Osteopath magic

In searching for a solution to some of Benny's health problems, my vet recommended a local osteopath, who incorporates massage therapy, chiropractic work and acupressure in her treatments. Her first big job on Ben (and it was a VERY big job), was to put his hips back into place. In a very non-scientific sense, and because I have a terrible memory and that was about eight months ago, his illium had slipped out of place. It had been like that for quite some time. It took the osteopath about an hour, and I would guess about 1000 calories, to muscle everything back into place. The change was so drastic my vet barely recognised him, and they are quite well acquainted.

Benny had his third treatment on Monday night, which included more work on his hips and a rogue shoulder. Ben is 11 going on two, and still plays like a baby out in the field, which means he usually knocks himself around A LOT and has an impressive collection of war wounds from playing Wyld Stallyns over the fence with his best buddy.

This was also his second experience with acupressure. Both times, the needles seemed to inspire a totally different horse to appear. Horses were coming in and out of the barn, which normally rattles him to no end, and he looked up once and kept licking and chewing with a soft eye.

I didn't take any photos, because it seemed kind of rude to interrupt his trip to happytown, but I did Microsoft Paint my impressions. Thought bubbles may not be exactly as depicted. Forelock is EXACTLY as depicted. Note rainbows, grass and Mr. Golden Sun.

Benny in the sky with diamonds

KEEP MOVING - a good lesson to remember

Now, Benny has a tendancy to be a bit nervous and neurotic (surprise, so am I!). Because of this, he tends to go all deer-in-headlights and jiggy when he's by himself or in a new situation.

I was having a lesson on Saturday, and we planned it so that I would be alone in the arena to start, as for Bentley the only worse thing than being along is being accompanied and THEN alone. Seriously, lemme tell you a tale of how much he hates this. The last time I had a lesson with this coach the rider before me dismounted and walked around to cool her horse off before leaving. The second she dismounted, the ears started to swivel and attention waned. When she left, he totally checked out, which for him means screaming whinnies and freight training around on the forehand totally blowing through any and all aids, including the ones to stop. At that point, not even yelling "Atse!" at the top of my lungs would have slowed down the trajectory. We ended up doing pretty much the entire lesson at a walk working on controlling the shoulders.



Yeah, didn't work for me either Jose Chavez y Chavez



Getting back to the point of our story, while Bentley was not in freight train mode this particular day he was still a little on the anxious side.

When the coach arrived, we had a short meeting
to outline the goals for the day. Bentley bounced and bobbed, moving fore and aft and up and down as if he had become one of those old school spring horses that were at all the best playgrounds back in the day (in my opinion anyway).

The coach, in infinite calmness, urged me to just keep him walking. In moving, even if it's in circles, he feels more at ease. As a prey animal, movement means action. He is doing SOMETHING to get himself out of whatever percieved danger he feels he's in.

I feel this also speaks to the need for forward in all gaits. As a bonafide control freak, I have a tendancy to try to clamp down when he gets forehand-heavy and rush-y, shutting him down through my reins and reverting to the ole fetal defence position. If I want to build a confident, happy horse, I have to let him go, being supportive but not limiting through sitting tall, balance and half halts, always thinking free, free, free.

Bentley conquers mount manure

On the advice of a friend, I've decided to try and delve into Bentley's account of a certain event versus my account of a certain event. Of course, Bentley's not telling his side overly clearly, so it's only my interpretation of his opinions and actions. I think it's best not to think too hard about the inevitable game of telephone this ends up to be.

He said/she said #1: Mount manure

Now, an important thing to not about Bentley is that he is, above all things, a delicate 1300 lbs of monster. He looks big and tough, but has the perpetual expression of a deer in headlights. Releveant to this story, he is also allergic to pretty much everything, including most types of hay, several different molds and oats. This has resulted is a challenging few years from a management perspective, and his diet is watched very carefully.

So, open scene. A picturesque summer day complete with puffy clouds and a soft wind. The fields had been taken over by clover, and the horses taken over with scratches, so the BO was dilligently spraying to get rid of the offensive, yet tasty, plant. Of course, to carry out said spraying, the horses had to be moved into a different pasture.The pasture also happened to be the place where the wheelbarrow was dumped, and had a small mountain (perhaps a foothill relative to most North American mountains) composed of stratas of shavings, poop and mouldy hay. I didn't carbon date any core samples, but it had been forming for quite some time. Cause for concern? Perhaps. But, this was one small mountain of crap in a GIANT field filled to the brim with tasty, tasty grass. And, it was temporary, right? What could possibly happen over two days?

Enter Bentley, stage right:
[Bentley looks right to open, grassy fields in which to frolic, then looks left over to pile of manure]
"Hmmm, grass. I like grass. Wait... Whatever this is smells amazing! I NEED to see what's up there. Ohh, kind of soft an uneven, but [reaching the top] NOW I AM KING! BOW DOWN, ALL OF YOU [to other horses grazing in the field]. Hold on, is there food in here? Does this mountain get any better?"

Enter Chelsey, leaving the tack room and seeing Bentley on top of mount manure, eating stalks of moldy hay:
[Muttering under breath calculating vet bills and hopping through the fence.]
"What are you doing?" Bentley turns around and gives Chelsey the walleye, then continues chewing. He refuses to reliquish his position at the top, leaving the increasingly angry girl to climb up to him, sinking shin deep in crap up to her shins. He appears to be thoroughly proud of himself.

End scene

Thankfully, there were no lingering effects from his exploits. Not suprisingly, he learned absolutely nothing from the experience, other than hills are awesome and food can be found in the unlikeliest of places. In fact, there is currently a leftover pile of waterlogged grain in the driveway that has been ground into the gravel by at least 50 cars over the course of three weeks that he attempts to stop and eat every time we walk by.

Benny rocks his new blanket

I think he may be the cutest turtle I've ever seen.

Resistance (and the futility of trying to fight it)

Benny had, how should I say it, a bit of a day the other day. We were working on 20m canter circles, and every time I tried to transition to canter out of trot, I was met with a wall of resistance. In return for my request I recieved tense rounding, stiffness and, in the end, bucks. That session, we quickly decided that he was not himself that day and gave him some time off in case he was hurting. He was fine by the next ride.

I had another similar day a while ago. It wasn't the same level of resistance, just one of those days when I was of the opinion that he was capable of doing what I was asking of him (again, 20m circles at the canter). He disagreed (respectfully) and it just wasn't happening at the level of my expectations.

As I circled again and again, I had a flashback to my 16-year-old self. Back then, I had a wonderful arab mare named Shantay. When her performance wasn't meeting my teenage expectations, we kept at it. It could be two hours of us at odds. I was a really stubborn kid, and she was a high-energy horse. I thought a bit about those epic battle-royales, and I couldn't even think of one thing I accomplished, other than both of us ending up sweaty and tired.

I've finally learned that there is no shame in altering your expectations sometimes to suit your ride. Every day doesn't need to bring massive leaps forward in training. Our plans don't always mirror our horse's, and the end goal is what counts. Baby steps make a less frustrated rider, and a happier horse.

Lessons from Eric and Hickstead

Like pretty much everyone in the horse community, I was pretty devastated by the sudden loss of Hickstead. Watching the tributes and the interviews, I started to think a lot about how the story of the partnership between Eric and Hickstead can be an inspiration to all of us. Different people will take away different things. I will keep with me the idea that our horses can be so much more than others see in them. You kept hearing it - Hickstead was too short, to uncontrollable, too hot.

Bentley was considered at different times a throwaway, a nervous wreck and an difficult prospect for dressage due to his unfavourable confirmation. And, while, due to his confirmation, etc., things will take time to happen, in the end he is a gentle soul and an unbelivably dedicated partner. He is the horse that loves my coach so much I'm sure he would crawl into her lap if he could.

Will he go to the Olympics? No, but who he is, and what he, like all horses, do for us, is enough.

Thanks Hickstead.

An introduction

The brown beast in the photo is my horse Bentley, an 10-year-old Canadian Warmblood gelding. My best friend and I bought him as a yearling. He likes eating, grazing, snacking and donkeys. This is a little log of our time together, including our goals to compete in dressage. We'll start at training level and see how it goes from there.