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.

The Summer of 2014

This has been an amazing and important summer for Molly and me. Not only did we begin riding outside of lessons, but Stephanie and Duane sold the barn. They moved into a well deserved retirement, and Molly and I moved to another family farm a little farther away.

At this farm, she seems very happy. It's quiet and pretty, and she can see three other horses and four miniature donkeys.

We can walk through many of the fields, and she walks very well indeed. She even trots! Totally unbelievable. At Duane's arena, which was very nicely maintained, she was known for not trotting, and would slow down and moan when asked. After much suffering, she would trot slowly and more slowly, and halt immediately at the slightest excuse, looking very put upon. In the new fields, I asked for a trot and was nearly left behind when she popped right into it. She keeps going, too. It's like a different animal alltogether.

All of this walking has been good for me. I've been more conscious of my posture this year, both on and off the mule (and I am always surprised at how fast my body reverts to its slump). After many years studying books and videos, and all of my instructors pleading to "Relax your back!", the knitting together of posture, contact, and rhythm is finally beginning to make sense.

Relationships 1

My teacher, Connie, says that Molly is willing and smart. Molly adores Connie and has a healthy respect for her. Since Connie has been working with Molly--almost two months now--Molly has demonstrated noticeably more respect for me as well.

Of course, I think Connie is just great. She is a quiet and kind person, very sure of herself and quick to anticipate whatever the horses are thinking about doing. 

Connie has been giving me riding lessons on the barn's horses for a couple of years, all year round. This winter though, I found I wasn't looking forward to the snow slides off the roof and consequent spooks, nor to the bone chilling tacking up. So, she agreed to teach me some training methods instead.

Because I lack balance and coordination, riding is a challenge for me though it can be terrific fun. There is nothing like it in the world. I am looking forward to riding Molly, whenever it seems to us that she is ready. In the meantime, I'm studying up on Buck Brannaman and Tom Dorrance to learn more about the importance of ground work. You hear this all the time, but rarely see it practiced. 

Here is a picture that pretty much reflects our relationship as of very early spring last year:

At this time, we were doing a lot of grooming. Molly has always been very good about letting me groom her legs. Here she is standing still, which is good, and doesn't seem inclined to kick or bite me, which is also good. But her ears are back and she is not remotely interested in doing what I'm asking, either, which is for her to pick up her foot. This always took a long time while she mulled it over and shifted her weight this way and that before grudgingly lifting a foot and then slamming it down. At this time also, she was very difficult to lead and I was always nervous when bringing her to the barn. We did most of our work in her pasture. I really did not have the knowledge or experience to make much progress.

I hope that in those months, we at least became familiar to each other. She may have begun to see that I would not hurt her, either. So this was the start of our groundwork.

Molly is an old mule

Molly is an old mule who was bought by Stephanie and Duane at an auction in Pennsylvania, and then brought to their farm in upstate New York to live. Duane sometimes introduces me like this: "This is Marie. She's in love with my mule."

And it's true, I do love her. I love how her white hairs have now covered the scars on her soft muzzle. I love her smell, and her strong legs, her big eyes; how her ears sometimes flop and sometimes prick right up. I love her the way I love our kitty, who was left behind by a family, then lived with a mean boy for a short while, then was brought by my sister to our parents' house, and then from there to Dean and me.

I love the world of animals, which draws you in and turns you round.