Today my son and I had trim lessons. We learned how to balance the heels, how to assess the sole, white line, and wall, how to address flaring, and we actually did the 3-week touching up on both the pony and Keil Bay.
The pony was not exactly thrilled that we were rasping and trimming his hooves. He was a handful for the front feet, rearing (a very controlled rear, more like a levade in hand than anything else) several times. I have no idea where this behavior came from, but it finally occurred to me he needed some in-hand work to get him focused and he was perfectly, and I do mean perfectly, behaved on the lead line as we took a few turns around the barnyard, walking, trotting, backing, halting, yielding, etc. Interestingly enough, after that bit of work, the hind feet were very easy and he was very well-behaved.
Keil Bay was his usual self. He took his hoof away a few times, bobbed his head a little, searched everyone for horse cookies, and fell asleep.
We stopped at two because that's honestly all I could do, even taking turns with my son. Our teacher/trimmer did lots of sketches for us along the way, and answered questions with terrific examples and explanations. We're fortunate to have not only a good trimmer but a wonderful teacher who is glad we want to learn and is happy to get down on the dusty barn aisle floor and guide us through the process.
I have some rasp marks on my left hand. I'm not sure what I did that made these, but they're like hash marks that barely break the skin. I wore gloves! I also must have held the rasp under my arm at one point and whipped it out too quickly - there's a 3-inch swath of rasp markings on the inside of my right bicep.
We'll do Cody on Friday and at least one donkey, and will probably leave Salina to her regular 6-week trims for now. With her arthritis she doesn't need us fiddling with her hooves - maybe when we get better at it.
It takes some strength, but more than that it takes dexterity with the tools. My son is much much better than I am already, since he has used rasps before in his woodworking and seems less nervous about making mistakes. He's careful, and very focused, but more willing to try what he's been shown.
This evening the pony gave a riding lesson and was the king of good ponies. I was surprised at his anxiety earlier in the day when putting his very healthy hooves into our novice hands. Although on some level I don't blame him at all!
I'm looking forward to the day when I can do this with even a modicum of confidence. But until then I'm excited to be learning more about the hooves and trying a new set of skills.
billie hinton’s camera-obscura:
life and lessons on November Hill Farm
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Friday, September 09, 2011
lessons in riding, 8: infinity
This morning someone sent me THIS LINK - it shows a keeper saying goodbye to his long-time elephant friend, and her incredible reunion with an elephant she knew from 20+ years ago. It also reveals the relationships humans can have with animals, as well as what we take away from them when we remove them from their natural families and environments.
I was in tears only a few seconds into the video. And I'm sure no one will be surprised when I point out that the same is true of horses and donkeys. They form attachments, have complex relationships, and it matters to them when those are broken by humans buying and selling and not always considering what it means to them to be shifted around that way.
The day got crazy and I had ten different errands to run and things to do. I started feeling a bit frenzied, like I wasn't all the way in my body any more. Around 6:30 this evening I decided it was in my best interest to go out and see if Keil Bay was up for a ride.
When I got to the barn he was in the back field, out of sight down the hill. I called out his name and instantly his handsome head popped up. "Come in and let's have a ride," I called out, and he picked up a big bold walk and in about a minute was at the gate to the barnyard, ready to oblige.
I knew I needed to get moving and groom quickly so I could get into the arena before it got dark. I often get lost in the grooming, and we enjoy that, so it's not a bad thing, but today I really needed to ride. Keil cooperated by lifting each hoof for cleaning before I even got to it. He craned around when I sang a song about the two of us dancing to the classical music on the radio. He was ready to go, just as much as I was.
In the arena I hopped on. There was no time to waste fidgeting with the mounting block. And then I was in the saddle. My feet found the stirrups and almost that quickly, I was grounded.
All the frenzy drained right out through the heels of my boots. I noticed a couple of huge horse flies swooping and warned them off. They left. We proceeded with a very relaxed walk. I had no desire to "train" or "work." I just wanted to find that nice place Keil Bay is so good at taking me to - where my inadequacies as a rider melt away and our shared crookednesses don't matter one bit.
The dressage markers are still stacked in one corner of the arena from my pre-hurricane prep, so we used the entire arena initially and just walked. Relaxed walk, with changes of direction across the diagonals, stretching and moving.
A small herd of deer emerged from the forest in our neighbor's yard, in full view, close to where the pony and Cody were grazing. Keil Bay looked and peered and then we turned the corner and he forgot they were there.
We gradually picked up the walk and moved in to the actual dressage "rectangle." We did a little leg yielding but mostly I wanted us to walk and get into a nice rhythm, as if we were on a stroll. I alternated between taking a little contact and going to the buckle, and in about 15 minutes Keil responded to the slightest touch of my legs with a trot.
About that time a V of geese flew right over us, low, so that we could not only hear the honking but heard the wings as well. I thought of Wendell Berry's poem. Quiet in heart and in eye clear. What we need is here.
Keil Bay let me know he was warmed up by becoming perfectly responsive to my legs. I only had to think of touching him with them and he went into his signature trot, on the bit, powerful, but very controlled. I sat. I didn't bounce. My feet hung almost weightless in the stirrups.
The moon is waxing and gibbous and it rose up over the tree line by the A end of the arena. Each time we came around I felt its luminance.
We moved into a very small bit of work on the 20m circle. And then we went out again, on the buckle, happy, in near darkness lit by the arena light and the nearly full moon, grounded.
In the barn Keil Bay stood in the doorway of the tack room and waited while I took off his bridle and his saddle. He was perfectly patient as I took off my helmet and put the whip away. He took his alfalfa pellets and his oats and lifted his hooves one by one on cue so I could check them. He stood while I brushed him down.
And even when we were done, and he was free to go, had been all along, he stood. We had our moment of stillness together and then I opened the barn doors so he could join Salina and the donkeys in the grass paddock.
I was in tears only a few seconds into the video. And I'm sure no one will be surprised when I point out that the same is true of horses and donkeys. They form attachments, have complex relationships, and it matters to them when those are broken by humans buying and selling and not always considering what it means to them to be shifted around that way.
The day got crazy and I had ten different errands to run and things to do. I started feeling a bit frenzied, like I wasn't all the way in my body any more. Around 6:30 this evening I decided it was in my best interest to go out and see if Keil Bay was up for a ride.
When I got to the barn he was in the back field, out of sight down the hill. I called out his name and instantly his handsome head popped up. "Come in and let's have a ride," I called out, and he picked up a big bold walk and in about a minute was at the gate to the barnyard, ready to oblige.
I knew I needed to get moving and groom quickly so I could get into the arena before it got dark. I often get lost in the grooming, and we enjoy that, so it's not a bad thing, but today I really needed to ride. Keil cooperated by lifting each hoof for cleaning before I even got to it. He craned around when I sang a song about the two of us dancing to the classical music on the radio. He was ready to go, just as much as I was.
In the arena I hopped on. There was no time to waste fidgeting with the mounting block. And then I was in the saddle. My feet found the stirrups and almost that quickly, I was grounded.
All the frenzy drained right out through the heels of my boots. I noticed a couple of huge horse flies swooping and warned them off. They left. We proceeded with a very relaxed walk. I had no desire to "train" or "work." I just wanted to find that nice place Keil Bay is so good at taking me to - where my inadequacies as a rider melt away and our shared crookednesses don't matter one bit.
The dressage markers are still stacked in one corner of the arena from my pre-hurricane prep, so we used the entire arena initially and just walked. Relaxed walk, with changes of direction across the diagonals, stretching and moving.
A small herd of deer emerged from the forest in our neighbor's yard, in full view, close to where the pony and Cody were grazing. Keil Bay looked and peered and then we turned the corner and he forgot they were there.
We gradually picked up the walk and moved in to the actual dressage "rectangle." We did a little leg yielding but mostly I wanted us to walk and get into a nice rhythm, as if we were on a stroll. I alternated between taking a little contact and going to the buckle, and in about 15 minutes Keil responded to the slightest touch of my legs with a trot.
About that time a V of geese flew right over us, low, so that we could not only hear the honking but heard the wings as well. I thought of Wendell Berry's poem. Quiet in heart and in eye clear. What we need is here.
Keil Bay let me know he was warmed up by becoming perfectly responsive to my legs. I only had to think of touching him with them and he went into his signature trot, on the bit, powerful, but very controlled. I sat. I didn't bounce. My feet hung almost weightless in the stirrups.
The moon is waxing and gibbous and it rose up over the tree line by the A end of the arena. Each time we came around I felt its luminance.
We moved into a very small bit of work on the 20m circle. And then we went out again, on the buckle, happy, in near darkness lit by the arena light and the nearly full moon, grounded.
In the barn Keil Bay stood in the doorway of the tack room and waited while I took off his bridle and his saddle. He was perfectly patient as I took off my helmet and put the whip away. He took his alfalfa pellets and his oats and lifted his hooves one by one on cue so I could check them. He stood while I brushed him down.
And even when we were done, and he was free to go, had been all along, he stood. We had our moment of stillness together and then I opened the barn doors so he could join Salina and the donkeys in the grass paddock.
Tuesday, September 06, 2011
Keith Cronin's terrific novel, Me, Again, launches tomorrow!
Check out the book trailer. This is one of those books I have waited for and can't wait to read.
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