It's true, there's an excavator there. Mara and I were both making big eyes at it. Poor Mara's eyes were already still buggy from last night's double fence encounter.
But I was not on her, and I was not asking for anything, just, graze, and see what happens.
She naturally moved down the hill on her own, and I followed. Normally I don't let her graze and decide where we go - I think letting a horse pull you around on a lead rope while grazing is only OK if the horse is already very mannerly on the lead.
This was an exception. She could not come into my space, but she could move at a respectful distance from me, grazing, with horrors all about. Curtains on bushes, an elaborate chicken coop, a horrid little peering garden gnome, an Internet box that makes noises on the street. The Kraemers themselves, popping about the place.
It's really hard for her, but it was so good to know that she's not the only one. I spent a full 30 minutes there, even down by the sheep which had Mara spinning on the end of the rope at one point, determined to show me how dangerous they are.
The sheep were afraid of her, and moved away, chewing nonstop.
Then Mara heard hoofbeats and I looked up toward the street and saw Sonja on her fluffy Icelandic, and Claudia leading her young green Fresian mix. I sighed. Sonja is taking the greenie out, and I hadn't had the chance to ask her to take us out since she was so helpful that last time. I was pouting in jeaousy, imagining how fast Claudia will have that unruly Fresian independently trained, with Sonja's help. Mara pulled on her rope, tried to break free from me, and nickered at them pathetically.
I walked her down the hill a few more strides and she forgot about them and put her nose into the clover.
But we still both listened to the hooves as long as we could.
Mara was, "I know them!"
I was, "They could help us....if we could take the opportunity, if they had time."
After they were gone, and we'd made our way past the final sheep in the sheep field, I pulled Mara into a trot behind me.
We descended fast and did lots of bushwhacking. I love how bushwhacking gets her concentration. She really never misbehaves while off trail, legs straddling fallen logs.
We took our time though, and by the time we are at the pond below (where I'd released tadpoles with Baasha 4 years earlier), we heard hoofbeats again.
Sure enough, it was Sonja and Claudia. I know that Claudia always leads her young Fresian after Sonja's horse, I've never seen her onboard, so I was not surprised that she was, again, on the ground leading. I was leading too - but I'd tucked Mara into a little grassy grove next to the trail to allow them to pass.
Their chatting voices kept coming closer. When they came into view, Mara was beside herself with anxiety, but what could I do - I just stood there and tried to be sure Mara did not attempt to bowl me over.
I was not expecting to hear what Claudia said. In fact, I raised my finger to Sonja to ask her to please stop, I'd like to hear that.
Claudia pulled for all her might on the bridle to get her horse out of her way and said to me, "I just had to get off because he was so excited back there."
I wanted to talk to them, to ask Sonja to please do the same for me - take me out sometime at a beginner's pace to help my horse calm down. But the Fresian yanked on Claudia, throwing her off balance. She said, "Sorry!" and they went up the hill.
Mara cried after them, "FRIENDS, I KNOW YOU GUYS!"
I stood there stunned.
1. She was ...ashamed to be on foot? With that youngster? She made excuses?
OK, I was also rather sheepish that I wasn't on my proud steed's back, covering the rocky terrain at speed, but Claudia and I are in the same position with our horses. The beginning.
2. Why was she letting that horse rip her arms out of the sockets? She was literally dragged up the hill, her body bouncing along against his shoulder, as she tried to talk to me.
All my earlier feelings switched to.....oh my.
My horse is a basket case, but she does not pull on her lead. Unless of course, as in today, an old man on crutches walks around the corner, and she spins around me in a terrified attempt to leave planet Earth. OK that sucked. I had even seen it coming, but somehow Mara had not.
Then a car approached without her knowledge, and again, she ripped around me lightning-fast, almost through me, but not quite. I admit, I was angry.
But I felt pretty good that my horse doesn't, in general, drag me along as if I'm a buoy on the side of salmon troller.
We had only a 2 hour outing today, and she was very balky at some points, but I just got a little progress and then jumped off, ran with her beside me trotting, then jumped back on, expected only a walk, and did serpentines on the trail when she refused. At one point we had a long rein walk. At that point I looked around if anyone had noticed: )
Near home, I stopped at every patch of grass and let her graze. In fact, she didn't seem to want to go home, once she was on our street again. I had to finally say, "OK let's go home." That felt good.
3 comments:
(I left a lovely, enthusiastic comment here earlier, but I think my phone ate it. Dang.)
HOORAY for you! Look at you problem-solving and getting to know this horse and actually making substantial progress with her!
It's hard work to train a green horse, especially if you only do it every decade or so. I'm sure that Dom thinks it's NBD, but I clearly remember looking at green-as-grass Fiddle who was refusing to do something perfectly simple and thinking, "Why can't you do this, so we can do the FUN STUFF?"
Years later, I realize that the FUN STUFF is especially sweet because of the long road it took to get here.
You will get to the fun stuff too, and then you'll look back at these blog posts and think "Wow, we've really come a long way!"
You're doing it right. Keep going!
I like her look in some of the photos - much more relaxed. You've got your eyes on the prize - you're thinking about what's going right and building on that. And it's so true that the leading is fundamental - if you haven't got that, you've got nothing.
Gosh she is so pretty, love that deep red that she is.
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