I live in a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio. It may seem an unlikely place for a trail rider, but that is not the case at all. We have a park system that circles the city and is consequently called “The Emerald Necklace.” Within our great park, we have over 82 miles of bridle trails to ride. Anywhere you live in the county, you are less than a ½ hour away from the trails. Most of them are well maintained and easily accessible. There are plenty of boarding stables all along the perimeter of the park where hundreds of people, including me, keep their horses.
Typically, the trails are wooded. There are some hills, fields, marshes and a lot of creeks and rivers. My particular area is noted for a wide variety of lovely wildflowers and gorgeous views of the Rocky River. There is a large diversity of trees in the area, making the fall foliage spectacular. One particularly splendid spot is an old pine forest on the top of the valley. It changes dramatically with the time of day and the time of year. I never get tired of looking up at those awesome pines. Another thing about our trails is that there are plenty of great places for trotting and cantering, and we take advantage of it.
The downside of living in a very populated area is that we must share our trails with many people. I’m not just talking about other trail riders. If only it was that easy. We deal with heavy automobile traffic, pedestrians, joggers, dog walkers, bikes, cross country skiers, roller bladers and miscellaneous strollers, kite fliers, rocket shooters and even a bagpipe player now and then. Sometimes it gets rather stressful. We really have to spend a great deal of time with our horses to get them used to all the craziness out there. Our horses are that much better off.
Ranger and the River
By Ellen Daly
I have had a horse now for five years, and in this time, I have grown incredibly as a person. My horse, Ranger, has taught me more about my self and the world around me than many schools could have taught me. Not only have I personally learned how to learn, I also learned a great deal about how both humans and animals learn. Now when a problem erupts with my horse, I try to stand back and think first before I react. When I was a less mature rider, I had the “show him who is boss” attitude, and if he wouldn’t do it, I would make him do it. Darn it!
I never stopped to think that maybe he did not understand what I was asking, or that he might not be physically capable of it yet. I know that horses can be very lazy and stubborn at times. I now understand that it is our job to motivate them with positive experiences and occasional trickery. I have made immense strides and progress with Ranger simply by taking my time. A little step in the right direction is far better than a lot of steps around it.
Most riders tend to blame the horse for their problems—rarely stopping to consider themselves as the source of their troubles. As we all know, communication is the key to any successful relationship, but if people have difficulty communicating with one another, how can we expect to be successful with another species? Consider what would happen if an alien spaceship landed in your front yard, a friendly looking creature approached you and began to gesture in an obvious attempt to communicate. You certainly would not yell and punish him for not knowing your language. Instead, you would take great pains to find some common ground to start a dialogue. By reacting with an open mind, you would be responsible for world peace instead of a world war.
How many of us have had these world wars with our horses? But, come to think about it, a horse is not much different from that alien who is thrust into an all too-human world that bears little resemblance to his natural home. We are two different species from the same planet trying to communicate with one another in a variety of different manners. For the most part, horses talk to each other using body language and touch, while humans primarily use the spoken word. Bridging this gap between horse and human is our responsibility since we claim to be the superior race. Building this bridge takes incredible patience and observation for a race that likes immediate results.
I ran the gamut of this a last winter with my horse Ranger. Typically, he is a very reliable sort when it comes to trail riding and the many obstacles we face. He does spook a bit, but his spooks are typically the “jump back to get a better look at something” kind of jump. This makes sense because his eyes are set apart and a farther back of his head than most horses. He seems to need to lower his head to focus on something and often will jump back to get a better look at the many scary logs we pass. Having observed that physically Ranger doesn’t see the best, I try to be patient with his spooks.
I had recently moved Ranger to a new barn. In order to go down the trail, a river must be crossed within the first fifteen minutes of the ride. There is no convenient way to get around the first river crossing, and when the water is high or freezes, riding becomes very limited. Riding down the hill to the river and back is common for many of the riders in my neck of the woods. When the river thaws, we are all anxious to cross and go down trail, but often there is ice crusted on the edge of the bank making it look and sound funny to a horse. Horses that have been lived there for years are used to this, and many will crunch through the ice without a second thought. Of course, Ranger had not spent many years dealing with icy rivers, and on one particular day, along the bank of the river, he and I had a test of wills.
It was a rare warmish day at the end of December, and the river had thawed after a period of being frozen. I was excited about the chance to go down trail after such a long time of being limited to riding up and down the hill. We reached the bank of the river, and I noticed a crust of ice along the edge of the shale island that ran along the river. It was nothing much, and I knew Ranger could crunch through and cross with ease, but he was unconvinced and stalled just short of the ice. He was breathing heavy, and when I urged him forward, he took step and backed up—obviously very frightened. Ok, I thought, the water is a little high. Although I saw evidence that other horses had crossed, I decided to back off and save this ride for another day. I didn’t want to force the issue, fearing that I might create a larger problem by fighting with him. I nonchalantly turned him around and headed back home—planning to work in the indoor arena.
As we worked in the arena, all I could think about was the river, and I knew that I had to try to cross again. I didn’t want this problem hanging over my head for the next couple of days so, against my better judgment, we headed back down to the river. I thought of bringing a whip but decided not to, mostly because of laziness. I didn’t want to dismount and get one. I was determined to get this settled before if escalated into a major problem in my head.
I marched him right down to the bank and saw evidence that other brave horses had just crossed and broken some more of the ice. Okay Ranger, I thought, just cross now, and we will turn around and go home. Again, he had other ideas. When we were close to the river, he stopped in terror and spun around in an attempt to run toward home. I promptly stopped his mad dash and turned him toward the water again. He snorted and started backing away. I regretted not bringing a whip, but as my temper flared, it was probably best that I didn’t. I was angry that he wouldn’t cross because it was just a little bit of crunchy ice at the edge of a running river. I knew he was capable of doing it, but he absolutely refused. We stood for a couple minutes and regrouped. I tried again with no success. He just couldn’t get over the fact that it looked strange to him, and nothing I could do would convince him otherwise. I decided to walk him back and forth along the bank of the island as close as he would go to the edge. We did this for a while without a hoof touching the water.
He was upset, and I knew from past experience that once he gets upset it is very hard to reason with him. This has always frustrated me, but I have learned to work with it, except for that day when all common sense deserted me. It became a fight with both of us getting more and more upset as we marched back and forth. Every time he came near the water, he would jump and try to run away. I felt the anger rising inside of me. All I saw was my goal—get this horse across the river. I didn’t see that he was afraid. Finally, with both of us steaming from exertion and running out of time because I had to go to work, I gave up. We went back to the barn.
My normal partnership with Ranger had become adversarial, and it felt bad. I made sure that he was cooled off and went home thinking that I had ruined my horse, and we would never cross a river again. The more I thought about it, the more I saw the error of my action. I had been unfair to my horse; I hadn’t listened to him when he said he was scared. I went back to my old mode of thinking that he did this because he is being a jerk and was trying to make my life miserable. I realized later that he was communicating in the only way he knew how, and I was in too much of a hurry to listen. I had recently finished a book by a former head of the Spanish Riding School and had seriously begun to subscribe to his feelings on training horses. He had worked which a huge variety of animals in his career and his motto was "I have time". Upon reviewing any failed training effort with horses, I knew in my heart that most problems are caused by rushing to get quick results. I had learned to take my time to bridge the gap between species. I had succeeded wonderfully previously, but on that particular day, I failed miserably.
I took my time and thought deeply on how to proceed. I formed a plan based on a little advice and a lot of experience. I set a long-range schedule to take the pressure off of myself. I kept saying to myself that I have time, and I was resolved that I would take as much as I needed to achieve my simple goal of getting Ranger to willingly cross a river.
I set out to the barn a couple of days after the incident. I was ready and calm. I took my time grooming and saddling Ranger. He was happy so see me and eager to move. We worked in the indoor arena for a while stressing transitions—especially stopping and walking forward. I wanted no doubt in his head that when I said go that I meant it. I carried a whip that day but didn’t need it because he was so responsive and focused. Our arena time came to an end, and we started out of the barn toward the river. I had realized that by using the hill trip for cool down the last few weeks, I had contributed to the problem. I had been letting him stop on his own to watch things and wasn't really asserting my presence. This needed to change, and as part of my plan, we worked the hill instead of sightseeing. I had to make it a less pleasant place for him and proceeded by urging him into a marching walk instead of an amble. We would walk and stop on my command and never on his own accord. We went up and down the hill twice, working and paying attention the whole way.
Finally, we stopped at the riverbank. He was glad to rest. The ice had melted and everything was normal. He walked up to the water, stopped and refused to go near it. When I forced the issue, he started to backup in fear, I stopped him and we stood for a few minutes until he calmed down. I asked him to go forward again, and he did. I stopped him just short of the point where he had panicked before. I had armed myself with baby carrots in my pockets knowing that food can greatly motivate horses. Every time he took a step forward, he got a carrot. He began to think that the river was not such a bad place after all. When he was hovering a few inches from the water, I stopped him again and stood there for fifteen minutes—I timed it. We watched the water and other activities. Some other horses crossed the water, which upset him, but he wouldn’t follow so he missed out. After the allotted time, we trekked up the hill past home with me still demanding his attention the entire way.
Then we turned and headed back to the river. I marched to the water, and he still refused to cross. I began to feel at this point that it was more a case of being barn sour than fear because there was nothing for him to be afraid of anymore, but I let him go through his antics. We stopped and stood at the edge once again and watched the world go by. After another timed fifteen minutes, we went home. That was enough. I wanted him to think about this odd exercise we had done that day.
I went out to the barn the next day still holding on to my patience and glad that the weather was also holding because I wanted to get this lesson across to Ranger. We repeated what we had done the day before, but we stood by the bank for longer periods of time. It was down the hill and stand for twenty minutes then up the hill, then again down to the riverbank and stand for twenty minutes. The whole time we worked on going forward and paying attention. The third time down, we just stood. He was getting really bored of this standing by the river and decided to move toward the water on his own. With each step, I praised him and gave him a carrot. Once he put his head down and sniffed the water without of a bit of fear. As his boredom increased, he would swing his head around and sniff my feet. I talked to him and pointed things out around us. I was bored too. Then he started to shift from foot to foot, and again he put his head down to take a long drink from the water. I felt a warm positive feeling inside me, but still I waited before asking him to cross. I wanted to make a lasting impression to him.
Another rider came down the hill behind us, and I thought this is it—he will cross now. He will just follow the other horse. It was perfect timing. We exchanged greetings. Ranger was excited to see someone else. She started to cross, and I asked him to go. He stepped forward then stopped and started to back away, again refusing. My heart sank as I waved the other rider on, and we stood again on the bank. I checked my watch and decided to stand another fifteen minutes. This way we could both relax and get bored again. I have time, I thought, as I scratched his neck when he put his head down again.
The allotted time passed, and I gathered my resources to ask a final time before going home. At this point, I knew that it was more a matter of being barn sour, but I wanted to be careful because I understood how barn sour behavior could escalate. I was prepared for another refusal. I marched him toward the water. He must have sensed that this time was different so instead of just backing away, he tried to turn toward home and bolt. My instinct kicked in, and I spun him in a tight circle and booted him toward the water and with a tap of the whip, he was in the river. He proceeded calmly across to the other side with such praise as he had never had in his life. Once across, he received a handful of baby carrots, then I turned him around and we crossed back to the other side. As soon as we hit land, I dismounted, ran up the stirrups and loosened his girth. I petted him all over and gave him more carrots. We walked home side by side, both feeling awfully pleased and happy with ourselves. We went from the depths of confrontation to the height of understanding. We were a team again.
That weekend, the benevolent wind continued to blow and we had a wonderful time riding. He crossed river without hesitation, and a couple of weeks later when we were confronted with a similar icy build up along the riverbank. Ranger put his head down to look at the ice. Then with a word from me, he crossed with only a little trepidation. I knew then that I had achieved my goal. The gap had been crossed. We each had a point to make, and we each reacted in a natural way. When stood back and listened to one another, a common ground was found and understanding was achieved. After all, we both have the time to take with each other, and it is time well spent for the heart and soul.
Tendencies of the Typical Horse out on the Trail
By Judi Daly
Horses are definitely unpredictable animals, and that is what makes trail riding such a dangerous sport. Just the same, there are a few things that seem to hold true for most horses in most situations. Of course, there are always exceptions to the rules, and sometimes a predictable horse will do something very uncharacteristic. Here are a few things to keep in mind when you wonder how your horse will act in a particular situation. They can help you know what to expect and guide you to make safe decisions.
1. Horses will typically go faster on the way home than on the way out. Generally, horses are in a hurry to get back to the safety of their herd, food and rest. The closer they get to home, the faster they will go. There are exceptions to this rule. My horse, Mingo, doesn’t seem to vary in speed even on the last leg of the journey. He doesn’t believe in hurrying.
2. If you always do the same thing in the same spot, your horse will want to do the same thing in the same spot. If you ride the same trails often, the best thing to do is vary your routine. I’ve seen horses get very nutty at the bottom of hills that their owners let them run up. It creates a problem if there is someone riding down the hill, and you have to wait. Even an experienced rider like me falls into this trap. There are some particularly great places to canter on our trails, and we look forward to these places as much as the horses do. We will walk or trot in these spots every now and then to enforce some discipline. Sometimes this rule helps you out, though. If you always stop at an intersection before crossing, your horse is more likely to cooperate with you when you have to stop for traffic. An old friend told me about a horse he rode when he was a young man. They would get to a certain spot on the trail, and the horse would come to a dead stop. Nothing would get the horse to budge until you leaned back in the saddle as if you were taking a drink from a bottle. Here, the old man who usually rode the horse would always stop in that spot to take a swig from the flask of whiskey he carried with him.
3. Horses are harder to slow down or stop on the way back to the barn. Keep this in mind when you want to canter up to an intersection or some other obstacle. Just because he stopped well on the way out, there is no guarantee he will do the same on the way home. Give yourself more distance to stop or slow down.
4. The colder the weather—the sillier horse. Remember this if you are wondering how your horse will behave on a particular day. The colder the weather, the safer and more cautiously you should ride. I honestly couldn’t safely ride Cruiser on the trail when it was below freezing until he was six unless he was lounged or turned out first. Even now, at the age of 13, he can still be unpredictable when it is cold. Conversely, in the summer, Mingo is so quiet and slow, I could read a book while riding at a trot. Sometimes I think I could take a nap, but then he would probably stop to graze.
5. A horse that is ridden sensibly on trail will only improve. I put the emphasis on the work “sensibly.” A rider who “hotrods” her horse, abuses his mouth with bad hands, asks him to do things he isn’t ready for, allows him to act aggressively towards other horse, etc., can’t expect her horse to get better—only worse. With sensible riding, though, even a terrible horse will get better. I’ve heard it said that the best thing for a horse is a lot of wet saddle blankets. Just make sure it is sensible sweat.
6. If your horse has been cooped up for a while, turning him out to play, even for just a few minutes, will improve your trail ride. A horse that is deprived of time to play will take it out on you. I find that even if they have a few bucks in them but have the self-discipline to refrain from bucking, they tend not to be as cooperative. Once again, the weather will play into this. A cooped up horse in the cold weather is worse than one who is cooped up in the warmer weather.
February