A lady wrote to me and asked for advice. She wants to take up competitive dressage but keep true to her belief in the principles of good horsemanship. I think it is an issue many people wrestle with at some point in their horse career.
I gave her my thoughts about how to use the principles of good horsemanship in a way that would also allow her have both a competitive horse AND a happy horse.
But I also referred her to a story I wrote 10 years ago and published in "Old Men and Horses". It's a long story, but I think the message makes it worth reading.
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The thrill of being chosen as a winner was mind-numbing stuff. I had been honoured as one of 5 young riders to attend a weeklong dressage camp on the outskirts of Sydney with one of the countries pre-eminent coaches. It was very exciting because I figured I was now on the verge of learning all the secrets that turned people from good riders to great riders. Walt and Amos had taught me a lot about how a horse thinks and feels, but they had been less helpful when I wanted to learn how to teach a horse to perform passage or piaffe and all those other higher goals of riding. I wondered whether it was something that they didn’t really understand themselves. This was an opportunity to absorb the secret mysteries that only the best riders knew.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a horse of my own at the time. In fact, in all the years I had been riding I never owned a horse. Even though I was 15 and had been riding 7 years, I had not been fortunate enough to have a horse for which I was solely responsible. I had always ridden other people’s horses. Most often it was Walt and Amos who lent me a horse, but sometimes I could ride a school horse. However, lately I had been asked more and more by other owners to ride their horses in competition. I guess people liked to see their horses coming home with ribbons that they could proudly display to their friends and family. I had a few regulars who owned some pretty nice show jumpers, but who were a little nervous about competing themselves.
In any case, I didn’t have a horse to take to the dressage camp until Amos offered a little buckskin that he had recently broken-in (in those days it was still politically ok to call it breaking-in!). I knew it was a grand gesture on the part of Amos to offer me this horse, but I was not thrilled by the offer. The other kids would be taking their zillion dollar 16hh horses that had been in training for 700 years and were competing at inter-galactic level. I’d be the joke of the week with a 15hh buckskin that Amos had picked up for a few dollars at an auction and who was greener than a tree frog. I dreaded the thought, but what choice did I have other than to pull out? At least I was able to borrow a dressage saddle and bridle, instead of having to use Amos’ stock saddle and bridle.
Walt and Amos offered to drive Bucky and me to what was to be our home for the week. I felt like a teenager whose mother still kissed him at the school gate in front of his mates. But again what choice did I have? It was a long drive across the other side of Sydney and the old truck threatened to boil over a couple of times when we got stuck in city traffic. On arrival the master and his wife greeted us with some apprehension. I think we were a little out of place among the fancy floats and vehicles and the very expensive horses. The first session was to start in 30 minutes and parents were invited to stay for the morning. I’m ashamed to admit now that I was embarrassed by Walt and Amos. Their appearance, their manner and their style of speech were so different from the others that I felt I didn’t want to be associated with them. Walt sensed this and said they wouldn’t stay, but to my utter frustration Amos insisted on watching how Bucky would do.
As I was saddling I got a chance to watch some of the other kids who had already started working in the arena. When everybody was gathered the master asked each of us about our horses and ourselves. All the other horses had years of training. Bucky was only broken in a month before the camp. The master asked us all to walk and trot around so he could assess each of us. I was too nervous to take much notice of anybody else and every time I saw the master looking my way I felt myself stiffen. I really felt out of place and in over my head.
After about 10 or 15 minutes we were told to stop and gather in the centre of the arena. The master then looked at me and told me to ride out. I felt sure I was about to be humiliated and sweat exploded from my brow. The master asked me to walk, and then trot, halt, trot off, circle right, circle left, canter and rein back. He then thanked me, then turned to the others and said, “Did anyone notice how soft and forward this horse goes? It is obvious to me and it should be obvious to all of you that this little horse enjoys his work and is ready at all times to do something. It is my hope that by the end of the week that we will have every horse here working as softly as Ross’ horse.”
I was stunned. Bucky wasn’t round and collected. Bucky didn’t have a nice lather of foam coming out of his mouth. Bucky didn’t respond well to a short contact. All these other horses had arched necks and high tails. They had sweat on their chest and down their flanks. They had real presence. They looked like dressage horses. What did he mean that he hoped they were going as well as Bucky by the end of the week? I looked at Amos whose chest seemed to have expanded beyond the breaking point of his shirt buttons. He was beaming.
I learned a lot that week. But what stands out in my mind is that the master saw in Bucky something that all the other horses lacked. I talked to him about it later. I asked him how come if the other horses could perform flying changes, pirouettes and counter canters etc. that he thought Bucky was better trained.
“Bucky is a horse. The others used to be horses,” he replied.
“What do you mean?”
“What your friend Amos did for Bucky was allow the horse in him to learn to get along with a rider in you. He showed Bucky that he could still be a horse and at the same time follow a lead. What happens to most horses is they are trained to be slaves. They lose their pizzazz; they lose their essence. It is the essence of a horse that makes most people fall in love with them. The trouble is that we become so focused on teaching a flying change that we train the horse out of the horse and replace him with a simple moving cardboard cut out of a horse doing a flying change.”
I thought for a moment and said, “I guess I didn’t know you could do that. I’ve spent so much time around Walt and Amos that I reckon that their way is normal. I didn’t want to bring Bucky because I wanted a horse that could do all the fancy manoeuvres so I could learn the Grand Prix stuff.”
“You have been very fortunate, Ross. Your friends are true horsemen and every horse and every rider should be lucky enough to have friends like that. They have instilled in you and the buckskin the basic skills that make it possible for you to achieve anything you want. And they have allowed you to still be a teenager and your horse to be a horse!”
The folly of being a teenager didn’t allow the master’s words to really sink in for some time. But when they did I was never again embarrassed about Walt and Amos. The master was right when he said most people train the horse out of their horses because it is not a horse that they want. Instead they want a push-button slave who performs on command. I doubt it ever occurred to Walt and Amos to train the horse out of the horse.
