In Their Own Language

This morning, when I fed the horses, I also opened the stall doors, and Siete rudely shoved her way past me out into the corral to eat the flake of hay that I had left out there. That's not okay, so I immediately told her that it was mine, not hers, and chased her to the far end of the corral. It was a little early for me to think clearly, but I heard Carolyn Resnick’s voice in my head telling me to keep strong but flexible boundaries. Siete was sulking. Head down, she came around to Silk's stall and joined her mother, eating from that pile. Then, as soon as I turned away, she charged back to the hay I had claimed as mine. Again, I waved her away and told her that she couldn't have it, and she retreated to her own stall to eat the hay in there.

So, when we began our Waterhole Ritual of sharing territory later in the day, I wasn't sure how Siete was going to act towards me. I had a feeling that she was still annoyed. There had been a huge commotion next door that I am proud to say my horses totally ignored. Our neighbors’ enormous tree had fallen across their driveway in the windstorm Sunday night. With chain saws and wood chippers and lots of loud, violent sounding noise, a crew of tree-trimmers cleaned it up for a couple of hours. After they were finished, I opened the big gate between the corral and the pasture so Silk and Siete could come and go into their stalls as they chose. I placed my chair in the pasture and began to read. Both horses joined me and grazed happily for a while.

Then, following Carolyn’s suggestion, I took a small bowl of carrots and put it under my chair. She wants Siete to become rude because she thinks it indicates that Siete trusts me more and knows she can speak out about how she feels. This exercise is supposed to develop the horse’s ability to listen and pay attention to me. I returned to reading. (I should add here that the horses aren’t wearing halters, and the only thing that I have to guide them is a “reed”, literally a long, very flexible grass reed from a water plant.) Neither horse came near me. After about 20 minutes, I stood up and brought a piece of carrot to Siete and thanked her for her good manners. When I sat down again and began reading, she approached me. I stood up and calmly waved the reed lightly, asking Siete to back away. She knows that when I wave the reed, I’m telling her that I want more space, and she left me alone. Slowly, I walked over to her and gave her another piece of carrot, praising her for listening to me. She turned and walked back to her stall and stood in the doorway, looking at me expectantly.

Silk came to me as soon I sat down again, ready for her piece of carrot. I stopped her by gently waving the reed and told her that she would have to go away to be able to get the treat. She looked really indignant and reluctantly stepped back. Miffed, she walked away. Then, I stood up and brought her a piece of carrot. I told her that I knew that she was a good horse, and I thanked her. She took it and began grazing again. I sat down, picking up my book again. Siete made her way back out into the pasture, so after awhile, I decided to try another exercise called the "Hello Ritual". I looked her in the eye and walked up to her, and she extended her nose to greet me. I touched her forehead, said hello and walked away. Over the next ten minutes, I did this again with Siete several times and she responded with interest and was glad to see me. This exercise gives the horse control of the situation and also shows her that she can trust me. When I approach her, I must follow her lead. If she greets me, I reply and then, take the pressure off by leaving her. These reciprocal movements are the beginning of the dance. Sometimes, you need to lead and sometimes you follow.

Each time I sat down in my chair, I felt a rising sensation of happiness begin to bubble up. I couldn't stop smiling. After about the fourth time that Siete looked me in the eye and lifted her nose towards my hand, I positively floated back to my seat. It seemed to me that my little horse was thinking, "Oh good, after all these years, she's finally speaking my language!"

Even though I've watched the "Waterhole Rituals" DVD over and over and read Carolyn's book, “Naked Liberty” twice, this time, everything seems to be clicking for me. I think that having the opportunity in long phone calls every two weeks to listen to Carolyn explain what she would like us to do and why we are doing it and having other students in the group ask questions helps make the pieces fit together better and become more clear for me. Today, I really believed in my heart for the first time that Siete would be interested in playing with me and eventually dancing with me, and it filled me with joy.

Carolyn was saying that we’ve been taught to be rigid with horses. That means the horse learns the rules, but stops paying attention to you. With the Waterhole Rituals, we’re beginning a new dialogue. To be able to learn this way of communication that is instinctive, basic and based on herd dynamics found in groups of wild horses while using the sophistication of the Internet and video and distance-learning technology is really remarkable.

I’m so grateful to Carolyn for her adventurous, open-minded and generous spirit. She is inspiring me to take a leap of faith and giving me more confidence and a greater comfort level when I communicate with Siete and Silk. For the last year, I’ve been lamenting that if I still lived in San Diego, I would have been able to work with Carolyn Resnick. I’ve looked and looked for a horse trainer near me here on the East Coast that seemed like a good fit and haven’t found anyone. It is amazing to think that I can learn to train my horse long distance like this with the very person that I most wanted as our teacher. Imagine all the other things that we can learn now that we have these resources available to us. It boggles my mind and thrills me.

My Two Smart Horses

Today was so beautiful and sunny, and it just felt like the right time to try the circle game with Siete. I placed the five piles of hay in a big circle about 20 feet apart. Then, I left some hay in the barn for Silk to eat and opened the gate between the corral and the barn so the horses could choose where they wanted to go. I sat down on my chair in the shade in the pasture and began reading a book.

Siete soon wandered out, curious, as always, about what was going on. She stopped to eat at the first pile of hay. After she had been munching for a little while, I approached her and asked her to move to the next pile. She did without any hesitation. We followed the same action around the circle. I would ask her to move on to the next pile. She did and stopped to eat. After a few bites, I’d ask her to go to the next one and she would walk calmly to our next stop. We went around the circle twice. Then, when we got to the last pile, after she took a bite, she shook her head at me and ran back into the barn. She stood in the doorway of her stall and looked at me, as if to say, “See? Wasn’t I a good kid? But that’s enough of that game.” I went outside the pasture, found a piece of carrot and gave her a treat, thanking her for her cooperation.

Then, I put a flake of hay in the pasture next to my chair and sat down . As soon as I started to read, Silk ambled out of the barn to join me. She put her nose on my hand to greet me and then began to eat the hay next to me. Siete came out again too and grazed on the grass about 40 feet away, not looking at us. It was so relaxing, and the weather was perfect. We stayed like this for about twenty minutes.

Siete finally came over and stood next to her mother. Silk immediately took half of the hay that was left and pushed it firmly under my chair with her nose. I started to laugh and thanked her and kept on reading. Siete took a big mouthful of hay and walked up behind me. I couldn’t figure out what she was going to do but I ignored her. She dropped the hay on me all over my head and my book. I laughed so hard and reached up to rub her face. Satisfied, she moved away and began grazing again.

I’ve noticed that Silk stays away from us when Siete and I are interacting. I explained to Mama Silk before I began practicing the Waterhole Rituals what I was going to do and why I thought it would be good for me and Siete. She gets it, like any good mother would.

The Pause In Between

Siete and I are going to move on to a new exercise as part of the Waterhole Rituals. I am supposed to place five small piles of hay in a circle that is 20 feet in diameter. After Siete begins eating at one pile of hay, I will ask her to move on to the next one, the intention being that I will be able to eventually direct her calmly and easily to go around the circle from pile to pile at my request. It is the beginning of what Carolyn Resnick calls “leading from behind”.

I feel like my horse and I are both ready to try it, but I’ve been stuck for the last couple of days unable to move forward. My mind is full of “what if’s”, and I worry that I will do the wrong thing and give Siete the wrong message. I am going to need to respond spontaneously and confidently to what ever my horse offers me. I keep reminding myself of what I learned from one of my friends last year. Don’t think of what happens as a mistake, just learn from it and do the next thing you think you need to do. It should be a process for both me and Siete, without any right or wrong or blame or guilt.
My hesitation reminded me of an article that I read recently called “Open Stillness”, written by Elizabeth Mattis-Namgyel. She talks about rock climbing in Colorado and reaching a place suspended on the rock where she can’t see any possibilities for moving up or down:

“Hanging off a rock is an exaggerated experience of facing the unknown. It is exhilarating, scary, and completely vibrant. When we can’t find a foothold, the mind falls into an open stillness— the same brief pause we encounter in any situation where we lose our familiar reference points. If we have the wherewithal to relax, we find our way. If we don’t, we sometimes panic. When reactive mind responds to situations where we lose our reference points, our body tightens, our breath shortens, our vision narrows.

After a while, muscle strain stirs our sensibilities: “I can’t stay like this forever!” We don’t have the luxury of avoidance, so we start to work with our mind and slowly it softens. Now, this is the fascinating part: as everything softens, all kinds of new patterns and shapes begin to emerge from the rock. We see places to balance we didn’t see before. We’re not doomed after all! As we soften and open, we access a special intelligence, unimpeded by habitual, reactive mind.”

It reminded me of an experience I had in college where I was climbing up a steep hill and got stuck exactly as she describes, afraid and unable to move in either direction. In that instance, I started laughing so hard at myself that I began crying, and eventually, one of my friends crawled below me and pushed my bottom and my feet until I could move to the next foothold. This time, the only friends I have out here in the pasture are my two horses. I’ve decided to include Silk in this exercise since I trust her and I think she might be able to help me find my balance with her daughter. In the end, though, it’s up to me to be the leader here.

I’m going to allow myself to be peaceful now in this pause before I begin climbing again and take some time to reflect on what I’m afraid might happen and why I would feel that way. Since Siete was born, I’ve always worried that I will do something that would ruin her and cause her to distrust humans. And despite my good intentions and best efforts, we’ve had some tough times with thoughtless, ego-driven trainers, vets and farriers. I know that what we are doing together now will heal us and lead to a mutual trust. It will take as long as it will take, no predicting when it will happen. So for right now, I’m not going to get impatient or annoyed with myself or even call it “being stuck”. I’d rather see it as a time to gather my “windhorse energy”, as the Buddhists call it. Siete has no agenda, and I have to be careful to listen to her and not try to create or force one of my own. I know I will be able to feel when we are ready to move forward from hay pile to hay pile.

Soooo Cute!

When we picked up hay this morning, we discovered that our favorite farmer has 11 new baby cows in his field. They were incredibly sweet and my daughter was dying to bring one home. Fortunately, there was no room with all the hay. With temperatures in the mid-80's, these little guys have the right idea -- naptime.

Sharing Territory

I almost didn’t sit in the paddock with the horses today. Even though it was sunny and warmer than it’s been, the wind was really strong. It was the kind of wind that really swirls up your mane and makes you kind of spooky. I decided to try sitting and reading a book and if it was too much, I could always stop.

The horses ignored me at first, as they usually do, and just ate some hay near the water bucket. I moved my chair up near the fence so I wouldn’t blow over. The wind was gusting around 25 to 30 mph and the sound of the trees blowing was like waves in the ocean. It was pretty intense. Siete ambled over to visit me and sniff my knees. I ignored her, as I’m supposed to, since part of what this first Waterhole Ritual does is set personal boundaries for the horse and re-inforce a core code of conduct that the herd follows. I’m sitting, without expectations or an agenda, but there’s a surprising amount going on in my interactions with the horses.

Anyway, I turned my attention to my book, "The Exquisite Risk", by poet Mark Nepo. I almost fell off my chair when I read this: “So what does it mean to be real? I would suggest that it involves both an outer commitment and an inner commitment: an outer commitment to live as close to our experience as possible, and an inner commitment to keep our individual spirit aligned with the soul of the world, an outer commitment to stay transparent until what we experience is what we feel, and an inner commitment to stay transparent until who we are is joined to the source of life, the way a drop of rainwater joins the ocean. As well, to be real involves an acceptance of being cleansed of everything false and extraneous… So where are you in this endless journey? Where are you in your struggle between isolation and relatedness, between nothing and everything? Where are you in your struggle to align your spirit with the soul of the world? Are you strengthening your will or your connections? Are you thickening your walls or making yourself transparent? Are you holding your breath or breathing your way through?”

Carolyn Resnick says that “every day with a horse is a new deal.” I’m really glad that I made the choice this afternoon to sit with Silk and Siete and let the wind blow me awake.

A Slow Adventure

I’ve embarked on a new journey that is taking place in my backyard. For the last couple of months, I’ve been feeling disconnected from Silk and Siete. As you know, taking care of them during all the rain and flooding was not fun. Often, I was so exhausted and cold and wet that all I wanted to do was run back to my warm house. I could feel the two horses bonding closer to each other and growing more distant from me. I was blaming myself for not spending more time with them and feeling guilty that I didn’t have more time to give.

Once again, in the amazing way that it can revitalize me, some of my favorite blogs brought me around to a new way of looking at my world. It began with Kate at A Year With Horses, posting a thoughtful and caring piece about whether she was ready to take a break from her horses. Although I totally understood how she was feeling, when I looked at my own relationship with Silk and Siete, I realized that right now, I really needed them to help me hold onto myself and remind me of who I am. Doing what I do for them to make the barn safe and comfortable, to keep them fed and happy is really a way of taking care of my soul and honoring what’s important to me.

Then, I watched a video that Carolyn Resnick posted on her blog that lifted my heart. It was one of her students, Robin Gates, dancing with her horse, Fresco. I couldn’t stop looking at it over and over. I knew that right now, I don’t want to ride my horses, I want to dance with them. I was, however, a bit intimidated at the prospect of getting out there and actually trying it. Like a perfectly timed answer from the blogosphere, I got the nudge I needed when Carolyn decided to offer her Waterhole Rituals course again this Spring. I signed up and received all kinds of help and encouragement instantly as I was able to listen and download an insightful interview with her and phone conversations teaching me how to start this adventure of better communication with my horses. It’s just what Siete and I need to do together right now, and it begins with doing nothing.

The first ritual is to share space with your horse. I sit in a chair in the paddock for an hour each day reading a book while Siete is there with me. “Spending time doing nothing leads to something that would otherwise never have happened.” Carolyn says. On her blog, there are comments from other people all over the world who are doing this same course and having incredible experiences with their horses. It lifted me up to find so many other horse lovers out there making these same deep connections with their own animals. I’m not alone in my feelings about my horses, and through the Internet and Carolyn’s efforts, something really remarkable is happening. I’m so glad to be part of this community, and it reaches beyond just the horse world.

I often read Jon Katz’s blog, Bedlam Farm Journal, and I’ve been very interested in his plans for a new book about grieving over animals who have died. He quoted from a book called “Twins” by Dorothy Burlingham, about how a child’s love for animals can come out of loneliness and solitude: “The two share everything, good and bad experiences, and complete understanding of each other; either speech is not necessary, or they have a secret language. The understanding between them goes beyond the realm of consciousness.” That’s what I’ve been feeling with Siete. It’s the relationship that I already have with her mother, and I’ve been longing for it with my little horse.

Spending an hour sitting in a chair with my horse isn’t easy for me. Time is a precious gift, and I never have enough of it. My mother and my husband look out the window at me and shake their heads. I’m glad that I’m in the solitude of my own backyard so I can avoid anyone’s judgment or ridicule. To force myself to slow down to a total halt and do nothing brings me to the same level of awareness that Siete has as she’s grazing next to me. I feel one with her. It’s a huge commitment to slow down.

I just learned the term “slow blogging”, coined by Todd Sieling a few years ago. “Slow blogging is a rejection of immediacy. It is an affirmation that not all things worth reading are written quickly.” he says. As you’ve probably noticed, I’m blogging a lot less than I used to and find that many of my friends in the blogosphere are too. I was feeling a bit guilty about it, worrying that everyone would forget about me. Now, I see that there’s an ebb and flow we all follow. I’ll be mentioning my new slow adventure with Siete here on my blog as we make our way along. One of the things that I love is that Carolyn insists that there should be no agenda. Every day is simply taken as it comes, and that’s what makes it so wonderful. I was in New York for two days last week and by the time I came home, I was dying to be with my horses. I missed them so much. My love for them is being renewed, just like the lilacs, tulips and the other flowers are beginning to bloom again.

RIP Chief

I don’t mean to bum everyone out with a sad story. I even thought about just not mentioning it, but it’s kind of amazing that one white rooster would have such an impact on so many people. I’m not usually fond of chickens, as I’ve told you before, but our neighbor, the Chief, really captured my heart. And now, he’s gone.

It was very weird. I saw the rooster and his girls coming over to our yard from across the road yesterday. I was on my way next door to my other neighbor’s house to use her fax machine, but I ran back to the kitchen and grabbed the bag of bread scraps and corn chips that we save for them. The little band of birds had already crossed over and were gathered in the bushes between our house and the one next door. They like to root around in the dirt and take naps over there. Two of the hens saw me sprinkle the goodies next to my forsythia bushes. I thought it was odd that the Chief didn’t come running with his funny hop-along, wait- wait- I’m-in-charge-here gait like he normally did. I went into my neighbor’s house and didn’t really think about it again.

Ten minutes later, she and I walked outside, and I could see that all the hens were eating in my yard, but the Chief was still in the bushes. I had a bad feeling. My neighbor went to check it out, but I couldn’t go look. “He’s a goner,” she announced. He didn’t appear to have suffered, just fallen asleep and passed away. I started to cry. Of course, the people who own him and their three little kids were even more upset than I was. We had a little funeral by the henhouse. My daughter, my 95 year old mom, several neighbors, and the immediate family attended. We were all very sad.

Why do I need to tell you this and why am I so touched by a gimpy white rooster? I’ve been seriously considering what made him so special. He was loved, and he knew it. Everyone treated him with kindness and respect. The children played with him like they would with a dog. He watched after his harem and if one of the hens wandered off, he’d run right over and push her back with the others so she didn’t get hurt. He would eat corn chips, his favorite treat, out of my hand and let me stroke his smooth feathers. On Monday afternoon, I was down by the barn when he came over to spend some quality time with his ladies under my forsythia bushes. He crowed to me, and I waved my arm to welcome them. What he did in response made me laugh with delight. He lifted himself up and flapped both his big wings at me, as if he was waving back. Who would have thought that a simple chicken could touch and connect so many people? Each one of us had our own favorite stories and routines that we shared with this personable fellow.

A good rooster is hard to find. They’re going out today to hopefully find a new one, but he’s got some big clawprints to fill. We’ll all miss you, Chief.