Settling in

For the next two weeks there was a lot of activity for Stat. Getting him bulked up a bit more along the topline, use to me handling him, trying to keep him away from Bree because my independant horse had succumbed to her vixen like ways. He plowed through the hot tape the first time we moved her out of his line of sight.

Typical.

We also began him on an intensive course of ground work. First out of the bag was getting him to respect my space, trying to keep him out of my boots when I lead him anywhere. Next was standing still. There was a bit of a battle of wills over this one which resulted in constant repositioning of him back to his starting point every time he decided to wander. 

I also started to notice changes in his general attitude towards me. As he started to fill out on the food and supplements he started to feel better about himself and so why did he need to be around me. He stopped following me around in the field, didn't like hugs anymore and refused to let me pick up his feet without a long drawn out battle. 

Excellent. This is working out nicely.

Left or right, who knows?!

As for getting ready to ride we decided to bypass the great saddle hunt and go straight for the treeless Barefoot saddle that worked out so go for Bree. In short order Sarah had tracked one down and after a rigorous clean under the watchful gaze of the resident cleaning freak I was deemed ready to have sit number two on my horse.

As with last time, Stat and I did a little dance as I tacked him up. The jiggling got worse once the girth was tightened which lead us to have a little lesson in standing still. Over time we improved more and more until we got to the stage that on the days that he forgets, the most movement he makes is a couple of side steps when the saddle is first presented. The rest of the time he stands perfectly still.

Working on standing still

But today he was impatiently doing the two-step until I got onto him. Then he sort of walked off as I struggled to get feet into stirrups and sort myself out. I was feeling good. I'm actually sitting on my horse, we have things to correct which will help us bond, so a project to work on together. 

We moved around the arena being lead by Sarah. The Barefoot saddle was so comfy to sit on and after the third circuit of the arena Sarah handed me back the lead rope and we were cut adrift. 

Adrift is probably the best description, bobbing away in no particular direction. Stat steered as gracefully as a geriatric cow. It was like my first ride on Bobby all over again. No response to leg pressure, no acknowledgment of shifting weight, no flex in the neck. A lump of concrete would follow direction better. But I was ecstatic. Sure I might not be able to actually go where I wanted too at the moment, but I was actually riding a horse that I owned. My horse! For better or for worse.

I know, we learnt a lot today.....

The next stage was a trip down to the beach. As this is quite a full on place of new activity, noises, smells and things that move, I decided to lead Stat down while Sarah rode Bree. Depending on how Stat reacted, i would mount up down there.

You could almost hear the processing that Stat was doing when we got to the beach. it was an almost audible whirring. So many THINGS! so many potential dangers!

Bree I am sure was not helping things by pointing out all the horse eating things that were present disguised as seaweed, grasses, sand, surf, driftwood etc.

After a bit he started to settle down to the point where I thought I could get on him. After first introducing him to a large tree trunk that had washed up on the beach, I climbed up onto the trunk to mount.

Stat promptly pulled me off as he spun away from the driftwood. I lead him back over and tried again. this time he turn 90 degrees to face me. So I lead him back alongside me again, just to have him walk on past me. And repeat.

Backwards and forwards we moved along the tree trunk, Trying to get him into a position to mount. Bree started getting in on the game and she started pacing backwards and forwards that further unsettled Stat.

Finally I got Stat in close enough to get on. We sort of pranced around for a bit until he got use to me being on his back in a such a new and terrifying place. It probably lasted fifty metres before he really started to react. Not wanting to push my luck I climbed down off of him and lead him for the rest of the journey.

Over the next few weeks we built on these firsts. I was still having trouble on occasions when he suddenly departed from the riding plan and I had to bring him back in line. Our rides varied between beach, road, forest and work in the arena. We had good day and bad days.

One day we would be spot on with standing still, lining up for mounting and standing still once mounted before we moved off. But then on the same session I would would be just a passenger as he moved out of the arena and headed back to his paddock. I happened to be talking to our next door neighbour, who was on her own horse in her paddock when this happened. I called back to her as we suddenly lurched away mid conversation that I seemed to be experiencing a little command and control problem at the moment. She seemed to take my explanation and not think that I had suddenly bored of the conversation and left.

Taking to the forest like a natural

Our first trip to the forest was a special moment for me. The trekking horse that I wanted came out in Stat. It started soon after we began the ride through local forestry. Sarah failed to appreciate the height difference between her on Bree and me on Stat. This differential was quite important when pushing through tree branches. We came across one overhanging branch and to me it looked like i could push through it as limbs looked small and bendy this was true until I got into the centre and came across a thicker less yielding branch. It stopped me cold while Stat kept moving, lifting me up and back out of the saddle, dropping my reins.

Uh oh, this was not going to be pretty. Stat, bless him, before I had time to say anything must have felt me shift upwards and back in my seat, just stopped moving.  He stood perfectly still while I untangled myself from the foliage, got back into the saddle and found the reins again. Once I had collected myself, he sort of looked back at me with his "what a numpty" expression.

The Bulldozer

Later on in the same ride Stat demonstrated his bulldozer mentality. One of the challenges of riding in the forest is the fact that what had been a clear path previously, could now be blocked by fallen trees. This necessitates in some unplanned deviations into the forest when the tree(s) blocking the path are too large to be sawn through with the pruning saw that is carried. The bush bashing that Stat had to contend with for his first time was quite epic involving pushing through small saplings, while I ducked under large branches and we both maneuvered up and down banks. He handled it without faltering or tripping. I was must chuffed at his performance.

Yes, he did do the weird things, like soon after starting out in a ride, he would start spinning around trying to head home and every now and then he would just stop and it would take a lot of encouragement to get him started again. I was unsure as to the reasons for this behaviour. Was it just him showing his independence, or was there some other reason? I was reluctant to push in case he was in pain for some reason. something wasn't right in his world.

Stat recovering form his first forest ride. Brain on overload

Introducing Mr Statistic

We had a bit of a false start in finding a replacement horse for me when we tried to pick up a beautiful black mare with looks and temperament to rival Bree's. We didn't even make it out of the paddock as she threw an epic temper tantrum in the back of the float which sort of turned everyone off of the idea.

Then Sarah heard of a horse up in Cromwell. He was listed as a Southern Man's horse. Race name Mr Statistic (breeders really hate race commentators!) Stat for short. He was a bay coloured Standardbred, 16.3 hands and was born in 2000 making him 14 years old at the time. In short order a date and time was arranged for a trip up to Cromwell to see how he measured up in the flesh.

To be honest, I had mixed emotions on the trip up. I was still quite raw after Red. I wasn't sure if I wanted to invest that much emotion back into a horse again. We met up with Emma, Stats owner, at the Cromwell Racetrack where she leased land for her horses.

How could you not love this face?

Seeing Stat standing there in the paddock made me nervous and excited all over again. His coat was long and he had a shaggy look to him. He had a white star on his forehead which stood out like a light. One of the things that really perked my interest is that when we took him out of the paddock, he did not seem to care that his paddock mate was not coming along too. An independant horse! excellent.

As Emma talked to Sarah about all the important things that people who know what they are talking about talk about, I walked around Stat trying to figure out what I should be looking for. Do people really check the teeth of a horse? or should I be following the whole never look a gift horse in the mouth line of things? So I fell back to what I do when I wander around car sales yards even though I know nothing about cars either.

Body work: Shaggy, but it is winter in Central Otago. No insects making it their home. Dusty from all the fine alluvial dirt that Central Otago is known for. Softly patting his back raised clouds of dust. No evidence of previous collisions or damage (a couple of strange bumps in what I would class the lumbar region of the spine, but no tenderness on palpation. No signs of bog filler or previous panel beating.

Fluid Levels: A bit difficult as there was no dipstick (nothing I wanted to fiddle around with anyway  and in reality we had just met so I shouldn't be being that familiar with Stat). His eyes were damp looking, not dry, not weeping so I took that as a good sign.

Suspension:  Walking Stat around did not give any indication of a limp nor asymmetrical movement of the legs. Running the hands down the legs I couldn't feel any differences in muscle indicating atrophy.

Tyres: Resisting the normal urge to kick tyres, I instead picked up the feet, looking and wittering to myself quietly trying to generate an air of a knowledgeable equine person. I stopped wittering at Stats offside front hoof. There was a long crack in the hoof. Oh, thats not good. My heart dropped. As Sarah always told me, look after the feet. no feet, no horse. Sarah took over the examination of the hoof and started to poke, prod without any reaction from Stat. We took a couple of photos to discuss later with our barefoot trimmer, Wayne. Not a deal breaker but I started to steel my heart that this might be not a happening thing.

The test drive: With Emma's help we saddled up Stat. Emma did warn me that he didn't stand still well for saddling and once the saddle was on, to get on straight away as Stat didn't really display much in the way of patience. In reality, unless he launched forward bucking like Red had done, he was still a winner.

Sure enough, as soon as the saddle was on, he wanted to get moving. I quickly got on and we started to move. I didn't feel good. I didn't feel secure on his back. whereas in the past I would have bailed, I now had a bit of time in the saddle under the belt to stick around and try to find the source of my insecurity. Was it Stat? Was it the way he moved? Was it the saddle? Was it the fact that I was sitting on a strange horse, using different tack and viewing a horse from a viewpoint of suitability?

I decided to put it down to different tack. Stop looking for the reasons why not to buy Stat, but instead look at why I should.

He was a good, solid looking horse. He wasn't herd bound. In doing a bit of lunging I could see that whilst not as light to pressure as Red had been, he did respond.

And the deal clincher? He let me hug him around the neck. I missed doing that with Red.

We made some positive noises to Emma and left to spend the night in Queenstown. If I can, I never make a decision like this on the same day. This method of course was not one to be used when I was a paramedic, but it really made things enjoyable when dealing with door to door salesman (use to really annoy them after they ran through their spiel to tell them that I never made decisions the same day).

That night Sarah and I had a real heart to heart talk about Stat. A phone call to Wayne was made where I described the crack in the hoof to him, which he in turn reassured me that this did not mean Stat was about to lose a hoof.

Emma was contacted and we started to discuss money for Stat. This was the getting close to negotiating the final hurdle. If the price was too high, I would take it as a sign. Nope, the price was reasonable and within the limit I had mentally given myself. Now this was starting to get serious, I was running out of excuses.

I lay in bed that night thinking what I should do. Oh, I knew that I was going to end up with Stat, I just needed to go through the process of moving on from Red. Not just because he had been my first horse that I ever owned, but coming to terms that if I ended up with a horse that I couldn't ride for whatever reason as it had been with Red, how was that going to fit in with future plans?

The next morning Emma was contacted and we decided that on our return journey back through Cromwell that Sarah and I would revisit Stat and see how I was feeling.

Once again, when we turned up to the paddock, Stat came over to the fence. It may have had something more to do with the treat I had brought along for him and his paddock mate than any other sort of psychic connection, but I just ran with it.

Once again there was no separation anxiety when I took him away from his mate to do some basic ground work. He lunged fine and seemed to pick up on some corrections I did with him quite quickly so he was a fast learner. Our little activities concluded by me leading him over a nearby rocky pile of dirt. he was sure footed and didn't shy from where I was leading him. I needed a trekking horse.

As I put him back into the paddock, again I hugged him, he smelt divine. I didn't stand a chance. I confirmed with Sarah that I was having Stat.

Emma was contacted and my people spoke to her people. I don't sully myself with such details. Dates were discussed for pick up, transport was arranged (still didn't trust our Nissan Terrano to pull a float), process for money to change hands etc. I was not involved in any of this planning.

 I was still hugging my horse.

That weekend a person who Sarah knew, Lyn, picked me up with her vehicle and float to go and collect Stat.

As we arrived at Cromwell, I was hit with sudden nervousness, What do we do if he doesn't get on the float? OMG, I hadn't considered this possibility. I could have just wasted a five hour return trip for a horse that I cant take home. OMG!

Lyn assured me that she has some tricks including a treat that no horse can resist. We will get him on.

I think that this optimism of Lyn's may have started to dwindle around the one hour later mark, when we were all standing around the float, trying to get an obstinate Stat up the ramp. He was not having a bar of it. The treats didn't work, the food bucket didn't work, the filled hay net didn't work, applying pressure didn't work.

I was starting to wonder just what exactly the etiquette was in asking Emma for the money back that I had given to her when we first arrived as Stat's payment.

Finally in the float

Stat was giving an impressive example of being a giraffe, with his front feet on the bottom of the ramp and stretching his neck all the way up to nibble at the just out of reach feed bucket.

Just when I was thinking we were all going to have to pack it in and head home, Stat suddenly decided Hell, why not just walk up the ramp into the float. as soon as his bum past the entrance to the float, the bum bar was put up and the ramp closed.

Quickly I thanked Emma and leapt into Lyn's truck. I just wanted us to get moving before Stat changed his mind and started to dismantle Lyn's float. we did have a couple of kicks from Stat and as we were going through the Cromwell Gorge Lyn commented that from the feel of the truck, that Stat was leaning from time to time trying to keep his balance.

Lyn handled the trip back very calmly, unlike me. I hate towing at the best of time (I have attended a couple of float rollovers in the UK, one with dire consequences for the horse in the back) so I was constantly checking the position of the float to see if there was any swaying starting up.

It was with great relief that we arrived in Brighton. I had been in conversation with Sarah by phone the closer we got to Brighton and on her suggestion we decided to pull into a layby that is near the house to unload Stat.

When we put the ramp down we saw the reason why Stat had quietened down on the journey. Lyn had also been transporting a bale of lucerne in the front of the float in a hay bag. Stat had managed to unwrap the lucerne, lift it up over the chest board and spread it around the back of the float. He seemed to enjoy the inflight meal.


Stat was hyper alert as we walked up the road to the house, taking in his surroundings as we walked down the path to the paddocks. As he came through the gate he immediately saw Bree standing there at the fence. He came to a complete halt as Bree started up her welcoming squeals. I explained to Stat that she was crazy as a loon and it would be in his best interests to just ignore her.

Food, food everywhere

I walked him around his separate paddock pointing out the various features like the water trough, hay bin and such like, just to help him get his bearings. He was very interested in the grass. Central Otago is renown for its dry, arid conditions and to suddenly find himself on the damp coast with green grass everywhere was just like hitting the jackpot for Stat.

We spent a bit of time wandering around the field with me being faithfully followed by Stat. I took this as a good sign.

I was happy, relieved and a bit nervous of what the next days, weeks and months would bring as Stat and I started to get to really know each other.

Clouds of Central Otago dust after a good shake

Advising Stat to stay away from the two vixens in the next paddock

Heartbroken

Red

Under the tutelage of Bobby and Yarraman

Now that I have a horse that I couldn't put a saddle on without a rapid and freeform expression of movement, there needed to be a stand-in for me to actually start to get to grips with how one should ride a horse, whilst I continued the groundwork with Red.

This is where Bobby and Yarraman came in.

From a friend of Sarah's, Shanla, I was introduced to Bobby. If you want the definition of an old school master, this was Bobby. He was a 17 year old standardbred and he had seen his fair share of learners come and go.

We turned up to Shanla's place and were lead out to meet Bobby. We had obviously disturbed him from his regular programme of activities, but even so, he was mild mannered and took it all in his stride.

I did feel uncomfortable when Shanla said to get up and have a ride around in the round pen. Bobby and I had not even been formally introduced and it felt strange after spending so much time with Red on the ground and not even having sat on him. Whereas here, within five minutes of turning up, I'm sitting on the back of Bobby.

Ok, new experience. Apart from a couple of times on Bree for a short period, the total sum of my horse riding was once in Rarotonga and prior to that a gap of many years (many, many, many years) in Primary school. I had no idea what I was doing. Thankfully Bobby did. We began slowly lurching around in the pen. I had trouble with my balance, unsure as to how I should be communicating with Bobby, scared to make a mistake and confuse him and last of all, fall off in front of Sarah and Shanla, the person who was entrusting Bobby into my care.

Through Bobby’s patience and good nature, I didn’t fall off. Thinking back to advice from natural horsemanship practitioners of always finishing on a good note, I decided not to push my luck and got off Bobby not long after getting on.

While I am trying to figure out just what the Hell am I thinking with all this horse stuff, Sarah, probably sensing my thoughts quickly arranged delivery dates with Shanla for Bobby’s arrival at our place on loan while I learnt the basics of riding.

oh boy, lumbered with a complete numpty

Once we got Bobby home, the work started. Sarah is a hard task mistress. For the first time I learnt that legs are not just used to rest in the stirrups, they are for direction control. Legs are not used independently for steering, you need to shift your weight. Look where you want to head. Movement of the reins being the last action.

I kept getting confused as to which leg did what when turning a particular direction. Sarah, striding around the “arena” (the paddock set aside for working in), barking out commands to an idiot sitting on a bored horse who could now no longer remember his left from his right or just what direction he should be looking in (that was me, not Bobby), only needed a sharp uniform, leather boots and Wagner-esque music blaring out in the background to complete the picture.  

I think you are wanting to go that direction

As you could well imagine, this lead to a few testy exchanges between teacher and pupil. Bobby, literally took it in his stride. There were the moments where I am leaning almost horizontal off the side of Bobby, leg pressure on one side and other leg back trying to squeeze him around one way, just for Bobby to keep calmly plodding on straight ahead. It would not help when Sarah, who had initiated my actions by telling me to turn start turning a particular direction, would ask a follow-up enquiry as to when I was planning to turn as ordered? My exasperated reply of don’t ask me, ask the horse as he is the one who seems to be in control would leaving her shaking her head. Normally by the time I had struggled back upright onto the saddle Bobby would have stopped walking only because he had reached the fence at the far end of the arena.

Anytime I gave any lip back to Sarah, she moved onto another exercise consisting of taking the stirrups up leaving me with no support and having me concentrate on my balance. This “finding my seat” meant that all my attention was diverted from coming up with zinging one-liner replies to her orders and instead start thinking as to how I would stop falling off the back of Bobby.

Look Ma, no stirrups

With the rudimental ability to start, control direction (most of the time) and stop sorted out, we then ventured out into the big, bad world of the beach. We are lucky that the beach is just across the road from our house so the time that I had to contend with cars when on the main road, was short. Not that this was an issue with Bobby. The term bombproof is tossed around the horsing community, but Bobby was this and more. In fact, he was more bomb defuser than just bombproof.

This was a good thing as, even though having been told this numerous times, I struggled to remain calm when faced with possible challenges on the back of a horse. Yes, I knew horses are very attuned to fear within the rider and so in turn they get nervous, but remaining calm when in the distance you saw the approaching logging truck, was easier to say than do.

Bobby being kind on the beach

The other useful titbit of information that Sarah kept imparting to me, was that if I was starting to lose control of Bobby on the beach, to head to deeper sand to slow him down and get him concentrating on his feet. My reply to that advice was, if I could direct the horse to deeper sand, this implied that I had control over said horse! I wanted to know what to do when I have NO control over direction or speed!

Another thing. When I joined an adult synchronised ice skating team (don’t ask) we spent the first hour being instructed and practicing how one fell over onto the ice without creating greater injury. When I enquired  any similar techniques or practices to be employed in the equine field, Sarah's reply of “just don’t fall of the horse” was not the answer that I was looking for. To be fair, I have since looked up such instruction videos on YouTube and come to the conclusion after seeing the multiple actions that need to take place in an incredibly short space of time, I think that Sarah’s advice of not falling off in the first place is probably the most practical.

As I got more and more rides under the belt, I started to become more comfortable on the back of Bobby. We plodded around the place and we reached a good understanding. I didn’t ask too much from him and he was more than happy in letting me take the reins, so to speak.

Of course this was not going to last. Plodding is fine, but when you have riding companions who want a bit more speed, the age was starting to tell with Bobby and I for one didn’t want to ask more than I should of him. He was retired, he should be able to take it easy. For me he was an excellent start to getting back into riding. He was forgiving while I sat there trying to sort my legs, leaning, pressure and thoughts out, without getting grumpy. He didn’t startle at random blades of grass or bushes as Bree had a want to do.

In the apparent continuing activity to keep me off balanced and petrified, Sarah decided that my time with Bobby was over and I needed to up the ante and progress my learning. Plodding along with my new found partnership with Bobby was just not cricket. I needed to be extended.

So it was with a really sad feeling inside (and, to be honest, a little tear) that Bobby was loaded back up again in the float and returned, with my thanks, to Shanla.

In his place there arrived Yarraman. He looked like Red, a ginger thoroughbred with a middle of the road nature. Meaning he was not going to kill me on the first ride, but sparky enough to take me to the next level. An excellent transition horse described Sarah. I was again grateful to the network of horsey friends who entrusted me with their horses.

Stepping out with Yarraman

Yarraman’s owner, Abby, gave me a few pointers as to how to read the clues that he displayed when was feeling certain things. My knowledge base of horses was increasing exponentially.

It was back to the arena for familiarisation and extension on techniques. Straight away I noticed the difference between Bobby and Yarraman.

Bobby was like my 1990 Mazda Astina, dependable, get in, start it up and away you go. Enough pep to allow you to overtake a slower car on the road, but think twice before you attempt an overtake of a logging truck.

Yarraman was like a Volkswagen Golf. Sure you can fit the family in it with supermarket bags in the boot and it would not raise the eyebrow of a cop as you drove past, unlike the Holden GTS with tinted windows and bass thumping away would have. But put the pressure on, and the Golf could be away down the road in the blink of an eye. That was Yarraman.   

Now when we tried to come up to a trot, we could maintain it. Not that initially I was too happy with maintaining it. Now I had to learn how I was to stay on the horse without being bumped out and off the saddle. In the beginning I sure that I was about to become airborne. But through the instruction of Sarah, I began to learn how to post in time with Yarraman.

Ok, to be honest, I learnt how to post for about three strides and then always got out of time with the movement, resulting in my backside whacking against the saddle, lurching forward, struggle to regain my seat, post for another three strides then repeat.

Yarraman also taught me that I could survive my first horse bolt.

Now, I need to ensure that there are a few things clear here. As with anything, Yarraman bolting was a combination of a number of factors that I, being the inexperienced rider that I was, totally failed to pick up on at the time. If I had the where with all to have been able to correct one of those factors, the chances of bolting would have been reduced to almost naught.

Sarah and I were going out for a ride on the beach. Even as we were tacking up, Yarraman, high on the new grass growth was fizzing. He had ants in is pants even at this stage. Now, when I see my horse acting this way at the beginning, I will take him out to the arena and do some ground work before even thinking about getting onto his back. I have learnt that the horse needs to be listening to you from the get go.

The second factor was that Yarraman had fallen in love with Bree. This is a common occurrence around our place. Every time a horse turns up to our place, the witch that is Bree will weave her spell. Suddenly even the most independent of horses will become herd bound and will resist any attempt to be separated from their new one true love.

This happened after we got to the beach. Lauren, our neighbour was also on the beach exercising her horse.

As I had been experiencing a very reluctant Yarraman on our ride out (crab walking, multiple turning for home), Sarah calls over to me to carry on up the beach alone while she caught up with the latest gossip from Lauren.

We began to head away back up the beach with me struggling with Yarraman every step of the way. He did not want to leave his Juliet!

Then we began to spin. I managed to recover from this whirly gig just to have him start spinning in the opposite direction. After several revolutions we stopped. Paused. Gave a couple of half bucks. Stood still, braced and tense like a statue.

Again, if this happened now I would get off and do a bit of lunging to defuse the situation. Being the inexperienced person that I am, I stayed on and tried to move him forward along the beach.

The next part is a bit of a blur. There may have been a bit of rearing as I found myself clinging onto the monkey strap of the saddle as we suddenly appeared to be facing 180 degrees from our original direction, back towards the empty beach where Bree and Sarah had just been. They were gone out of sight up into the dunes with Lauren.

That was the last straw for Yarraman. Left, deserted on the beach with an idiot on his back as his only protector! Yeah, nah. He had to get back to his Bree!

We lurched forward, my right foot coming out of the stirrup, clinging onto the reins and the monkey strap. Galloping down the beach. In a calm, soothing voice, yeah right, it was delivered through clenched teeth and several octaves higher than normal so more like screeching, I pleaded with Yarraman to stop, slow down, dance, think about the children, anything but what he was currently doing. Nope, no such luck.

I was being thrown around like the proverbial ragdoll. First one way in the saddle, then the other. Trying all this time to try and get some form of control and my foot back into the stirrup (and no, at no stage was there any thoughts of “steering the horse into deeper sand!)

We drew alongside the beach entrance from the road. In a stiff leg, jolting, slowing motion, Yarraman turned on a dime into the entrance way causing me to lurch over his right shoulder like a hiking sailor (when they lean out to counterbalance a heeling boat, don’t trust me? Google it J ).

Then it was back to Warp Factor 9 up the path to the main road. I now moved from worrying about falling off Yarraman onto the beach dying, to falling off Yarraman on the road and dying. As my thought processes struggled to catch up with the physical location of my brain (I think I was about 20 metres behind my actually body due to the speed of Yarraman) this now changed to us running onto the road, hitting a car and then me dying. Dying was the current theme running through all the scenarios.

We then hit the road. Luckily there were no cars coming along at that particular time. Yarraman’s back legs slid out from under him and we skidded across the surface before he righted himself and continued his dash down the road for home.

I was a bit more prepared for the next sharp left hand turn that Yarraman was going to make to get into our driveway. As we thundered down the road I got my right foot back into its stirrup which gave a bit more stability but did nothing to help me deter the course of action that Yarraman had set upon.

With two quick turns we were off the road, up our driveway and heading past the house to the paddock. Small slight problem. The only access we had to our paddocks from the house was through a small gate on a footpath that we lead the horses through. We were heading to a line of bushes that blocked the way. Oh great, now my first jump.

Instead, Yarraman skidded along the grass, stopping with his head buried in the bushes, snorting, chest heaving.

I decided to decamp. Quickly.

Now safely on the ground, I started talking to Yarraman in a calm soothing voice which was actually now calm and soothing. I think he heard me, difficult to tell as I could not see his head with it being buried in the bushes and all.

Sarah turned up onto the driveway at this moment to see me standing there talking to what appeared to be in all intents and purposes was a headless horse. After about a minute, Yarraman took a step back and his head reappeared.

Talking it over with Sarah we decided that the next step would be taking him into the arena and do some lunging work. Which we did. Yarraman seemed to be a bit worried about how I was going to react to his little brain fade, but once he saw that I was trying to reconnect with him, he became clingy and seemed almost apologetic, following me around the arena when we had finished.

As I didn’t die, I look back at the incident as an important lesson. I learnt a lot about listening when a horse is communicating. They express themselves in so many different ways, through their movements, expressions and stance.

Yarraman and I continued riding out together after our little exciting time on the beach and we didn’t have any repeat episodes. Every time, I learnt a bit more of what it meant to be a rider.

Gaining in confidence with Yarraman

I will always be grateful to Shanla and Abby for entrusting Bobby and Yarraman to me, and to Sarah for teaching me as I truly started my journey in horse riding. I had moved from my sitting-on-the-back of a horse days to actually communicating with the horse to start doing what I wanted.

Now I just wanted to be able to do this with my own horse. Renewed efforts were being made to get Red accepting the saddle again.

Place Holder for Red

Red

Natural Horsemanship

The hunt of the perfect saddle for Bree did result in one major paradigm shift for Sarah and ultimately, me.

After lurking on Facebook trying to track down as much information on saddle fitting, Sarah came across much helpful advice but in particular, she came across Tina.

Tina not only freely gave Sarah pointers on the different saddles to try on Bree, the indicators of a good or poor fit etc. But Tina also introduced Sarah to the world of natural horsemanship.

Up to now, Sarah was the product of the traditional style of horsemanship. Break the horse until it did what you wanted. This normally involved equipment and pushing the horse for perfection. Sarah was still trying to figure out what Bree's natural tendency was; show jumping, dressage, eventing etc.?

So Sarah started out to try and find, through trial and error, what was Bree's particular bag.

I remember when Sarah returned home with her latest purchase on TradeMe. She was excited as she opened up the bag, exclaiming to me that this is incredibly exciting and she could not wait until she showed me how it worked.

Out fell from the bag a jumbled collection of ropes, pulleys and straps. My interest was piqued. Was this a new adventurous and open minded attitude of my beloved that I had not seen before? As she untangled it all and started to lay it out, I too was becoming both excitedly interested.

Trying to figure out how it all fitted together and with a professional eye calculating the load bearing of the ceiling joists, the realisation dawned on me. It was for a horse. Feeling a bit deflated, I re-joined the real world from the slightly kinky corners of my mind.

It was a device for ensuring the "correct" posture of a horse when lunging; to guide the horse in maintaining a correct bearing. Something which had employed on the European equestrian training circuits that Sarah had worked in. I personally was a bit dubious as to Princess Bree's reaction when approached with this rope / strap and pulleys contraption.

However, before we could see if Bree could be wired up for sound, Tina mentioned that she was assisting on a Bert Elstrob Natural Horsemanship clinic being held at the Silverstream covered arena in Mosgiel. Sarah should come along and see an alternative way to horse training.

I was invited along to the two day event at a reduced fee to "audit" or in other words, watch.

I had heard about horse whisperers in the past and could see that by examining the behavioural aspects of how a horse interacts with other horses, identify common methods for getting a horse to connect with you and hopefully do what you wanted. I did feel that with Bree's obfuscate nature, that she would probably benefit more from a Horse Shouter than a Whisperer

Anyway, with my interest once again piqued for an entirely different reason, I found myself sitting in the cold morning air, on hard benches watching a gathering of horses and their owners. I had a thermos of coffee, multiple muesli bars, video camera and notepad and more importantly, a cantankerous Bree. This could be quite an entertaining day and well worth the course fee.

The horses had been put into stalls on the far side of the arena, looking out onto the arena itself, while the owners stood in the arena itself listening to the instruction from Bert Elstrob on the principles of pressure and release.

As Bert talked, I noticed Bree on the far side, deftly picking at her lead rope that had been tied to the wall of the stall until she loosened it off enough to untie the knot. She then backed out of the stall and started to wander down the corridor, stopping every now and then to peer into a stall, practically give a smirk to the horse contained within, before walking to the next stall to repeat the process.

I quietly lay my cup of coffee and notebook down onto the bench and tried to ninja like, leave the bleachers and frog crawl out the side door, run around outside until I got to the sliding door that opened into the stall area,  running face to face into Bree as she made her break for freedom. Without trying to make it obvious to all those gathered in the arena, I returned the unhappy Bree back to her stall and retied her. Then it was a case of stealthily doing the reverse journey back to my coffee and notebook.

Settling back in I started to record pertinent points being made by Bert as to the importance of a consistent approach to training. “If you do what you have always done, you will always get what you have always got" was dutifully jotted down in my notebook.

Looking back up, just in time to see Bree raising and dropping her head repeatedly. Yup, she was untying her lead rope again. Once again, without trying to alert the instructor or other course participants to the undisciplined behaviour of the unruly mare right behind them, I started out on my commando course recapture the determined Bree. The look on her face as she pulled up short in front of me as I darted out in front of her was once of intense annoyance. Could I just please stop interfering!

I returned Bree back to her stall and tied up with even more knots this time. I cat like managed to get back to my seat without broadcasting to everyone.

The rest of the two days was spent seeing a different approach to how to get a horse to do what you wanted. Though this is actually wrong. As was constantly stated, the horse knows everything. How to trot, canter, stop, reverse, lie down, stand up etc. as it already does this normally. What we need to learn is how to ask the horse to do this when we want it to. There is also a need to build trust in the horse that you actually are there for its wellbeing, that you are not going to put into a situation where it is in danger.

Of course, with a horse being a flight animal, most things it encounters in its day to day life is more often than not going to be interpreted as a danger. Those blades of grass, the rubbish bin, sign on the side of the road. a sheep that is giving it a funny look, all things that if a horse does not take notice of, will at some stage rear up and eat the horse whole.

The horse needs to trust you more than its own instincts. Think about that one when you find yourself in a situation where you have suddenly been given a fright. You need to instead of running away or follow you instincts, you instead turn around to someone standing nearby and patiently wait for them to give you instructions. This is what we are asking of our horses.

 I for one know that if I am in a darken alleyway and a large, imposing figure suddenly steps out of the shadows in a menacing way, if you want me to just stand there, turn to a person who I only see once a day for 30 mins and ask calmly what do they want me to do? I am going have to have a long history of trust built up with that person prior.

As the activities became more complex, there were occasions when riders had to break what was being asked of their horse into smaller chunks, get those right with consistency and then add another piece, and then another until the whole picture, or in this case activity, was consistently implemented correctly.

Even without a horse I was picking up invaluable instruction. I couldn’t wait to get my own horse to start implementing all this new knowledge.

A few months later we hosted a clinic at our newly purchased rural lifestyle block which was facilitated by Tina. We had a group of horse owners at it being taken through the building blocks of natural horsemanship. For one of the activities Tina had us pair up and sans horse, one person wore the rope head collar with eyes closed, while the second person lead them around the arena. The purpose of the exercise was to feel the pressure exerted by the rope halter on the horse.

Tina was standing there using some particularly colourful language as to why we must always be soft with the horse as the halter does cause pressure even at the lightest touch on the reins.

The High Priestess holding court

I was playing the role of the "horse" being lead around by Sarah with my eyes closed. I happened to open them to be staring directly at the previous owners of the property, the Goatleys, who had chosen that particular moment to return for an unannounced visit and who were now standing by the post and rail fence of the arena.

As I stumbled my way over to them, wearing a rope head collar and trailing a lead rope behind me, I sort of stammered a welcome to the two very devout members of the Brethren Church. I could see the thoughts running through their heads as they took in the sight of a group of heathens practicing some arcane ritual in their previous home, lead by the High Priestess, spouting profanity from the centre of the field.

In reply to my welcome and not very coherent explanation that we were not actually trying to summon the devil incarnate, but rather trying to have a better understanding of pressure and release.

Mrs Goatley returned my welcome with "hello Paul, this seems *pause* interesting...."

There was probably a lot of scripture reading occurring in the Goatley's new house, that night as our two souls were tried to be saved.

Bonding with Bree

Lets take some time out for a moment to talk about the special case that is Bree. Talking about Bree is actually Bree's favorite subject.

We had looked at a couple of horses previously and yes, they were wonderful to look at, they had all the things that a horse needed, four legs, a head, ears etc. But even I could see that there was something missing. That being a connection.

Being around a horse for the first time in a long time was exciting, but they seemed detached, aloof, not interested in the goings on that they were involved in. Sarah and I talked after each viewing as to what we thought. Surprisingly, we were in agreement. It may be unachievable, but we were both looking for that sort of Love at First Sight feeling. The gut feel that this horse was the one.

Being a bloke I was not sure if I was being stupid to expect something like that in an animal. I am a cat person. They couldn’t care less how you were feeling, as long as you were accepting of the lifetime of servitude that they expected from you as you pamper to their every whim. 

Simba in a battle of wills with a post

Getting the hang of the dog flap. It took Simba a bit longer.

With Sarah came her dogs. Two great big long haired German Shepherds. That was learning by total immersion. I rapidly had to get to grips with how dogs have a completely different outlook on life as opposed to cats. Loyal to you, intelligent and yet at the same time (as was displayed with the younger German shepherd, Simba) immensely stupid. I mean to say, we had to show him how to use a dog flap into the house or on other occasions, if you want to play fetch, this means you have to release the ball after you have retrieved it. 

The loyalty was something else to behold. I remember vividly the moment soon after Sarah and I started in our relationship, rolling over in bed during the middle of the night, to come nose to muzzle of Simba. He was just sitting there beside the bed, all 40kgs of him, just staring at me, basically asking me just what my intentions were with his owner. After a few frozen moments of us both just eyeballing each other, I sort wiggled myself back down under the protective covers of the blankets, peeking out every now and then to find Simba still sitting there, as if reminding me that in an instant he could have me by the neck, drag me out outside and make me just plain disappear. Message received loud and clear.

When we went to see Bree, the thoughts of love at first sight not being applicable to animals was dispelled. She was beautiful. A 8 year old black standard breed mare, standing at 15.1 hands high. When she moved it was graceful and her black coat shone. Her horsey smell completed the round out of ticking all the boxes where our senses were involved.

The next part should have been the raising of a red flag. As mentioned before she had never raced, only getting by on her looks, and she knew it. What a princess. Everything that happened around her was by royal decree. Sarah wanted her. I was smitten by her. Two things never good when going into negotiations to buy something.

The negotiations were quite tense with emails, phone calls, offers, counter offers and at the last possible moment, a possible rethink of instead of being an outright sale, instead a lease. Sarah was not happy with that. In the past she worked with many horses for other owners, bringing them on to a high level of turn out for showing, only to have them sold on. Then having to start the process all over again. 

A firm and final offer was made for Bree. I do not know if it was the offer or the heartfelt email from Sarah that clinched the deal, but we were soon the proud owners of Beyoncé. 

Beyoncé. That was Bree's real name. That was the first to change. Soon other changes started to occur. To transport her from her old home at a friends place to a paddock that Sarah had somehow managed to find and rent in North Dunedin; required several hours trying to get her onto the float. 

The regal manner in which Bree had carried herself during the visits and test rides prior to purchase also changed. She suddenly became a horse that could trip over her hooves on the flattest of ground, stumbling from place to place. She didn’t like her hooves being picked out and started lashing out with her rear legs, ears pinned to her head displaying her displeasure. 

This lack of not wanting to be handled did cause some moments of hilarity when we noticed that soon after arrival she had a patch of mud fever on a rear leg. The best we could do to get near it with a salve was a dressing with the ointment applied, at the end of a long bit of twisted wire so we could dab it on from a safe distance.

I could see a lot of Sarah in Bree. A princess, temperamental, strong willed and neither backing away from a challenge. Sarah, to her credit, never gave up on the strong battle of wills that was starting to develop.

The free spirit that is Bree

Twice a day, before and after work, Sarah went to work on Bree. Handling her, picking her feet out every visit, lunging, walking around the paddock with Bree on a lead. Just bonding and reaffirming to Bree that she was the only horse in the world and yes, it was only appropriate that all must fawn over her. 

Me, I also visited the paddock every day to repair fences, assist in distracting Bree whilst her feet were picked up time and time again. Making sure that there were no casualties from the battle royals that use to ensue whilst the lunging of Bree occurred. Oh, and picking up Bree's poo. Lots of poo. Soon Bree was following us around the paddock (more I believe in just making sure that I had not missed any of her "offerings" and inspecting everything was in order in the way that she wanted it.

Sarah soon felt that they had got to a stage in their relationship for a ride. I think that the result of that first ride could be best described as the "looks like a fish, moves like a fish, steers like a cow". I may have muttered under my breath that the only thing soft about Bree was in-between her ears. Subsequent rides allowed Sarah and Bree to start to develop an understanding. Sometimes the understanding between the both of them was that both refused to do what the other wanted. A partnership made in heaven.

I followed these rides along the streets of north Dunedin and into the forest tracks of the greenbelt on foot, walking the dogs. On occasion, Sarah graced me with having a turn riding Bree. I did not like it. I felt I was going to fall off of the saddle, as it seemed to have way too much excessive movement. 

Bree's aforementioned flat back, no withers approach to being a horse caused a great gnashing of teeth whilst trying to find a saddle that fitted. Also as mentioned before, the Barefoot came to the rescue and provided comfort to both horse and rider.

While there were some glimmers of sunshine in the stormy relationship between Bree and Sarah, the majority of the time it was a battle of wills. An irresistible force meeting an immovable object. Time and time again Bree felt that the programme of activities that Sarah had decided upon did not take into account her calendar. Bree had booked in a restful rejuvenating lie on the grass in the sun, possibly followed by an al fresco lunch down by the stream. Instead Sarah had planned a morning of lunging, basic handling and carrot stretches to free up Bree’s range of movement. Diametrically opposed plans.

This relationship all changed though not long after Bree's arrival. we were up at the paddock after work doing all the necessary things to ensure that Bree maintained the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed, when Sarah noticed a bit of blood on Bree's mouth. Thinking this was a bit strange Sarah had a look inside Bree’s mouth to see if she had bitten her tongue.

What she was not expecting to see was a horizontal laceration across Bree's tongue, right through causing a large section of the tongue to be hanging in place by a small thickness of tongue muscle about a centimetre wide.

The action stations button was pushed. Whilst Sarah was on the phone lining up vets, I cruised around the paddock trying to see what she had cut herself on. The only thing that it might have been was a piece of fencing wire sticking out and Bree had somehow run it through her mouth to lacerate her tongue. But that really didn’t make sense even for Bree.

The vet was summoned who inspected Bree's mouth. With her jaws clamped open with what looked like a metal instrument of torture, the damage was able to be properly assessed. It did not look good. Bree would have to be anaesthetised and have the tongue stitched back together. The vet was unsure if the stitches would be enough to stop the tongue from falling apart. She would have to consult with another vet down in Southland. We were told to prepare ourselves for the possibility that without the ability to eat, Bree may have to be put down.

Whilst the vet was examining the wound, she found embedded in the tongue the tooth from a small dog. The vet thought that the tooth belonged to something like a little terrier. It seemed that Bree must have opened her mouth at the wrong time with a small dog in the vicinity, which then latched onto her tongue, shredding it as Bree pulled away.

The Tooth

While the vet consulted with her colleague, I made contact with our equine insurance people. We had taken the insurance out on Bree two weeks prior and so it was with a heavy heart that I updated them on the situation. expecting to be informed that they would not be able to cover an injury so soon after taking out the insurance policy, I was immensely relieved to hear that Bree would be covered, to submit a claim once the surgery had been done and the person on the other end of the phone took time out to empathise with me as to how shocking such an injury would be and their hope that the surgery would be successful.

I have never forgotten the kind words that this person said in what was a situation that had the potential to turn completely devastating.

Still looking good? Still looking good!!

In preparation for the surgery, Bree had to be taken to holding stables the night before the procedure. Apart from the fact that she was not allowed to eat anything, we could tell that Bree was considering this turn of events as only proper and was looking forward to a bit of one on one pampering. It also helped that a stallion in a nearby holding area had noticed Bree as she sashay past and was voicing his approval at such a sexy wee vixen moving in next door. Bree could have been the next Maybelline model the way she was tossing her head, making sure that the stallion saw her flowing mane and saucy looks.

The next day, with another vet to supervise the operation coming up from Invercargill, Bree was anaesthetised and her tongue stitched. When we visited later that day, the vet said that there were some concerns around how well the stitches would hold and only time would tell. Bree would have to be kept of hard feed for period until the tongue had a chance to start mending. Knowing Bree’s love for food, we were not entirely sure how we would break this news to her. However at this stage Bree was still totally a space cadet, high on the drugs the vets had given her.

It was time to take her home. As we didn’t have a float we borrowed one from a fellow horsing person Linda. It was her paddock that we had moved Bree to after the dog incident. We didn’t feel that it would be safe for Bree in her old field in case the dog returned and we had a repeat event.

We loaded Bree into the float and started the journey home. We had a particularly steep hill on the way back to navigate, with a small winding road. 

With our Nissan terrano struggling to pull the weight of Bree, the float and the two of us up the hill, we soon had an entourage of cars behind us, all probably not thinking thoughts of good wishes to us and admiration for attempting to climb up the hill with what looked like a severely underpowered vehicle.

Don't believe that this is looking the way it should

We were about three quarters of the way up when there was a loud explosion from under the bonnet and large clouds of steam streaming out. Kiddies, Uncle Paul's top tip of the day. Clouds of white vapour from an engine means steam, dark clouds mean smoke. Sarah and I use to experience panicked bystander reactions when attending motor vehicle collisions as all the steam was mistaken for smoke. Only on a few occasions have I been to an accident to find the "smoke" really was smoke. The first time I got back onto the radio to confirm with Control that the fire service had been notified as "for once, the callers are correct, the vehicle is actually on fire for a change".

With the billowing steam clouds obscuring the view in front of the vehicle, I pulled over to the side of the narrow road and we decamped from the vehicle. Reassuring the next two cars that pulled past us that no, the vehicle is not on fire, I popped the bonnet to see what the damage was. I was greeted with the sight of the entire top of the radiator missing. That’s not pretty, we could have a problem.

Hearing this, Sarah has already spring into protecting-the-baby mode. Screw everything and everyone else, Bree must be first priority. We immediately offloaded her and Sarah relocated to a convenient road access point to a nearby forestry block. I returned to the vehicle to determine if it would be credible to have the blown radiator initiate a secondary fire that would unfortunately consume the crippled vehicle, thereby solving several problems at one stroke. I was pretty sure that the insurance was paid up. Unfortunately the clearing steam clouds did not reveal a burgeoning fire and despite my valiant attempts at fanning the engine in the hope of encouraging any hotspots, the vehicle retained its unburnt status.

By this stage, all the cars that we had been holding up in our slow journey up the hill less than five minutes ago must have past us, all probably with that wry smile you get when karma is delivered a little quicker than you had been anticipating, because a newly arrived car pulled over and offered us some assistance.

The kind gentleman inquired if he could drop us off any place in town to arrange the recovery of the vehicle and float. I thanked him for his generosity and remarked as the horse always insists on sitting up front when travelling we might just leave her and Sarah behind, however if he could drop me to Linda's place that was nearby and use her Range Rover to complete the journey. The Good Samaritan looked backwards and for the first time must have seen Sarah struggling with this large horse, off and down from the road. He agreed that this was probably the smartest move as he only was driving a Honda civic hatchback.

I ran back to Sarah and informed her of the good news. "Just hurry!" She hissed through clenched teeth as she tried to maintain control of Bree. Bree, after not having any food since the day before surgery was now desperately trying got break loose from Sarah's control to gorge herself on the tall dry stalks that she found herself suddenly standing amongst. Also there were tempting blackberry bushes also within reach which were really talking to her. Obviously Bree had totally ignored the vets little speech of only eating small amounts of soft food and instead was trying to strip the leaves off the brambles. Maybe she had the munchies after all the drugs.

Leaving Sarah to the valiant struggle of trying to get the gluttonous Bree away from all things edible and some things possibly not, I re-joined our road side saviour and off we travelled to Linda's lifestyle block. With many grateful thanks to our white knight, I was dropped off at Linda's driveway and after some brief explanations was returned to the roadside carnage in the Range Rover driven by Linda's husband, Grant. 

Bree was soon reloaded onto the float (now attached to the Range Rover) and on the way back to her paddock with Sarah and Linda. I followed on behind in the crippled Nissan Terrano, one eye constantly on the temperature gauge. As soon as it started to rise, I would pull over to the side of the road and turn the engine off, waiting until the engine temperature started to decline, then off again I would drive. it only took one stop to get to Linda's and then only two stops for us to limp home after making sure Bree was tucked up in 'Linda's arena as there was no way we could trust Bree not to start eating, if we had returned her to her paddock, the moment our backs were turned.

even though we went through all these dramas and it meant a routine of careful monitoring of what and how Bree ate, numerous vet visits to see how the tongue was healing etc., it was a clear turning point in Sarah and Bree's relationship. By the time the tongue had healed sufficiently for Sarah to even contemplate putting a bit back into Bree's gob and go for a ride, Bree had changed into a horse that seemed to trust Sarah. Yes, the battles of wills would resurface from time to time, but it seemed as if Bree now looked at Sarah as a person who she would allow to be led by. Bree was noticeably more at ease and cuddly around Sarah. We could now pick up all of her feet without that feeling of potentially Bree lashing out, kicking us into a place that even Google maps could not find.

Seeing the progress that Sarah was making with Bree, that sense of partnership it was becoming harder for me to keep that urge of wanting my own horse under control. Soon I was going to have to have my own challenge to work on.