One Thing Leads to Another: Pt. 3 - Finding Something to Do

The moral of my last post (One Thing Leads to Another - Pt 2 Trouble in Paradise) was:

Never let other peoples' opinions come between you and your horse. Never.... be shy, embarrassed, ashamed or afraid to take your horse's side, to give him the benefit of the doubt -- even in the face of traditional wisdom and expert opinion. If you're not on his side, who will be? If you don't speak up for him, who will?

That “moral” was written with benefit of hindsight. Hilary, in her comment, was nice enough to give me kudos for sticking up for my horse. I wish I could take credit for being wise or kind at the time (nearly 20 years ago). I wasn’t really. I was just innocent and open-hearted in my love for Khemo, my First Horse, my dream-come-true. I liked him, loved him, and wanted him to like me. I wanted him to be healthy and happy, and I was committed to do whatever I could to help him be healthy and happy. It was that simple.

Somewhere further along in my horse journey I lost a lot of that childlike innocence and simplicity. I didn’t notice all that I was losing as it was happening. That is something that only became fully clear years later, as I looked back on things. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself in the telling of my story, so I’ll go back to where we were, those early days of having Khemo in my life....

There were about 20 other boarders at Whipporwill Valley Farm. In the first few years of our stay there most of them were showing in hunter-jumper, a few were riding dressage. Two men belonged to a hunt club. One or two riders were cross-training between disciplines. I seemed to be alone in my lack of a discipline. The horses were mostly warmbloods, and thoroughbreds. There was one Morgan, and then there was Khemo, "the Arab", and, for a few months Khe’s dam, Pililani, "the Arab mare".

It seemed that every one of my fellow boarders asked me the same question upon meeting me: “What are you going to do with him (meaning Khemo)?” My dream of having a horse did not include a particular discipline, so I was at a loss for an answer.

Had I taken the time and made the effort to summon up my childhood dream in greater detail, I would have noticed that not only was it lacking a particular discipline, but riding itself wasn’t a critical factor. Yes, sometimes I rode the (saddle-less, bridle-less) Dreamhorse. But mostly we were walking side by side, running around, playing, lazing in the shade of a tree.... It was the connection, the friendship with the Dreamhorse, that was my heart’s desire. But, in those early days with Khemo that detail went unnoticed. I never once questioned the whole idea of riding. I had a horse, so of course I was going to ride. That’s what horses are for, right?

Usually I replied to my new acquaintances: “Well, the first thing I want to do is re-learn how to ride. It has been a long time since my last lesson.” A long time indeed. It had been nearly 20 years since I went away to college and ended the formal riding instruction that had been such a big part of my life between the ages of 7 and 17. Years of working behind a desk and expense account lunches and dinners, not to mention stress, late nights, and other bad habits, had left me fat and out of shape. I had no fear of being on horseback, I was not tense, nor was I afraid of falling, but I knew I needed to improve my seat and refine my riding style. In my young years I had jumped, done a lot of trail riding (albeit on groomed bridle paths in Lincoln Park) riding both western and English, ridden saddleseat... My instructor had taught all of that -- it was all riding. It seemed the world had changed since then. When I asked my fellow boarders for referrals to riding teachers, I was answered with a question, the same question I had been unable to answer the first time around: “What do you want to do with him?”

Hmm. It took me a while to understand that people no longer had riding teachers -- they had trainers. And the trainers only trained in a particular discipline -- for the purpose of showing. If you didn’t show, you weren’t “serious” and you were not taken seriously. You were a pleasure rider, a "backyard" horse owner.

Hunter-jumper trainers were pretty thick on the ground in Monmouth County, New Jersey in the early 90's, but jumping was something Khemo had no desire to do, and therefore neither did I. I had discovered during our trail rides that, when given a choice between jumping even a small log or finding a way around it, Khemo would almost always choose the go-round. At the time, I didn't look deeper into the reason for this. Had I done so, I might have discovered things, aside from a simple dislike of jumping -- things like a badly fitting saddle, a horse's inability to fully feel his feet because of iron shoes, or any number of other factors in addition to me, the rider, the heavy, often unbalanced, load on his back. But learning about saddle fit and shoeing, as well as dentistry, biomechanics, the effect of emotional well-being on a horse’s health and soundness -- all that was still in the future. At the time, I only knew that Khemo did not want to jump.

So, he and I continued with our unserious trail riding and I continued my search for that mythical beast -- a riding teacher. One day, in a chance meeting with the Morgan's person, I learned that she was new to horse and had only recently begun learning to ride. I asked if she was taking lessons. Yes, she was. Jumping? No, she had a dressage trainer coming in weekly. I asked if her “trainer” would take on another student. She inquired, and, as it turned out, the dressage trainer was willing to teach a second lesson on Saturday mornings, since she was coming to the barn anyway.

And that, dear Reader, is how Khemo and I came to be "doing dressage."

*******

There's no moral to this part of our story. Instead, as I examine my memories of this time, I have an observation and a question.

What is glaring to me now, with hindsight, is how absolutely pervasive was the notion that we have to "do something" with horses. And, that the "something" must involve riding. No one has ever asked me what I do with the cats who share my life. It is just assumed that I have them living with me because I enjoy their company. (I assume it is the same for people who share their lives with dogs.) But with horses it is very different. Why is that? Why does it seem so radical, so outlandish to simply want to be with horses because we like them and enjoy their company?