Working with Pi has been especially interesting lately. Well, it has always been interesting. Let me rephrase. It has been extremely challenging yet, also extremely rewarding. Pi has, among other things, a true phobia of connection especially of the right rein. My initial assessment two years ago led me to believe he had some type of bony trauma to the right jaw/tmj area and hyoid apparatus with subsequent compensatory soft tissue and muscle dysfunction. He had an unusual way of chewing where he stretched out his neck, twisted his head, and crossed his jaws. He also had extreme, violent reactions when asked for flexion and adjustments to his posture that encouraged connection with and straightness through the right side of his body. His relationship with the bit was tenuous, at best.
The hyoid apparatus is where muscles from the neck and sternum and those of the tongue and pharynx meet. It’s located in the temporal area. Picture a fine, bony swing between the horse’s jaws that attaches at the base of the skull near the ears. The hyoid apparatus affects not only chewing, but balance, proprioception, picking up the correct lead…just think on all the related attachments. It is an often overlooked yet, very important piece of the training or re-training of the horse.
Pi was committed to holding his body in its rigid, pathological crookedness not only because of the suspected injury but, also due to his moderate lordosis. Think of the spine angling down from the lumbar in a v junction at the area of the wither rather than a level playing field. With lordosis some vertebrae are wedge shaped instead of square causing the energy from the hindquarters to be perpetually stuck in a traffic jam of sorts just behind the shoulder. This makes it more difficult for these horses to adjust the thorax laterally and elevate it between the scapulae.
He wasn’t a young horse when we came into one another’s life. He was coming seventeen and had seventeen years’ worth of baggage with only a rudimentary education. Rather than having relinquished his time, his body, and his will as do working horses, his life was mostly his own. He had a lifetime’s worth of muscle memory dedicated to a tight, high headed, tail flagged, inverted reactionary way of moving. He also had a very strong sense of himself, which would eventually prove more challenging than all else.
There was a time when his behavior was dangerous. If the double barrel shot of his hindlegs had not missed their target, he would have done grave damage to someone. Another time the quick reflexes of a handler kept her face from being on the receiving end of a wrecking ball swing of Pi’s head. He did his best to unseat me multiple times. The last was an epic bucking tantrum over our direction of travel. The pain and discomfort in his body, the lack of positive human connections, his fears of…everything, caused his mind to be as tightly wound and disconnected as his body. When he sought to be close to you he was pushing into your space and exerting control over his environment. When he was agreeable under saddle it was with resigned compliance not out of trust or cooperation. My many years working with the undesirables of the equus tribe have taught me to ask a different question when a horse doesn’t do what I want. Instead of “why won’t he?” I ask, “why should he?”
It is our job as riders to explain to our horses in a way in which they understand what we are asking of them. It is also our job to make sure they are strong enough, forward enough, and balanced enough to do the work we ask them to do. Pi had not been taught the language of dressage so, we had no common ground to begin with. A mutual understanding of basic horse/human relationships was the first thing we had to establish and with that the trust would follow. If only I’d known how wide a crevasse to traverse we had ahead of us.
Pi could not relax enough to stand still beside me or anyone. His head shot around to look anywhere and everywhere but at you. His feet were in perpetual motion straining to be away from humans as quick as possible. Here is where I take my cue from Nanny McPhee. Pi, your first lesson is to be here in the now, with me as your safe place. Just stand. Here. Beside me. With me. Pi shuffled his hindlegs in place. He pawed his right foreleg. He put his nose high and flapped his lips. He shook his head. He snaked his neck. He snorted then trumpeted through wide nostrils. I held onto the lead with plenty of play between the length in my hand and the clasp on his halter. Regardless of what he did to remove himself from my company he always found himself right back at my side. I maneuvered myself counter to him in ways that made an exit away from me more trouble than standing still beside me. I continually asked for him to put himself in the head down relaxed posture, a posture where he could hear me. Eventually I noticed a flick of an ear in my direction. I saw a softening of his eye. It was just enough to be perceptible.
Ever so slightly, the door had opened. His head lowered a few inches. His body relaxed enough that his tail wasn’t torqued to the side. His attention turned to me. Not completely to me but, enough. His coat glistened with nervous sweat. I moved a step closer to him. Despite the slack in the lead that allowed him to move away he did not.
I moved a step closer still. I placed my hand on his neck. I spoke low and slow. “I am so sorry. It’s not easy going through life afraid and unwilling to trust anyone.” The wary blue eye looked past me and his body leaned towards the wall as though trying to place himself far away. There is a reservation of trust built on years of self-preservation rooted deeply within him. I removed my hand and waited. And waited. And waited. And finally, the blue eye looked at me and his posture shifted in my direction. Pi was now in a place he could hear. Would he want to, though?
I needed to help him find reasons why he should. He needed a lot of bodywork, a lot of ground work, followed by a lot of giving, supporting, and understanding from me in the saddle. Where to begin?
Now that we had discovered a quiet place in his mind, I could help him unwind his body. Pi had deeply embedded reactionary responses to touch and pressure of his poll and ears. I needed be able to help him release the tension in the area immediately adjacent the atlanto-occipital joint and his jaw but, I couldn’t touch him there…yet.
Every horse has a door, a place in their body of least resistance where they enjoy being touched. He was so stoic when it came to pleasant stimuli, determined to not enjoy anything. I had to search nearly every inch of his body feeling for any softening any place to give me a clue to where his door was. I probed along his body, varying my touch and pressure, testing and waiting for a response. Each time I touched a new place he stepped away or he swung towards me warning me to back off. I kept feeling until I touched a place and he did not step away, his haunch down near his hocks. I’d found a back door, literally.
This door opened other doors until eventually I was allowed in to the places he protected more vigilantly. This was not a one step, three step, or even twelve process. This was an onion; layer upon layer of physical and emotional walls with very few and heavily guarded passages through. Body work. Ground work. Under saddle work. Then on to the next layer. Body work. Ground work. Under saddle work. On and on the process goes. The trust is built by always giving him a door to walk forward through, physically and emotionally, and by always keeping the rules of engagement the same. He tested my commitment to the rules every step of the way. “Are you who you say you are?” he asked. He eventually began to trust more and test the process less. He knew he would have a safe place to go to, layer by layer and door by door.
I knew that the trauma which he felt was unforgivable was centered at the right jaw and altanto-occipital area to the right of the poll. Getting him to trust me enough to help him work through the memory of pain, the physical discomfort of established muscle disfunction, and the mental fear of learning a different balance in his body was my ultimate goal. I added mirroring to our ground work once he was interested in listening and engaging with me.
“Regardless of what catches your eye or ear, you and I are here. We are the only things that matter to one another at this moment.” I pointed the whip at his fetlock and tickled it with the tassel as I raised my foot directly across from the fetlock touched. Pi was a quick study, albeit a reluctant one, and quickly understood when I touched his fetlock with the whip tassel I meant him to raise that hoof. He then was able to understand to raise the hoof when I pointed the whip at his fetlock. Our understanding of one another developed to where he began to mirror me. Facing one another, I raise my left leg and he raises is right fore. The higher I raise my leg the higher he raises his. Initially he was cooperative but, quite disdainful of my stupid human tricks. Rather than raise his hoof and set it down, he stomped, and sighed with obvious irritation. Lord, I love this boy! I was so excited he was expressing himself. Eventually I won him over and his disdainful boredom led to curiosity and a willingness to engage in mirroring with me.
That allusive throughness, balance, and connection through his right side, how it teased. It flirted. It was so near, and yet so far away. It would flit towards me like a nervously curious hummingbird, softly touching me as though testing my honesty and commitment to abiding by the rules. If I made a move to reciprocate the connection it was gone and the balance that had carried me evenly those few strides collapsed instantly into a tilted whirlwind of tension. Pi was one deep onion.
I felt there was another door to his right side through the rein back. He always invited me to argue and pull him back. I traversed that rocky part of our relationship like the slippery slope it was; with great care and plenty of give. I made little introductions through the rein back to right rein and thoroughness. Once he could rein back in a forward frame and balance, I asked him to rein back into working pirouette. His instinct was to plant his feet and spin on his forehand in answer. I needed to show him how he could rein back and keep his feet moving while his forehand turned around his haunch.
Here is where the ground work in mirroring helped him realize what I was asking and that he could do it. I dismounted and asked him to take a step back while bringing his shoulder towards me. One step at a time. If he got frustrated and swung his haunch around instead, I told him ‘no worries’, repositioned him, and asked again. He learned to rein back, in one continuous and fluid movement, into a working pirouette towards the direction of bend (the left) in tack with me beside him on the ground. In this way he found the connection to the right side himself.
Success on the ground does not translate directly into immediate success in the saddle. We still had things to figure out once I mounted up but, we both were now armed with better understanding. Back in the saddle I asked for him to release the base of his neck and invited him to reach towards the bit. This I achieved through a subtle action of my ring finger on the outside rein and a touch of my inside leg. My seat asked him to balance towards the right rein. I felt the slight shift under my seat and his crest flipped left. I then asked for the rein back and felt him hesitate. He was deciding how this all felt and if he was ok with. I asked again for the rein back and used my voice to lend him confidence. He stepped back. Then he halted. “Good boy’” I whispered and touched his neck. I asked again and he moved off into the rein back more confidently. We finally did a rein back into a half working pirouette without him bracing or planting his feet. It was beautifully sloppy but, he did it and allowed me to help correct his balance when he misplaced a hoof. Well done, Pi. Well done.
This exercise, a rein back into a 180 degree turn on the haunch/working pirouette, kept him moving and forward balanced. Without fuss or muss it positioned him in left a bend with an honest right rein connection. His right hind leg was exactly where it needed to be and not trailing to the left. In the new direction I could change the bend and keep the right hind where it needed to be to move forward tracking right in a better balance.
Even without so many layers to Pi’s onion, working over the back is more challenging for horses with lordosis. With Pi, we had a lot of peeling to do before we could get to this stage. I’ve been using, again, longe work without any restrictive training devices to reinforce the relaxation, stretch, step under, and balance in a forward frame we’ve been developing with our other tools. Longe work with simultaneous mirroring helps Pi self-adjust and be comfortable without fear of entrapment or restraint. I use my posture to mirror to him the posture I’m asking that he adopt. I also use light vibrations on the line and my voice when he needs more encouragement.
Transitions on the line between gaits and within gaits have been invaluable to aiding in generating the flow of energy over his topline and clearing away the traffic block behind his wither. I asked him to work transitions once every full circle, then every half circle, then every quarter circle, then every few steps. The transitions are from halt to walk, walk to trot, trot to halt, halt to trot, trot to canter, canter to trot, halt to canter and canter to halt without him rushing or jumping reactively. I am looking for him to respond energetically and in control of himself. Once the transitions had been mastered then we progressed to moving the haunches out on the line. The forehand maintains the current track. Only the haunch steps to the outside. He must not rush forward. He must not run in. He needs to understand he takes only the haunch to the next track to the outside of the circle. A slight vibration of the line helps him maintain tempo and helps his forehand maintain the track. This translates to a tool to help maintain tempo and rebalance the horse under saddle, becoming more and more subtle until your aids are only a whisper of take haunches to the outside; aka developing a rebalancing aid/half halt.
The more layers he and I worked through the more of himself he gave over until finally we came to the deeply rooted layer that he still hid behind and did not want to give up. Remember, Pi is a horse who never fully learned how relationships work; not with other horses and not with humans. He saw no benefit in honest partnership and no desire to seek reward other than an end to the pressure, to the stupid human tricks. He sought not praise nor companionship. He was always looking for the escape route instead of the ‘good boy’. If the work didn’t end when Pi decided it should he could still be explosive, albeit seldom and not as intense. For all the progress we made together he still required tactful reminding of rules and boundaries.
I believed, and still do for most horses, that small successes and big rewards build a better partnership. Not so with Pi. He never gave fully in anything. He learned if he gave just a little the session would end and he could go to his oats and back to pasture. I felt I was being tactful in allowing him as much time as he needed to develop his understanding of our working relationship. What’s the rush? Yet, in this way he controlled the course of our days, training me to back off with the slightest positive answer from him and never ask him for more in one session beyond his small answer.
In short, he is not an honest horse. He is an opportunist. He happened to find opportunity through my lingering weakness from respiratory failure and back to back infections when I needed to take a knee and rest during our ground work. The majority of working horses would not have perceived my resting posture as a sign of submission. With Pi it was my mistake because he saw an invitation to exert his dominance, that strong sense of himself I noted when first we met.
He boldly strode towards me while I knelt with line and whip in hand. His neck was arched. His tail was raised. He snorted and blew and became talkative in the way stallions do. I stood and he didn’t stand down. The question came round again; Not, Why won’t he? But, Why should he? I needed to show him, without question, why he should and quickly.
“Back up. Now. More.” At first he yielded. He backpedaled high-headed and nostrils flared. Then he thought to rush me. I gave a sharp correction on the line. He thought to bolt sideways. Another sharp correction. “HUP!” I demanded. My shoulders squared, my feet planted, my head up, my gaze direct and stern. My posture didn’t read submissive now. He halted. With his nose pointed towards the rafters he needed to cock his head to keep an eye on me. Pi’s body language read I’m not a believer, yet. At that time, I didn’t have the strength or stamina to address the issue fully. I needed only one small yield, one small softening from him to call it a day. I gave a little play on the line and motioned for the head down posture. He lowered his head. I approached him gathering up the line one loop at a time. His head remained in the down relax posture but, his parroted mouth and hard eye told me he did so not willingly.
There was no good boy. No pat on the neck. This was the business of reaffirming our roles so that we are both safe. “Come.” I led the way to the cross ties. I gave him a brushing. I blanketed him. I put him into his stall. Here we are back at the beginning but, not exactly because there is now a foundation we’d not had before. Will it stand? Can we find the way through this final door together and dump his last piece of battered baggage? I am reminded again why there are free horses. I think to myself that the best gift any owner can bestow upon their horse is teaching them to be good, safe citizens. Solid basic training gives every horse a better chance of ending up in a good home and well cared for into their retirement.
Pi was a horse in need of a person. I was a person of experience in need of a pony of my own. If he would have gone to another home with less experience, he might have succeeded in hurting someone and been put down or found in a kill pen. It is now my job to help him learn to be a good, safe citizen in place of the opportunist he is…for both our sake’s. I hope he can learn that the reward of a “good boy” and the honest partnership with a human is a safer and happier place to be than behind the defense of this deepest and long soured layer.
I clasp the end of the line to his halter and send him on. My body says turn left, then right, then left, then right again. The answers must be quick. No sticking. No hesitation. My goal is through moving on he finds his way to me.
Pi works hard to put his body in opposition to mine; his shoulder leans in on the circle to keep me in the position of chasing him rather than driving him forward. He blasts off. He halts like he’s hit a wall. He tries to spin and charge off in the opposite direction I’m sending him. He does not want to be told where and how to move his hooves. I maneuver to keep him from changing of his own accord. We repeat this exercise day after day; pressure on, pressure off, varying degrees of pressure according to his reactions. I am watching for him to soften and choose the reward. I am giving him every opportunity to make a choice for the better but, I react swiftly when he does not.
Each time I raise the bar he raises his challenge. Though each time he becomes less committed to his offensive plan. I add new elements such as obstacles and patterns to send him forward through. Initially he balks at being directed through them ahead of me. Then an ear turns towards me. Next his head lowers to a relaxed, working position and his mouth and eye soften, not just a little but, fully. Pi is listening instead of looking for his escape route. He has learned to navigate the obstacles and patterns by paying attention to the directions my body posture and positioning gives him.
He allows himself to be directed on the line; move left, move right, move off at a walk, make prompt transitions, all without a challenge. He allows himself to be directed ahead of me with me (not ahead of me and away from me, which is an important distinction) through an ever-changing array of patterns and obstacles while looking to me for directions.
When he seeks me out, when he comes instead of turning away as I approach with the halter, and does so day after day (regardless of what is or is not happening in his environment) is when I will consider putting foot to stirrup again. I am betting there is an honest horse inside him. I am betting on that moment I saddle up again.
It’s a beautiful feeling, almost butterflies in the stomach, to sit astride a horse who carries you for
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