Throwback: A Zig and Zag
My trainer knew a lot of horse people. He had worked with Mark Rashid in his younger years, before moving out of the Western riding circle, away from rodeos and broncos, and into the calmer, smoother world of flatseat and Dressage. I had been a student of Mr. Bee's since I was 10.
And one day, during the summer, when I was 16 years old, I was spending nearly everyday at the barn. I had gotten my drivers license a few months before school let out, and I was putting it to good use.
Mr. Bee ran a small hippotherapy program, an equestrian therapy program for special needs children. I spent a lot of time helping him with the kids. In return, I rode nearly as much as I desired.
Mr. Bee and I had been working with Barrister most of that summer. Barrister had been with us for a year. He was steady, calm, and bomb proof. We had trained him to lay down, so I could put wheelchair bound children on his back without lifting them. Our wheelchair ramp/mounting block was still under construction.
We were down to two horses for therapy after retiring Sultana last year. Sugar. And last year's addition, Barrister. We were looking for one more.
Little did we know, we wouldn't have to look very far, as this one would be coming to us.
One day, an old man in a old truck showed up. He was pulling a cattle trailer, with a horse in it. He came into the barn office where Mr. Bee and I were taking a lunch break. The old men shook each others hands and stepped out into the hall to chat. I strained my ears trying to listen but couldn't make out enough words to follow the conversation. After a few minutes, Mr. Bee came back into the office and asked me to go out and look at the horse in the trailer.
"It's up to you kid. We either keep him or let him go to auction. Your call."
I went out to the trailer. The horse was a small Arabian gelding. His coat was solid, shiny black. His eyes were soft. I pet his nose through the rails. Arabians aren't popular in Texas. It made me nervous, I didn't want to send him away to auction.
I returned to the barn. "What's wrong with him?" I asked the old man.
"He's crazy." The man retorted. "But if you want him, you can have him. I just want him gone."
I turned to Mr. Bee, "I want him."
And that was that. We unloaded the gelding, placed him in a stall. And the old man drove off.
After letting him settle for a few days, I took the horse out in the round pen one morning. I lunged him around. It was easy. He moved smoothly. He had nice forward carriage. He turned into me when I asked, stopped when I said "whoa" and cantered with just a few kisses. And he was beautiful. I was in love with him. We hadn't named him yet. I wasn't allowed to. But in my head, I called him Beauty and I kept searching for the crazy the old man talked about, but I didn't see it.
After a week or so of ground work, I decided he was ready for a ride. Mr. Bee and I tacked him up. I mounted up in the round pen. And I rode him along the rail. After a few moments, I found the "crazy". He was hypersensitive to all the cues. A small bump of the leg had him leaping off the rail. A pull on the bit had him wheeling in circles. I pulled on the reins to whoa him. He stopped so suddenly that I was pulled a little forward. And Mr. Bee just laughed. "He's too smart. He just needs a really gentle touch. And maybe some de-sense training." So that's what we worked on. I spent a lot of time one the ground, long lining him. Working on gentle mouth cues. A little bump here, a little bump there. Asking for big smooth turns, not tight anxious circles. I touched his belly and his head a lot with my hands, trying to get him used to pressure and to not leap away at the slighted touch. I worked on riding him "in a frame", outside pressure on the rail with my hand to keep him in line. Combination leg and hand pressure to press him out into proper turns. Collecting his head so he couldn't scoot out from underneath me.
And it worked. After weeks and months of practice. So he stayed with us. I named him Ziggy. And trained him to do dressage. You could practically steer him just by shifting your weight in the saddle. He was perfect for it. He was supple and soft. And always listening so intently to his rider. And after about a year of riding, with me and my father working him a few times each week, Ziggy was able to work into the Therapy program.
The point of this story isn't about Ziggy's training. It's merely to say, that while you can't save them all, and you certainly can't fix them all; there's many horses out there that deserve second chances. Horses that have unrealized potential, untapped talent, and sometimes it's worth it to put it out on the line. Sometimes you get lucky, and find a wonderful partner.
And one day, during the summer, when I was 16 years old, I was spending nearly everyday at the barn. I had gotten my drivers license a few months before school let out, and I was putting it to good use.
Mr. Bee ran a small hippotherapy program, an equestrian therapy program for special needs children. I spent a lot of time helping him with the kids. In return, I rode nearly as much as I desired.
Mr. Bee and I had been working with Barrister most of that summer. Barrister had been with us for a year. He was steady, calm, and bomb proof. We had trained him to lay down, so I could put wheelchair bound children on his back without lifting them. Our wheelchair ramp/mounting block was still under construction.
We were down to two horses for therapy after retiring Sultana last year. Sugar. And last year's addition, Barrister. We were looking for one more.
Little did we know, we wouldn't have to look very far, as this one would be coming to us.
One day, an old man in a old truck showed up. He was pulling a cattle trailer, with a horse in it. He came into the barn office where Mr. Bee and I were taking a lunch break. The old men shook each others hands and stepped out into the hall to chat. I strained my ears trying to listen but couldn't make out enough words to follow the conversation. After a few minutes, Mr. Bee came back into the office and asked me to go out and look at the horse in the trailer.
"It's up to you kid. We either keep him or let him go to auction. Your call."
I went out to the trailer. The horse was a small Arabian gelding. His coat was solid, shiny black. His eyes were soft. I pet his nose through the rails. Arabians aren't popular in Texas. It made me nervous, I didn't want to send him away to auction.
I returned to the barn. "What's wrong with him?" I asked the old man.
"He's crazy." The man retorted. "But if you want him, you can have him. I just want him gone."
I turned to Mr. Bee, "I want him."
And that was that. We unloaded the gelding, placed him in a stall. And the old man drove off.
After letting him settle for a few days, I took the horse out in the round pen one morning. I lunged him around. It was easy. He moved smoothly. He had nice forward carriage. He turned into me when I asked, stopped when I said "whoa" and cantered with just a few kisses. And he was beautiful. I was in love with him. We hadn't named him yet. I wasn't allowed to. But in my head, I called him Beauty and I kept searching for the crazy the old man talked about, but I didn't see it.
Ziggy & me, circa 2008
After a week or so of ground work, I decided he was ready for a ride. Mr. Bee and I tacked him up. I mounted up in the round pen. And I rode him along the rail. After a few moments, I found the "crazy". He was hypersensitive to all the cues. A small bump of the leg had him leaping off the rail. A pull on the bit had him wheeling in circles. I pulled on the reins to whoa him. He stopped so suddenly that I was pulled a little forward. And Mr. Bee just laughed. "He's too smart. He just needs a really gentle touch. And maybe some de-sense training." So that's what we worked on. I spent a lot of time one the ground, long lining him. Working on gentle mouth cues. A little bump here, a little bump there. Asking for big smooth turns, not tight anxious circles. I touched his belly and his head a lot with my hands, trying to get him used to pressure and to not leap away at the slighted touch. I worked on riding him "in a frame", outside pressure on the rail with my hand to keep him in line. Combination leg and hand pressure to press him out into proper turns. Collecting his head so he couldn't scoot out from underneath me.
And it worked. After weeks and months of practice. So he stayed with us. I named him Ziggy. And trained him to do dressage. You could practically steer him just by shifting your weight in the saddle. He was perfect for it. He was supple and soft. And always listening so intently to his rider. And after about a year of riding, with me and my father working him a few times each week, Ziggy was able to work into the Therapy program.
The point of this story isn't about Ziggy's training. It's merely to say, that while you can't save them all, and you certainly can't fix them all; there's many horses out there that deserve second chances. Horses that have unrealized potential, untapped talent, and sometimes it's worth it to put it out on the line. Sometimes you get lucky, and find a wonderful partner.
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