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Mar. 19th, 2011 06:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
endlessraritiesAnother Saturday, another riding lesson.
Another round with the dreaded Softie (aka The Evil One).
I was so scunnered by my last encounter that as soon as I saw her waiting in her box, I almost felt like turning round and going home. As I said the last time, what's the point of trying to work with a horse that doesn't want to know??
My instructor told me to keep a positive mental attitude. We jogged our way round the school a few times. Softie was the one in charge, and I really wasn't in the mood to argue. The horse was so wooden, it was like being taken for a ride by a miniature version of the thing that Odysseus and his pals whipped up in their efforts to defeat the Trojan. We performed a series of diabolical rhomboids, before Softie did the inevitable stop-dead-in-the-middle-of-the-school-I'm-not-budging lark.
I couldn't be bothered with a battle, which isn't a good attitude, I know. But my legs and my seat felt a whole lot better, so I just concentrated on them and let the horse go to hell in a handbasket. Then - as Softie did another of her stubborn cantankerous hissy fits - my instructor said something new, and truly profound.
"Drop the reins," said she.
So I dropped the reins. A brisk tap later, and Softie grudgingly got moving. And once I'd made the connection that Softie hates a contact, we both had a moment of epiphany. Now, coping with joggers is second nature to me. My old horse Squire was a jogger. If you held his head too tight, he got faster and faster. Softie is a jogger. But in her case, if you hold her head too tight, she stops dead and won't move.
EUREKA!!!!!
I spent the rest of the lesson trying to get Softie to walk while maintaining little if any contact. When she stopped jogging, I praised her. I rode her through occasional 20m circles, and hey presto! they got rounder, and rounder. When she actually deigned to bend properly, I praised her. I'd suspected previously that Softie was misunderstood, but I didn't realise that the leap of understanding would be quite so straightforward to achieve. And then, as I trotting on the circle, she tried to drop her head and take the bit. Just briefly, and with the air of an animal that's saying, "I remember doing something like this once, long, long ago. But I forget now."
We parted very amicably. And next time I see Softie tacked up and waiting, I don't think I'll be filled with dread.
Another round with the dreaded Softie (aka The Evil One).
I was so scunnered by my last encounter that as soon as I saw her waiting in her box, I almost felt like turning round and going home. As I said the last time, what's the point of trying to work with a horse that doesn't want to know??
My instructor told me to keep a positive mental attitude. We jogged our way round the school a few times. Softie was the one in charge, and I really wasn't in the mood to argue. The horse was so wooden, it was like being taken for a ride by a miniature version of the thing that Odysseus and his pals whipped up in their efforts to defeat the Trojan. We performed a series of diabolical rhomboids, before Softie did the inevitable stop-dead-in-the-middle-of-the-school-I'm-not-budging lark.
I couldn't be bothered with a battle, which isn't a good attitude, I know. But my legs and my seat felt a whole lot better, so I just concentrated on them and let the horse go to hell in a handbasket. Then - as Softie did another of her stubborn cantankerous hissy fits - my instructor said something new, and truly profound.
"Drop the reins," said she.
So I dropped the reins. A brisk tap later, and Softie grudgingly got moving. And once I'd made the connection that Softie hates a contact, we both had a moment of epiphany. Now, coping with joggers is second nature to me. My old horse Squire was a jogger. If you held his head too tight, he got faster and faster. Softie is a jogger. But in her case, if you hold her head too tight, she stops dead and won't move.
EUREKA!!!!!
I spent the rest of the lesson trying to get Softie to walk while maintaining little if any contact. When she stopped jogging, I praised her. I rode her through occasional 20m circles, and hey presto! they got rounder, and rounder. When she actually deigned to bend properly, I praised her. I'd suspected previously that Softie was misunderstood, but I didn't realise that the leap of understanding would be quite so straightforward to achieve. And then, as I trotting on the circle, she tried to drop her head and take the bit. Just briefly, and with the air of an animal that's saying, "I remember doing something like this once, long, long ago. But I forget now."
We parted very amicably. And next time I see Softie tacked up and waiting, I don't think I'll be filled with dread.
