PASSION!

Tempis fugit.  Full court press.  Life is daily.  Those are my reasons for not having written a blog in four months.  That, and horses are back on campus. Daily care. Daily training. Rolex. Internships. Adopters.  Board meetings. Committee meetings.  Visitors. Lectures. Phone calls. Emails. Trying to raise money to keep going. A never ending “to do” list. At the MMSC, it takes all day to get from A to B.  At the height of the season, I’m lucky to get from A to a.  

So be it.  “All passions lead to the cross,”my mother told me one day when I was young.

I had no idea what she meant at the time. At my tender age, I didn’t connect the word with its Latin origin,“passio,“to suffer.”  Nor was I educated or religiously savvy enough to reflect on the meaning or message of the “Passion of the Christ.” 

Tempis fugit.  Decades have passed.  I now know what Mom meant.  Throw yourself into something--your studies, your work, your sport, your mission. I mean really throw yourself into it, with the intention of the highest level of success: Summa Cum Laude, CEO, Olympian, changing the world because you LOVE the subject matter, or what you are doing, and the challenge of doing it and the reason and purpose for doing it, and you will feel both the privilege, because it is a  privilege, and the weight of  passion. Blessing and bane.  Passion is both. It is mighty love and mighty sacrifice. 

The sacrifices will be small at first: Pleasures, leisure time, friends.  Keep at it, and they will add up: Relationships, children, money, memories, health.  A passion can consume all. And with each sacrifice, something dies. And although you grieve for your loss, you don’t linger. There is too much to do. You are fueled and propelled by your pledge to the service of something bigger than yourself.  

Last week, I had the honor of being on a Thoroughbred Aftercare Panel at the Kentucky Farm Manager’s Club meeting. Panel speakers included, Anna Ford, Thoroughbred Program Director of New Vocations  (www.horseadoption.com) three representatives from Pegasus Therapy Center in Brewster, New York (www.pegasustr.org), Marney Mansfield (Clinical Coordinator), Emily Wygod (Program Coordinator) and Laura Stringer (Equine Coordinator), and myself. Each one of us talked with enthusiasm and at length about our organization’s mission and efforts. With so much enthusiasm and at such length, that at lecture’s end, nary a question was raised.

Then just as people were hovering to leave, Hall of Fame jockey Chris McCarron, raised his hand and ventured, “I’ll ask a question!!!” 

He stood up and looked at the audience. “I’ll ask it, but I  already know the answer,” he said, cryptically.

Then he turned to us.

“ Ladies,” he asked, “how do you do it?”

“That’s easy!,” Emily Wygod blurted out before anyone of us, “WE LOVE IT!”

“Yes,” said Chris. “You have PASSION!,” and, turning to the crowd he added, “And everyone in this room should be grateful to you for your passion and for all that each of you do!” The crowd rose in acknowledgement, clapping. 

It was humbling.  Everyone who works in an aftercare charity knows how the daily grind can wear you down to nothing. The sheer fatigue of physical work, mental problem solving, and emotional worry about funding takes its toll. I admire all my colleagues in this noble and challenging field. In particular, I marvel at the commitment of those who work for me, both the paid and unpaid. I wonder more often than not, how we can keep up the good fight one more day. What a crazy effort and ordeal!  A never ending problem. Is it worth it?

And just when you are ready to give it all up, you get a standing ovation. Or an email arrives with a heartfelt thank you from a delighted adopter. Or a visitor tells you that he or she loves volunteering just to be close to a horse. Or you go to the barn before closing up for the night, and you are greeted with rumbles and nickers, and when you  slide open a stall door to check water buckets and nighttime hay supplies, you feel warm breath and a satin muzzle against your check.

At these moments, time stands still.  The perfect peace of the present suffuse and regenerate you. And, somehow, miraculously, you are readied for the task again. You find time at night after a long day to write that blog after four months of silence. You welcome the newest horse and the next adopter. You reach out to more donors, seek more grants. You tote that bale. You show up in the morning and willingly take up your cross. 

That’s passion.  Grueling, yes.  But, the rewards are divine.

                                                             Cheery bye,

                                                              Susanna

ENGLAND

 I went to England at the end of February. I had not been there in 34 years and I’ve never been to the Cotswolds before where I spent the first two days of my trip. Although I was there on family matters, horses were never far from my mind. Granted reminders abounded. I saw people hacking through quaint villages on a Saturday afternoon, and locals in green muck “wellies,” downing beers while watching steeplechasing on the “telly.” In London equestrian statues graced parks, buildings and squares. I saw horses through the ages in the halls of the British Museum from the Parthenon's "Elgin Marbles," (upper left), to chariot steeds on Assyrian tablets (lower left), to horses painted on Russian icons (lower right). Headlines about horsemeat found in hamburgers leaped out at me from corner newstands.

So, it should be no surprise that I wondered how the British handle aftercare for former racehorses. My hosts, though wonderful, were not horsey, and didn’t know anything about the subject.  So I looked for clues where I could. Take the countryside, for example. The lack of sprawl and the remarkable stretches of unmarred fields told me that the British protected their farmland. That boded well for horses.

It was also clear from the cohesive architectural character of rural villages that rigorous design standards respecting the tradition and age of their communities were strictly enforced.  Also a good sign.

Lastly, obesity, so prevelant in the United States was a non issue.  People walk both for transit and for recreation. Food is better too. Fresher. Real. Not prefabricated and micro zapped. Even sandwiches in gas stations are made with newly baked bread, creamy butter, natural cheeses, and crisp veggies. Clearly exercise and food integrity were valued.

 From these three observations I extrapolated the following about English culture: The British choose to support community good rather than staunchly defending individual rights to do whatever they pleased with their property, their houses, or their bodies. They valued preservation, tradition, and health. If true, things for TBs were really looking up.

 So I made inquiries.  

What I gleaned was that even though the annual foal crop is much smaller than ours (about 4600 in 2011 as opposed to our 30,000+), rehoming ex-racers is very much an issue. Fortunately, the English are a horsey lot. Horses and riding are part of their culture. And the TB is native. In the US, we have many more horses, more breeds, more equestrian sports, and for the most part, the Quarter Horse is king. At home, I often hear “Thoroughbreds are crazy!”  Not so in England. Sensitive? Yes. Crazy? No. In fact, people seemed to think a second career of eventing or fox hunting was quite the normal route to go.  

When I asked about reschooling programs, I was tickled to learn that the first site recommended to me was Darley! Wonderful Darley. Darley that is so good to the MMSC. Darley that is a  model for its aftercare efforts, its Flying Start Program, and for its appreciation and support of the Thoroughbred world wide!  Bless you Darley!  

But there are other sites as well. The difference between these reschooling programs and those in the US is that in England they are sanctioned, promoted, and financially supported by the ROR (Retraining of Racehorses) www.ror.org.uk, the official charity of the British Racing Authority, the national organization that regulates the sport. The British Racing authority raises funds for four organizations that reschool former race horses, has initiated a TB competition program with sponsorships, promotes the versatility of the breed, and helps care for TBS in situations of abuse or neglect. 

In America, where we tend to be hard boot individualists, we don’t want anything to do with a “racing tsar” or an organization such as the British Racing Authority that regulates and standardizes the sport nationwide. Instead our racing rules vary from state to state according to each racing commission which too often, seeks to promote its own interests rather than cede to policies that might be better for the the sport and the horse as a whole.

This creates all kinds of havoc and confusion for the average handicapper or fan which in turn is reflected in a downtown of handle and attendance.  And it creates agonizing strain and worry for aftercare charity organizations that struggle for donations and volunteers to take care of a problem they did not create and cannot keep up with.  

How can this be?  How can these horses have no official centralized industry support when their racing days are over? Isn’t it time for all of us who are involved in and who love the sport and the Thoroughbred horse to collectively address this issue?

The answer is we are beginning to: Amen!  The Thoroughbred Aftercare Alliance, the Jockey Club, Thoroughbred Charities of America, and groups that are creating and promoting the showing of Thoroughbreds in other equestrian sports are all taking steps to do just that! They recognize that change is in the air and are responding to the rumbling pending maelstrom that TB fans create when they let their thoughts be known to their elected officials and racing authorities. One horse at a time. One voice at a time. And we don’t have to be British to do it, either.

Not that the Brits have it all right. They still have cases of unwanted horses, neglect and abuse against which their people roar and around which they rally. In a hard hit economy, animals suffer silently, even in horse crazy England. Why else would horse meat be turning up in hamburgers in the UK?  

But that is a subject for another blog. And by the way, no one I talked to in England objected vehemently to eating horse meat per se. The outrage was in the deceit of not knowing what was truly in their food. Which is something we Americans rarely blink an eye at. But that, too, is another story.

Cheery bye,

                Susanna

The Psychology of Inclusion

The clock is ticking. It’s almost time to bring horses back on campus. There is so much to do still: dragging the paddocks, fixing the fences, cleaning up the barn, writing grants, planning open houses and events, development and marketing campaigns, renewing old contacts, making new ones, and always, looking at horses.

I love it when the horses come back, for that is, after all, why the MMSC exists. But when they arrive, I lose my freedom. I am “grounded” on my 22 acre campus, taking all day to get through the day. Ideas, hunches, and wild hairs for helping more horses are, if not halted, harshly reined in. Creative thinking gets directed towards solving practical problems: a flooded barn, a broken tractor, a lame horse, a bounced check, a mountain of emails and phone calls.

So while I can, I do reconnaissance, which is why when I heard that Tim Capps, director of the Equine Industry Program at the University of  Louisville’s College of Business was giving a lecture on marketing in the horse business, I decided I should go. I knew it would be entertaining, for as I said in an earlier blog, Tim is “wry funny.” I also knew it would be time well spent because Tim knows his stuff.

And it was. Tim talked first about the shape of the horse industry, meaning, the industry at large: all horses, all breeds, all sports, not just the racing industry. It’s “a mile wide and an inch deep” he told us. Horses are every where. It’s mostly a

recreational/entertainment/female dominated/ “one horse at a time,” sort of industry. As a result, marketing efforts are often limited, disparate, and amateur.

Horse racing is an exception because of gaming, the rules of which are legalized and regulated state by state. Racing is big business, and therefore its marketing efforts are better organized, presented and studied. However each state sets and regulates its own gaming policies which are heavily influenced by the stakeholders--tracks, owners, trainers, breeders--who protect and promote their own interests, rather than those of their audience. As a result their customer base is shrinking.

Tim concluded his lecture with “Marketing 101” fundamentals. How to build and attract a customer base, something which I mused over as I drove back to Lexington.

I also found myself guilty of black and white thinking: recriminating the racing industry for self promoting exclusionary behaviors. Oh-uh. Time to get the log out of my own eye! Horse people are notoriously self interested and cliquish. Dressage queens turn up their noses at hunter princesses and vice versa. Event riders scorn them both. Western riders think they are all foolish. Arab people, Paso people, Mini people, Fresian people. Saddlebreds. Walking Horses. Paints. Drafts. We are all so immersed in our breeds, our disciplines, our ways of thinking and doing, which of course, in our minds, are the only and the best ways. We all practice The Psychology of Exclusion.  

Why? Because it is human nature. We’ve been doing it since grade school when we wanted to fit in, and when we did fit in, we didn’t want to lose our place which gave us status and security. So we follow group thinking. We mimic group behaviors.  We stay within the box. We look askance at those outside the box or those who chose to leave it. We belittle those we finding threatening. We resist change. We are all about preserving the status quo, and our individual status quo specifically.

Rescue/rehab/reschooling groups of which the MMSC is one, are no different. We might be even more guilty of the Psychology of Exclusion. We are a passionate bunch and passion begets emotional thinking. We are predominately women and women are fiercely protective of their “babies." And we are all scrambling for the same dollars. How easy is it, therefore, and how comforting to criticize the mission, the mores, the horses, the horsemanship, the decisions, the actions of another organization?! Cattiness makes us feel better about ourselves, more secure, more self righteous. Naysaying might win allies. Their loss is our gain. But who in the end suffers?

The horses, of course.

When will we learn that we are only as strong as the weakest link in our chain? There are so many efforts right now both in the industry itself and beyond to find solutions for the challenges of Thoroughbred aftercare. What if we all decided to practice the Psychology of Inclusion? Could we not find a way to join voices and forces in spite of different opinions and approaches to create a tapestry of change? How about starting one thought at a time (Thoughts become things, choose the good ones), finding the good that each organization and individual is trying to do. Applauding it. Reaching out. Building bridges. Sharing thoughts, efforts, yes, even money towards the common goal of speaking out for and improving the lives of racehorses coming off the track, one horse at a time. There is power in numbers.  And the clock is ticking......

Let's join hands to bring our individual efforts to help off track Thoroughbreds together and use the power of numbers!

Cheery bye,

Susanna

FELIX

Felix is my 2006 Chevy Equinox. You met him briefly in my last post. Like all volunteers at the MMSC, he gets down and dirty (sometimes smelly, too, thank you, Sam!) and literally and figuratively, “totes that bale” for the good of the horses. He’s the strong, silent type who does yeoman work for the Center with nary a complaint other than a sporadic flash of the “check engine” light.

“Go-fer,” chauffeur, feed ferry, cowboy, Felix wears many hats: He runs errands-- postoffice, feed store, tack shop. He travels through the Bluegrass so I can look at horses and takes me to meetings. He squires visitors when needed and acts as the MMSC shuttle during prominent shows. He ferries interns to field trips. He lugs grain and hay across the paddocks. He will recharge batteries and offer assistance from his first aid kit. His emergency tool chest is stocked with everything from duck tape, to Fix-A-Flat, wrench to baling twine. He’s a library (God forbid one should ever be without reading material!), and carries a blanket and a candle for warmth if in arctic temps his engine fails, which it won’t because he’ s Felix. He’s a closet packed with vests, fleeces, raincoats and parkas, boots, hats, caps, socks, gloves, bandanas, shades and sunscreen. There’s food, too, some of it packaged and some of it, well....hidden relics.

His name is Felix for two reasons: 

1. He succeeded Xenia Louise Thomas, my Ford Explorer XLT and she faithfully gave me 10 years and 200K+ miles without major complaints. I thought it auspicious to work X into his name. Besides, he’ s an Equinox. 
2. Felix means “happy” in Latin, and if you could have seen Xenia in her final days, you would understand how I felt about Felix when he came into my life.

It may seem odd to name an inanimate object. But follow the Merriam Webster dictionary definition #2 of the word inanimate: lacking consciousness or power of motion, and then reread Felix’s job description above. The self evident conclusion is that Felix is all about the power of motion. If that argument is not good enough, look at it from a quantum perspective: On nano levels, all matter (which includes Felix) is in motion. 

And, to get even more Clintonian (as in Bill)  in argument, let us consider Merriam Webster dictionary definition #1: lacking in life or in spirit. I’ll admit claiming that Felix has “life” is, well, insane, but perhaps we could embrace a “spirit” of broadmindedness and go “waaaay out” on the woo-woo limb for the mind-stretching fun of it? Take a look at The Hidden Messages in Water by Dr. Masaru Emoto. Using high speed photography, Dr. Emoto did a series of experiments and found that crystal formations where influenced by concentrated thoughts--positive or negative--directed towards them as they went from a liquid to a frozen state. 

Huh?

Yup. Water exposed to loving thoughts or beautiful music (i.e. Mozart) formed exquisitely complex and beautiful crystals. Water that was maligned and subjected to violent music formed distorted incomplete crystals. Get the book. Look at the pictures. It’s food for thought. No, better said:  WATER for thought. Thoughts literally change matter. Wow!  What extraordinary influences on the world we might have!

I am starting one tiny influence at a time. I have given Felix a name and I direct my gratitude towards him fairly regularly. Maybe by doing so I am influencing his quantum particles for the good?! Goodness knows, I can’t afford for him to break down, so I just imagine him in perfect working order and I marvel daily at his good and unfailing service. And so far, so good. Thoughts become things, choose the good ones. 

But then this is nothing new: Jesus tells us to be mindful of our thoughts. Keep your thoughts positive, focus on desired outcomes: “Seek and you shall find.” “Ask and you shall receive.” So does Lao-Tzu in the Tao Te Ching some 500 years 

earlier, and Buddha, and Confucius, as do all motivational speakers these days. And now neuroscientists are backing up this “woo-woo” talk with proof. “The way your neurons fire determine the way they wire.”

Which leads me to my next point: Not-for-profit leaders often wear out their volunteers with too many demands. Felix with 150K+ on his odometer, a leaky sunroof (thank goodness for duck tape and, in downpours, that umbrella I carry so I can stay dry while driving!), along with a few other signs of wear and tear, is bound to say “Enough!” to his MMSC volunteerism at some point.

When Felix retires, a new small 5 passenger SUV company  vehicle with front or all wheel drive emlazoned with the MMSC logo would be an extraordinary replacement.

I wonder!?

The power of positive thinking? “Seek and you shall find?” “Ask and you shall receive?” 

It’s worth a try. What if we were to combine our collective thoughts on the thought of Felix's successor being donated to the MMSC????? 

Cheery bye,

Susanna

P.S. Thank you, Felix!

Cat people and the 3Gs

Botticelli's 3G(race)s

I am not a cat person. Yes, cats are graceful and agile; their ability to land on their feet enviable; their independence exemplary when not infuriating; and their predilection for catching mice utterly pragmatic for barn owners. But I am allergic to them. Not life-threateningly so, just eyes itching and nose lighting up like Rudolph’s upon close encounters. 

The MMSC has had a series of cats over my 5 year tenure. They come, they go. For quite sometime the MMSC had been in a “go” phase, courtesy of Swoop, the hawk, a self appointed rodent controller. But then one day Swoop went too. Enter the kittens: Jasper, the tuxedo with a Daniel Boone hunting instinct, and Sam, the cream tabby, a Don Juan. 

At the MMSC, we advocate responsible animal ownership, which, of course, applies to cats, as well as horses. Spaying and neutering is a must. So when I got back after the New Year and saw that the two boys had come of age, an appointment was made at the Woodford Equine Hospital which so generously tends to our veterinary needs. On the day of this rite of passage, I incarcerated Sam and Jasper in the feed room (I didn’t want them to go MIA at the time of departure), and found a cardboard box large enough for both. Stabbing madly like the killer in the chilling shower scene in Psycho, I perforated the sides with a pair of red handled scissors. I am not a cat hater, after all. I didn’t want them to suffocate. 

“Here, kitty kitties,” I crooned, cracking the feed room door. Smelling a “rat,” the two streaked through my legs. It took a while (during which the sky was darkening, the rain clouds were thickening and my language was getting increasingly colorful) before I caught them. I stuffed them (as gently as I could for you PETA people out there) into the Psycho box, and flipped down the cardboard sections of the top. But I wasn’t quick enough with the duck tape. One head popped out on the right, another on the left. Both tails ended up in my hands. I let go of Sam (the heftier of the two), clasped Jasper, shoved him down and sealed him in. It took a while longer to find another box as well as to lure Sam back into my good graces, but in time he, too, was in lock down.

The ride to the clinic was symphonic. Rain drummed on the windshield. The cats launched into arias of desperation as if they were being gutted alive for violin strings and I chimed apologies and reassurances in a taut falsetto. Not only that, but like the 1812 Overture that always finishes with cannon fire, our journey’s finale was marked by a powerful emission of a different kind, the distinctive odor of which hit my nostrils as I pulled up to the clinic’s door. “Thank the Lord,” I smugly thought, “I was smart enough to incarcerate them!”

Dr. True Blue Baker and the three Gs, from left: Greta, Ginger Snap, and Gazelle

Not being a cat person, however, I underestimated a feline's ability to get out of sticky situations. (I think that is called the “9 lives Phenomenon?") When I lifted the back gate, that sly Sam was hunkered down behind the Psycho box, atop a large urine stain, purring. To add insult to injury, as I lifted him up to my chest, he showered me with an “encore.”  Bam! Direct hit. Mid frontal section. Nice.

Reeking I entered the clinic seeking one of the three Gs. No, not the three Gs of Antiquity--Splendor, Mirth, and Cheer-- but the three Gs of the Woodford Equine Hospital: “Gazelle” (veterinary assistant Marguerite Kissel with the long, leggy stride), “Greta,” (Dr. Julia Bentley, with the Garbo eyebrows), and “Ginger Snap,” (Dr. Jennifer Jordan, of the autumn eyes and hair and spicy personality), any of whom could have relieved me. In the Xray room with Dr. True Baker (Dr. True Blue because he is a totally classy gent inside and out and has beautiful blue eyes), these fair damsels curled up their noses upon Sam’s and my entrance--except for True, who smiled politely and shook his head in kind commiseration. Despite my tales of tribulations, none offered to take my stinking bundle, although, they did find another box in which to place him so I could fetch the Psycho box. 

As I carried it in to the 3 Gs, I grew increasingly uneasy. It was quiet, disturbingly quiet.  I tilted the box to one side:  Slide...THUD!  Then to the other:  Slide....Thud! 

“Oh NO! Ladies! I’ve killed him!,” I cried. “I knew I should have poked more holes!!!”  I ripped open the top, dreading what I would see.

Jasper looked up at me, yawning. How impossibly arrogant and cat-like of him while I (not to mention Felix, my Chevy Equinox, who spent the next day in the barn, doors and windows open, heavily Fabreezed, replacing one pungent smell for another) was such a reeking wreck!!!

Cat-erine,  Sam and Jasper

The following morning beloved intern Catherine Flowers spared me a repeat of this harrowing journey. Amazingly,  Sam and Jasper arrived back at the MMSC dozing on the seats of her car in liberty. No Psycho box for her! But then again, I should have known.  She is definitely a cat person. In fact, I think I am going to call her CAT-erine from now on.

                                            Cheery bye,

                                                Susanna

Trust the Process

It takes the time it takes for a horse to find its new home.

One of the most challenging aspects about reschooling a horse is trusting the process. 

What process?  

• Picking a quality horse as a prospective candidate.
• Addressing the horse’s needs from a body, spirit, and mind perspective.
• Figuring out what the horse enjoys doing.  
• Finding the person seeking a horse with those apptitudes and horsenality.
• Hoping that you will get back some, all, or more of the money you have invested in the horse’s care, treatments, and training to be able to afford to repeat the process.

Which takes us back to the question of how long it takes to reschool a horse. The long answer is a lifetime. Horses never quit learning. In the wild their survival depends on it. In the domesticated world, their status does. Herd hierarchy is established by a combination of intelligence, reflexes, and moxy. The same is true when one of the herd members has only two legs. Horses are either being trained or training us. We are in for a rough ride, figuratively and literally, if we forget that. We often do, however. That’s why for most people, it takes several lifetimes to become a horseman.

The short answer is: It depends. What learning does the horse bring to the MMSC? How does it respond to when exposed to new things? How long will it stay with us? Many horses have departed without completing the entire Horse Centered Reschooling Program. That is because there are many experienced trainers, owners, and riders, each with their own valid ways of reschooling an off-track Thoroughbred. Thank goodness! So many OTTBs out there need new jobs and homes! The key word here is “experienced.” At the MMSC, the amount of reschooling any one of our horses has or does not have must be balanced at the time of adoption by the expertise of the rider, and if not that, than the expertise of the rider/trainer team. “Green on green makes  black and blue,” the saying goes. The idea of adopters getting hurt is not savory, but the reality of MMSC horses incurring physical, mental or emotional damage because of a lack of faith in the process on my part is totally unacceptable. Thoroughbreds have been commodities since the moment they were conceived. Those that come into MMSC care get to choose their preferred career path as well as their future partners.

Misunderstood on the track,
Astro found his perfect match!

The pat answer is: 45 days on average. Better to have 60. Best to have 90. Generally speaking, with the average Thoroughbred and the average adopter, the average time it takes to expose a horse to the rudimentary basics of our program, all five phases of it, is 45 days. This does not mean that the horse has mastered the skills we have taught it any more than I would be fluent in Mandarin after six weeks of study. What it does mean is the horse has a foundation on which a new career can be built. It means that it has begun showing us its aptitudes. It means that we have a good idea of who the ideal partner might be for this horse.

All of which brings me back to where we started: the greatest challenge to reschooling a horse is to trust the process, no matter how long or short it takes. I have adopted horses out in as little as 24 hours. Others have been with me for over a year. The longer a horse stays, the more expenses it accrues, the more eyebrows are raised about the initial selection of the horse, the way it has been trained, the adopters I may have turned down because the fit wasn’t right. At such times it is so tempting to become a horse trader. Money for feed, horse shoes, or the water bill. Large numbers of horses adopted per month impresses our board and our donors. Why not let people find out on their own that the horse has vices, a lack of manners, or a hole in its knowledge? Why not keep our mouths shut when we see that the rider’s riding style or personality is going to cause relationship problems down the road? Why open ourselves to the very real dangers of liability by letting people ride our horses at all? Other adoption organizations don’t.

My best defense to all of this, is to trust the process. Each horse has needs that must be addressed. Each adopter does too. We are not dealing in commodities. We are dealing in souls, two and four legged. Our job here at the MMSC is to be of service to both, no matter what the temptations to cave in to money shortages or the status of high adoption rates. It has been my experience, that all will work out as it should be, in the time that it takes, if we have faith in the process.

Cheery bye,
Susanna

It you trust the process, things always end up exactly as they should!

It Depends

"How long does it take to reschool a horse?” 

I hear that question constantly.

The answer?  

“It depends.” 

 On what?  So many things! When I go to assess a horse, I don’t have a lot of concrete things to go by. I get a phone call. I am asked if I would look at a horse that is “nice, quiet and sound.” I listen as best I can between the lines because two leggeds tend to fall into categories. There are horse traders who won’t tell you all; “barn blind” types who are biased as grandparents about their “babies;” and those who simply don’t know: farm mangers, bloodstock agents, friends of friends who have heard about a horse, but don’t know much about it other than it needs a new job and home. I get a few details, sex, size, injury history--maybe. If the horse intrigues me and is within driving distance, I make an appointment to visit it at a racetrack, a training center, a barn, a field. Sometimes the horses are spanking clean, sometimes caked in mud. Either way, I start at the head. With the eye. It’s got to be good. Ideally with lots of intelligence and soul, although horses, like people sometimes take time to develop the look of  “someone,” as smarts and character often are acquired in the school of hard knocks. Mostly, however, I look at youngsters. There you see innocence and tentativeness, sometimes cockiness, a good sign for prospective event horses. Gentleness. Curiosity. Emotionalism. It depends. Above all, however, mystery. Eyes can give you a peek into a horse’s soul, but not a true understanding of its workings. That comes later when you start training, asking the horse questions, giving it choices.

I work my fingers in the mouth. (How defensive is a horse about this? Always of interest.) Glimpse the teeth, the thickness of the tongue. Feel with my fist the breadth of the jaw. Run my hands up and down the neck, shoulders, back, loins, rump, legs. I pick up feet. I pinch tendons and ligaments. I test acupressure points. I move joints around to gauge mobility and listen for odd internal crunches. I step back and take in the over all picture: Are there three sections--front end, back, and hind end--all more or less equal? Is the rump higher? What’s the angle of the shoulder? Is the neck high or low set?  These relationships are telling.

I then watch the horse move away from me, towards me, past me. I study its motion from the standpoint of physics: levers and fulcrums. I look for hitches and flow. I also watch how the horse behaves vis à vis its handler. What does it think about two leggeds? I want to see the horse trot. The rear end is really important to me.  Second only to the eye. Ideally it is washer woman big. It should put JLo to shame.

Circumstances for assessing a horse are rarely ideal. Nobody has lot of time: Not the trainer, not the handler, nor me, and the horses are restive. Loose horses in the field run off. Horses at the track skedaddle sideways, rear, prance, yank at the chain shanks that run over their tongues or against their gums. If the horse is in another state, still shots and some short videos are all I have to go by. Luckily I don’t need to see much: Just a flash of brilliance. I look for the action of those fulcrum and levers--how do they propel the horse? Are there signs of lameness? What about unevenness? It doesn’t take much -- a stride or two, and I have a good idea of what the horse might want to do in its next career. Once all this new information is in my brain, it is time to check in with my gut, which I have learned over the years is very savvy, indeed. In fact, there are more neurotransmitters in the gut than there are in the brain so it makes sense, and is wise, to listen to it. 

Horses, if accepted, come to the MMSC on a two week trial basis. This is when the true sleuthing begins. Is there physical or mental baggage to unpack? What imaginary demons or real demons might be stowaways from the horse’s racetrack journey? What is the horse saying: in the stall, the field, the ring? If the horse is uneven, which most horses are, like most people, which is NOT the same things as being lame, then how can they be leveled out? Optimal performance is dependent on optimal balance. All that is askew must be set straight before training begins. 

Then what happens? Psychoanalysis. Bomb-proofing. Groundwork. Ringwork. Open work. In short, the Horse Centered Reschooling Program.  

And how long does that take? 

Of course, it depends. On every horse. In every situation. 

But, there is sort of an answer, and more to come on all of that. I promise!

                                                         

            Cheery bye,

                           Susanna