Max and the Eight Stages of Dental Anxiety

Just back from the yard where I attended upon Max for his annual visit from the equine dentist. This is the fourth time we’ve been through this together, and today it became obvious that Max’s memory is long.

The first time he was four. He had wolf teeth that needed removing, and this meant sedation by the vet, then extraction of two teeth. Max recovered well. The vet said, "Wait a day before you put a bit back in his mouth." When the vet left the dentist said, "If you're OK with it, it would be kinder to leave him at least three days without a bit." Yeah, I was very OK with that.

The next visit, Max was five and just needed a little rasping. Last year we had a prolonged session which involved a lot of sharp edges being removed. The dentist thought we might need sedation, but it would be less traumatic for Max if we could go without, so he went for it and succeeded, but it was a very long and aggressive session. Which leads us to today.

Being a dental phobic myself, I completely understand Max’s anxiety. I spent years upon years being told to “Get a grip, this doesn’t hurt!”. But the truth was it bloomin’ well did hurt, was excruciating, in fact, and the pain was NOT all in my head, as was suggested time and time again. Well, in my head yes, because my teeth are in my head, but not in my head "mental".

I came to believe it was some massive conspiracy when even friends and family insisted there was no pain involved in having a filling, some people choose not to have freezing at all because it's such a doddle, and there was certainly no call for making such a fuss about it.

Turns out I don’t freeze easily and once that was sorted the whole thing became less traumatic. Despite that, the lingering anxiety that it might be excruciating again is something I will never be able to shake off.

Some horses, and I do know of them, don’t mind the dentist one bit and practically fall asleep while being rasped. Max is not one of them. I also know people who insist they love having their teeth cleaned and find it very relaxing. Nut jobs!

Stage One – Trepidation: I arrived before Max’s appointment and spent a long time in his box thinking calm thoughts and removing the mud from his tail with my fingers. Max was peaceful, but this changed as soon as the dentist appeared at his door.

Would I say that Max recognised him? Absolutely he did. Max welcomes all visitors eagerly and politely, but at the sight of the dentist, he turned sharply and retreated to the back of his box. He even raised a back leg as if to cow kick, but being the well mannered boy that he is, he didn’t follow through with the threat.

There was no escape for Max at the back of his box and in no time at all the contraption that forces his mouth open was fitted and the bucket of rasps was in situ, looking for all the world like a bucket of swords prepared for torture.

Stage Two – High Anxiety: The work began and Max continually backed himself into a corner and used his strong neck to try and keep his head out of reach. His eyes rolled and kept fixing on me, which led to Stage One for me, tremendous guilt. “It’s for your own good” offered no comfort to either of us.

Stage Three: Is my face bovvered?: I whispered and clucked to him, and tried to adjust my body language to convey to my terrified boy that no harm would come to him and it would all be over soon. When there was an opportunity not to be "in the way" I moved closer to Max and rested my hand on him, hoping that my touch would give him some comfort.

The dentist said, by way of assurance “He’s not that bothered really, he just doesn’t like it.” I nodded but silently disagreed. Max was very bothered.

The hard work continued. Lots of sharp edges again and they needed to go. Max was now making little grunts and gasps of protest, the only noises he could make with his mouth forced open. My heart broke a little.

To pass the time and keep my energy calm, the dentist and I talked about the difference between wild horses and their survival without equine dentists, against our domestic horses, who need their gnashers attended to keep them healthy and able to chew properly. It’s partly diet (hard feed and rye grass as opposed to meadowy scrub), partly being ridden (the bit, the pressure on the mouth) and partly being domesticated, not left to roam and “rip” at their grazing as they go, keeping their teeth filed down naturally.

"So," I wondered aloud, "Who was the first person who decided to stick their arm down a horse's gob and think "Hmm... I think I should get a file and rasp those teeth?" The dentist surmised it was probably someone who noticed a horse having trouble with his grub, or trouble with his bit and decided to go in and have a feel, coming out again thinking "That back tooth felt bad - if I could do something about that, I might be able to make this situation better."

Stage Four – Appeal: The aggressive rasping done, there was a little fine rasping left. Max relaxed slightly at the reprieve, but as the rasps were swapped yet again, he took the opportunity of a moment's freedom to come forward and to me. He rested his head against me and breathed heavily. The dentist came back with a new rasp, and Max tried to bury his head under my arm for respite. My heart broke a little more as I had to turn that big solace-seeking head away from me to let the rasp do its work again.

“Almost done,” I said trying to encourage him for the final onslaught. “Ugh” grunted the dentist as he fought yet again with Max’s straining to get away head.

Stage Five – Release: The last bit of fine rasping seemed to go on forever, but it wasn’t as harsh. I watched tiny drops of blood appear on Max's tongue and told him the same thing happens to me now and again when I floss. “This is a lot more aggressive than flossing,” said the dentist. “No kidding!” I thought, but didn’t say. “It’s horrible to watch, isn’t it?” the dentist continued. Oh yes, it surely is.

But then it was done. “Finished” said the dentist with satisfaction. “He may have a little trouble with his hay for a bit, but he’ll be fine." With that, the contraption was removed, the bucket was removed and the dentist was removed.

“All right, Max?” I asked, giving his forehead a rub. He turned his head and leaned into me with a big sigh.

Stage Six – Shock: I was prepared. I had brought his grooming kit into the box and retrieved his mint lick from it. I offered it to him, thinking it would take away the bad taste in his mouth, and the action of licking would be soothing for him. We stood for ages, Max with his head tucked into me, licking for all he was worth. His ear was by my mouth, so I whispered to him, consoling words and apologies. His eyes seemed glazed and stunned but he held no grudge against me. Still didn’t like the dentist though, and when he saw him walk past on his way to another stable, he retreated and tried to hide his head behind my back.

Moments later our friend, The Gardener appeared at his box door and Max retreated further, mistrustful. She was full of sympathy and I gestured her in to reassure Max that visitors were not all out to have a go at his teeth.

Stage Seven – Comfort: The Gardener and I chatted to each other, and soothingly to Max. He was done with his mint lick now, but had no wish to go back to his hay. Instead he stood quietly, stuck to my side. I had my arm draped protectively over his back and idly began to give his withers a good scratch. Max began to nod his head and doze off. A very good thing.

Stage Eight – Happy Pony: The Gardener left, Max stood a little longer with me and then took an interest in his hay. It was hard going at first, but while he was munching, I nipped out and got him his pear from my car. This was offered and rather than his usual down in one gobble, he took it in three bites, while I held my hand under his mouth to catch any dribbles.

I had no thoughts of “doing” anything with him after this – no way could I put a bit in his mouth, or ask anything of him, but Max offered his nose for a kiss and seemed eager to be getting on with something distracting, so I got out his clicker bag of pony nuts and started a short session in his box to take his mind off things and give him a new focus.

What a clever lad he is. He has worked out the difference between a touch on his elbow (raise that foreleg), a flat hand on his shoulder (move that shoulder away), pressure on his side (move your whole self sideways) and a raised hand towards his rear (quarters over).

He went through it all eagerly, didn’t matter how I mixed the commands up, he offered what was required and eagerly sucked up his pony nut treat for each click.

Another year until we have to go through this again, but I have no doubt the second he sees that dentist man, he will retreat again and when it is done, he will not hold it against me.

I have had a thought that I would rather not be there for these dental visits so that Max never associates the unpleasantness surrounding it with my presence. As difficult as it is though, I prefer to be there. I hope he has an inkling that the fact that I’m there means no harm will come to him and it’s certainly better that I’m there afterwards, so he doesn’t have to recover on his own, but has me to lean against and divert him.

Oh, but he's just a horse. It doesn't matter, he'll forget all about it.

But he's not "just a horse", he's my Max, and his memory is long. But his heart is very generous. It occurred to me while all this was going on, with his strength he could have properly protested and made short work of the dentist if he’d put his mind to it. He could have struck out with his fronts, he could have used that initial hovering back leg for a well placed wallop, he could have knocked either of us sideways with that strong neck and head. He didn’t. He cowered, he grunted his protest but in the end he bore it, not graciously, but as passively as he could.

Just like I do, when I’m in the dentist chair. Can’t keep my feet from trying to run, but I stay in that chair.

And like Max, I end up with a little froth of sweat under my mane, a bit of quivering in my limbs, and a little exhilaration at putting it behind me.

The Return of Spanish Stamp

Max has taken up a variation on a theme, Sammie's old Spanish Stamp routine. Perhaps I shall think of it as a tribute.

Max and I have been working on alternate lifting of his fronts in hand for a long time now. I have experimented with the way I ask and have received various offers as a consequence. If I stand at his side and point or tap with the dressage stick, I get a limp wristed kind of lift and hover; if I stand in front and point Max will only offer foot up along with back up as; lately though, with my hand tickling at his elbow, it's been a lift more majestic and haughty, like a diva demanding brie and white wine, right here, right now!

What we've not quite been able to work out in all this is forward motion at the same time. Until today!

The weather remains unpredictable and pretty foul, so the indoor school was our venue. I was was tapping his leg with the dressage stick to little effect, so tried touching his elbow with my hand and up came that leg.

Stick was discarded and I got Max walking forward by my side, my hand resting on his elbow and saying "Spanish" with a little tickle. What I was after was the link up of forward motion plus raising leg - I didn't expect him to connect the two today, but in very little time he did.

Comedy pony! It is not Spanish Walk, it is definitely Spanish Stamp! He can't do alternate legs, just one side at a time and he has to get his head right down to look at his feet (that's how I knew when he was working up to a stamp) and sometimes he has to stop after he's done it because it's all just too much.

I made a fuss of him but was laughing so much - what a picture of determination! He started getting really enthusiastic about the whole thing so we had to dial it down a notch with a bit of leg yield

"No! Not Sideways! STOMP!"

We did one last walk up and down the school, stomping on one rein then the other (and this really is early days, the length of the school gets one or two stamps, it takes him that long to figure out his balance and work up to it) then I put away the treat bag and walked away so he could have a roll and there we left it.

Imagine when I eventually transfer this to saddle! I can just picture the surprised faces as we ride out down the lane:

Max: STAMP

Me: laughter

Max: STAMP

Me: more laughter

Max: STOMPITY STAMP

and so on...

Sheepish...

Max was one of the few horses on our yard who had very little trouble getting past the pigs that populated the field on our way out to the bridleways. He had been known to lead many an older, wiser and more experienced horse past them.

The pigs have gone. Moved to a field set back from the road, and set back from the one bridleway that comes close to them, so they are no longer a problem. There are a few still living right by the road by the farmhouse, but as long as they don't affront Max by daring to speak excitedly to him, he just turns his head and trots on by.

But now, it's sheep and although they do not seem to bother the others, Max does not like them. They don't speak, they don't run about like a many legged creature all bundled together, they just stare and munch as we go past, but this is enough to offend Max's sensibilities. Perhaps it is because they make such a show of grazing when he cannot.

It's not dramatic, he doesn't shy or refuse to go forward at all, a couple of circles and encouragement and he will walk along, but how he stares, and flinches if any of them make a move.

We were out today for a quite short, very muddy hack. A break in the weather meant that it was quite pleasant to be out, although more rain clouds on the horizon warned us not to hang about for long. The downside was that so much rain lately has turned our regular paths very swampy.

The good news, despite the sheep, was that Max went willingly every where I asked him, after his initial balking at the woolly jumpers. He didn't try to turn for home when I asked him to go straight on instead. He stood without fidgeting as I waited for a slow moving car to cross our path, and on arrival back at the yard, he willingly trotted into the indoor school and did a bit of work in there before I finally told him we were done.

A vast improvement in behaviour and co-operation from my boy. Taking a step back was the best thing we could have done; the result is steady steps forward.

Not such a happy report for the sheep. Apparently they will not be around to plague Max for much longer, but best to draw a veil over why.

Not singing, just raining...

It's relentless now, this constant, cold drizzle. The air temperature is relatively mild, or would be, if the sun was shining. But because of the incessant damp, I feel like I can't get warm.

Am on holiday this week, from one job, still doing the yard. I had grand plans of adventures with Max, but so far, not much is actually happening. The week is yet young, and an optimist would say that there's always tomorrow. That would be an optimist who hadn't looked at the five day forecast though, and seen more and more of the same, right up until the weekend.

The bridleways are a mess and slippery with it. The outdoor paddock is soggy and unpleasant, as is the indoor school, our only respite at the moment, and having spent so much time in it over the winter, Max and I could both use a break from its shelter.

What to do?

Today I dropped by the yard to mark Max down on the board to be kept in for me this afternoon. I had high hopes, after running a few errands and having a Bowen treatment, that I could return to the yard and at least spend some quality time with him, but it was not to be.

As I drove on my return journey to the yard, post soporific Bowen treatment, I found myself wishing I hadn't kept Max in, because I knew I hadn't the energy to do anything, and I didn't fancy standing in the cold school with him doing nothing.


As it turned out, I was greeted at the yard by an apology; my note had not been noticed, and Max had been turned out as usual.

No matter, I went to find him to at least say hello and give him the pear I had brought with me as a treat. He is in an L shaped field, so there was no sign of him and I slogged through the mud, up the field to get a glimpse.

Barney noticed me first, but almost as soon as clocked me, I heard Max belt out a neigh and then he came into view at a fast trot, whuffling all the way. The mud hampered his eager approach and he helplessly, gracefully slid to a stop just inches away from me. I fancy he was hoping I would take him back to his comfy box to enjoy the warmth and a big pile of hay. That is not the routine though so not an option.

On days like this, I do wish I had only my own routine to answer to, or at least that I had the option of erecting a tasty field shelter full of everything Max might desire, including a dry, warm, bed, so that if he elected to sit out the rain in there, he could do that.

Truthfully, that is probably more my human view of how I would like to seek comfort than Max's. Many horses have just such a shelter in which to retreat and yet still they stand in the pouring rain, cropping grass happily.

It's a thought that is hard to shake for all that, especially on days like this when I am now inside and warming up, and know that Max is still standing in drizzle, big drips running off his forelock and onto his face, his sweet little feet covered in sleechy mud.

But tomorrow is another day indeed, whatever the weather. I will be on yard duty all morning with nowhere else to rush off to, so I can spend loads of time visiting his box and fussing about his comfort. Afterwards, we can hang out, whether it's a big grooming session, a break in the weather for a wander off the yard, or yes, even back to the indoor school for some in-hand work and perhaps a nice scratchy roll to lift away that moulting coat of his. If fortune smiles upon us, we might even do all those things.

And another pear, of course. Always another pear.

Watching You Watching Me

For a pony who can show great alarm at sticks, vegetation and the occasional crisp wrapper snagged in a hedge, Max is mainly curious about the other creatures that share his world.

Whilst other horses huff and snort past the pigs, giving their riders a twisty funhouse ride, Max stops and stares, only scurrying away if one of them speaks to him. He's also quite tolerant of dogs, especially the ones known to him. He may be a little ruffled by a strange loose dog on the track (as he should be, so am I) but the yard dogs can run under his belly and he'll do nothing more than follow their progress; the puppy who is confident enough to leap up to get my attention by leaning against Max's foreleg receives a sniff from a big whiskery muzzle and nothing more.

Yesterday, under the protective eye of the Ent, Max had a good gaze at a small herd of alpaca that are on one of our hacking routes. Max looked on them, and they looked on Max, and so they all stood for some time, wondering what the other was, I suppose.

Today was fine again, and my yard shift ended retrieving Max from his field briefly. I had let him out for the afternoon in his nekkid glory so he could enjoy the sun on his backside and have a good scratchy roll if he wanted.

I clicked to him as I approached his field and was greeted with a friendly whuffle and immediate approach; there's rarely any need to go and fetch Max from a far corner of his field, once he spots me he comes willingly and, it seems to me, smilingly as well.

As we got back to the yard we met an old friend who had popped in for a visit whilst passing, and so we stood in the sunshine for a chat with another owner, a pack of excited, leaping dogs, and Max showing off his new and improved "Spanish" leg raising. When asked he raised his right leg end extended it out before lowering it with a bit of dramatic flair. To my delight, when my friend asked if he could do his left leg too, Max nodded unprompted, I pointed to his left leg and up it went in a Spanish Walk style.

Now if we could just get him moving forward at the same time! But that will come. The sun shines and everything is now possible.

The yard day ended as it should have, with laughter, delighted Max in the centre enthusiastic, affectionate attention, and then a quiet time with my boy as I rugged him up for his return to the field and then waited as he finished off his hay.

Spring is definitely, finally, almost here, and it's not just a scent in the air, a tree threatening to blossom, the return of the day-trippers with their walking sticks, hiking boots and push bikes; it is a state of mind.

Out and about

Finally a Sunday with beautiful, Spring-like weather. Still a bit chilly out of the sun, still a bit of frost first thing, but the days are warming up. It has been newsworthy that our daffodils, mostly still snoozing underground, are three to four weeks late. England in March is usually awash in bright yellow, bobbing heads.

That aside, it was a perfect day for a longer hack out, Max following his friend, the Ent. He was so relaxed about the whole thing he played one of his favourite games, which is herding The Man. Hangs back a bit, then stealth jogs up behind him and gives him a shove with his nose.

If Max gets scared, he tucks in right behind him (Max has no concept of his size and I suspect he believes this is "hiding"), if he sees something extraordinary the Ent must be shoved to make sure he sees it, too! If Max is feeling brave, he strides ahead, but uses his peripheral vision to make sure his companion is not far behind, and will stop and wait if he is.

So it was yesterday. Nothing spectacular, no mad gallops, no differences of opinion, just a pleasant stroll in the sunshine, then back home for a hot wash which removed a lot of loose hair and dust, which hopefully will make Max a lot more comfortable as he continues to moult.

That, along with the daffs finally raising their sleepy heads, is my sign of spring; a yard full of loose horse hair, dancing about on the breeze like tumbleweeds.

Oh yes he did!

So slow we were in danger of going backward.

Plus the bridleway had been cut back so there were some menacing branches on the ground looking all snaky so they had to be snorted at.

Then one sideways leap of terror at dried mud on the side of the road in the shape of a tractor tyre tread. Max assured me, though, that this is a clever ruse and is actually the footprint of a pony eating beastie of fierce reputation that leaves only the forelock behind!

Still, my best boy and I had a womble in the sunshine this morning and that was pretty nice.

Yes'm's is a good Max!

A strong foundation

It has been a long cold winter for the UK, and the same for Max and me. The going has been treacherous and we have kept our work to the school. That was not just down to the weather though, but down to our episodic "Arab Mist" and my determination to get to the bottom of it.

We have been making progress, but today just how much progress was delightfully displayed.

Max and I went to the indoor school to continue our ground work. We've been doing this for ages, short and sharp sessions, setting Max up for win/win to get his confidence up and make it fun, all to try to get to the bottom of his crazies.

We've been doing this since early December, and have changed the school from somewhere he was really reluctant to enter, to somewhere he strides into full of confidence.

But today, armed with scary whip (re-introduced for lunging) and dressage stick (for in hand and "up, up, up!" front feet work), and bridle, and long line (we do mix it up a bit in our school time) we were met with calamity.

Heard it as soon as we got to the school door. Scrambling shod hooves on the lane as rider on hack had horse go mental...

Then the field overlooking the school, a mare hooning back and forth, bucking and giving it some wellie... (was beautiful to watch and would have appreciated more if I hadn't been fixed on Max's state of affairs)

Then in the field across the lane, in our line of vision, two horses, proper madness; squealing, galloping, rearing, bucking, snorting, cavorting like the very devil was after them.

Not to mention the high wind. Which was no doubt a factor in all the madness.

Oh Max went on high alert all right, grew tall and he got his Arab Mist riff going on. Me, I felt a bit of tension rise as I watched the hacker hurry back to the yard, barely under control and wondered if Max was going to go loopy on me, assessing the risk and working out how best to get him and myself to safety. Meanwhile Max continued to watch it all with big eyes and all aquiver.

"Oi," I said, forcing my voice calm and body relaxed. "Look at me. Hey!" I moved myself front and centre in his vision and jangled his line.

And he focused. Looked at me, listened to me, got in the school politely, waited until I closed the door and then got stuck right in to in-hand stuff like there was nothing else going on.

He was still aware of hell's a poppin' outside that door, no question, but he paid attention to me instead and did every little thing I asked of him.

The thing is, all this time, going back to basics and making it fun hasn't just done Max the world of good. By setting him up for win/win, I've set myself up for it too. The result is a more confident partnership, and more playful vibe and a much improved line of communication.

We're getting there.