I found that I have a square horse who doesn't care for the round pen.
Some people think the round pen is the magic tool of the horse whisperer. You can train a horse by allowing this flight-response, prey animal to do what it is wired by nature to do, and that is RUN. All the while, the wall of corral panels controls WHERE he runs, specifically, in a never ending circle. Your rope or whip or whatever you had that encouraged the horse to run in the first place, will always be able to reach the panicked animal because the circle is all they have. There is no where else for them to go.
John Lyons was my first round-pen guru. It was the 1980's and the name Parelli had not yet touched my ears. My soon-to-be husband and I went to the National Western Events Center and watched this soft spoken cowboy run a myriad of horses around the round pen, accurately predicting each move the horse was going to make before the horse made it. He was a master, not only of the horses, but of the crowd. I was more than a little impressed. Horse Master Lyons took a totally green, unbroken horse and rode him calmly and quietly in about two hours. Then he took a dangerous, lathered, rogue horse and put him in the scary monster horse trailer in a matter of twenty minutes. Yes, I did come away with an armload of books and videos. "Carrot Sticks" and not been invented yet. Thank goodness or I'd have been out another $32.95.
I saw a whole lot more of round pens, "natural" horse trainers, and orange whips over the next twenty years. I even own a round pen. I nearly tore it down the day I spent 30 minutes being chased by a "natural horsemanship" trainer around and around the pen while he shook his plastic Walmart bag on a stick at my horse. He'd taken away my bridle and left me clinging to my dressage saddle while I tried desperately to stay on my very angry Andalusian mare. He shook his bag in her face and switched her back and forth in cutting horse turns with increasing speed at every switch. I would have killed for a saddle horn. My mare's ears where pinned tight to her head as she faced the crackling bag, ready to stomp the idiot holding it if he was just give her the opening. He was doing this to cure me from my fear of riding. I never have figured out how that was supposed to work. When I shouted that I was scared to death and to please stop, his reply was, "just ride through it!" In short order I jumped off my moving horse, somehow landing on my feet. I left him standing in the round pen as I ran into my house and hid behind the couch. Two boxes of Kleenex later, I told my husband the horses had to go. I was never getting on the back of a horse again. And I meant NEVER, like for the rest my life.
Within a couple of years, the weeds in the round pen were taller than the corral panels. And we
didn't sell the horses. We started breeding more of them. You'd have to be a horse addict to understand how that happens. You see, a horse addict does not
have to RIDE them, but they will whither and die inside if they are not around them. You think
I'm kidding, don't you... I'm not kidding. It is a sickness just as powerful as smoking or
alcohol or a cocaine addiction. Somehow, I was lucky enough to marry a man who either
understands this, or just simply loves me enough to allow me this illness and not throw me out in
the street along with the hay and vet bills.
Oops.. I digress. Let's fast forward to today....
Grandezo... a name that is full of nobility and promise. I love that name. I found it in the Spanish dictionary the same day I found the horse that bears it. It means, "grandeur." He
is a grand fellow, a rare pure Spanish Andalusian. And a stallion. Okay, he's just a yearling, but he is a STALLION yearling! He is bay, with a black sire and a bay mother. His glossy black daddy is the stuff of fairy tales. He makes me swoon just looking at his picture. Thanks to his father's DNA, there is a good chance Grandezo will father babies who are truly black... a rarity in the Andalusian breed. Oh, there are a few around, but finding a real quality black purebred Andalusian is difficult in a breed where 80% are gray, 15% are bay, and only 5% are black. We expect our fellow to up that 5% in short order, and have our fingers crossed that he will throw is exceptional quality along with the color. A breeder's perfect scenario. Have I mentioned crossed fingers yet? I've discovered that it is hard to type with your fingers like that...
Grandezo is a square. I mean that he is pretty boring. He is very calm and sweet, and does pretty much whatever I ask of him, which isn't much considering he is only a year old and not broke to ride yet. We ask things like, go in that pen to eat, and don't step on my foot. That kind of thing. He's the kind of guy who, if he was human, would sit at the front of the class and sharpen pencils for the teacher, just to earn brownie points. Like a said, he is a square.
I have some time on my hands right now. My real estate business is pretty slow. (Any of you want to buy or sell a house??
Have you ever heard a horse laugh?
As I said, Grandezo is like the good kid at school. He is not into confrontation. He will go along with the flow, happy to have his oats and is looking forward to sewing a few someday. He doesn't ask for much. Just something to eat, water to drink, and a few buddies to play "Wild Stallion of the Cimarron" with. He'll lead, tie, go in the trailer, even stand for a cold hose bath. I think he does it because he respects me. But, like the smart kid in school, he knows he is smart, knows how the play the game quite well, and just chooses to avoid confrontation.
Enter
The round pen is all about confrontation. You see, in horse language, he who makes the other guy move, is the boss horse. It's that simple. A "horse whisperer" uses this knowledge to silently, and generally only with body language or with a simple stick or rope, inform the horse that HE (or SHE), the HUMAN, is the "Boss" because he can make the horse move his feet. Every time a person makes a horse move his feet, the horse is clearly being told, "I'm the boss, and you must submit to me." At least, that's what they say at the clinics.
As a flight animal, it is not hard to make a horse move his feet. You can throw something, you can yell at them, you can chase them with a crackly plastic Walmart bag on a stick, or you can take a whip and make scary sounds by slicing the air and smacking the ground. Or you can even go so far as to hit them with the whip. I've yet to see a horse who would not run if encouraged enough.
I'm generally a gentle person. I don't care to hit my horses. At least, unless I really think I am in danger. And I certainly don't see Grandezo as dangerous. I also don't believe in running a horse around in a circle until they are exhausted. The tight circle it just too hard on their legs, especially the young horses. I prefer to keep it quiet and slow, just asking for forward movement without fear or stress. A walk in the park.
I swing my short variation of a lunge whip (okay, okay, it is a cheap rip-off copy of the Parelli "carrot stick" whip... are you satisfied???) at him and he trots nicely and calmly around and around the pen. No upset, no stress, no running 'till he drops.
I've watched the videos. I've been to the clinics. I've read the books. I watched a very good ground work trainer that very morning work with John's new horse. I know that I'm looking for licking and chewing, and a lowered head carriage. I watch for those silent horse language signs that mean, "please let me stop.... Uncle! Uncle! I give up!" Then I know that my buddy on four feet has accepted me as "BOSS" and he will forever and ever "OBEY" me.
It's taking a long time. It is rather hot outside. I wish I'd thought to put on a hat. My eyes are burning. I've already ridden three horses today, and I'm pretty tired. Geeze... I should have had a Gatorade before I started this. Oh dear, my lips are really cracked! Sunburn. Ya know.. it really IS hot out here! Oh come on, Grandezo, give me a sign! A sign! A sign! PLEASE!
Was that licking? Was that a chew? I'll take that as a yes! I turn my shoulder to him and bend at the waist, "inviting" him to stop and talk to me. He's a very smart horse. He looks at me, then comes right to me and stops a step away. I'm thrilled! I take that step to him and pet his lovely forehead. I'm gloating. Yep....I'm a "Whisperer..." I'm two inches taller now. I step to the left. Yep... just like Master Lyons would have predicted, Grandezo does a perfect turn on the haunches and his front feet follow me two steps to the left. I move to the right. He looks left and walks away, his butt in my face.
Wait a minute! That's not right. Okay, he just blew me off. I really hate that. It is SO disrespectful! He forgot that I am the Boss! I mean THE Boss! Well, (I huff) if he's going to do that, then he has to MOVE HIS FEET! I'll tell him who's Boss! I yell and swing my little lunge whip at his hip. He trots off. That'll teach him!
Around and around. Good god it's hot. My feet are killing me. A lick? Was that a lick I saw? Good enough! I turn my shoulder and bend at the waist. He comes in immediately. Smart horse. I walk to the left two steps. He steps with me. I walk to the right. He's gone, head down, tasting what's left of the smashed up weed stumps. My confidence sags and I shrink two inches.
Again ... around and around.. patience. Patience. Patience. The horse trainer's best friend. I forgot to fill up on patience before I started this. Can you buy it in a bottle? Jack Daniel's, perhaps? I'm getting irritated. We do the same scenario FIVE TIMES! He'll come to me to the left, the side he has always be lead from and haltered from, but to the right? No way. He gives me the horsie equivalent of the middle finger every time.
I need another video. A new book, perhaps. An emergency call to the trainer? Oh my ... what do I do?
One more time. I'm insistent. I push him, still at the slow trot. I don't want to push his young legs hard in the round pen. I could damage him for life if I do this too much. But he is winning, and I can't stop here. If he wins now, what will he be like tomorrow? At three? When he is an adult and starts breeding, and testosterone poisoning has taken over his brain? No.. I can't quit. Just keep it soft and easy. Don't push him hard, just keep his feet moving.
One more time. He steps to the left, Perfect. Then I move to the right. A light bulb goes off! His eyes open a little wider. He looks at me. There it was, flashing in his dialating pupils… "Oh my GOD!" he says! "You're trying to…. DOMINATE ME!"
"Ummmm Yes.. well... uh... yep, that's the idea. You see, I move your feet, and then you're dominated. Didn't you read the Monty Robert's brochure I left under your alfalfa last night?" I reply, hopefully.
"Over my dead body!" his eyes scream! He leaps across the little round pen at a dead run! Around and around as fast as he can go, dust flying, sand spitting in my face, bits of mashed up weeds falling like sticky green rain.
He must escape! Can he jump this fence? He body slams one of the unforgiving mental panels when he chickens out at the last minute. Around and around he runs until his quivering body is glistening with sweat.
I just stand there, my mouth open, catching green rain and dirt. I hardly notice. I'm not swinging my little whip, I'm not asking him to move his feet. I'm just silently praying to the horse goddess Epona that she impress upon him the notion that trying to jump a six foot panel fence is definitely NOT the thing to do right now. I sure wish I had paid up his insurance policy. This could get ugly.
I've never seen this gorgeous boy upset before. My heart hurts. I don't like it. I realize that all that cooperation I saw before was him playing a game with his fellow herd-mate. I'm just part of the herd, and nowhere near Boss Mare. He did what I asked because that's what he does. He didn't need me to "dominate" him to get him to be cooperative, at least up to a point. But once he fully understood what I was doing, it blew his sweet little mind!
And here is where I had to make a decision. If I quit, he won. He would be dominant in our little herd of two and four legged members. If I didn't quit, he could get hurt, or end up dead with a broken leg or something. This colt is to eventually be a breeding stallion as well as a show horse. He MUST respect humans or he could end up very, very dangerous. That is not good for him, and not good for his humans. It was time for tough love. I hated it, but I am sure it was the right decision. I was going to win, or one of us was goin' down.
Grandezo finally got tired. Thank you, Epona! His frantic gallop had slowed to a canter. I followed his progress around the pen but did not push at him until he slowed to a trot. Then I asked him to keep trotting for one full circle around the pen. I wanted him to think it was MY idea that he keep going. When I was sure I had his attention, I turned my shoulder to him and bent over, inviting him to come to me. He had one eye and one ear turned my direction. He was thinking. It took another full circle around the pen for him to make his decision. He slowed to a walk, and with his head nearly to the ground, he came to me. I petted his sweaty head and took two steps to the left. He came with me. I took a deep breath and took two steps to the right. He stayed with me as though glued to my hip. I took two more steps to the right. He stuck with me. I walked in a circle to the right to the center of the pen with my beautiful boy right at my side,
no halter, no lead rope, just his mind attached to mine. I grew back that two inches in height I had lost ten minutes earlier.
He followed me to the gate where his halter was waiting. I put it on. We walked out of the round pen together, both sweaty and tired. A few steps away from the pen I stopped, gave him a big grateful hug, and took off the halter. I turned away and headed for the barn with him still on my tail. It was feeding time.
Boy, that Gatorade tasted good.
Kris
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