How Now Loud Cow?

Ho hum. Another boring ol' hour long hack on boring ol' Maxo Relaxo without incident.

He just can't seem to work himself up into a fizz about anything, and is all co-operative and laid back, like a comfy armchair parked, with a pouf, in front of the telly with a bucket of hot buttered popcorn and some soporific film to nod off to with a vague smile and feeling of comfort and good will.

Well, mostly that. It wouldn't be a Max story if there wasn't a comedy pony incident to throw into the mix.

It came almost at the end of our hack, as we negotiated our way between two fields of grazing cows. One side the dairy herd, the other, a few isolated babies and their mommas.

Max grew up in a field with cows, so they don't really bother him generally, but there was one momma on our right side with a straining full udder. She had one quite young calf on one side having a go, and on the other, well Max could not work it out. A bigger calf, who had to kneel down on his front knees in order to reach the low slung, heaving full udder of plenty.

He stopped and looked for quite a long time, trying to work out what manner of creature was kneeling calf.

"Where his front legs go, eh? How does he walk? What the heck is he doing?"

At this point, one of the dairy herd cows came over to have a look at us and have a moo.
This started a moo off, between all the dairy cows on the one side, and the isolated cows and calves on the other.

Moo! Moo! MOO!

Then I started to moo back at them from the saddle. Max mooved off, but I kept mooing, and so did the cows. Max got cross with me.

"Cease and desist!" he snorted. "So rude! You're encouraging them and they're talking absolute gibberish. Something about the quality of butter drips off toasted crumpets. It's crazy talk! Stop it now, they're following us. Be told!"

He shook his head with indignation and trotted on.

That's when one lone sheep in another paddock chose to show itself and bleat, and Max did a Riverdance. Well, not so much the flailing legs of Flatley but perhaps more of a Bambi on ice all four legs out and splayed as Max finally lost his cool.

But hey, it was just for a second. He collected his cool back, gave one last snort of derision to the bold and talkative farm critters, and trotted for home.

I seem to have created... a happy hacker?!

And tomorrow is another day. He may yet show me his Arab mist again. I am wondering if the timing of hacks whilst on morning yard shift is helping me? He's a little drowsy in the morning, so perhaps that is a good and helpful thing. Whatever it is, it's good! We'll ride the wave while it's there to be ridden, and deal with the rest when it comes up.

PS

Reading back, that last one is pretty flat story telling for me (I was barely awake, it has to be said) but I am still so chuffed and about what Max did, both the leaving ponies he wanted to follow, and the incident with the dog.

We have had so many troubles with his "Arab Mist" and spent so much time, sometimes quite frustrating time and also sometimes wonderful inspiring time filled with laughter and applause, going right back to basics and doing such simple (to other eyes) ground work, and "circus pony tricks" with clicker training.

"Why aren't you riding him?" "You have to WORK it out of him!" "Horses aren't pets, they need a job!" blah blah, blah in the background. "How did he go today? You're not working him hard enough." "He's getting fat." "You need his respect!" and on and on until I just about wanted to pull my own head off.

So I ignored the back chat from the peanut gallery and followed my own path. When I say "ignored" I don't mean I didn't hear the back chat. Oh, I heard it all right, and it kept me awake at night sometimes, full of doubt, losing confidence in myself, wondering if I was letting Max down and then screwing my courage to the sticking place and getting up the next morning and trying again.

And it often felt like we were just playing, like we weren't really achieving anything but Spanish Stamp and "gimme a kiss gorgeous!" Going through obstacle courses, backwards and hands-free, doing in hand, working on transitions and lateral work, all by the seat of our pants and figuring out what worked for us.

But now, I know we have achieved something, and it's something pretty special.

Will the back-chatters notice? Course not! I have done nothing worth noticing. All I've done is FINALLY got Max going and obeying like all good horses should do, and it's about time too. Certainly nothing to crow about!

Well cock a flippin' doodle doooo anyway!

I will crow because what we have achieved, small as it is, maybe momentary as it is (tomorrow's another day with another Big Bad to face) we didn't get there through force or submission, we got there through playing and patience, experimenting and larking about. And a bit of determination and resolve too.

It's not a flat story, it's a story of great promise and respect.

Max really is magic and he's coaxed the best out of me so I can coax the best out of him.

Well, he wouldn't want me getting big headed about this stuff, but every now and then, he shows me I'm doing OK, and yesterday's hackette, that's what he did. All those hours sweating and laughing in the school resulted in Max responding to a finger twitch on the reins and an asking voice.

So I'm giving Max a dancing ovation

Max the Bold

Two mouthed abominations, rogue Tesco bags and snaky looking branches across the path ahead aside, when it comes to proper drama and a “real” threat, Max is brave and he listens.

We had a lovely hackette yesterday morning, early so before the flies were too bad and before it got hot. Not early enough though, to avoid meeting some friends on their way back to the yard at the top of our first hill. Max was keen to stay with Gin and Monty but after a quick chat off they went and off we went – admittedly it took a bit of convincing that yes, I really did want to go in the opposite direction, but Max metaphorically shrugged his shoulders and gave in without any real fuss.

Nothing of note really; beautiful day, Maxo-Relaxo of the swinging belly and swivelling, listening ears.

On the way home, we were heading up a gentle slope and the ground was not so hard, so we had a little trot, then a teensy canter and then I regretfully slowed Max down because we were reaching a crossing of bridleways with obstructed vision, so I didn’t want us to bound into anybody.

As we reached the spot, suddenly Max flattened and shot forward several steps. Two things happened then in the slow/quick time where everything goes so fast, but you still have time to think and see in slow motion.

1. I didn’t think I was going to be able stop him because he was obviously proper freaked out.

2. I glanced behind to see what had caused our invisible trouble and saw an unleashed spaniel jumping up at Max’s hinds.

The next thing that happened was Max stopped, responding to my auto-pilot “Steady”. We turned to look.

“Just a dog, Max,” I said.

“A stupid, rude, hoof to the head dog if he comes any closer. SHOO!”

The dog scampered off, no owner in sight, Max and I carried on home, and Max wasn’t coiled for more spooking, but went right back to relaxed and willing..

I’m really proud of him. He had every reason to get his freak on this time, but he didn’t.

Another Good Day!

Carry on my wayward pone...

...no more napping, almost home,
Where you'll turn your head to me
And stretch for carrots, three.

(with apologies to "Kansas")

Finally a break in the weather here in England-land. It's been dry and hot, horse flies abundant, neds tormented by them, making hacking unpleasant because of the hard ground, relentless heat and nasty biting insects.

The school has not been much better, softer ground, less buzzing pests, but hot, hot, hot and dusty.

We've had a few goes at this and that: long lining, working in the paddock, and the occasional desperate "charge!" on the great outdoors. With the dry weather, the pony paddock where Max spends his leisure time is pretty slim pickings for grazing, so any forays out make him all about what he can get in his belly... until the head shaking and stomping to fend off irritating insects puts paid to that and we have a frantic trot home in a cloud of midges.

But yesterday, the temperature dropped, the clouds covered the sun and there was the smell of rain in the air.

We started off in the school, working on trot poles, ridden. Max enjoys the trot poles and gets a little over-excited about them. I had him at stand in the middle of the school whilst making an adjustment to my stirrups, and Max decided to take himself back over the poles instead.

After that, a little bit of work on canter transitions. We are at early days with this, but I have found I am beginning to be able to correct Max's diagonal cantering progress by putting more weight into my outside foot - straightens us up a treat. Well, it had been doing, but Max, already excited about the trot poles, got very excited about the canter and we got snorting, cavorting and all I could see from the saddle was crazy legs flailing like he was trying to start a new dance craze.

We went for a very short hack after that. I was on yard shift for the morning, so no time to stray too far from home adventuring. This went well, a little napping by the cows, but that was easily dealt with.

On the way home, we approached a gaggle of humans stood outside a gas lorry. Max pricked his ears with interest at this vision on his horizon, and I felt him tense, but he kept moving forward. This was "just curious" tension, rather than "I'm gonna blow!" tension.

The gas man opened a back hatch on his lorry in preparation and this caused Max some concern.

"The creature has opened its mouth yet does not move. Surely walking towards it cannot be wise?"

"It's fine, Max, just people and a harmless lorry."

We went on. Then the man opened a second hatch and began to uncoil a black hose used for gas delivery.

"DANGER! WRONG! UNNATURAL! What in the name of all that is hoofed can this be?!" Max stood rigid. "A snake! The Abomination has a mouth AND a snake!"

Before I had a chance to placate or decide whether it would be best to dismount and give Max my protection from the ground (in my opinion he had every right to be dismayed and wary at this point) one of the onlookers turned, smiled and spoke:

"Hello Max! What sort of contraption can this be, eh?"

Max relaxed slightly as he recognised the voice of our friend, the Gardener, who saved the day by turning to the gas man and asking him to stop what he was doing until Max had made his way safely past.

We did this at a sideways trot, nodding my head in thanks to the gas man and the Gardener whilst Max protected his bottom from attack, just in case.

A pony having had such a fright surely deserves to have his grass reins removed and a chance to have bit of nosh of lush grass by the school, doesn't he? And so it was.

And then the rain finally came.