Nube: How a Horse Taught Me a Canter Cue

The short version is that my horse poked me in my sit bone, which isn’t possible, is it? But let’s start at the beginning because both my Grandfather Horse and Nube are gone now. And it’s fall, that bittersweet season. 

A friend had asked to ride my Grandfather Horse. He was just Spirit then, a young horse. He was never an easy ride, always quirky and sensitive. I was a lesson-taking fanatic because this horse required me to ride in a polite tone, but he also tolerated kids with such grace. My friend climbed on, and I stood in the middle of the arena. Spirit moved forward like a drunken sailor swerving all over the place, flipping his head and twisting his body while I blinked. My friend complained my horse wasn’t doing it right. It was a hard lesson for me to learn, but horses do pretty much what we ask. Spirit was young and didn’t like being ordered about. That never changed, but my riding did, and this was how I found out I was making headway.

I spent every non-work moment with a laser focus on my riding, taking a few lessons a week, climbing on as many other horses as I could. I read, watched videos, and other people’s lessons, asked endless questions. I was insufferable. Now, for the first time, I had the view from the middle of the arena, a place I live now.

I could see my friend’s shoulders come forward just an inch or so, his torso leaning to bank a turn. Most of all, I could see his hands stop my horse at the same instant his legs kicked. Finally, Spirit planted his hooves and glared. My friend said he didn’t want to ride in an arena anyway, couldn’t he just take my horse out and gallop across the ranch? We had a view west toward the front range of the Rockies. He knew it would go differently out there, he said. He was right about that, he’d be eating yucca in no time, and I asked him to get down.

My friend wasn’t cruel. He rode like most folks who haven’t had lessons. At worst, he thought there was no real skill involved. Riding was just exercise for the horse, wasn’t it?

The incident didn’t stop me from sharing my horse. My horses aren’t fragile; they can take a few moments of insensitive riding. Spirit was more of a truth-teller than most, but it’s how we learn. No one starts out riding well. In years to come, friends learned flying changes with his patience. And many little girls sent drawings to thank him for a thing that I still don’t have a name for. Horses are always more than a ride.

The problem that day was me. I was changing. It wasn’t that I had great hands; it was that I knew I didn’t. I was beginning to understand the art of riding was not intuitive. There’s nothing natural about riding horses. Legs shouldn’t grip, and hands shouldn’t pull. At the least, I should have been able to tell what my body was doing, but no luck there either. My mentor could canter the speed of a walk on a slack rein, and I had never wanted anything as that; to ride so smoothly and energetically. It wasn’t about what she could make a horse do, it was how she inspired them.

So while other women were raising kids, I was taking hundreds of lessons and learning to ride. It was always me who was in training, listening to the horse, trusting their message, and trying to expand my awareness. To this day, when I hear someone say they outgrew a horse, I do not know how it’s possible. Maybe it’s easier to keep changing horses rather than ourselves.

Finally, about this canter cue. I had been riding Nube for less than a year. He was a green horse, athletic and still finding his balance. But his communication skills had always been over the top. We were warming up, and usually, he set the rhythm. On that day, he didn’t. He wasn’t off, but his balance wasn’t quite there. I thought I’d be the metronome. We needed a beat. Not remotely musical, I imagined the aria Habanera from Carmen. It was crazy. I didn’t know it; I certainly didn’t sing it. Frankly, I don’t even like opera. Out of nowhere, I imagined the first line silently repeated on a loop. Dat, dat, dah-dot…. It was only a thought, but Nube picked up a wild march. I must have been thinking as loud as a high school marching band with a row of cymbals. I toned my thoughts down and he settled into an exaggerated slow trot, one I didn’t know he had. He lifted his back. There was no concussion to his stride. We floated.

My friend those years ago, and myself just then, both got just what we asked for. 

Horses hate being over-cued. Spirit had broken me of the habit and wasn’t about to go back when my friend rode him. My riding improved over the years, and by the time I was on Nube, my cues were more energy than action. When I asked for a canter, it was an inhale and a thought. That was when he poked me in my inside sit bone suggestively. I know anatomy. He had nothing to poke me with. It was impossible, but then he did it again. 

It was a subtle poke, almost a soft ask for a bit more room. So, I breathed into my sit bone to soften it. I was aware it was no more possible to melt a sit bone than he could poke me, but I was a student and used to taking cues from horses. As the bone softened, I felt him lift me in a brand-new effortless way. It wasn’t surrendering to the horse, it was collaborating. Even a young horse knows how to do that.

Don’t we always want to pick up where we left off with the previous horse, impatient to ride those advanced movements again? Nube was green and it would take years to build his strength. At least my ears were in my sit bones, where they belonged. Riding isn’t about being body-loud and bossy, or sitting as lifeless as a rock. It’s about meeting in a place of energy. Once a rider understands that, any ride on any horse goes better. Nube got a hand-me-down rider, and it meant we could skip the mud-wrestling part because I didn’t start it.

Riding well is the most eloquent intimate conversation we can have with a horse. Some people think we should never ride horses because of the brutality of some riders. I wonder why we aren’t inspired to study the beautiful classical art of riding. To learn to ride the inside of a horse, listening with the inside of our body. If you love horses, prioritize riding lessons.

Even now, I still feel Nube. Sitting squarely in a chair, my sit bone involuntarily softens. It’s the left one, like that first time, and then my left pelvic bone melts forward, not even visible. I feel Nube rise beneath me, like a dolphin rises from the water, to lift me into the air, gently toss me up, and catch me again, stride after stride.

Ride in a way that neither of you ever want to end.

[Seventh in a series called Nube’s Story]

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Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

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