A strange ride

We’ve had a busy weekend and so only managed to ride on Saturday morning. The horses seemed keen to go out despite the cold, drizzly weather. We rode into Coed y Wenallt in misty rain. The wood was quiet – probably because of the weather – and had an extraordinary atmosphere about it. It was not only quiet in the sense of being free of the usual sounds of walkers and dogs, it felt hushed – almost as if holding its breath or paused in time. Somehow the woodland felt exceptionally ancient on Saturday. As we rode along the trail I felt that we could have been any two horseriders from any period of history. I would not have felt surprised to have met a traveler in a long cloak or a peasant from times gone by.

The fallen tree in the picture has been lying a long time. We call this point on the trail ‘The Trees Graveyard’. Usually the bark shines silver in the sudden clearing, exposed to the daylight – but that day the tree bones look grey and dull, saturated by the fine rain.

Dee was rather tense for the first part of the ride – it was a little like sitting on a coiled spring. Fortunately she is not a horse that bolts and keeps running, so I know from experience that the worse I should expect is a sudden spin on the spot and a few paces of canter in the wrong direction. In fact she has actually never done this on a hack – only in the arena – and I was confident that she would most likely rather be going forward with Red than going home alone. I practised deep breathing, trying to focus my energy into the area of my navel, so that I would relax and communicate this to Dee, rather than becoming anxious myself. Red – as usual – continued at his steady pace, relaxed and unperturbed.

It was quite a while into the ride before I had any idea of what might be worrying Dee. She kept looking round and I felt she was hearing something I could not hear. However eventually I did start to perceive dog noises. As we arrived at the left turn on the trail that leads down to the stream we saw a man coming up from there with two dogs, both of which were pulling a lot and yelping as he held them by their collars. We rode on rather than going down to the stream in case it was the horses that was exciting the dogs. We continued to hear barking and yelping noises for a little while, but Dee started to relax now that we had seen the dogs. We did not go much further and turned round to head for home.

The wood was now silent again, with all sounds of the dogs having ceased, and we peacefully continued homeward. We met a walker coming towards us. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought it might have been the man we had seen with the dogs. Unusually for a walker on the trail he did not greet us or make eye contact. Then the strangest thought popped into my head – that he had been the man with the dogs, and that he had killed them and left them somewhere in the undergrowth. I’m not usually prone to morbid thoughts, and I don't know why I should imagine such a violent scenario, but there was something strange about the atmosphere of the wood that day.

Dee was completely relaxed and normal riding home, with all the tension of the earlier part of the ride having dissolved. I shall never know the truth of the situation, but I think I will always remember the strange atmosphere of that ride.

Finding confidence

I had a lovely ride yesterday evening with my friend on her mare, Ash (shown in the picture). Dee and Ash lived together at Ridgeway so they are good friends.

In fact the ride was quite magical, and I came home feeling elated. My friend now keeps Ash at a small livery yard just down the road from Wyndham, so when we ride together we meet at the end of Wyndham's track. If you are a regular reader you will know that my mare, Dee, will not hack out alone, and we always reach a 'point of no advance' when I try to take her out. Tonight, sure enough, we reached this point on the track.

Now I have been reading the Horsey Therapist blog and was intrigued by her June 26th post 'visualizing'. In this she describes counting her horse's hoof falls to aid transitions. As we approached the 'point of no advance' on the track, I started to count Dee's hoof beats out loud: "1, 2, 3, 4; 1, 2, 3, 4; 1, 2, 3, 4". When she stopped, I stopped counting. I let her stand for a few moments, and then started counting again at the same pace and in the same rhythm as her walk had been, gently tapping her sides with my heels on each count of '1', and moving my body a little as if we were walking forward again. After another few moments - which were noticeably more relaxed that usual at the point she naps - she walked forward a few paces. I immediately stopped tapping her sides, praised her and patted her, and then continued counting in time to her walk. She stopped again and I stopped counting. It was at this moment that my friend arrived, so I do not know whether I could have got Dee to walk on again, but she followed my friend's mare willingly.

We carried on with our ride in Coed y Wenallt with Dee following Ash. It was a beautiful evening with sunlight creating dappled patterns of brightness in the undergrowth. Apart from a few walkers and excitable dogs with pink tongues lolling out the sides of their mouths, the wood was quiet and full of the scent of wild garlic. We had a bit of trotting and cantering, and then I took the lead for a while, with Dee going ahead quite happily. This is not unusual - she has always been willing to take the lead during a ride, once we are actually out on the trail. We arrived at a point on the trail where there was a stile into a field in front of us and the horse track went off to the right at 90°. Dee stopped. Her ears were pricked, she was tense and snorting. She tried to turn back. We had hit another 'point of no advance'.

My friend is very understanding and willing to give me the time to try and help Dee through her napping. Usually she eventually has to take over the lead at such times, as Dee will walk on to follow Ash, but we decided to give Dee a bit more time last night and try the counting. I started to count. "1, 2, 3, 4; 1, 2, 3, 4 . . ." gently tapping with my legs. Dee dropped her head and started to walk forward, and then stopped tensely again. She took another couple of steps and stopped. All her attention was still strained in the direction of the stile and field. I gently pulled her head round to the right a little, leaned over and pointed up the track, saying "We're going up there Dee. That is the direction of the trail." I then recommenced the counting. Dee looked up the track and started walking again, this time without stopping, and with her stride gradually becoming more definite and confident.

This is a major breakthrough for us - for Dee to find the confidence, trust, relaxation, or whatever it was, to walk on, in the lead, from a place she had found so scary, where she has stopped rigidly, rooted to the spot. I have never succeeded in doing this before. She led for the whole of the rest of the ride and walked in a much more relaxed fashion than usual - even trying to grab a mouthful of fern here and there. I am so proud of her and so pleased. I don't know whether the counting made me more relaxed and she could feel this, whether it simply distracted her from her anxiety, or whether it gave her as means to find release from pressure. Whatever it was, I'm hoping that I can build on this little by little and eventually give her the confidence to hack out alone. Our relationship seems to have developed such a lot over the last couple of weeks - it is remarkable, and wonderful.

Relaxed view

There's been a bit of tension at our yard over the last few days. Person A and person B have not been getting on. Person A has made some sort of decision about the character of person B. The problem with deciding something like that about a person is that it fixes a view of them in our mind, and then there will be an unconscious tendency to encourage every interaction with that person to support our view. Anything that person says will tend to be allowed to add to our view of them, when even exactly the same words said by someone else would produce a completely different emotional response.

I try to live with a sense of every time I interact with someone being like the first time I have ever met them - setting aside any expectations, assumptions or prejudices on my side. I try to be open and fluid with whatever is passing between us. I also try to live the teaching I have received from my husband: always leave a person feeling happy that they met you. Over the years I believe I have got better at this and am more able to let go of the feeling that I have a right to vomit my self-referential, neurotic perceptions onto those around me.

Dee is a great reminder of treating each meeting as a new experience, because she is so different from day to day. I'm taking her down the lane on her own several times a week at the moment, to try and build up her confidence. On Tuesday it was quite windy, which means that the environment is more energetic, and everything is a little more scary than usual. Consequently I could not get Dee to go all the way down the lane, whereas earlier in the week we'd got right the way down and through both gates before we got to the 'point of no advance'. I no longer push her, as I know this will not work. It used to result in rearing, but we have overcome that. Now it results in backing without any regard for what danger we may be reversing into. So I just give her time and talk to her and try to make sure my body is relaxed and my breathing slow and deep. We sat there together for quite a while - Dee like a tight coil, ears pricked and snorting, and me trying to relax. Eventually she took two steps forward. I sensed they were going to be the only two, so I quickly praised her and turned her to walk back home. A tiny success, but hopefully we can build upon it.

I used to subscribe to a mailing on horse training tips. Their suggestion for napping was to make your horse work in the arena whenever they have refused to go out on the trail. So after our walks down the lane, when we have hit that point where she will not move forward, I always take her into the arena and make her work a little. I never take her into the arena after a hack out with another horse. Perhaps she'll make the connection one day. She definitely enjoys hacks, but just can't find the confidence to risk it alone. Hopefully one day I shall be able to give her enough confidence in just being with me that we can make it out on our own.