geese and ducks are on the pond this week. More fires all around us. February was the warmest on record, but that’s nothing to celebrate.

I know how this story with Jolene will go. It won’t be National Velvet with a dog, unknowns who win it all. We’ll brag about floundering because these are the good old days right now. Eventually, we will be a brilliant team because I am as relentless as Jolene and even more trainable. I nod to my ghost herd. Any horse would tell you that’s the best skill a human can have.

To be continued…

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