"......For the past couple of weeks I'd been working with a seven-year old mare named Star.  She was very kind hearted and gentle but she was one of the laziest horses I'd ever been around.  The old man had owned her for quite some time, but he never really used her for much.  For the most part, she just stood in the pasture all day. 

 

One day he decided out of the blue that we were going to start getting her in shape so he could sell her.  On the first day I worked with her, he went out and rode her before having me get on, and she was a perfect little lady for him.  She did absolutely everything that he asked of her without hesitation, from flawless transitions to flying lead changes, sliding stops, side passing, and backing all the way across the arena.  After watching him, I couldn't wait to get on and ride, as I had been assigend the task of giving her daily exercise.  Well, my enthusiasm quickly waned as I found that I could barely get her from a walk to a trot.  As the weeks went on, I found myself increasingly discouraged by the fact that I was lucky if I could even get her into a walk from a dead stop. 

 

I was in the arena trying with all my might to get the mare to work for me.  We had been going around and around the arena barely faster than a crawl, with me kicking her repeatedly and slapping her with the reins to try to get her to move a little faster.  Nothing I did got any kind of reaction from her, with the exception of the occasional tail flick or head shake.  As we made our way around the arena at sloth-like speed, I noticed that the old man was at the fence watching the proceedings. 

 

"How's it going?" he asked as a snail whizzed passed Star and me in the dirt of the arena.

 

"I can't get her to do nuthin'." I told him in disgust.

 

He nodded slowly and placed his foot on the bottom rail of the fence.  Star seeing the old man, suddenly picked up her pace and headed straight for him, stopping within arms reach.  The old man put his hand out and stroked her gently on the forehead.

 

"This is the laziest horse I've ever seen," I told him.

 

He smiled as he continued to pet the mare on her head. 

 

"Lazy eh," he nodded, as if he was agreeing, but I knew he wasn't.  "Oh I don't thinks she's being lazy.  Smart, maybe.  But not lazy."

 

"Smart?" I questioned.  "I don't think she's very smart. I think she's stupid."

 

It was frustrating talking, and the old man knew it.  It didn't matter though. He didn't like people calling his horses names.  He slowly stopped petting the mare, and then looked up at me with an expression that said, That'll be enough of that.  Without saying a word, he turned and walked through the gate and motioned for me to get down, which I gladly did.

 

Without stopping to adjust the stirrups, he climbed into the saddle, turned the mare's head to the left, kissed to her, and they were off.  Much to my chargrin, she went from a standing stop to a lope without missing a step.   At the other end of the arena, she slid to a stop, spun on her back end, and was once again in a lope.  The old man, reins in one hand and feet out of the stirrups, looked like he was glued to the saddle.  The two flew past me and slid to another stop before reversing once more and heading back the other way.  This time, about halfway across the arena, the old man shifted his weight slightly backwards in the saddle and the mare went from her lope to a slow walk within about three steps.  He leaned forward and she was back in a lope.  The loped all the way around the arena; as they rounded the corner closest to me, they broke down into a trot, then a walk, and finally a stop, right next to me.

 

It was the first and only time I ever saw the old man "show off" while riding a horse, or when doing anything for that matter.  It was obvious that he hadn't done it to show me how good a rider he was, but to show me how good a horse Star was.  As the old man climbed down, the mare stood quietly next to him, and both of them were looking at me as if to say Stupid, heh? 

 

"Now," he said quietly as he handed me the reins, "why don't you try again?"

"She won't do it for me."  Even I could hear the resignation in my voice.  The old man continued to hold the reins out to me.

 

"You're right, " he said with a shrug, "If you think she won't, she won't.  Maybe its time you start thinking that she will."

Well that didn't make any sense at all, and as I took the reins from his hand and climbed into the saddle, confusion and frustration must have been written all over my face.  He walked over to the fence and pulled ou this pack of cigarettes.

 

"There's something about horses that you need to understand," he said.   "Their only job is to stay alive from one day to the next. Nothing else matters."

 

He went on to explain that the reason horses, or any prey animal for that matter, had survived as a species was because they're smart enough to know when to expend the energy and when not to.  "For the horse to want to work for you, the work has to be important to her.  If it isn't important to her, you're just making her use energy she doesn't think she should be using.   She might need that energy later to get away from a lion or wolf."

 

"There aren't any lions or wolves around her." I told him bluntly.

 

"She doesn't know that", he replied with a smile.  "She's just looking out for herself."

 

He went on to say that no amount of training in the world can take away what Mother Nature has instilled.  Just because we think a horse should do things a certain way doesn't mean that the horse seeis it the same way.  In this case, Star was just letting me know that I couldn't make her perferm a meaningless task that would cause her to use energy she might need later.  So what we need to do is find a way to make  what you want to do, important enough so that she wants to do it with you.

 

He told me that the way I was riding had alot to do with  how Star had perceived the situation.  He explained that I was riding without purpose or direction.  Up to that point I had been demanding that she go, but not giving her any place TO go.  He pointed out that the whole time I was ridding her with the reins and kicking her in the sides,  I was also staring at her head.  By looking at her instead of where I wanted to go, I wasn't giving her any direction.  Her perception was that I had left the direction up to her, and seeing as how Mother Nature geared her to save as much energy as possible, she took it upon herself to do what MN was telling her, not what I was telling her. 

 

It turns out that by constantly staring at the mare's head, I was actually riding in a sort of ball.  My head was down, which brought my upper body forward and rounded my shoulders.  As far as Star was concerned, my body had the feel of a giant, uncomfortable lump that she has been relegated to packing around.  There was no "togetherness" in how I was riding; I was simply riding on the mare, not with her.

 

The old man had me sit up a little straighter in the saddle and look where I wanted to go.  Almost immediately I could feel a difference in her, even as we just stood in place.  Her head came up and her attention seemed more focused on me than it ever had before.  I turned my head and found a post at the end of the arena to focus on.  I focused on the post, then took the reins and laid them across her neck to help turn her in that direction.  She responded right away, and when I kissed to her, off she went.  To my surprise, her walk was much quicker than it had been the past few weeks and I could feel my excitement begin to build at the thought of actually being able to move more than our normal crawl. 

 

I couldn't believe how well she was wroking all of a sudden, and from behind me I heard the old man ask me to move her into a trot. I kissed to her and squeeed lightly with my heels and, just like that, she was trotting.  Another kiss and we were off into one of the necest lopes I had ever felt. 

 

"There, that is the difference between riding on her and riding WITH her." the old man said.

 

The mechanics of what we had done weren't difficult to understand.  It was a matter of not expecting the horse to do the work if I wasn't willing to do it with her.  By showing her with my body position and attitude in the saddle that I actually had a clue as to what I was doing, the work became important to both of us, even if it was just going across the arena.