Horse Centered

Desert Wheat and the Maker's Mark Secretariat Center

The day was planned: Saturday. No adopters scheduled to look at horses. Lori, the office manager,  was off. Catherine, the barn manager,  was out of town. Tony, the farm manager, was overseeing a much needed barn cleanup with interns and volunteers. I really love the MMSC, but it is nice to get off campus every now and then and see what the rest of the world is doing. Given how quiet things were going to be, I planned to give myself a treat. I intended to stop in at the MMSC, check horses, emails, phone messages, applaud Tony’s crew, and then head to the first of two events I was really looking forward to.

The International Equine Alliance Conference http://equinewelfarealliance.org was being held at the Alltech Arena at the Horse Park, a stone’s through from the MMSC’s front entrance. The schedule was loaded with interesting topics and speakers covering the myriad aspects of horse rescue, retirement and rehoming from OTTBs, to unwanted horses to feral herds. There were colleagues attending whom I had not seen in a while and others I was excited to meet.

In the afternoon I planned to wrest myself away to audit a clinic given by Buck Branaman http://www.brannaman.com at nearby Masterson Station. There are many excellent horse whisperers out there and to that I say“Amen!” Nobody knows it all and we all have something to learn about horses, people, and oneself every day along the way of one’s horseman’s journey. That’s why I started the Bucephalus Training Library at the MMSC which houses works about training by masters down through the ages from Kikkuli to Parelli and then some. That said, I have an especially deep seated admiration of and appreciation for Buck Brannaman. He's all about horses: Day after day, year after year, on the road, clinic to clinic,  helping one horse at time. No marketing hoopla.  What he does, what he says, how he acts, how he trains, how he lives is clearly Horse Centered. He walks the talk and that resonates with me. But I have never had the pleasure or privilege of seeing him at work in person. 

Until today. 

I live an hour away from the Kentucky Horse Park, and I spend the time to and fro on the phone with a list of calls I need to make and return. It’s the only place that I have no interruptions.

“I am interested in several of your horses,” Joan from Pittsburg explained when I reached her that morning. “I am in Lexington for the Buck Brannaman clinic and I wondered if I could swing by the MMSC briefly this morning to take a quick look at them. If I see anything I like, I will be back on another weekend to try them.

Pittsburgh is about a seven hour drive.  It made sense. 

“Sure,” I told her. “Come on!”

 I’d be just a tad late to the International Equine Alliance meeting.

Joan, a compact, fifty-something, strawberry blonde arrived shortly after I did and presented me with a list of MMSC horses she had seen on the web. Where had they come from?  Where did they want to do in their next career? What were their strengths? Their weaknesses? Where they right brained? Left brained? Introverts? Extroverts?
“Let’s go out in the fields to meet them,” I told her. 

Clear, Studio Time and Xin Xu Lin

We all know how parents of newborns are quick to talk about their babies, trumped only by grandparents, all of whom have the brightest, most beautiful, most unique grand children ever to grace the Earth. But neither group have the same discursive powers as horse crazy women.

Mr. Segretto and Electromagnetic

After walking in every paddock, snuffling on every horse, talking about its horsenality, strengths and weakness, as well as having shared stories of other horses that we knew or have known, we were back at the office, an hour and forty
five minutes later. Joan thanked me and drove back to the Branaman Clinic. 

I glimpsed at my watch. There was still a bit of time to duck into the International Equine Alliance Conference. 

“Susanna, while you were in the paddocks, this couple stopped in looking for a horse,” said Tony as he introduced me to Richard and Julie. 

ROUND TWO!

 I smiled at them. “Tell me a little about what you are looking for?" They had some very specific requests, and I didn’t think I had anything that would adequately felt would meet their needs. So only a twenty minute delay. No big deal.

I was following them out the door when Lara Knight who used to trek up from Nashville in 2011 and 2012 as much as she could to work with our horses, rode up on Rob’s Rock, the off track Thoroughbred I had found for her to show in the Retired Racehorse Retraining Project.  http://www.retiredracehorsetraining.org

What a dazzling pair!  Lara with her broad smile, her lithe figure and impeccable seat and Rob’s Rock, whom she renamed Ari, in all of his 17 hand bay, quivering glory. I had seen him in a field a few months before. He had not been particularly successful on the track.  His owner no longer could pay the board bills. Ari looked a bit rough butI could tell he was somebody. There are many things I am not good at, but I do know I have an eye for a nice horse. It was clear as day: Ari was a magnificent horse.

Lara Knight and Rob's Rock aka "Ari"  at the Retired Racehorse Retraining Project at Pimlico, MD, Oct. 5-6

I just wasn’t prepared for how magnificent he would become in the short three months since I had first seen him. Under Lara’s care and training, he was transformed, “Cinder-fella,” like  from the soot pile to the beau of the ball!  

“I’m at the Horse Park schooling,” Lara told me.  “I thought you’d want to see how Ari’s doing, so I rode over.” 

 You bet I wanted to see! And to hear about every phase of his metamorphosis.

Even when we were finished with our “brief chat,” and Lara and Ari trotted down the MMSC avenue and out the gate, I watched them until I lost sight of them. I was mesmerized.  And humbled. And grateful. What a great privilege it is to have a job like mine! Matching up great horses with great people.

Looking at my watch I saw that I had missed my window of opportunity to go to the conference. I stepped back in the office to grab some of the invitations to our upcoming Sips N Saddles party (October 25--email mmsecretariatcenter@gmail.com if you would like a ticket) to drop in the mail on my way to the Branaman clinic when I heard the front door open and someone call, “Susanna?  Is Susanna here? It’s Maureen, from last year? Remember me?”

I stepped into the foyer. There were two women standing there.  Maureen From Last Year who, I remembered, had accompanied Andrea from New York to look a horse named Milo, which Andrea ending up adopting. And, another Maureen, who in my mind became Maureen From This Year. 

ROUND THREE!

“We are in town for this International Equine Alliance Conference going on at the Horse Park. Did you know about it?,” said Maureen From Last Year. “We were tired of sitting, so I suggested that we come visit you.”

 “I am glad to see you again. And, yes, I did know about the conference. How is Milo???’

You can guess where this is going...to the paddocks, of course. The Maureens met all of the MMSC horses and lingered with them, and loved on them, and listened to all I said about them and shared stories about their horses, and the horses they had known.

Dandy's Noble and Syn No More

My phone buzzed. “I am sitting in the bleachers on the stable side at the Brannaman clinic if you come this way and would like to sit with me,” Joan from Pittsburg texted.

“Let’s head back up to the office shall we?”  

We looked up at the gate and saw a young man standing there.

“I am looking for an event horse,” said he. “I was wondering what you had here.”

Ah me.  It didn’t look like I’d be getting to the Branaman clinic any time soon.

By the time round four was over and all had trundled off for the day, it was ten minutes to five. I had not even opened my email.  Tony stepped in on his way out.  

"I thought you were going somewhere today," he said.

"I thought so too! How did the barn clean up go?"

We chatted for a bit about that, and then he  turned to go.  “Don’t stay too late!,” he admonished.

 “Just have to check phone messages and answer my emails and then I will be on my way,” I told him.

At 6:30, I turned off the computer and the lights, locked up, and headed to the barn to see the results of the Great Barn Cleanup. Dazzling, predictably. Tony would settle for nothing less.

The barn is my last stop every night before I leave. I want to make sure the feed and tack rooms are secure; that the horses staying in overnight are watered and hayed, that barn cats Sam and Jaspar are on patrol. I stand in the aisle and take it all in: The sights of a clean swept floor. The smell of Pine Sol. The sound of horses methodically munching their hay.It’s a Zen moment for me. I breath in. Breath out. And just be.

Sure, it would have been nice to have gone to the conference and the clinic. I would have seen people.  I would have learned things. But life is what happens when you have made other plans. And standing there quietly in the barn, letting impressions of the past ten hours wash over me, I had to say, it had been a truly wonderful horse centered day. And I was happy with that.

Cheery bye,             
Susanna

XIN XU LIN (Wondertross/Barbiera) 

“I have a horse I’d like to show you,” said Johnny Burke, Darley America’s Keeneland trainer as we walked down his immaculately kept shedrow. 

“He was Horse of the Year in 2010 in Brazil. He won both the Grande Premio Ipiranga (Sao Paulo 2,000 Guineas) and the Derby Paulista (Sao Paulo Derby), as well as the most prestigious race in South America, the Gran Premio Carlos Pellegrini which is run on the turf in Argentina. Godolphin Racing, our racing operation, had really high hopes for him when he was purchased in 2011. Sadly it hasn’t worked out. He’s a special horse and deserves a special home. We know that the Secretariat Center can find him that.”

God bless Godolphin Racing, Darley and Sheik Mohammed!  Honoring a horse’s contribution as is. Not pushing it past its limits or dropping it down in class, putting the horse’s best interest first, and taking their losses quietly and with dignity. That’s horsemanship. And class.

“What’s his name?, “ I asked.

“XIN-XU-LIN. It’s Chinese.”

“What does it mean?”

“No idea,” said Johnny. “Really Great Racehorse?” he ventured, eyes twinkling.

“No doubt!, “ I agreed stepping in the stall to evaluate this Horse of the Year with the mystery name. 

Xin Xu Lin didn’t look special. He was a slight 16 hands, light in bone with offset knees and boxy upright hooves. Ebony bay, but no chrome. Wide forehead, shrewd, piercing gaze. I could tell he was sizing me up, and that I fell short. I asked Johnny if I could see him move. Xin Xu came out of his stall, dancing all over his handler. And when he jogged, he was racehorse tight, mincing  in front and tippy toeing behind. 

Clearly he was really smart, proud, and he knew he was somebody. I was intrigued by him and I wanted to show my appreciation of Darley’s responsible  handling of this horse and their faith in the MMSC. I knew he wasn’t going to be an “easy flip,” but it promised to be an interesting journey and an honor to work with him. “Send him to the MMSC, Johnny,” I said.

Xin Xu arrived at the MMSC in late April, bringing along with him a“Don’t mess with me!” attitude. Knowing that prior to turning him out for the first time we administered a hefty pharmaceutical cocktail, one that would have rendered Goliath weak-kneed. But not Xin Xu! He took  a few wobbly steps, lifted his head, and EXPLODED!  

Wow! Talk about fierce drive and formidable will. I watched him blast around that paddock seemingly ad infinitum and thought soberly: “Figuring out who this horse is and what he wants to do other than racing is going to be a challenge!”

So I decided to start simply: What did his name mean? I consulted with my nephew, Sam, who has lived in China and is fluent in Mandarin.

“There are many different meanings for each sound, Aunt Susanna.  So without seeing the actual Chinese symbols, it is impossible to know. It’s like trying to guess someone’s name based on their initials.”

So I googled “Xin” (it could mean “new,” “trust” or “mail”), “Xu” (a boy’s name, or  “brilliant rising sun”) and “Lin” (a Chinese surname.) Combined, the words didn’t make sense. I looked for emperors,  warriors, or poets  with that name. Nothing. Not even any Xin Xu Lins in the cyber White Pages.

I put that mystery on hold and went to work on the riddle of Xin’s Xu’s horsenality.  He was introverted, analytical and had a low opinion of humans. Not that he was evil or vindictive. Just arrogant and disinterested.  He did everything we asked: Natural horsemanship, trail riding, dressage, jumping. He just did it without expression, joy, or any exertion beyond the bare minimum. (We even asked him to try his "hoof" at painting to see if he had any unexpressed artistry!  But he was lukewarm about that too.)

Xin Xu Lin original
(see the blue jockey helmet and head in the center?)

Occasionally, he just closed up shop, and left the scene mentally. And that’s when the firm but fair discussions would begin. Given Xin’s Xu’s strong will, those discussions could be lengthy, but never heated. Just making the correct decision satisfying and the wrong one annoying. 

To combat his aloofness, I upped the TLC offensive: grooming, treats, even spontaneous visits with him at liberty in the paddock. Crabby about being touched, he did, in time, show that he had sweet spots--gentle finger nail scratches on his muzzle, soft palm stroking on the upper part of his neck, a circular fingertip rub on his forehead. He was a bit indifferent about treats, but his hot mash at lunch did elicit appreciation--although not undying gratitude. And I do think he liked the visits in the paddock.

 Despite the progress that I could see in his softening expression, he was still uninspired performer in the arena and several months into his reschooling, I still couldn’t figure out how get to his inner self and joy. 

It was in reading the articles written in Brazilian and Argentinian turf journals that I found some clues. Xin Xu Lin was the homebred of consummate Brazilian horseman, Oscar Faria Pacheco Borges. Borges served as the president of ABCPCC--the Brazilian equivalent of our TOBA or Thoroughbred Owners and Breeders Association. He was the director of the Jockey Club of São Paulo. He had a breeding farm, the Haras Pirassununga, with a band of about twenty broodmares. When he died in March of 2011, his obituary hailed him as a champion of racing and stated that “the national turf world went into mourning.” Xin Xu Lin was his once in a lifetime dream horse.

Xin Xu was more than a homebred darling, though. He was a superstar to racing enthusiasts. Think how Zenyatta electrified a crowd when she came strutting out on the track.  Xin Xu Lin was the same: People clapped and screamed their adulation. It instilled this proud, competitive little horse with the will to win--and win he did--wire to wire--reaching down deeper within himself when challenged, pulling ahead. He raced for his fans. 

Which gave me an idea. On our next training session, all available Team MMSC two leggeds and the four legged Tank (who is an excellent herd dog with a clarion bark) were called to the Hitchcock pen.  

“Chant his name and clap,” I told everyone as I turned him loose.  I wondered if he would associate this narrow oval with the track?

“XIN XU! XIN XU LIN!”

 He picked up his head, arched his neck, and carefully trotted over the ground poles.

 “XIN XU! XIN XU LIN!”

He popped over the cross rails, and upon landing flung his neck around proudly, Black Stallion-like, in front of Lori, who was snapping pictures of him.

“XIN XU! XIN XU LIN!”

He soared over the log with an impressive bascule and lift of his forearms. 

We roared with cheers!!!

And he was off, arching his neck, reaching out with lovely measured canter strides, each leap in lovelier form than the next. He had a crowd to please!

From this point on, I knew that there is nothing that this horse can’t do when he finds the right person. It’s going to have to be someone who deeply respects him, meets him half way, and who, by loving his big proud heart, inspires him. That lucky person will get not only a really great racehorse, but A REALLY GREAT HORSE. PERIOD. Johnny was right. Xin Xu Lin is special and deserves a special home. 

As for the mystery of his name, with a bit more sleuthing that, too, became clear. In an interview, Borges’ two sons explained that their family has a tradition of naming all foals born in a certain year with the same letter. Xin Xu was born in  the year X which limited choices. So they decided to pay tribute to a favorite Argentinian dish, chinchulin and swapped the Chs with Xs.  Apparently, chinchulin is a “dreamy” tasting barbecue made 

with the upper portion of the  small intestine of a cow.

“And that is how we got,  Xin Xu Lin,” they said, “The Dream Horse.”

Cheery bye,

Susanna

* If you would like to be the proud owner of this Xin Xu Lin original, please contact us at mmsecretariatcenter@gmail.com

Ernest Effort

I told you in the early part of the year, that PURPOSE is a pesky concept for me. Jack Russell-like, the “why?”of all things yaps in my brain, most especially “the why are we here?” which invariably narrows down to the “why am I here?”

The answer is always the same: To be of service to something greater than myself.  Simple. Yes. Grandiose. Certainly. 

Trouble is: life is daily. It is easy to lose track of simplicity when the items on the “to do list” exceed the hours in the day or to appreciate the Zen magnificence of the “chop wood/carry water”phenomenon or in my case the barn chores/office slog in the earnest effort of running the MMSC.

 And then you get an adoption application with an addendum like this:

To those of the MMSC:

A horse was responsible for ending a belief. No one can explain the infatuation that many little girls have with horses, but I was one of them. My bedroom was filled with books about horses: Black Beauty, Black Stallion, Misty of Chincoteague. I had the Breyer horse figures placed throughout, and on my wall, a poster of the famous Secretariat. Every birthday, every Christmas, I asked for the same gift--a horse. I knew the chance of a birthday horse was slim since it would have to be given by my parents, but Christmas, certainly, there was hope for a horse at Christmas. Surely I was a good girl and Santa would bring me the only present on my list. Year after year, dolls, bikes, games, but no horse were under the tree. This ended my belief in Santa. But it did not end my belief in the dream of owning a horse.

The little girl grew up, but the dream for a horse never faltered.  It only got pushed to the far corners as life’s demands took precedent--college, career, marriage and children. The dream would have to wait...

The letter went on to explain after years of waiting, grown children and growing grandchildren that Susan O., the writer, had taken up riding lessons, and had at long last the time and the finances for horse ownership. 

“It should be understood, “ Susan wrote, “that this will be my first and only horse. We will age gracefully together, appreciating each other’s idiosyncrasies and short comings, endearing us even more to each other.  I appreciate this opportunity to possibly fulfill my dream of one of your special horses. Thank you.”

When I read this letter, the Jack Russell in me went bonkers! Fulfill a dream!?  Purpose!? We’re on it!

When Susan and her trainer, Lisa, came to the MMSC to look at horses after she was unanimously approved (“She certainly deserves this chance to own a horse!,” one of the Approval Committee members wrote on Susan’s application), we carefully reviewed together her level of riding, horsemanship, goals and preferences.  I suggested two geldings, both very sane and forgiving, one somewhat older.

“I am sort of partial to mares,” Susan said.

 Mares?!  Oh no!  Not a good choice for someone starting up riding in her September years. Granted Susan was lithe and fit, but I know only too well that after 40, once doesn’t bounce back as well when the law of gravity gets the upper hand.

“I only have one at the MMSC,” I responded.  “She just came in and she raced five days ago. We haven’t done anything with her yet. Best to look at the geldings.”

“Could I just see her?”

“Sure,” I said, reluctantly, sliding open the door of the gray filly’s stall. “Her name is Earnest Effort. We’ve nicknamed her “Effie.” She’s four years old, has had a few starts, and never finished in the money. She is sound and her owner did the super responsible thing of retiring her before she broke down.”

“She’s beeeeaaauuutiful!,” said Susan quietly as she tentatively stepped beside me in the stall.

You can guess where this is going. Yes, Susan  watched both the geldings. She rode one, Xin Xu Lin, as steady a horse as can be.  Her mind said yes to him.  But her heart?  

“Do you want to watch Effie go?” I heard myself ask. (What was I thinking! No groundwork, bombproofing, or long-lining first?) 

You know the answer.  

We tacked Effie up. I figured she had been ridden less than a week ago, had been turned out 24/7  for three days, was level headed, and had finished at the end of the pack in all her races. Besides she had a sweet face and a generous eye.

Stiff and a little tense, but kind and willing, Effie walked, trotted, and cantered both directions. She even stepped over the tarp, bridges and cavalletti first time out.

“Wow!,” said Susan’s trainer, “she’s lovely.  She’ll go fast.”

“Yes, she will,” I agreed. “She’s special.”

  

I looked over at Susan.  She was staring at Effie.  Her eyes were big with wonder and yearning...

“Do you want to ride her?” I heard myself asking.  (OMG!  My head said. But my heart smiled.)

Susan on Effie with trainer, Lisa

Speechless, she nodded a vociferous YES!  

I turned to Lisa. “You ok with that? If she stays on a lunge?” 

 Lisa looked at Susan and then back at me. 

She nodded.

“Keep her safe, sista,” I said and I handed her the rope.

Lisa smiled.

Although Effie had a tentative rider on her back, she never put a foot out of place.  She was so good, Lisa unhooked the rope and Susan rode her solo.  

When Susan dismounted, I suggested she put the reins over the Effie’s neck to test the “join up” of their partnership at liberty. Effie followed Susan everywhere in BFF-”best friends forever” step. The mare’s choice was clear.

Susan’s was too, but I had to slow down the romance.

“It’s clear to me that your head knows which horse is best for you, but your heart has made a different decision,” I told Susan. “If you were not planning to board with Lisa and if she weren’t such an experienced horsewoman with expertise with Thoroughbreds, I could not in good conscience let you go with a horse so recently off the track.  But if you agree to let Lisa take over this horse’s let down and retraining, then I am ok with your taking the filly. The gelding is the better horse for you today. But I believe Effie will be that horse for you in 60 to 90 days, maybe a bit longer. My suggestion is that you go to a great little truck stop nearby for lunch and discuss the pros and cons of each choice. And, by all means, have a piece of the homemade chocolate peanutbutter pie. It will give you the necessary endorphin rush to make up your mind. ”

Needless to say, when they came back, the decision was stamped all over Susan’s face.  She glowed. She radiated. She was that little girl at Christmas who had just received her heart’s desire from Santa Claus.

I had made an earnest effort to persuade her to take the more seasoned horse. But my purpose is not about forcing choices on people. My purpose is to present the options that I have available and then let go. Susan found the answer to her lifelong dream in Effie. Helping her fulfill that dream was an exquisite privilege for which I am supremely grateful.

Besides, although it probably made more sense to steer her towards the gelding, we all have more neurotransmitters in our guts than in our brains. Therefore it makes sense to trust our intuitions.  If you remember anything from this blog, let it be this: LOGIC SHOULD ALWAYS BE ON TAP, NOT ON TOP!

Cheery bye!

Susanna

Synergy

SYNERGY is a ubiquitous phenomenon from physics to chemistry, herds to birds, cliques to corporations. It’s from the Greek “synergos,” translated as “working together,” but the concept is bigger than that: It means working BEYOND, i.e. “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” (Thank you, Aristotle! )

I got the concept of synergy at eleven. As I told you in a January blog “Mise-en-scene,” part of my childhood was spent in Paris, France. My favorite place in the city was the Sainte Chapelle, an architectural masterpiece built by Louis IX in the thirteenth century to house the purported relics of the Passion--part of the Crown of Thorns and a piece of Christ’s cross. Only 34 feet wide and 67 feet long, its glorious stained glass windows rise 50 feet in the air creating solid walls of glass. I was awestruck not only by the architectural phenomenon but also by the effort that went into creating every image, one piece of glass at a time. I liked sitting along the sides of the chapel, watching sun pour through the windows creating patchwork carpets on the massive stone block floors. It was like being in God’s jewel box.

To be successful, a team needs to be synergistic. It has taken a while to lay the foundation for such a team at the MMSC (and many thanks to all of you who have helped along the way). Finally after six years, we have built a solid team that works together, each bringing unique strengths (or colors!) to our mission.

You have already met, Catherine Flowers (Cat People and The Three Gs, andPromise), Barn Manager. She came to the MMSC in 2012 first as a volunteer, then for an internship, then...for another internship! She graduated this May Summa Cum Laude from Asbury University in Wilmore, Kentucky, and applied for the MMSC barn manager position. I had numerous applications for the job. The choice was a tough one. While Catherine had fewer technical horsemanship skills than some of the applicants, she had earned my deepest respect with her ceaseless (pay-less!)dedication in all that she did for the MMSC. I know first hand the toll of the long days and hours. She always showed up, on time, professional, even tempered, and positive. Her loyalty and honesty, smarts, work ethic and passion outweighed any lack of riding technique. That can be acquired. In June, Catherine came on as Barn Manager, and every day, I am grateful for having made this decision.

When I first became Director in 2008, all bills were paid through the headquarters office in New York.  To get a better understanding of what was going where, I bought a Quickbooks program along with the oh, so necessary, Quickbooks for Dummies and set up my own records. I learned a lot, most importantly that bookkeeping is detail oriented and there is lots of room for error. When we became our own 501(c)3 in 2012, I knew I didn’t have the skill sets to be keeper of the REAL numbers.

MA + 3 (Joseph, Anna, and Conner, l to r)

Enter Marialyce Gradek,an experienced book keeper for non profits, with a devilish sense of humor and ten year old triplets. Talk about a colorful character! I look forward to MA’s (for that is what I call her)  once a week appearances at the MMSC very much.

Lori, Jasper and Sam

MA’s big sister, Lori Tobin, Office Manager, came on board in the summer of 2012. A lawyer by profession, she relocated from DC to Lexington in 2008 to be closer to her family, and started teaching med tech law classes. For almost a year, she donated her time in the MMSC office. Lori has many assets, the greatest of which is her OCD attention to detail which she uses to get everything in order from tattoo numbers to pedigrees, applications to contracts, phone calls to appointments. Lori keeps track of them all. Most importantly, Lori keeps me on track. That is no small task as anyone who knows me well would attest! I have a proclivity to travel at high speeds in multiple directions at once. Thank goodness, I got the funds together this spring to hire her. She keeps the whole place together. 

Tony Yanek, Farm Manager, is my exquisite tiger. Reserved, moody, perfectionistic, he prowls the premises, headphones over his ears, tuned out to the world, but not missing anything, keeping the terrain beautiful, watching over every horse, piece of equipment, fence board and tree. He comes and goes tending to his own work. He sputters and scowls when anyone (including Catherine and me) leave anything out in the elements or out of place in the barn. Although he is truly a pussycat, Tony has terrified many an intern in the three years  he has worked for me on and off, as a contract laborer until I could afford to hire him full time. Tony is also terrific at Natural Horsemanship. He’s observant, quick, and strong with that rare combination of quiet confidence and compassionate leadership. Fillies, in particular love him. Tony's shadow is named Tank. He is the only dog allowed full-time on campus. That’s because Tony has trained him to perfection. He is obedient, unobtrusive, and an excellent watch and working dog.  He also is a playmate for barn cats Sam and Jasper, who,when not on pest patrol, stalk him. Then there’s Callie, a feral female that shadows the boys. She’s quite wild still, but as soon as we can lay secure hands on her, she has an appointment with the Humane Society for “alterations.”  Then, she, too, will be welcome as  a part of the synergistic MMSC team.

So back to the idea of the whole being more of the sum of its parts. In my travels throughout France, I saw churches and cathedrals with windows damaged or obliterated in war. It saddened me. Having seen the Sainte Chapelle. I knew that every piece of glass, no matter what size or color was essential to the telling of the story. 

My screen saver at work is a constant reminder of that. It's an image of just one of the 1,134 scenes in the Sainte Chapelle. I want the team of warriors and the white horse to make me mindful of and grateful for every individual who helps the MMSC on its crusade for Thoroughbred Aftercare. It also reminds me that the story can only be seen when graced from light on high.

                       
     Cheery bye!  
               Susanna

              

Promise

In "Trust the Process," a blog I posted at the beginning of the year, I explained that it takes the time it takes for a horse to get reschooled and adopted out. You know, Horse Time.

In an even earlier blog "Looking at Horses, part 2," I wrote about going back to Normandy Farm, a place dear to my heart as it was the first horse farm in Kentucky that I ever visited many years ago as a thirteen year old girl.


The horse I saw on that bleak winter day and decided to take on as an MMSC candidate was  Promise. Beautifully conformed with a lovely high-set neck, very correct legs and an ebony coat, Promisei'llbehome (by Came Home out of Maddie's Promise, foaled in 2004) is a looker. (Take a peek at his picture in the left hand column of this page.) At the time he was also a stallion, and although he was gentle as far as stallions go, he still knew how to strut his stuff. Nancy Polk, the petite and somewhat frail owner of Normandy Farm, beamed when Promise pranced out of the stall of the famous Normandy barn with the Limoges porcelain cats positioned along the rise of of the slate roof. The pockets of  her puffy coat were bulging with carrots which she liberally shared with this homebred favorite.

Promise had had 33 starts and garnered $152,890 with 5 wins, 2 seconds, and 1 third. He ran in over 25 allowance races and one stakes race. He was trained by Hall of Fame steeplechase and flat race trainer (the only person ever to be named to the two, by the

way), Jonathan Shepherd. In 2011, when Promise was seven, Mrs. Polk decided that he had done enough for her and brought him back to the farm to retire. His career, although successful, was not outstanding enough to warrant standing him at stud, and his temperament, while occasionally a handful, was not  sufficiently rambunctious  for her to want to castrate him. So, Mrs. Polk turned him out in a paddock to graze happily for the rest of his years. Except, that he wasn't happy. He seemed bored to Mrs. Polk, in need of a job. Hence the reason I got a call.

We don't take stallions at the MMSC. With limited paddock space, volunteer help, and the public streaming through our doors, stallions are a liability. Besides, who, in their right mind is going to adopt a stallion? So Promise came to us in February as a gelding. But although anatomically lighter, he still was carrying plenty of baggage.

Seasoned racehorses take longer to reschool than horses that went to the track but never raced. Old campaigners have many trump cards and are wily about playing them. They are physically mature to boot. When you take on a horse like Promise, you're playing in the big leagues.

Promise let us know that from the get-go. Dancing to and fro from the barn to his paddock on his hind feet, front legs batting the skies, he showed off his mo-jo, scaring interns and volunteers with his antics. In the round pen, it took many more sessions than usual to convince him that he was not head honcho. And still, after many days of training he conceded begrudgingly. He didn't believe in a democracy or a republic. He was a dictator at heart.

Part of his issues, I am certain, is that he was uncomfortable. He moved like a barefoot man stepping on hot coals with small, elevated, quick and careful steps. His shoulders were jammed; his pelvis twisted. Not that he was lame. Just compromised. And he had been that way for a while. He had the musculature to prove it. It was going to take regular chiropractic adjustments and careful systemic exercise to help his body remodel.

But no matter how he moved, he was spectacular to look at.  In April he caught the eye of a local huntsman who serves as whip. He adopted Promise and spent several weeks trail riding him two hours a day through the countryside. All was well until one windy day on a hill top after jumping, Promise bolted. Riding 1200 pounds of out-of-control horse moving at almost 40 miles an hour over uneven terrain is scary at any age. When you are over 50, it's a near death experience. It didn't surprise me that Promise came back to the MMSC.

Bolting is one of those trump cards that ex racehorses sometimes play. They get the bit between their teeth, and no matter how hard you pull back, they're off. In fact, pulling back  gives them leverage and recalls their track days.  Bad idea. But, totally instinctual for most riders.

I deal with the problem by taking the bit away completely. Leverage too. No bit. No  hackamores. Just a side pull. I exercise my limited knowledge

of physics by putting into practice Newton's first law of motion, the law of inertia: An object in motion continues in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. Inertia sounds grand atop a bolting horse, and I work really hard to use my body weight as obtrusively as possible--squeezing hard with my knees and thighs and breaking up the straight trajectory with a one sided pulley rein drawn hard across the bony ridge of the horse's nose. Not pretty, but pretty effective.

Bolters are always surprised the first time you ride them without a bit. They surge forward with the intention of slamming down their Ace card taking over the game, but as soon as they realize that there's nothing to lean on they start decelerating. They open their mouths. Their tongues flail the air. Game over. 

Catherine, our barn manager fell in love with Promise from the moment he stepped on campus. (Oh dear, bad boys do have a magnetic attraction, no matter how many legs they have!)  And she has patiently worked with him from round pen to sidepull to reintroduction of a bit, to jumping, to trail riding, first at a trot and then at a canter in a big open field. Now the side pull is gone and he's traveling in a  snaffle and a figure eight noseband

He and she have good days and bad days. Sometimes he is grouchy. Happily, however those days are fewer and father between his soft and willing ones. It took a long time to build up his muscles in the right places, but he is moving ever so much better. He still is nippy (give it six more months for that testosterone to cycle out), and at times he sports that distant gaze in his eye of his early days. But he melts around Catherine, looking at her with real connection and affection. 

And, he has found his calling: Promise LOVES  to jump!  Now all we have to do is find the perfect new home for him. How long will that take?  It depends. We're letting go and letting God.

Cheery bye,
Susanna

HORSE TIME

I have a day clock on the wall in my office. It doesn’t keep track of hours. Just the days of the week. I need that because I often get off stride with Father Time. Most weeks, I feel that I wake up on Monday and put my head on the pillow on Friday, with little sense of hours passing in between. That’s because, as I explained in my last blog, I am passionate about what I do. The other reason? I am on Horse Time.

Time!? What a mind boggling topic. Humans have been grappling with its measurement for millennia. Bravo to the Egyptians for figuring out  how to divide the day into measurable snippets! Hats off to those who came up with time zones! Daylight Savings Time? I don’t know how great that idea is, but interesting that we would mess with time constructs to better suit the economy. All things are related, aren’t they?

And what about the meaning of time? How slow or fast does it go? It’s relative, says Einstein, depending on one’s experience (two minutes for a man sitting with a pretty girl, or two minutes for that same man sitting on a hot stove are very different in length, he points out) or on the speed at which something travels. Scientists purport that a sense of time is developed by the ability to remember a sequence of events.  This suggests that while animals have memory, they are not capable of understanding or measuring the passage of time. (Hmmm.  I guess those scientists have never walked down a barn aisle at feeding time and heard the nickers, rumbles, and kicks emanating from stalls.)

Whether horses can or can't measure time, it is profoundly illuminating to watch them in the field. They graze. Meander. Run. Spar. Tails swish. Heads lurch shooing errant flies. Others yawn or lie down to nap in the sun. Sometimes they just stand, ears pricked, attentive to mysteries we can neither see, hear, nor sense. Whatever they are doing, horses have the art of living in the NOW down pat. Unlike humans. Most of us exist burdened in a morass of  the past’s should have/would have/could haves or beleaguered by the "to do" lists of the future, barreling through our days worried and stressed, missing the joys of the present. 

It's not that horses don’t carry baggage. They do, because they learn quickly (and Thoroughbreds especially so) and they have prodigious memories. Horses bring stuff to the table for sure. That’s why training them can be like playing cards. If you want to have the upper hand, you need to keep track of which cards have been played and figure out where the remaining cards are likely to be. Don’t be tricked by the fact that horses live and act in the moment. Remember they have trump cards from past experiences that may be played at any given time. As a trainer, it is your job, to get the horse to lay those cards down when you want to see them, and not the other way around. 

Let’s say you want to teach a horse a given skill. As a piano teacher might start a new student with scales or one handed tunes, so a trainer must break down a skill set into intelligible pieces. If the horse doesn’t make sense of the pieces, it is the trainer’s responsibility to explain each step more simply, more clearly, and that takes the time it takes.

If, on the other hand, the horse understands the question being asked and chooses to ignore it or answer incorrectly, the trainer has a different challenge: That of presenting the question so the horse CHOOSES the correct response. In other words, ask the question in a way that makes the correct answer easy for the horse and the incorrect answer hard.  You don’t want to force the horse to do anything--for as they say in the Spanish Riding School, “Nothing beautiful is ever forced.” Force creates resistance. Choice leads to partnership. And partnership is what we are striving for with our horses, isn’t it?  We don’t want vehicles or servants. We want partners and friends. We want to do what horses can do: run fast, jump things, go places we could never go on foot. And we want them to do so willingly for us and with us. That is why we must make the correct choice pleasant and the incorrect one unpleasant.  But in doing so, we must remember two things: 1. To let the horse choose. 2. To give the horse the time it takes to make the choice. Horse Time.

Sometimes this is inconvenient. Horses can and will just flat out dig in and say “NO!” on occasion either because they are willful or because they are in pain, or because they don’t understand and their brains get fried and simply shut down. When this happens the trainer has a few choices:  1. To use force.  2. To forget about the passage of time altogether and to be prepared for spending however long it takes to get the message across. 3. To alter the question.

Just as musicians play the same pieces with different styles and interpretations, so trainers will vary in how they deal with the inevitable training challenges that arise with every horse.  Personally when I am not getting across to a horse, I pull up short and ask myself:

What part of my question does the horse not understand?

Am I asking too much from the horse either mentally or physically?

And, most importantly, am I on my time, or Horse Time?

If I can figure out the answers to these questions, and be truthful to myself about them (which can be a problem because EGO gets in the way), chances are I can restructure my request in a way that will bring about a positive result. If I have the time I might build on that result to see if I can get closer to my original request. If I don’t have the time, I will stop there, rewarding the horse for one good choice and hoping to pick up from that point in a subsequent lesson.

If however, I try to rush or force the horse to understand because I am listening to my own agenda, then I am guilty of the wrong choice. And it is 100% certain that I won’t get anywhere and things will end on a bad note.

I don’t like ending on bad notes, so I pay attention to Horse Time. Things take the time they take. Savor the gift of the NOW.  Even one small positive step, rather than the leap you might have hoped for, is cause for celebration.

Cheery bye,

Susanna