Capricious Capri

Two years ago, when I named Capri, I chose the name because she reminded me of a little brown goat: nimble, quick, smart, sweet and irresistible.  She is all of that and more: beautiful, mellow, hug-able and trainable.  Darned if she doesn't have a flip-side though.  In fact, she can be downright capricious.  According to the Free Dictionary, the definition of capricious is "Given to sudden and unaccountable changes of mood or behavior."  Synonyms include whimsical, wayward, fickle, freakish and crotchety.  Yup.  Capricious Capri.  Why am I down on our chocolate colored darling?  Because six weeks ago she came down on me.  Hard.  Hard enough to keep me out of the barn for six to eight weeks, and hard enough for me to say "Enough."

More than a year ago, Capri bucked Rick off in the biggest bucking spectacle I had ever seen.  We gave her the benefit of the doubt and figured she must have had some pain.  We gave her a year of pasture rest, with lots of tender loving care.  This spring, she began to show interest in working, so I started the process of restarting her under saddle.  Saddle, bridle, ground-driving, ponying, the works.  All done cheerfully and without a hint of unsoundness.  Our farrier felt like she was almost ready to ride.

Rick loves to go on pack trips with his other horses, and so do a lot of other folks in our area, so we decided to teach Capri to pack.  Packing a horse for a season before riding it can teach it to be willing and tractable, as well as get in it shape and teach it to balance a load.  Generally, when a rider climbs on at the end of a packing season, the horse is relieved to have live weight on board and is ready to get to work.

With our humble goal in mind, Rick and I began the process of training Capri to accept a pack saddle and the myriad collection of assorted straps, buckles and what-nots that are part of the mountain-horse's getup.  A pack saddle really is much, much different than a riding saddle, and we were very pleased and proud when Capri accepted it without so much as a flick of her tail.  She ponied beautifully behind Rick's good saddle horse, and figured out how to go around stacked barrels (make-believe trees) without knocking them down.  The second session started out just as well as the first.  We decided to add hard-sided panniers to the saddle, which Capri accepted with no problem.  Then we decided to add weight to the panniers.  A forty-pound sack of grain was placed inside each pannier, and up they went on Capri.  Still no problem.

We're not strangers to the pack-training process, having taught each of Rick's other horses to pack in the last couple of years.  We know full well that a horse can throw a hissy fit when it first feels those loaded panniers on its sides, and we were prepared for Capri to spin away from us and show us a few tricks.  What we weren't prepared for was for Capri to come forward, into me, in a full-blown bucking, snorting, farting explosion that simply wouldn't quit.

Near-death experiences are nothing new to mustang people, and can provide an exhilarating rush of adrenaline and a powerful sense of immortality.  Heady stuff for a middle-aged gal whose second-most exciting activity in life is shoveling manure.  My previous experiences, however, left me unscathed.  This one didn't.  I am recovering from a broken collarbone, six broken ribs, whiplash and two sprains to my shoulders.  Fortunately, recovering is the operative word and I will be perfectly fine, but I've decided that thumbing my nose at the grave isn't the wisest thing for a mother of four to be doing.

Capri is fine and dandy, out standing in her field, without a care in the world.  I'd prefer not to work with her again, knowing her capricious nature, but perhaps someone else is up for the challenge?  Or perhaps someone has a field for her to be out standing in?  Capri needs a new home, one where she can just be a mustang.  She is good company for other horses, gets along with everyone, doesn't have any special needs and is lovely to look at.  Could you be Capri's special new person?

48 Inches

They say some people miss entering heaven by 18 inches, that is, the distance from their head to their heart.  Those are the people who can't live on faith alone, and therefore never receive the abundant blessings that God wants to bestow on them.  They die without realizing that if they'd opened their heart to God and let Him show them the way to live, the struggles of daily life wouldn't have seemed insurmountable.  They die without ever knowing how wonderful it feels to let God take the reins and direct their life.

I guess Belle missed heaven by 48 inches, since the distance from a horse's head to her heart is much greater than a human's.  No, Belle isn't dead, but she has moved on, and she never got to experience the great things that I had planned for her.  I'm obviously not God, nor do I have a God complex, but I did have a plan for Belle, a direction for her life, and abundant blessings that I would have loved to have bestowed on her.  She was fed hay and grain, but she never got to graze in a lush green pasture.  She had a clean and dry area to spend her days in, but she never got to roll in the mud or wade in the gentle stream.  She had room to move around, but she never got to gallop across the huge, hilly field.  She had a pony for a friend, but she never got to run with the herd.  Belle had the basics, but she never had the blessings.

Belle had more belief in her own opinion of how life should be than she had for my knowledge of how life could be better.  She was willing to take basic sustenance from me, but never a feast.  She was willing to let me touch her, but just barely.  She would take my kisses, but she shunned my embrace.  She knew I was real, but she didn't have faith in me.  She could see the rainbow, but she didn't hear the promise.

Maybe it was my fault, maybe I tried too hard, or maybe it just wasn't meant to be.  I've had to take some time away from the barn to recover from a medical procedure that I had in January.  While planning for this time off, I contacted the wonderful gals at the BLM office in Oregon and asked if they could find another trainer to take Belle.  I knew that without daily interaction Belle would regress in her progress to become gentle, and I wanted the best for her, so I was hoping that someone would take the challenge and pick up where I left off.  Fortunately, a very experienced trainer in Oregon stepped up to the plate, and transportation was arranged for Belle.

It's been six weeks since Belle left.  Her new trainer describes her as "bold, but wanting to connect."  I hope that means there's a chance that Belle will put her whole heart, body and soul in the hands of her trainer.  I hope it means she'll live the life she was meant to live.  I hope it means that 48 inches isn't an uncrossable chasm.  And I hope she takes the leap of faith.

Happy New Year!

       

  May 2013 be the year that your Wildest Dreams come true!

Meeting Her Middle

Since the day that I removed Belle's number tag she has become more relaxed and happy with me when I pet, scratch, rub and make a pest of myself around her face and the upper part of her neck.  I mastered her hind end a long time ago, but the middle of Belle's body was still relatively untouched.  I'd been itching to get my fingertips in that long stretch of virgin horsehide.

Patience and persistence paid off again, and now I can walk up to Belle, give her a carrot and a kiss, run my hand down her neck, give her a good scratch on her shoulder, tickle her withers, and rub her back in long, slow strokes.  It isn't quite as easy as it sounds, and there is mustang protocol to follow, but it is good, solid progress.  My next goal is to get two hands on Belle at the same time so that I can work on getting the snarls out of her mane, but for now, I'd say our dear sweet Belle is doing far better than fair-to-middlin'.

Belle's Gold Medal

Wild mustangs fresh from the BLM corrals almost always wear a tag printed with their personal identification number on a length of stiff, waxy string around their throat latch.  In Oregon, the BLM uses red string for the mares and fillies, and a bluish colored string for colts, stallions, and geldings.  The tag is made of sturdy yellow plastic, and is kind of a triangular shape with rounded corners.  The string is woven through and tied to a small, V-shaped piece of aluminum that has three holes on each end.  I imagine that putting the string around the neck of a nervous, unhandled mustang in a stock is no easy task, and I admire the wranglers who have the skill and patience necessary to accomplish it.  Taking the string and tag off of the mustang is a bit tricky as well, and is considered by most folks to be a momentous occasion, on par with cutting the umbilical cord.  With the tag on, the horse is a wild mustang referred to by its number.  With the tag off, the horse is on its way to being domestic, and is trusting enough to let a human put her hands by its throat and undo the tricky little knot there.  Once in my hand, the humble piece of yellow plastic feels like an Olympic gold medal.

Typically, a trainer or adopter can plan on getting the number tag off the new mustang within two weeks or so.  Typically.  Is Belle typical?  Nope.  I've had Belle for exactly ten months today, and today is the day that she chose to let me take her tag off.  Instant gratification is highly overrated, by the way.  Delayed gratification is so much more rewarding!

Since the day that I was first able to scratch Belle's star, I've been working my hands around her face and her throat, and playing with her tag as well as the rope and halter.  Today I was hoping to be able to touch her neck and mane, which I did, but I didn't really plan to remove her tag.  Belle was so relaxed and happy with being petted and scratched, that removing it just seemed like the right thing to do.  While I was at it, I gave a big, nasty chunk of loose mane a good, hard tug and the whole big blob came out in my hand.  It is lovely hair, but she looks better without it hanging there.  Working out the tangles in the rest of her mane will be a job for another day.

Belle was willing to give me more, so I snapped my 15 foot-long rope onto her halter and played a little bit of pressure-and-release with her, then removed it and let her relax while I scratched her face and neck again.  It was a very satisfying session, and the best part was that Belle was comfortable with everything that I did.  I think she deserves a medal!

Stardust

I've been enjoying the contact with Belle's hind end, but somehow it just isn't enough for me.  I'd much rather be at the front end, where bonding and training can flourish.  To that end, I've been pumping Belle full of carrots while gradually introducing hand-to-face contact.  It's a slow process (like everything is with Belle) because if I get even a little teenie tiny bit ahead of her comfort zone, she'll pout for days and not allow any new progress.  Yesterday, however, Belle was feeling generous and allowed me to pet her nose, jaw, and cheek while I allowed her to nibble bits of carrot from my hand.  I  played with her halter and the two feet of rope that still dangles from it.  I felt very encouraged!  Today, she let me lay my forearm on the front of her face while I vigorously scratched the loose hair and dust from her beautiful star.  My husband called it "Full Frontal Forehead Friction," which is clever, but I think I'll just call it Stardust.  It was a great moment, and hopefully one that I can build on.

Brushing Belle's Beautiful Butt

A couple of months ago, in an almost desperate attempt to get my hands on Belle's lovely hide, I started brushing her rump and the top of her tail while she had her nose jammed into the corner of her stall and her lovely posterior presented to me.  It was a bit nerve-racking, and the brushing was done at arm's-length.  It didn't seem wise, not because it was dangerous (okay, a little dangerous, but I am, after all, an adrenaline junky) but because from then on all she ever wanted was her butt brushed, and getting her to face up to me became a chore.  After a few days, I abandoned her hind end and focused on hand-feeding the front end, without any direct attempts to touch her.  I wanted her to want to touch me.  Eventually, after countless pounds of hand-fed carrots passed through her, she began to touch my out-stretched empty hand.  What progress!

In an effort to move forward, and because of her willingness to touch me, I have returned to brushing Belle's beautiful butt.  Both sides of her butt, in fact, which is twice as much as I was able to do previously.  Not only brushing, but petting, patting, and scratching with my fingernails.  And not just her butt, but also her back, right up to her withers.  And her tail!  It's a goofy thing, but I feel perfectly safe and comfortable standing directly behind Belle's long, powerful hind legs, picking up her silky-smooth tail, and brushing it until it glistens in a blond cascade behind that glorious posterior.  I'm itching to get my fingers in her mane, but I suppose a bit more patience will be required for that.  I am still happy with Belle, in spite of her slow progress.  She is a quiet, gentle, peaceful soul, and just so stinkin' beautiful.

Three Wishes

Some of the best advice I've had regarding gentling mustangs is to not "want it" so bad.  Don't want the first touch, don't want the horse to approach me, don't want it to call out to me.  It's good advice because it helps put me in the mind-frame of just waiting, being patient, and letting the horse decide when she's ready for more interaction with me. 

After six months of pretending I didn't want it, I finally said, out loud, that I wished Belle would get vocal with me, and I wished she would touch me, and I wished she would eat from my hand.  Well, I didn't rub a lamp, and I didn't see a genie, but somebody was listening because the very next day when I arrived at the barn Belle called out to me with a lovely, low nicker that clearly meant, "Nice to see you today, may I have some hay, please?"  She has nice manners, doesn't she?  Not all horses are so polite, you know.  I'm nice too, so I loaded my arms with a big flake of soft grass hay and held it through the fence to her.  Did I really expect her to walk right up to me and eat from my hands?  Honestly?  No, not really, but I figured maybe I was on a roll and I had nothing to lose.  I figured right!  Belle really did walk up to the fence and take three big mouthfuls from the flake I offered to her. 

It's been five days since the first time Belle ate hay from my hands, and we've been perfecting our routine since then.  Today was her best day yet.  This morning she ate hay from the flake in my hands, but this evening she was happy to accept a tiny handful of hay.  I started picking long, fragrant, fresh green grass for her, and she would accept just a stem or two at a time from my hand.  When she nibbled at the stems, she touched my hand with her warm, soft lips, which was a first.  The funny part was, she acted like it was no big deal, but it was, and I loved seeing her act so casual about it.

Belle has an established fondness for carrots.  Typically, I toss pieces on the ground for her, and she has fun picking them up.  A few months ago, I started using the word "cookie" whenever I offered her a piece, and as she was chewing it I would repeat the word several times in a sing-song voice.  Today I offered Belle a whole, large carrot from my hand.  She never tried to take it from me, but as soon as she looked at it I dropped a small piece of another carrot on the floor and said the word "cookie".  Pretty soon she was touching the carrot to earn the reward.  After a few minutes, she was touching my hand, deliberately, to earn the reward.  It is the same as clicker training, except that I use the word "cookie" spoken in a unique way in place of an actual clicker.  Clicker training involves the use of a target and a reward to establish a desired behavior.  In this instance, the whole carrot was the target, the small piece of carrot was the reward, and touching my hand was the desired behavior.

Belle's progress this evening was amazing.  After the carrot session, she acted like she couldn't get enough of me, and followed me everywhere.  If I was outside of the paddocks or the arena, she stuck her head over the top rail and kept a close eye on me.  She's never, ever, done that before.  It's a funny coincidence, but just the other day I was remembering how Siesta and Capri used to do that and I wondered if Belle ever would.  I guess I have my answer!  I rewarded her with lots of verbal praise and more handfuls of fresh grass. 

I'm still going to play it cool and not pressure Belle too much, but if Belle is as hooked on me as I am on her, I think we can expect a lot more progress in the next week.  Working with a responsive animal is so much fun, it is difficult to not get too excited, or to want it too much, but it's easy to think of more things I would like from Belle, so maybe I'll just make some more wishes. 

The Devil Needed His Chocolate Fix

On a blustery Wednesday evening six weeks ago, Rick had the shortest, wildest ride of his life.  Capri, the sweet chocolate-coated mustang mare, had been twiddling her thumbs for a couple of weeks and needed to be ridden.  As her trainer, I had been Capri's primary rider.  Rick had only ridden her twice before, and on each of those occasions I rode her first.  On this particular evening, I wasn't feeling well, so I groomed Capri but Rick did her groundwork, then saddled her up.  She seemed a little sassy, and maybe a little nervous, but she hadn't had much work lately and it was a very windy evening.  In fact, if the wind hadn't died down at the last minute, Rick wouldn't have ridden her at all, as it was a very noisy, somewhat creepy storm.

With the saddle and bridle snug in their places on our sweet Capri, Rick put his left foot in the stirrup.  Capri side-stepped away, and Rick repositioned her and told her to hold still.  She did, but she still looked sassy and nervous.  It was unusual behavior for Capri, but we thought she would be okay once Rick was up and he got her busy.

Get up and get busy doesn't begin to describe it.

Rick set his seat in the saddle, slipped his second foot in the stirrup, and picked up the reins.  And that is when Capri cut loose.  I've never been so close to such ferocious bucking in my life.  She gave him the ol' one-two punch with a fancy combination of bucking and crow-hopping, and to his credit, Rick stayed on for three big bucks before he came flying off and landed on his back in the soft arena footing.  Capri wasn't done, though.  She felt the need to stick around and buck some more, right over the top of Rick while he was still on his back.  Darn if it wasn't the scariest thing I've ever seen!  Rick literally reached up with both feet to kick and push Capri off of him.  She kept bucking--hard--while galloping two laps around the arena.  Rick was okay, thank heaven, except for some general soreness.

Once Capri stopped, she came to me and put her head at my shoulder and acted like nothing at all had happened.  She looked fine, and I was convinced that she simply preferred me, which really had me worried, because training horses that only respond to me is not what I'm here to do.  Creating a Jekyll and Hyde monster is not my idea of successful horse training!

I let a day go by, a day spent agonizing over Capri's future.  Who would want a devil horse?  Rick doesn't, and I don't either, but it was impossible to believe that our sweet Capri had actually gone to the other side.  I needed to spend some time with Capri to find out what was really going on.  So I groomed her and got the saddle out.  Saddling Capri has always been a simple task, and she has never shown the slightest bit fear or discomfort regarding it.  Until this time.  She let me put the saddle pad on her back without too much concern, but when I lifted the saddle up her eyes about popped out of her head and she snorted with fear.  I set it gently on her back, but it was clear that she was terrified of me putting the right stirrup and cinch down, so I left them up.  I cooed to her and soothed her fear, then asked her to take a few steps.  She did, and gradually calmed down.  I put the saddle away and spent some quiet time with her before putting her away too.

I let another day go by, then decided to get to the heart of the matter.  When all else fails go back to square one, right?  I got the teeny-tiny pony saddle out and plopped it on Capri with no problem.  Dropped the stirrup and cinched her up, and still no problem.  I took it off, and replaced it with the big saddle, which I cinched up without too much trouble.  I put the bridle on too, and made it clear to Capri with my posture that I had no intention of riding her, but we were going to do some groundwork.  I picked up the left rein and asked her to give to the pressure.  She did, with no problem, so I did the same with the right rein, which caused her to absolutely explode.  I was standing at her head, and she was nice enough to explode in reverse, so I was fine.  So, now I knew where the problem was.  Capri had some serious pain in her right shoulder or elbow and her girth area.  It explained why the bucking started the instant Rick put weight in the right stirrup and picked up the right rein.  Capri and the other horses had been doing some crazy running and bucking in the pastures the very afternoon of Rick's eventful ride, so there is a good chance that she hurt herself at that time.  Poor Capri.  Why didn't we listen when she tried to tell us she didn't want a rider?  Perhaps she could have spoken a little more clearly?  A nice, obvious limp would've been a good clue!  What does she think I am, anyway, a horse whisperer?

So now six weeks have passed, and in that time Capri has had a mixed bag of treatments, including bute, rest, light turnout, light exercise, and massage.  Tonight, she had some vigorous exercise and a massage that she enjoyed very much.  She is feeling good and looking bright and beautiful, so the plan is to get her gradually back in training.  I don't know exactly what the future holds for Capri, but she is staying on the sweet side, and the Devil can get his fix somewhere else.

So Cute!

If only I'd had my camera on me tonight, I would have the cutest video to share with you.  Rick and I were badly in need of a ride, and it was a lovely evening, so we saddled a couple of trusty steeds and mounted up.  Belle and Woody (the fat little pony that is Belle's designated buddy) were hanging out in the arena, and instead of shooing them out, we let them stay, and left the gate open to the paddock, just to see what they would do.  Woody's favorite game is Follow the Leader, so when Rick went by him on his mare, Woody fell in behind.  What did Belle do?  She fell in behind Woody, and the three of them went round and round the arena in the cutest nose-to-tail fashion.  More than once, I created a diversion on my horse by getting in Belle's way or otherwise upsetting the queue, but Belle was able to out-think me and get back in line behind Woody every time.

Belle's progress toward the goal of becoming gentle and halter-broke is still going slow, but she is still progressing, so there is still hope for her.  Her interaction with us tonight was not only cute and sweet and funny, but also a real sign that she is interested in spending time with us.  Belle doesn't like to be pressured, and any attempt at forcing her to respond to proven training methods will only back-fire and cause a regression.  So, in the interest of staying safe and letting her keep her sanity, most of my time with Belle is of a quiet, gentle nature.  She is always happy to see me and follows me around, but stays at a distance of twelve feet or so from me.  In her stall, I can pick her rope up and ask her to come to me.  She'll come within a foot or two, but she doesn't relax and enjoy the experience at all.  Touching her with my hand hasn't happened yet, but she will allow me to scratch her all over with a lunge whip, and drape the string end of the whip all over her body. 

I don't know why Belle is so different from Capri and Siesta, but she is, and I respect and appreciate her unique personality.  Each mustang has something to teach me: Patience, Humility, Perseverance, and more.  Allowing the lessons to flow between the horse and the human creates a give-and-take relationship that is based on trust and love.  And that will, eventually, help Belle to be a Gentle Mustang.  In the meantime, I'm enjoying watching her bloom in her own time and in her own way.  And she really is just so Stinkin' Cute!