finding the joyful moments with Keil Bay

The Big Bay and I got back to work on Thursday, after another few week hiatus from riding. Fortunately for me, Keil tends to come back quickly after a break and more often than not, we've built on what went before, even with the time in between.

We're having a bit of a puzzle with the mounting block. Keil Bay has never had an issue with it, until I forgot to tighten the girth that one day and slid underneath when I tried to mount. Interestingly, he didn't move during that debacle, but since then about half the time he will take a step back when I get on the block.

I realized yesterday that part of what happens when he does move is that I've expected him to step back, and I hesitate. The moment I hesitate he starts to step back. So I slide the block to where he's stepped and start again, but if I hesitate, he takes yet another step back. I can work through the issue pretty quickly by breaking it down into pieces, but what I'd like to do is stop my own moment of hesitation. Which gets back to my middle-aged obsession with the mounting block being at the exact right spot for mounting, something that never used to matter when I rode as a girl/young woman.

Yesterday, we did the mounting block thing two times and the third time I just visualized EASE and vaulted myself up without allowing myself to think about it. That worked well.

I have become slightly obsessed with reins lately. I think it's mostly because that's the part of my riding I'm working on most diligently right now. I feel secure in the saddle, my legs mostly do what I want w/o my having to hyper-focus on them, and Keil Bay is in front of my leg and moving with light aids. So the hands/reins are the primary focus.

I've adjusted my wrist position enough that it's happening naturally now, and that alone has made a big positive change. I'm on to two things: connecting my "hand" all the way up to my shoulder, so that there's a continuous line of "energy" that doesn't get blocked at the wrists, and practicing being able to constantly adjust rein length without it being clumsy - which is, I guess, learning to maintain a soft but steady contact with Keil Bay's mouth.

It's one of those things that is immediately gratifying - when I get all the pieces to happen at the same time, he gets very round and soft and that "circular" energy of a horse moving completely through is obvious.

The hard part, as always, is not giving up when any of those pieces fall apart, which they do, regularly at this point.

I've been thinking for awhile that the beautiful web reins that are on Keil's bridle are too wide for my small hands. They are also a bit stiff, and taking them up and loosening them is awkward. When I ride Cody, whose reins are leather and much thinner and more supple, I find the motion of gathering up/loosening reins a more organic process.

So Thursday I switched an extra set of rubber reins from the pony's spare bridle onto Keil's bridle. Although really long on the pony, they were a bit too short for the Big Bay, but even so, they had a different feel, and my hands were more comfortable. I've been attached to Keil Bay's "gear" - all of which belonged to him when I got him, but it's time to make some changes. I'm hoping on my next trip to S. Pines I can find a pair of used leather reins in the right color that are already broken in. Meanwhile, I'm going to try another spare set we have that are longer.

I've also realized recently as I go through Jane Savoie's Happy Horse DVDs, and continue studying Walter Zettl's Dressage in Harmony, that I'm not utilizing the outside rein as effectively as I should be. I am using the inside rein for too many things, the outside not enough, and I've got to focus in on this for a few rides to try and balance the two.

Otherwise, we had a good ride. We did mostly walking, a bit of trot work, and ended with some really soft and beautiful walk/trot/walk transitions around the arena in both directions. I became completely attuned to the feel of the transition moment itself, and how wonderful it feels when the two of us are in sync and the transition comes from that deep place where our positions are good, and there's almost no need for the actual aids. It's more like I think the aid and he does it.

These pure, single moments when things are so finely tuned and working perfectly are what bring me the greatest joy in riding. That I'm getting tuned in enough to feel them makes me as happy as winning blue ribbons would.

I was reading a blog the other day where a group of posters keep a sort of journal of their riding and work with horses. There are a few posters who continually refer to their horses as idiots, and talk about them "being stupid." There's almost a derisive tone to their descriptions of every ride, and it makes me wonder what brings them back to the saddle.

I can't imagine ever calling any of our horses idiots. I can't imagine blaming my horse for things that don't work. For the most part, I figure everything that happens under saddle is ultimately my responsibility, since the horse wasn't born with a human being sitting on its back, and since I know without question that even though my horses are trained to carry a rider, I am far from perfect at being in balance, giving clear and consistent cues, and rewarding them properly when they do the exact right thing I've asked.

Each time I get on my horses, I do the same thing I do when I open a new book. I allow myself to be willing to be amazed. I never get out of the saddle without expressing gratitude for the ride.

Just as in day to day life, where looking for the joyous moments brings grace and satisfaction and fulfillment, seeking the same when riding can be a path to transformation with a horse. If we seek the pitch-perfect places, however fleeting they may be, and build on them, we find softness and willingness and connection.