First, before we get to the finger story and Saratoga, I wanted to let you know that Dolly continues to learn that people are a good thing (that is, at least good people are a good thing):
Dolly and Miabella Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2011
How did Tica break my finger? Whenever students ask questions like, "Why won't she canter?!" or "Why won't he stand still
when I'm trying to get on?" or, simply, "Why is she doing that?" the official technique here is to answer such questions with another question. For example, "What are you doing to cause her to do that?" Of course, it's easier--and natural--for kids (and some adults) to want to find fault with the horse when they are frustrated. During the first lesson they learn that they are the ones who are supposed to be in charge--that they are training the horse. And, hopefully, by the end of the lesson they've achieved a measure of success in directing their equine partner and feel empowered rather than frustrated.
So, no, Tica really didn't break my finger; her reins that were in my hand when she bolted off at a gazillion miles an hour did.
The day before that happened, Juliane, Elementa, Tica, Dolly, and I had had our golf course experience. So, I now decided simply to pony Dolly behind Tica. These days she was leading in-hand very well--giving to pressure--so I thought I'd give it a shot. All went well until we got to the huge steel plate that the water department had placed over the stream that runs as an outlet from Nagog Pond. Now, Tica, like all horses, is suspicious of any unknown object that moves or makes a noise. We've worked a great deal trying to desensitize Tica, but she still doesn't trust fully yet. Here she is returning across the steel plate after the first golf course caper:
Tica Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2011
I'd say she looks pretty relaxed about it that day.
And here's Dolly, equally relaxed.
Dolly on Metal Plate Bridge Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2011
Since Tica decided that on this particular later day she now had "issues" with the metal plate, I got off and led her across. In case Dolly balked, and to avoid having to drop the lead in case I ran out of length, I unhooked her. I was reasonably confident she would follow Tica. She did.
To avoid temptation I decided not to take the trail that ran along the golf course but another trail that ran by the pond. Just as I re-mounted Tica, an animated Dolly surged surged past with an "I-know-where-we're-going attitude," and trotted quickly out of sight. I pressed Tica forward but no Dolly was to be seen. I called her name. The horse who often whinnies in return was silent. I turned to the trail I'd first planned to take and Tica paused, sniffing the air in the direction of--sigh, yes--the golf course. I called her name again: a return whinny. That's where she was.
As Tica and I walked up the trail I called again. I didn't really want to show myself and hoped Dolly would come cantering back.
"She's over here!" a male--and unfortunately, very human voice--replied.
I peeked between the trees. Two hundred yards away two men stood with Dolly on a putting green!
"Dolly! Dol--ly!"
Perhaps it was the increased combination of urgency and fear in my voice, but Dolly came flying off the green and rejoined us in the woods.
I decided I'd pony her for the remainder of the ride and hooked the lead to her halter.
All that went very well until the return ride and that metal plate. Tica said no. Rather than dealing with her refusals and keeping Dolly's mind--and head--off the knee-high grass, I decided to dismount and lead them both across. Tica very slowly, and very carefully--and therefore, more noisily--began to pick her way across. Dolly had no such problem. Striding ahead on my left she pushed me into Tica, who immediately determined that our newly combined width posed a clear and present danger to her existence. Hence, her (and my finger's) gazillion mile an hour blast-off.
Dolly shot off in the other direction, but thankfully I'd dropped her lead. Otherwise, Tica and Dolly could claim to have re-invented a form of medieval torture. I glanced at my hand. The middle finger was twisted and at an angle I'd never seen before. And it hurt! I grabbed it with my other hand and yanked it back where it belonged.
I then carefully walked Tica back over the plate and collected Dolly. But on the return Tica recalled that, going in this direction, she had panicked. And if she had panicked, well, there had to be a good reason. Maybe it was the horrible yank in the mouth that stupid human Ainslie gave me when I tried to get the hell out of Dodge. Of course, it doesn't matter that it happened after she became frightened. It just confirmed that her initial reaction had been correct. I tried to undo her rein from one side of her bit so I could have her walk behind Dolly, but my finger kept dislocating. After five dislocations and five adjustments, I gave up and put the reins behind Tica's run-up stirrups. Tica would have to negotiate the metal slab on her own. As soon as Dolly and I disappeared around a bend I heard the sound of high-stepping hooves on metal! Tica re-joined us.
Fortunately, Juliane was at my house so she was able to take care of Dolly and Tica when I got back. I drove to the doctor, who sent me to a hand surgeon who said the break was tiny but the finger badly traumatized. So, he sent me to yet another place to get a custom splint. The good news: I could still ride.
Four days later I drove the four hours to Saratoga Springs, New York. Jennifer Symon, owner of Tica's half-brother Navarro and a dear friend, saved me. She did absolutely everything--set up Tica's stall, gave her a bath, did my tack, and gave me bed and board. One evening's dinner included a bottle of wine called "Fourteen Hands," the label of which had the image of a red horse head with a blaze. Dolly, Jennifer knew, was 14.2. And Dolly has a blaze.
Tica was a star--the best she's ever been. And if I hadn't made some silly mistakes--and been in pain--I think all our tests would have been in the sixties, instead of just the one which was 63+. But, nonetheless, I was completely happy. Here, I must also thank Emma Griffin, Jennifer's instructor, who warmed me up on the second day. The test I rode after that was the best ever in my life. And Tica knew it was her best, too. Never until that moment had I seen her look so simultaneously proud and content. Here we are warming up with Emma, who, though out of the picture, I am sure, is directing me to turn my right hand up:
Ainslie and Tica Jennifer Symon copyright 2011
Americaucana chick Anne Dykiel copyright 2011
Since we now have, hopefully, a new fox-proof poultry coop, we are replenishing our chickens. The above is an Americaucana chick which is a cross between an Aracauna--a Chilean breed--and a variety of American breeds. The cross apparently remedies a lethal gene that pure Aracauna may carry but preserves the unique color of the eggs, which may be blue, green, or basic brown. These birds are also known as the Easter Egg chickens.
And we also have six of these adorable little critters:
Polish Crested Chick or "Top Hat" Ainslie Sheridan copyright May 2011
Polish crested or "Top Hats" are known for amusing crests of feathers shooting out of their heads. You can see a little cone on top from which these crests soon will emerge. These little guys originally hail from Mongolia but were made popular by wealthy Polish nobles of the 14th century. The crests--especially on the roosters--are so extreme that they make it difficult for them to spot predators. I've also read that this causes them increased anxiety. So we will have to be extra-vigilant on their behalf. (It's either that or a trip to the Shear Madness salon up the road in Littleton.) It is also an interesting and little-known fact that Big Bird of Sesame Street was modeled on a Polish Crested Rooster. Remember those feathers sticking up out of his head?
Here is another lesson going on. This time it's Sarah on Kip with Juliane teaching.
Kip and Sarah w/Juliane Ainslie Sheridan copyright 2011
And finally, here is a wonderful photo taken by Katie Schiesser just after we did some round pen work with Dolly and put a French braid in her mane:
Dolly's French Braid Katie Schiesser copyright 2011
Next blog we'll talk about the Gil Merrick clinic that Tica was just in three days ago. I had the good fortune of having Linda Parmenter ride her, so she was doubly well-trained that day.
Thursday I leave for Mystic, Connecticut, with Tica and still more 1st level tests. Details on return.
I'm sorry this blog was late. It's the height of show season now, and most shows are on weekends, so The Windlfower Weekly will still be released--as its name implies--weekly but now each Wednesday. Hopefully, that will make for a more consistent and better blog.
Thank you for taking the time to read this, and see you soon!
-- Ainslie
How did Tica break my finger? Whenever students ask questions like, "Why won't she canter?!" or "Why won't he stand still
when I'm trying to get on?" or, simply, "Why is she doing that?" the official technique here is to answer such questions with another question. For example, "What are you doing to cause her to do that?" Of course, it's easier--and natural--for kids (and some adults) to want to find fault with the horse when they are frustrated. During the first lesson they learn that they are the ones who are supposed to be in charge--that they are training the horse. And, hopefully, by the end of the lesson they've achieved a measure of success in directing their equine partner and feel empowered rather than frustrated.
So, no, Tica really didn't break my finger; her reins that were in my hand when she bolted off at a gazillion miles an hour did.
The day before that happened, Juliane, Elementa, Tica, Dolly, and I had had our golf course experience. So, I now decided simply to pony Dolly behind Tica. These days she was leading in-hand very well--giving to pressure--so I thought I'd give it a shot. All went well until we got to the huge steel plate that the water department had placed over the stream that runs as an outlet from Nagog Pond. Now, Tica, like all horses, is suspicious of any unknown object that moves or makes a noise. We've worked a great deal trying to desensitize Tica, but she still doesn't trust fully yet. Here she is returning across the steel plate after the first golf course caper:
I'd say she looks pretty relaxed about it that day.
And here's Dolly, equally relaxed.
Since Tica decided that on this particular later day she now had "issues" with the metal plate, I got off and led her across. In case Dolly balked, and to avoid having to drop the lead in case I ran out of length, I unhooked her. I was reasonably confident she would follow Tica. She did.
To avoid temptation I decided not to take the trail that ran along the golf course but another trail that ran by the pond. Just as I re-mounted Tica, an animated Dolly surged surged past with an "I-know-where-we're-going attitude," and trotted quickly out of sight. I pressed Tica forward but no Dolly was to be seen. I called her name. The horse who often whinnies in return was silent. I turned to the trail I'd first planned to take and Tica paused, sniffing the air in the direction of--sigh, yes--the golf course. I called her name again: a return whinny. That's where she was.
As Tica and I walked up the trail I called again. I didn't really want to show myself and hoped Dolly would come cantering back.
"She's over here!" a male--and unfortunately, very human voice--replied.
I peeked between the trees. Two hundred yards away two men stood with Dolly on a putting green!
"Dolly! Dol--ly!"
Perhaps it was the increased combination of urgency and fear in my voice, but Dolly came flying off the green and rejoined us in the woods.
I decided I'd pony her for the remainder of the ride and hooked the lead to her halter.
All that went very well until the return ride and that metal plate. Tica said no. Rather than dealing with her refusals and keeping Dolly's mind--and head--off the knee-high grass, I decided to dismount and lead them both across. Tica very slowly, and very carefully--and therefore, more noisily--began to pick her way across. Dolly had no such problem. Striding ahead on my left she pushed me into Tica, who immediately determined that our newly combined width posed a clear and present danger to her existence. Hence, her (and my finger's) gazillion mile an hour blast-off.
Dolly shot off in the other direction, but thankfully I'd dropped her lead. Otherwise, Tica and Dolly could claim to have re-invented a form of medieval torture. I glanced at my hand. The middle finger was twisted and at an angle I'd never seen before. And it hurt! I grabbed it with my other hand and yanked it back where it belonged.
I then carefully walked Tica back over the plate and collected Dolly. But on the return Tica recalled that, going in this direction, she had panicked. And if she had panicked, well, there had to be a good reason. Maybe it was the horrible yank in the mouth that stupid human Ainslie gave me when I tried to get the hell out of Dodge. Of course, it doesn't matter that it happened after she became frightened. It just confirmed that her initial reaction had been correct. I tried to undo her rein from one side of her bit so I could have her walk behind Dolly, but my finger kept dislocating. After five dislocations and five adjustments, I gave up and put the reins behind Tica's run-up stirrups. Tica would have to negotiate the metal slab on her own. As soon as Dolly and I disappeared around a bend I heard the sound of high-stepping hooves on metal! Tica re-joined us.
Fortunately, Juliane was at my house so she was able to take care of Dolly and Tica when I got back. I drove to the doctor, who sent me to a hand surgeon who said the break was tiny but the finger badly traumatized. So, he sent me to yet another place to get a custom splint. The good news: I could still ride.
Four days later I drove the four hours to Saratoga Springs, New York. Jennifer Symon, owner of Tica's half-brother Navarro and a dear friend, saved me. She did absolutely everything--set up Tica's stall, gave her a bath, did my tack, and gave me bed and board. One evening's dinner included a bottle of wine called "Fourteen Hands," the label of which had the image of a red horse head with a blaze. Dolly, Jennifer knew, was 14.2. And Dolly has a blaze.
Tica was a star--the best she's ever been. And if I hadn't made some silly mistakes--and been in pain--I think all our tests would have been in the sixties, instead of just the one which was 63+. But, nonetheless, I was completely happy. Here, I must also thank Emma Griffin, Jennifer's instructor, who warmed me up on the second day. The test I rode after that was the best ever in my life. And Tica knew it was her best, too. Never until that moment had I seen her look so simultaneously proud and content. Here we are warming up with Emma, who, though out of the picture, I am sure, is directing me to turn my right hand up:
Since we now have, hopefully, a new fox-proof poultry coop, we are replenishing our chickens. The above is an Americaucana chick which is a cross between an Aracauna--a Chilean breed--and a variety of American breeds. The cross apparently remedies a lethal gene that pure Aracauna may carry but preserves the unique color of the eggs, which may be blue, green, or basic brown. These birds are also known as the Easter Egg chickens.
And we also have six of these adorable little critters:
Polish crested or "Top Hats" are known for amusing crests of feathers shooting out of their heads. You can see a little cone on top from which these crests soon will emerge. These little guys originally hail from Mongolia but were made popular by wealthy Polish nobles of the 14th century. The crests--especially on the roosters--are so extreme that they make it difficult for them to spot predators. I've also read that this causes them increased anxiety. So we will have to be extra-vigilant on their behalf. (It's either that or a trip to the Shear Madness salon up the road in Littleton.) It is also an interesting and little-known fact that Big Bird of Sesame Street was modeled on a Polish Crested Rooster. Remember those feathers sticking up out of his head?
Here is another lesson going on. This time it's Sarah on Kip with Juliane teaching.
And finally, here is a wonderful photo taken by Katie Schiesser just after we did some round pen work with Dolly and put a French braid in her mane:
Next blog we'll talk about the Gil Merrick clinic that Tica was just in three days ago. I had the good fortune of having Linda Parmenter ride her, so she was doubly well-trained that day.
Thursday I leave for Mystic, Connecticut, with Tica and still more 1st level tests. Details on return.
I'm sorry this blog was late. It's the height of show season now, and most shows are on weekends, so The Windlfower Weekly will still be released--as its name implies--weekly but now each Wednesday. Hopefully, that will make for a more consistent and better blog.
Thank you for taking the time to read this, and see you soon!
-- Ainslie
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