He walked up to the arena and vaulted the fence gracefully, landing softly in the sand. He strode over to the lady who was now loping her horse in a small circle. He was undeniably in charge.
Oh my God, I thought. This is going to be good. I glanced around at my fellow clinic-goers. I could see them all thinking the same thing.
Lawrence
I walked up to the first rider I was supposed to teach. Her horse was built strong and fat. He was going around on a tight circle, barely going really. He picked up his feet and set them down in a way that suggested a canter, but he was covering no more ground than if he’d been walking slowly.
I shifted my gaze to the rider. She was maybe in her late forties, of average height and somewhat out of shape. And she appeared to be working harder than her horse. She dug her heels further into his sides every stride and rode stiffly, out of his rhythm, rocking back and forth to keep him going. The reins were taut, I saw. She was holding tightly to the substantial curb in the gelding’s mouth.
My mind was working now. Okay. Older rider, probably nervous. Conflicting aids. Dull horse.
She saw me then, and pulled her horse down. He stopped jarringly and rooted, dropping his head straight down. She wrestled it back up and held it there.
“Hi,” I said brightly. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Rita,” she said. “And this is Bud.”
“Okay, great,” I said. “What would you like to work on today?”
Rita paused. She was nervous. “I don’t know…you’re the clinician, I thought you’d just tell me what to do.”
I nodded. “I will. But I need to know something about you first. That way I can tell you things that are more helpful to your situation.”
“Okay,” Rita said, warming slightly. “What do you want to know?”
“What is your main problem with your horse?” I asked. “The thing that gets in the way of what you’d like to achieve the most.”
She didn’t have to think on that. “His laziness,” she said. “I got into riding two years ago. I’m not a kid, and I didn’t want a horse with too much energy. He’s a great horse. He’s never given me a reason to be afraid. But I have to do so much just to keep him moving. It’s not fun anymore.” Rita looked down at Bud and scratched his withers. It looked almost like an apology.
I looked at them for a moment. The situation seemed pretty straightforward. But I didn’t yet trust my ability to convey the solution to Rita. I needed to feel what was really going on with that horse, and what needed to happen.
“Can I get on him for a minute?” I asked Rita.
“Okay,” she said, dismounting carefully. Bud shook himself awake and started nosing her. “I don’t have your Good ‘n Plenty right now,” she said, laughing.
I went over to Bud’s saddle. I didn’t know a thing about western tack. “You’ll have to let these stirrups out a little, I think,” I said, skirting the issue entirely.
Rita quickly adjusted the stirrups. I realized I didn’t have my helmet. Oh, well. I think I’ll be safe enough on Bud, I snickered inwardly. Then I remembered the whole Maude incident.
“Hey, can I borrow your helmet?” I said to Rita.
A minute later I was on Bud. The western saddle and his stout build made me feel like I was riding a boat. Sitting on sixteen inches of leather, I couldn’t feel a damn thing. The horn and high cantle held me in place. I couldn’t even move my legs, the stirrups were so rigid. This is insane. How can people ride like this?
Bud’s walk was achingly slow, and he leaned on the bit even when I let the reins out to give him more freedom. His sides were less responsive than a brick wall. This isn’t working. Bud was completely, utterly desensitized to leg aids. I gouged him with my heels, I thumped him, booted him and wrapped the end of the reins around his flank. He didn’t take one quick step.
I stepped off. My mind was whirring. I needed to find some way to get through to him. I had to change what I was doing, enough to shock him into action.
Without thinking I found the cinch and disconnected it. I pulled the bridle over his ears; Bud let the bit drop from his mouth. Then I hauled the saddle off his back and threw all Rita’s tack off to the side. She watched all this, a slightly panicked look on her face.
I looked up at the line of people at the rail. “Can anybody get me a halter and lead?” I asked pleasantly.
Six people stared. Erica grinned and took off for the barn.
Erica
I climbed over the rail and jogged over to Lawrence. I handed him the halter and lead. We looked at each other for a second with total understanding, and then he slipped the halter onto Bud. I turned around and went back to the line of auditors. Their faces expressed various degrees of shock and total confusion.
“What is he doing?”
“Why didn’t he just get after that horse? All it needs is a firm correction.”
“I don’t understand…why did he take all the tack off? He doesn’t even have a whip!”
“He’s totally lost,” said one girl dismissively.
I looked at her. “He’s not,” I said.
Lawrence had Bud haltered. He stepped forward, leaving the lead slack, not cuing the horse in any way. Bud followed him. At least he knows how to lead. That’s something.
Lawrence reached back and gave Bud a pat. Then he broke into a jog. Bud kept walking. He hit the end of the lead and started to lean. Lawrence whipped around and stepped aggressively at Bud. The gelding stepped back in surprise. Lawrence kept at him, upping the intensity. Bud began to take quicker steps, scrambling backward. His expression was shocked and unsure, but his feet were moving.
Lawrence took the pressure off, walking forward again. Bud walked alongside him. Lawrence glanced back, taking a step toward Bud’s hindquarters. The gelding moved them away. I felt a grin on my face.
Lawrence praised the effort, and tested him again, jogging in place. It took a moment, but Bud began trotting. Lawrence jogged him a few steps, then went back to walking. He repeated the transition many times, moving around the arena with Bud responding more quickly each time.
Finally they halted, and Lawrence swung onto the gelding’s back. There was a murmur around me.
Lawrence
Bud’s spine was nonexistent, buried under muscle and fat. He was like sitting on a couch. No sharp withers jutted out threateningly. Damn. This is nice.
I sat there for a moment, totally still. I had given Bud nothing to lean on, no layers of leather to dull my aids. I changed it up as completely as I knew how. I still didn’t know if he would listen to me.
I didn’t touch him with my legs. It was my hope that he wasn’t quite as dull to seat aids. It was my only hope. I took a breath and started gently moving my hips.
With the saddle gone, I was right on his back. From here I could feel his every move, every subtle shift of muscle and bone. So when I felt the first little tremor of movement from him I took the pressure off and praised the hell out of him.
Erica
The air around me was incredulous and quickly turning angry.
“What the hell is this?”
“What is he rubbing on him for? He didn’t even move!”
“I can’t believe I cleared my schedule for this.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just give it a minute. For God’s sake, would you rather see him beating on that horse? Spurring it bloody? Would that be more visually exciting for you?”
Several heads turned to stare at me. “What’s with you?” One woman asked. “Are you, like, his disciple, or something?”
My eye shifted, distracted by movement in the arena. Bud was trotting smartly forward, a delighted look on his face. Lawrence’s legs hung loosely at his sides. The lead shank was draped carelessly over Bud’s withers.
I turned back to the woman. “No,” I said, smiling. “I’m his trainer.”
Lawrence
I lifted Bud into a canter with my seat one more time. Just in case anybody had been doubti
ng my awesomeness, you know.
Then I asked him to halt. When he did I slid off. I patted him once more and then went to find Rita. Bud followed close behind, sniffing me. He was probably still looking for candy.
Rita was off in a corner. I walked up to her, looking into her face. I saw amazement and trepidation there.
“So.” I said. “I’m sure there are some things you want to talk about.”
“Do you think I should sell him?” Rita asked. She looked a bit teary-eyed.
I shook my head emphatically. “No. You don’t need to sell him, Rita. This is a good horse for you. He’s kind, and he’s very safe. He never did anything wrong today, even when I opened every door. He clearly likes you, too. This is a training issue. That’s all it is. You can fix this.”
She looked at Bud in unwilling relief. “How?”
“Before you ride him again, you need to take some lessons on another horse, preferably a well trained schoolmaster with more energy than Bud. You need to get comfortable on a horse. You’re a strong rider, Rita. I mean, I couldn’t even get Bud to trot without totally blowing his mind and confusing the hell out of him.”
She laughed.
I went on. “You can do what I just did today, Rita. You have the ability. You just need to realize it.”
She sniffed, smiled and nodded. “Okay.”
“Call me if you need any more help,” I said. “But you won’t. Not from me.” I handed her the lead shank. “Now go give that horse some Good ‘n Plenty.”
Erica
The morning was over, that much I knew. I wasn’t really keeping track of time. I stood at the rail, leaning in, fully absorbed. None of the previously disgruntled onlookers had moved.
He had a style, a clear method that was apparent even with the wildly varying horses and riders. He was efficient, almost to the point of abruptness. He was respectful and charismatic, even when he made people look and feel stupid. He taught with the same decisive flair I’d seen all along, and the effect was visually stunning.
With each new horse and rider, Lawrence went in and went after the problem, addressed it in the first breath. There was no stepping back and watching the rider trot around while he gave directives. He rode every horse, which is often the only way to find out what is going on. He played to his strengths and deftly exposed weaknesses.
The okay to good riders, he put back on their horses and worked them through whatever issues they had. He didn’t try to force the truly inept, frozen or clueless ones into a high-pressure breakthrough. Instead he took them aside, away from the straining ears of the auditors, and told them what they needed to do to keep from screwing up their horses any further.
And that frustrated some of the vultures. I recognized them. I knew their type. They were the kind of people who went to clinics just to see the fireworks. The train wrecks. The carnage that was the by-product of pressure and fear.
“God, I wish I knew what he was telling her,” a woman said. She stared hungrily at Lawrence’s back.
“It’s so annoying,” another girl whined. “He should really make it more accessible to the auditors.”
I was trying not to run my mouth again. I was really trying hard. “It’s not all about you,” I muttered under my breath. “She’s the one who paid for the lesson. She’s the only one who matters right now.”
The girl was nodding along with what Lawrence was telling her. She was small and mousey, a timid rider who was soft and kind with her horse, who unfortunately was taking advantage of her kindness. At least sixteen three, he was powerful and wickedly opportunistic. The combination was potentially lethal.
The mentality of most trainers was that they had to get results, and fast. They were given a short window of time, 30 days, a weekend or an hour, and they were expected to produce results that the owner, whatever their knowledge or lack thereof, could clearly see and be satisfied with. So they learned to work faster. It always had to be faster, better, more perfect. And that led to pushing.
I wouldn’t push. I refused to, which was probably the main reason my career was flat lining. And Lawrence, for reasons that likely ranged from naiveté to honesty, wasn’t pushing. He’d had a serious discussion with that big Warmblood. He’d shown the girl how she needed to deal with her horse. But he didn’t expect her to be able to do it right then, with everyone watching. He gave her the strategy, and then he took the pressure off and left it up to her. He trusted her to be able to take the right step. Maybe she wasn’t the most capable person right now. Maybe she needed to be screamed at and pushed and bullied into a breakthrough. Some people do need that. But he had shown he believed in her, and that can be an empowering thing to know.
I saw the girl thank him. He gave her an encouraging pat on the back and then went to the next rider.
I kept watching as she led her horse out. He started to pull ahead and crowd her. She stopped him and backed him up.
I smiled. She learned something. She took control. It was subtle, just a small thing. Everyone around me missed it, but I didn’t.
Lawrence
Amber had filled the entire day with back-to-back lessons. She hadn’t even carved out a lousy half hour for lunch. I’d been forced to steal five minutes just so I could inhale a sandwich.
I was hiding from Amber, but she still tracked me down in about 30 seconds. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m eating,” I growled. “I can’t be awesome if I’m dead.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. You used to work twenty hour days on like no food.”
“Those days are over.” I chewed another bite around the words.
Amber’s hands were shaking in kind of an alarming way, but she looked fine otherwise. “So how are you doing?”
“I’m awesome.” I grinned stupidly at her. “Turns out I can teach.”
“Fabulous,” Amber deadpanned. “I should tell you I picked out easy ones for your first few lessons.”
“Thanks,” I said, wavering between sarcasm and actual gratitude. “Bud was hardly easy, though. He could’ve made me look really stupid.”
“He did,” Amber said. “And then he made you look crazy. Did you ever get him moving? I didn’t see the end.”
“Oh yes,” I grinned at her. “I got him moving.”
“That’s a relief.” Amber turned to go. “You should get out there. Your next horse is waiting. And this one’s gonna be difficult.”
I glanced up from the last corner of my sandwich. “What’s wrong with it?”
“I dunno. Probably nothing.”
My eyes narrowed. “Then what’s wrong with the rider?”
“Too much to say.”
Lawrence
I opened the arena gate and stepped through, closing it behind me. It didn’t make for a great entrance, but I was suddenly feeling the need to conserve energy. The “difficult” rider was already warming up. Her horse’s head was tucked in; the reins looked tight even from a distance. His movement was stilted, almost like Bud’s had been, but this horse was moving quickly. He was rushing.
The rider was looking down at her horse’s neck, but eventually I caught her eye and she rode up and halted. “Hi. I’m Lawrence,” I said.
“Bethany,” she said back. I didn’t really get a sense of her, except that she was aggressively professional and seemed tightly wound.
I looked at her horse. He was a light bay, clearly well bred. His head showed quality, and the eye that flickered nervously at me was intelligent and deeply set.
“Tell me about your horse.”
“He’s an approved Hanoverian, bred for dressage. I imported him from Germany six months ago. He was just started under saddle when I brought him over. My trainer, Greta and I have been working hard on him.”
“I see. How old is he?”
“Four.”
I reached out slowly and laid a hand on his shoulder. The gelding’s skin twitched but he didn’t move out of place. I noticed the two reins, and my eyes followed th
em up to the double bridle, snaffle and curb. That’s a lot of hardware. I wondered if Bethany had a good reason for it.
“You’re a dressage rider,” I said. There wasn’t really any question there.
“Yes,” Bethany replied.
“Do you show him?”
“Yes.”
I grasped for my limited dressage language. “What level are you showing?”
“First Level.”
I knew enough about dressage for that to raise up a red flag in my mind. Almost automatically I glanced over at the auditors and saw Erica shaking her head.
I turned back to Bethany. “Why don’t you take him through his paces?” I said to her. I didn’t ask her what she wanted to work on, because I pretty much already knew what was going to need fixing.
Bethany moved her horse away from me. I watched him carefully. His walk was tight and short, with very little movement through the neck and head. She took him up to a trot quickly. He wasn’t tracking up and his legs swung stiffly through the air. The joints weren’t flexing. There was no engagement. The canter was tense and strung out.
Bethany wasn’t riding her horse. She was riding her horse’s neck, using up all her energy on keeping him in a fake frame. There was a pretty arch in his neck, sure, but the rest of him was all over the place. Bethany never looked up from his neck or strayed from the 20 meter circle she’d put him on.
The gelding shied and broke his gait for a moment. I saw Bethany put her spurs into him, and I saw him freeze up. His teeth clacked against the two bits, and I heard the dull, metallic sound of his teeth grinding together. I motioned for Bethany to stop. I had seen enough.
“Step down for a minute,” I said to her. “I’d like to ride him.”
Training Harry Page 44
