Oy, I guess it's Saturday, which is Schooling Race day. Nothing going on there for me, luckily. Used to be fun barreling out of the gate at full speed with a pack of unseasoned horses (and riders for the most part) just to see "how it goes" for the one you're on. And in fact, it can be fun if business is otherwise slow. I mean if I am feeling good and my fitness is sufficient to respond to any exigency, it’s still a thrill. To further qualify that statement I should add that you have to have confidence in the horse, though. So here’s where a discussion of he said she said on the degree of “broke “ that a mount might be.
For the most part I gallop horses I know, especially since the one that are based here are my regulars, and I rarely have time to get any outside horses. But it happens often enough that someone who ships in or someone whom I have done some small job for in the past brings in a green horse that one way or another I wind up getting on.
Of late it’s Goshdang Idiot (I can;t say the real name). He has two green horses that “ought’ to be going together. Mind you this is something difficult to get going – unless you pay more – because lining up two riders at the same time can be costly for one or both- time is money for riders. He asks me to get on one of them - a filly - and as I round the corner of the receiving barn to her stall, he explains to me that when
he puts a rider on a horse “it’s broke. Ah don’t put nobody on no horse that ain’t broke.... See, ah use’ to rahd, and ah wout’n put nobahdy on no horse that I wout’n get awn mahself.”
(Right. Maybe when you were twenty. And anyway, back then broke had a different connotation in these here - and most other - rural parts)
“I’m gonna give you twenty dollars, but she ain’t no twenty dollah horse. You’ll see; when you come back you’ll tell me she’s broke. Now, what ah want you to do is go as
eeaaassy as you can and I want you to tell me how she feels, okay?” All this I’m taking in without saying anything because broke is in the senses of the breaker – at least for the purpose for which it is being used here, which is in essence, if she throws me over the outside fence she at least was broke in his mind and he cannot be held responsible for what happened. And maybe he’s right, but he’s from somewhere else, like Oklahoma or something, where a horse can run for miles without running into any solid objects like the outside fence of a racetrack. Maybe he doesn’t make such (miniscule) distinctions.
OK, let’s go” I say. And he legs me up – in the stall, which I hate. To me, that means the horse isn’t broke enough to be outside the stall, where there is more room to run and more things to run from. But I hate the stall- goshdang it’s close in there, and me fear of a horse going over backward into the wall and breaking everything from my T-7 on down is not a good thing to possibly transfer to a young, green, and possibly nervous or frightened young horse.
Anyway, up we go without incident beyond the fact that Idiot’s strength has ebbed with age and I have to do a bit of climbing to get up there (she’s broke to climb, anyway, I think to myself). “Don’t let me run you over” I say as he exits in front of me.
Down the hill we go. At Mountaineer Park, there is no pony path to speak of. It’s all concrete from barn to track. If you fall you fall hard.
We pass a 12 foot high fence made of two-by-somethings and scary blue tarp without too much apprehension (construction hasn’t begun on the other side yet) and navigate behind a couple of other horses and riders toward the racetrack. Her steps are a bit hesitant; she has no shoes on. My first thought is her feet probably hurt. Her toes are square, about seven inches wide where the sides flare out, but short to the point of appearing dubbed off at the apex of the toe. When she hits the racing surface and I ask her to jog, she throws her heard up, then down in a circular motion; she isn’t happy about going forward.
Now, see, a broke horse, in my opinion, will still go without that wringing head. Why? Because the broke horse has confidence in a rider. O.K. maybe the toes are stinging, but the behavior will be more – and I’m not saying or intending submissive – respectful (there’s a huge difference, and respectful is the only way, if the horse is to have a successful career in racing, or anything, for that matter.) A broke horse will more likely demonstrate a compensatory behavior such as carrying their weight on the back end, or warming up very slowly, in obvious pain.
If the two horses were to speak English, the broke horse would be saying “okay, I’m not able today, but I am willing to at least try as you request.” And the Norwood horse would say “GODDAMMIT! MY FEET HURT! WHERE’S THE NEAREST EXIT?” and that’s about it. No communication with the rider. What rider, in fact? So there you go. To an unbroken or minimally broke horse, the rider is not a factor; just an irritation, and if the feet hurt, just an added irritation.
So at this point we’re on the track and beginning a stilted jog. The head is high, the ears are pricked forward and the whole body is taught as a bowstring; not an auspicious beginning. Certainly not unbearable, though. At least seven of ten are just like this, so we ask for a little forward motion with a heel tap. And so we go on, this first day, with a few crow hops until the kinks are out and the foot pain has been forgotten in the wake of a battery of stimuli; strange horses everywhere, huge structures looming into view, machines whizzing by, and pure open, empty space with no cover or companionship to sooth the anxiety of being completely alone with a rider pouncing all over and kicking.
You get the idea, then, that being “broke” might include being habituated to some of this stimuli prior to being asked to perform publicly?
Not to mention the response to a tug on the lines.
And what do I mean by this?
When I was learning about breaking horses, all of the equipment I used had a purpose. That equipment included a yoke, or martingale, and a set of “rings” that, properly adjusted, set the reins (and thus, the bit) in position to go no higher than the horse’s withers, no matter where the rider’s hands are. You have to see the effect in order to understand it, but the purpose is twofold at least: first, it’s lateral control: Monte Forman put it best; that
a horse follows his nose. The rings assist in placing the horse’s nose where you want the horse to go. Without rings, a horse can raise his head as high as he or she want to in order to avoid feeling the pressure of the bit on the bars of the jaw, which is where the rider wants it.
With rings, if the horse should raise his head, the bit is still anchored in such a way that it cannot be grabbed in the teeth, but will be felt on the bars of the jaw. This gives the rider more control over the horse.
The second
really good reason to have rings is that they offer better stopping power as s rule. Since they place the bit in an optimal position, the rider need not have direct contact with the horse’s mouth. The weight of the reins alone is what the horse feels at any normal relaxed pace. The rider can sit down and relaxed in the saddle and allow the reins to be long, or better said, ‘allow the horse more rein’ (which equals more freedom). If the horse begins to go too fast, the rider need not change position or shorten the reins, necessarily; by simply pulling back on them in a give and take fashion, the communication to slow down or stop can be given without undue and constant pressure on that sensitive part of the mouth that riders like to keep sensitive. And here’s the thing about it: if the rider’s hands go up higher in the air, the horse’s head will not, because the reins have that optimal setting.
It’s not good for a horse to go forward with its head in the air, or stargazing, as it’s called. That would be like you walking or running while looking at the clouds. You can trip over yourself. Same for a horse, though perhaps not to the same degree. But there’s the thing: If the horse goes too fast, and the rider pulls on ringless reins, the horses head goes up (more often than not) and the horse’s balance is compromised. That’s dangerous and undesirable. With the rings on, this cannot happen. The benefit to a green horse that a set of rings provides cannot be overstated; it teaches them to keep their head placed in a position to receive positive communication from a rider, while minimizing miscommunications and avoidance of communications. It also keeps their head positioned so that the rest of the body is balanced beneath the riders' seat. It helps the horse develop its balance properly so it has less chance of injury.
That's something riders should figure out early- a green horse will relax faster if it’s head is not in the air. You get their head down, and they discover the balance they need to develop, and they understand signals to guide (left and right) much faster. The whole picture of this crazy immovable panther pounce suit (saddle and bridle) that they’re wearing makes a bit more sense. They get confident faster. They learn good behavior easier and faster. They learn fewer bad habits because they have fewer opportunities to engage in them.
This baby horse that I’m on,
supposed to be broke baby horse, throws her head up every time she feels my hand on the reins. In order to deliver any kind of message- any kind of guiding, or any directive of any kind, she has to accept my pressure on her mouth, which she hasn’t done yet. Picture this; on a racetrack there may be twenty or thirty other horses flying around at all speeds, pounding the surface like drum rolls before an explosion, and going both clockwise an counter-clockwise. A horse that receives no message is essentially a loose horse- it goes where it decides to go. If the chips are down and the horse thinks it needs to run away, it will- in any direction it is drawn or driven to; to follow another horse, or escape from another horse- without regard for traffic safety.
Around the course we go: a bit jolting at times, a little spook from a shadow on the ground, head cocked toward potential danger and occasionally rickocheting like a pinball for a mile and a half. When the first day is over, nothing, to my mind, has been accomplished. It’s what most of us call ‘gettin’em around there’.
“He can get‘em around there, alright,” we say; meaning they don’t have to be controllable- so-and-so can get them a mile and a half without getting either one hurt, and the horse will have gotten its exercise. This is something that mainly risk-taking young cowboy types don’t mind being known for, because it usually brings in more money (another famous saying is “that’s a twenty-dollar horse”.)
So we get around there the first day and by all appearances, she is broke, at least Norwood broke. Being aware that he cannot view it the same as I do I suppose it has to do. I explain that she was OK, except she did feel a bit like her feet might hurt, mainly because of the way she jabbed her fron ones and threw her head (like "good, Idiot-broke" horses do to tell their riders something isn't quite right...) But then the next gallop day comes- a few days later.
Just by the way, this is the ship-in type of horse. A green horse ought to be ridden every day, a little bit. Keep them fresh enough to be positive about the experience but tired enough to keep from getting too rambunctious. Young horses are playful by nature and need not be punished for cavorting; however, the goal should be to keep the inadvertent cavorting to nil. Keep them busy and they won’t have time to dream up alternates to your plan. Ship-in horses rarely are ridden every day. They live on a farm and are either turned out and chased with a whip, or jogged on a walking machine or on one of the new “equiciser” or “eurociser” machines (which are huge round or elliptical arenas designed like walking machines only with stalls instead of tethers for the horses, so they can carry themselves in their natural balance.) Green horses that ship in this get less contact with humans, and generally develop slower mentally than they develop condition-wise.
So this ship in baby is lucky to see a rider every second or third day. Getting fitter by the day, but not smarter. So the few days later, this fitter horse returns, and once again I’m astride.
We get to the track. We start of, gingerly once again, and once again with a head wring and a head duck combines with a little crow hop, communicating resistance in her own little way. The following few paces went stiltingly, head a little low, rider trying to stay relaxed and loose enough not to communicate any bad vibes. “C’mon, Boo Boo; you can do it; c’mon, ttsschch, scoo-scoo..” A few more steps and her head raises up, only to see an oncoming predator at two o’clock (the outside fence). Just another horse, really, but the combination; no lateral control (because no rings) a little foot pain, a little more condition and a little less education; and no confidence (because there's been no way for the rider to establish dominance while demonstrating that only what comes naturally is being requested) and in two seconds we’ve parted company.
If you could see this, this is how it looked:
Filly is wringing head and trotting, oblivious to anything outside of her feet or her resistance to this stranger on her back, or whatever thought is in her head. Then filly raises head to look around (for any horse –related reason) and sees the approaching figure. Filly freezes momentarily; sucks (drops shoulders and weight goes to the hind end) back and dives leftward, away from the potential danger.
Rider loses stirrups; stirrups hit filly on the belly, causing fear. Filly bolts to the inside, and stirrups bang harder; filly tries to buck stirrups away, still swerving slightly, and rider (myself) loses balance and slips to the right.
On that cue, filly ducks even more left and heads for the inside rail. Rider bails, both from an inability to rescue herself from her compromised situation and also seeing the approaching rail and supposing that the horse may not. One last leftward leap and the rider goes off and rolls under the rail. Horse heads off in the direction from which she came.
The call goes out to shut the gate and the horse is caught. I get back on and this time give her a double blast in the ribs with my heels, repeatedly, so that she runs forward instead of bucking. Forget going as easy as possible. Screw what the trainer wants to do. If she were mine I’d have taken her two miles, but she’s so fat I don’t want to hurt her. But then again, if she were mine, she wouldn’t be out with the grownups yet anyway.
By the time we return I conclude that another day has gone by with the horse learning only one important lesson, and one that we’d all like to keep her from learning; "If I buck, I might get that pesky rider (the one that’s making my feet hurt even worse) off my back."
Idiot says; “I never seen her buck before”. I say to myself well, it might be her first, but now it won’t be her last. And every day since then she has tried me at least once. So he asks me on the third or fourth day, since he’s “not doin’ very good right now” if “she’s still a twenty-dollar horse”.
“For a fifty year old woman?" I ask. You bet your ass!! Get some young punk out there on a horse you want to ruin anyway. I did my free stuff when I was riding races. Now I deserve top dollar for giving a dang and putting up with the
less-than-optimal circumstances under which I am doing this work. That pays for my workers’ comp.
Do you get the idea that this fellow’s horse might not exactly be “broke?”
It’s called 'breaking' because that’s mostly they way it played out in frontier times, I suppose; the horse was ridden into the ground; sometimes surely encouraged to buck until it learned that bucking was no use, the riders would prevail no matter what. If it bucked one off, another would get on it until it was tired, or whatever it took for the horse to give up.
But breaking is not and never needs to be a stressful situation for a horse. To me the most important things in breaking a horse is understanding what its temperament is and then serving it exercise and communication that complements its physical and mental characteristics in such a way that it develops confidence in itself and in it’s relationship with a person.
That begins with treating it with respect and forethought for its well- being. Don’t ask a young horse to do anything when it’s in pain of any kind. Don’t teach it one thing and the next day throw ten at it (i.e., break it in a stall at the farm, take it around the paddock once or twice, then bring it into the track and expect it to know which direction to go and what to focus on if it becomes afraid.)
Don’t leave communication up to chance if you can avoid it; set a horses head in a rig or drive it for fifteen minutes a day to give it the experience that pressure on the bars of the jaw means something like stop, and steer left or right. Put it in a round pen until it responds to these signals instantly and does so with confidence and pride. You can tell what a horse is feeling if you just pay attention. If you don’t, he won’t either, and when the chips are down, someone could get hurt because he won’t look to the rider for guidance.
That's all for now, except for one thing; how I one way or another wind up doing stuff that I later decide I shouldn't have gotten involved in. Here are few of these scenarios:
Scenario #1: some stranger ships in, into the receiving barn and hails me as I am walking by to another account. “Got time to get one?” They ask, and I answer yes like an idiot if I am not too busy, without considering the source of the request.
Scenario #2: Some trainer I know asks me to please get on a horse today because “my rider didn’t show” (and later we know why).
Scenario #3: Some agent or other exercise rider asks "can you get on one for me?" It’s Mattress Megan’s – " I got on her once and she didn’t do anything wrong; but she ships in at 9:30 and I have to be at Stinky Paul’s then so I can't get her myself."
Anyway, that's all for now. Gotta go take Idiot's horse to the gate. His son is supposed to go with me on its buddy... Say a little prayer for me, will you?
