Musical Chairs, or Any Ears Will Do

*I’m a full-time horse trainer who has written about horses (here) since 2010. My dogs think it’s their turn now.* 

I try never to step outside of myself and take too long a look at what I’m doing. It’s how I maintain my self-respect in the moment. Of course, then I blow it by writing about it. So here I am walking both of my dogs on leashes in my own small backyard. A friend warned me that my dogs might be on leashes so they don’t lose me. Whatever.

Jolene is twenty months old, and we’re facing our first real training challenge. Yes, I’m almost bragging. Horses taught me that times like this, it’s possible to score big. Problems are opportunities, says the affirmative trainer. Mister rolls his eyes.

Last week, Jolene did that outrun and brought me the sheep from a distance and at a run. In that moment, instinct became passion. Yay! But now she thinks herding is a speed event and I am nothing but a whiner. She says, you dressage queens ruin all the fun.

Mostly, Jolene is calm while turning the sheep through obstacles. She would never creep like a Border Collie. She is doing nothing to make herself shorter. So she swaggers, showing some teeth, trotting in arcs, keeping the sheep together. Alert for tiny movements, right where she should be. Jolene says if my age doesn’t matter, then neither does her size.

But now she is hot off the line. She tears out like a marauding warrior princess. We are meant to show a moment of patience, even reflection, before I release her. This is a hard rule.

Jolene would like you to know her human said no. Of course, I didn’t. I said, wait a minute. But we all remember when a minute meant never. She knows what to do, and it’s stupid to wait. It makes no sense. She gives me a steely side-eye. Jolene says, come on, you old hen. I give her a dismissive cluck. We enjoy a friendly quibble.

They don’t use treats in herding. The sheep are the treat. Jolene just figured that out. It’s just what you want in a herding dog. Since my words are now meaningless, she has a long training rope attached, which is an insult. We have gone back to a smaller pen and fundamental requests like stop and wait, so it’s possible for cooler minds to prevail. The sheep would like Jolene to know that she doesn’t have to try so hard.  Jolene is pouting because I’m taking the sheep’s side on this. It’s my first deliberate betrayal.

I learned this in dressage, where I learned everything worthwhile about horses, and therefore, life. Everything is a negotiation. Balancing patience with enthusiasm because both are necessary. When you hit a bump, go back to the fundamentals. Horses taught me to funnel my impatience into persistence. It’s remarkable how rewarding it is to stubbornly refuse to get mad.

Meanwhile, back in the yard, the warrior princess is still ice cold toward the ducks. The reason sheep herding is going so well is that the sheep are dog-trained. They know how to stick together and take directions from dogs.

Something was lost in translation with the ducks. The ducks practically strip-search me for peas. I fear they are addicts who see me as their mule. Maybe things have gone too far. When the dogs go past their pen in the yard, the ducks come to the door and quack at them. The dogs stare back in disbelief. But ducks menacing Jolene with their beaks isn’t any better than Jolene threatening the sheep. Do I need to send the ducks away to dog school? Have I already ruined them?

Which brings me back to walking both my dogs on leashes in the backyard.  Mister is on a leash because he might be too pushy. It isn’t that he likes the ducks so much as what they leave on the ground. Jolene is on a leash because she’d be in the house if she could. We are following six Indian runner ducks, walking in a procession like we’re leaving the church. When the ducks slow down, Mister pokes one on the butt, and they move along. I guess it’s a sort of herding.

For Mister, a leash works like a conscience. Off the leash, he would eat a live chicken. He would get *Death to Cats* tattooed on his forehead. He would run full tilt for the border on a Harley, drinking whiskey shots with a cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth. Ask me how I know.

The leash is a thread that ties him to respectability and social grace. He does not walk from the house to the truck off leash because I absolutely trust him. To be just exactly who he is.  A wild hooligan who does not know or care where his next meal will come from. He gets Anna amnesia.  Think of the leash as a fussy bowtie. Mister spits out the cigarette, straightens up, and says, who among us doesn’t need a leash now and then? And our philosopher and sage is back.

Eileen, the most aggressive duck, is starting to get a little bit big for her webbies. We’re doing some hug therapy. Her neck is as long as a muffler and just as warm. Count me as courageous for letting her be so close to my ear.

The ducks seem happier to come out of their pen now. They get some roughage, and they charge around fearlessly. One duck might flap into a sprint with the others hurrying to catch up. It’s almost as if they’re asking to be chased. Mister searches the ground hopefully while Jolene guards my heel.

It used to be almost impossible to get the ducks back in their pen. Now they waddle in for a drink. I’m learning how they perceive pressure and where to position us for where we want them to go. Jolene and I have switched jobs.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever convince Jolene to herd the ducks. She might rather herd me. That’s her day job. Maybe eating duck eggs will be enough. Jolene says she’s ambivalent about ducks.

She might change her mind. I can’t whip myself into a frenzy of worry. I know how this story ends. We cut the tasks into small pieces and work on a bit at a time. There will be more ribbons and more dramas.  That’s how life goes, good and bad tumbling through changes until one melts into the other. If we’re smart, we stop keeping score.

They say the world is best viewed through the ears of a horse. Mister says, any ears will do.

…  #noai #humanart

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