The River

Molly and I went into the river. Intentionally!

The first couple of times I hand walked her in following C. on Monet or Koda. When I first rode her in she displayed her usual caution by stopping, going to the left, then the right, and backing up. I kept tapping her with my legs and encouraging her. Finally she walked right up to the edge, stopped dead, and dropped her head low, staring down into the unknown depths.

It must be very disconcerting for our equines when we ask them to do new things. This is one reason it always knocks me out when Molly goes ahead and gives something a try. What is she knitting together in her mind, from all her past experiences along with her current observations?

What I finally did was keep her between my legs and hands and keep saying, "You can do it! I know you can!" while C. and her mount gave further support. And in we went.

Keeping your horse between your legs and hands is one of those bits of equestrian instruction that you read in every book and hear from every instructor. You may be thinking, "But she is already there!" or "If she's not there, then where is she?" or even just "Whaaat?" This is the first time it's ever worked for me. It seems like the type of thing you can't really do until you know how to do it. This is one of the mysteries and challenges of riding, this weaving together of an idea, a feeling, and a body over time.

I often think of all my instructors, who must have looked at me in my nervous, middle aged, poorly postured form and just sighed and got on with it. In the hours that they spent with me they were laying a good foundation for both my intellectual and physical development, but the going was so slow it often seemed like nothing was happening at all.  

Here's the river, without two equines and two humans to make a ruckus.

Fields

I thought I lost my cell phone the other day, so I retraced the steps of our last trail ride with C. and her other horse, Monet (eventually I found the phone at home). It was a nice stroll and I was able to take some pictures.

When we were growing up, our grandfather had some property, including two fields across the road from our house. He used to mow them every year using an old mower and a vehicle he had built himself (!) and named the Doodlebug. I thought this was amazing then, and even though I've since learned that other dads and grandpas did the same, I find it even more so now. Who on earth can build a car?

Our dad had the Doodlebug hauled to our house. When we sold the house, we had it taken away. It made me wonder yet again why everyone can't keep everything forever. It also makes me think of the days when everyone rode horses.

It was slow and strange to walk the trail that I usually ride. How great must it have been to buy a good horse and get to your destination faster and in more style? How long did your horse stay shiny and new? What kind of larger radius did you now travel in?

Large animals are a lot of work to own. Then as now, rich people could pay less rich people to do some of the work for them. But I imagine that most people did most of their own work. Most people must have kept one or more horses and cared for them. I sometimes get exhausted caring for Molly, even though C. is caring for her most of the week. I often wonder how people managed it. A smaller radius to travel? More children? A longer day and a shorter commute? Perhaps they tried to accomplish fewer things in a day, and still the days felt just as full as ours do.

Autumn Trail Ride

We went on a trail ride under tall pine trees with thick soft beds of needles everywhere. It was much like where I grew up. It was so quiet. We could hear a barred owl hooting.

 It was bright shade, so Molly wasn't scared. We were walking easily and together. Also, we were following C. and her horse Koda. I think that they trail ride with Molly and me for ballast.  Koda is extremely well trained, and Molly is pretty steady, so it works out.

Photo of oil sketch by Frederic Edwin Church, American, 1826-1900

Today Koda jumped a mud puddle and Molly lurched it, which was interesting. It was when we were turning around at another point that Molly found herself sinking into some mud.

We have practiced long and hard with puddles, which she assiduously avoids with side steps, back ups, and every other contortion possible before eventually going through them.

So I nearly panicked myself when I realized the mud was so deep she was sinking. We tried backing up but she couldn't push off from the front. Before I knew it we had turned together and managed to pull out that way. It was a triumph! I was so proud of her!

I'm so excited when we meet a challenge, and I always wonder how it will pay off in the future as well as what has lead up to it happening at all. How many things do we do now that we wouldn't have been able to do a year ago? Molly was a farm mule for perhaps 18 years, and she was not really interested in starting riding lessons with me. Even so, I pressed on. When we first started riding outside of lessons, without my teacher, we rode just around her pasture (with the gate closed!). I was really nervous, but in fact it was a very safe way to get started.

Shelter

Here's a picture of Molly's new shelter. This was a very generous Christmas gift last year from my sister, S. and her boyfriend, J. (I gave them each...a pair of gloves. *sigh*). Today it happens to be raining steadily, so I went up to the barn to see if Molly had decided yet to use the shelter. She hadn't. 

I put her halter on her and walked her into it, until she got the worried look. We stopped, praised, and petted for a couple of moments and then backed deliberately out.

I've tried this a couple of times in good weather, and she has made it all the way in and also managed to tolerate my tapping on the fabric sides. Then we backed out. As far as backing in goes, she eventually got one foot in and that was good for that day.

Other winters Molly has made do with only a winter weight blanket. We wondered what her previous winters in Pennsylvania were like. We wonder about the rest of her life, too. How she came by all her scars. Why she hates being in a stall. How her feet got to be so bad. Whether any of her 20 years were very good or very bad.

Though I love her and provide for her now, it would really be great if she had an owner who could get her a larger shelter and work her 3 or 4 times a week. Also who could get a full set of x-rays taken. Still, I'm always surprised that she does sometimes learn new things, even when she clearly doesn't want to at first. She's learned some groundwork tasks and has learned that even if she refuses my first request while mounted, she will eventually have to obey. 

I often wonder why she will learn one task and not another. One which I had anticipated would be nearly impossible turned out to be effortless. When I knew she would be moving, I was certain she would not load. At all. So I asked an acquaintance if we could practice with his empty trailer. A few times I just walked Molly up the ramp, paused, and backed her down. One day I asked him to stand by when I walked her all the way in. She walked right in and kept her composure as the trailer creaked and groaned. I literally could not believe it. He said she trusts me. I wonder about that a lot.