Trouble Begins...

One bad day doesn't mean it's over.

        The Sunday following Labor Day was gloomy and damp. There wasn't very much to do that day except to go up to the farm to ride Auggie in the arena. It was starting to rain as I arrived at the barn around 2:30 pm, but I didn't think much of it since I could use the indoor ring. Diane was leading Auggie in from the field as I walked down to the barn, and I could see at a distance that he was being a bit of a handful. His graceful neck was stretched sky-high as he surveilled everything around him, as if he had never seen any of it before. Diane dangled on the end of the lead rope, gripping for dear life as she tried to keep up with his massive stride. As they approached the gate near the barn, I could see that Diane was relieved to see me.

    "Here, go to your mom, " she said as she hurried to toss the rope over to me. She was off in a flash to grab the next round of horses before the rain got any worse. I lead Auggie to the barn to tack him up, but he had little focus on me this time. He seemed more concerned with his surroundings than anything else. For a moment, I considered skipping the ride for the day and simply grooming him instead; it was a miserable day and there was barely anyone around anyway. Something about that day wasn't quite right.

My daughter, Cheyenne, getting the burrs out of Auggie's forelock. From the beginning, Auggie proved to be very gentle with the children, even lowering his head for them to pet him. He now has a strong bond with Cheyenne and all her little friends.

    I tacked Auggie up in his stall like I normally would, but this particular day was a little weird. He was cranky and anxious about his feed and circled his stall nervously as the other horses were being fed. I recognized this food anxiety from my time working with old Tony; once a horse has been starved and neglected, it's almost impossible to get him to forget the experience. I knew Auggie would be no different in this regard; there was always going to be that mentality of "hurry up and eat it before it's gone," and you really can't blame the animal for that. 

    Diane popped back into the barn and tossed Auggie's grain into the bin in the corner of his stall. He immediately settled and began chowing down with such veracity that I was afraid he would choke on it. I decided to wait for him to finish before tacking him, as he seemed to be much more docile once the food was dispensed. My plan was to simply get on and walk around to continue familiarizing him with work under saddle.

    We went through the usual struggle with the bridle until he relented and lowered his face into the bit; I could see this was going to take some time to resolve as he was still extremely head shy. I still felt confident enough to go forward with leading him into the indoor ring, but as we approached the entrance, he froze up and let out deafening snort. Previously, he had walked in cautiously, but willingly. I reasoned that the darkness and the gloom must have made the indoor ring seem more confined and threatening, almost reminiscent of the auction barn at New Holland.

    With some persuasion, and some tugging on the reins, I was able to get him inside before the real downpour. The weather definitely was a factor in how he perceived the situation that day, but I figured I couldn't always avoid every change in the weather, so we would both need to learn to live with it. Once inside, the rain was pelting the metal roof which absolutely overwhelms the senses if you aren't used to it. There was a heavy, almost depressing feeling in the air that day, and I know the horses could pick up on it as well. 

    I hand walked Auggie around the perimeter of the arena for a couple laps, and he seemed to settle down as he adjusted to the sounds of the rain and the fluorescent light that was beaming down on us. One of the Highschool girls that rode on the Interscholastic Equestrian team (IEA) at the farm was tacking up a gray pony by the name of Latte, so I knew I wouldn't be totally alone in there with Auggie. As she led Latte into the arena, we came across our first major setback for the day.

    A striped fence rail had been left lying on the ground from a previous lesson, and despite the fact that Auggie had already walked by it once, it suddenly became the most terrifying thing in the universe. He flew back with a loud snort and locked his legs in place. I was absolutely shocked by the sudden outburst, and I wasn't sure if I should laugh or call it quits. Auggie froze, and this time he wasn't going to go near that rail for anything. I desperately tried to encourage him to walk by it, gently pulling the reins and talking to him as calmly as I could manage. He stood, rigid, wild eyed and trembling. 

    I wiggled him step by step to the opposite side of the arena, attempting to make it to the mounting block. I found that I could move him slowly by turning him right, left, right until he finally loosened up enough to walk. As I approached the mounting block, he locked up about 10ft out and repeated his petrified horse act. Was he truly scared? Was it the weather? Or was something causing him pain? I felt massively frustrated and I could tell that I needed to take a breath before taking another stab at it. I felt like a helpless moron.

    I was beginning to sweat, as I tried to move him closer; his slobber was running down the reins and soaking the cuff of my hoodie. The girl with Latte approached me calmly and asked if I would like help getting on. I swallowed my pride for a second and accepted the offer. I was sure that she really wanted to use the mounting block, so my oversized harness horse needed to get out of the way somehow. She took Auggie by the bit with one hand and Latte by the other and attempted to lead him up to the block. I felt confident that the presence of another equine would have a calming effect on Auggie and thus facilitate the process of getting on.

    I was wrong.

    The girl gently pulled on Auggie's mouth with a cluck of encouragement to no avail. He simply pulled back, and he was obviously much stronger than either of us. He was terrified of this part of the arena now, although he had easily walked through this space before. 

    "It's the rain," she said, "that always makes them spooky." 

    "Well, he's a rescue from New Holland so I guess this indoor reminds him of that a little."

    "Aww poor baby, maybe a mint? Would that help distract him?" She pulled a peppermint from her pocket and proceeded to offer it to Auggie as I stood helplessly by his saddle. The big, bay Standardbred simply refused the treat with a blast of air through his nostrils and dug his heels into the dirt. I was beginning to think that Auggie and I were simply not a good match for each other.

    "Maybe you should just untack him and let him go back to his stall, today is just not a good day," she conceded.

    "Maybe you are right, he's not with it today." I took him back by the reins and started to turn him around. His head came down and he relaxed as soon as he recognized that we were going to head back to the barn. As the girl hopped effortlessly onto Latte, I realized I couldn't just give up like that, otherwise I could have an even bigger problem next time. He was anxious and afraid of something, but that something was never going to just disappear. Little by little he would need to build up his confidence until the "thing" became a nothing.

    One step at a time, I moved him back to the block, a little left and then a little right, until we were beside the block. Every step, I rubbed his shoulder and then paused and let it sink into his brain. Such a basic thing had turned into a mountain, and I'll admit that I felt massively incompetent in front of a high school kid who seemed to have no problem hopping right on. By the time he was close enough to the block, the girl was finished exercising Latte and going to tack up her next horse. I was tired and hot, but I made it to the block.

    This was going to be a difficult thing for us for several months. He had learned to hate the mounting block in the course of an afternoon, and it was going to take some investigation to figure out why. As he finally stood, exhausted, by the block, I hopped on his back and I could immediately feel his anxiety and tension through his back. The girl followed with a chestnut horse, Dexter, marveling at the fact that I was even on Auggie's back at that point. 

    Auggie was spooky and tense, and if all I managed to do was walk a few laps, that was fine with me. The simple act of getting on was a feat and I felt worn out. We followed Dexter around the arena, with Auggie snorting at the jumps and the shadows as we went. He had handled these new things fairly well the first few days, but this day had gotten the better of him and now he was showing his vulnerabilities. He had so little confidence, it was going to take an extraordinary amount of work to build him back up again. 

    After a few tense laps around, I felt it was time to get off. It had been enough of an emotional rollercoaster for him, that it was time for him to have a break. I wasn't sure if I should be happy because we overcame something difficult or disappointed because we were further behind than I thought. I wrestled with conflicting feelings as I put him away in his stall and took off his tack. He sighed deeply as I took the saddle off his back, and I knew something had really been eating at him. 

    I shook off my disappointment as I walked back to the truck in the pouring rain. I had to be thankful for the simple fact that I could end on a good note and walk away unscathed.  No matter what the endeavor, there are going to be days like that, where progress seems miniscule and insignificant, but nevertheless is progress. Auggie and I were a long way from anywhere, but who was I kidding? We didn't have any particular place to be at any definite time, so what did it matter?