Animal Nation: natural horsemanship

When we are young and thought foolish, we sometimes have the greatest wisdom. Forty years ago, long before "natural" horsemanship became a trend, I'd arrive at the barn at 5 am so I could use the arena or head off for the trails unseen.

I was a kid when I started leaving saddle and bridle in the bushes, and enjoyed the forest in harmony with the horse. Or completed a jump course in the silent arena.

No one saw me, and I told no one. I grew up in British Horse Society Pony Club protocol community, and to ride without tack was not only grounds for grounding or firing, but severely declasse.

If you rode without, it meant you were too poor to afford it, or too uneducated to know how to use it. At least that's what my Dad said. I got my first pro horse job at 12 and had big dreams, so I listened.

Once I earned my driver's license, I made trips to small towns where cowboys held bareback horsemanship competitions. It was so much fun compared to the more traditional classes at home. I hid my ribbons.

My sisters are timid riders, and gave me grief for racing on the dirt access roads between Manitoba grain fields. One burst into tears while accompanying me. To them, riding is for rings. I'll give them credit for achieving Lifeguard status, while I stalled at Intermediate.

My riding role models were two young neighbourhood women who didn't give a damn about the unspoken rules. One rode her sweet albino mare Sheba all over creation, bareback. I was so enthralled, one day I followed them for an hour.

Our unique suburb had rows of houses and basic shopping amenities among acreages that held horse facilities---from humble backyard pastures to competition barns---gentle clay paths rather than sidewalks, and expansive green space.

In summer, we used the outdoor hockey rink as a central practice ring, and played with our horses in each others' yards. Galloping your horse around the school track guaranteed the mean girls and other bullies backed off. Horses have that magic. Plus I rode better than the chief mean girl, and had the arrogance to wear English boots and dirty breeks to class.

Our back alley
Photo: Dan McKay

Just another day in my neighbourhood
Photo: Ken Howell

My first "real" boyfriend at 14, told me he'd fallen in love at first sight because of the way I look riding a Palomino bareback.

My friends and I rode to 7-11 without crossing a main road. Charleswood was a lot like Mr. Ed's neigh-bourhood.
_______

My poor mother drove around frantically looking for her eight year old child. I was over a mile from home, my gaze fixed alternately on Sheba's snowy tail and her magical hoof prints on the damp path as I strolled behind her. Why her rider didn't mind me, I don't know. It was part of her Centaur mystique.

"Brat!" my seven and eight years senior sisters said when they finally pulled me into the car. They'd thought the shenanigans were over after I persuaded Mom to drag a washtub out to the curb, and posted a sign: Free Horse Water.

Beside the zinc tub, I hopefully refreshed a stack of grass on a daily basis. Once, I emptied a sack of Quaker Oats, after which Mom went back to bed with a cold cloth on her forehead.

Santa's reindeer required a bale of hay in the house (plus the washtub), so I don't know why she was surprised.

"Eight flakes in a bale, and nine reindeer. Okay, everyone has to share a bit with Rudolph." Strategies like this kept my mind going for days.

Mom was raising us single, and it took time to accumulate quarters for pony lessons from our Metis neighbours every few days. I felt like I couldn't breathe without daily horse contact.

My crafty lure occasionally drew an offer of a thrilling ride up our driveway on horses who seemed immense and infinitely patient. I suspect the cheerful riders were my sisters' acquaintances, but they aren't saying.

The other local rebel, I couldn't follow. She rode a wavy-tailed, fiery tri-coloured Paint (I think) mustang. She was an Amazon. Bareback, she sat easily while her horse reared and pawed the air. They jumped formidable drainage ditches and angered lawn owners with hoof gouges. They possibly floated through walls and walked on water.

I remember this girl with her long dark hair as wild as her mustang's black and chestnut mane, her mouth wide open with laughter. People called her a bad name, though the only male I can recall seeing her with was her horse. Females who belong fully to ourselves, well, we suffer penalties.

People have commented I had a "girl crush," which leaves me incredulous at the base thoughts of the non-horsey. I lusted after the Paint. After the girl's style, her careless freedom and primal spirituality.

I'm the great granddaughter of Ukrainian Cossacks. 5000 years ago, we tamed the horse. We grew intimate with its wild heart, subsisted on mare's milk turned to cheese and potent liquor. I can think of nothing better than living a nomadic life on horseback, evenings spent singing by firelight while our mounts breathe and graze nearby.

Riding horses without bridle or saddle have been some of the best times of my life, and created some of my closest relationships.

Unfortunately, my current impeded balance from a spinal crush injury (not horse related, thank goodness) meant that last time I did it---at 50---I slid off. I pride myself on it being "very slowly," and only after the horse bucked.

Unwilling to face the realities of disability and weight gain, I even briefly managed a Cossack-style underneck hang.

This gorgeous animal was lying in the pasture, sorrel coat gleaming in the sun. Who wouldn't throw a leg over? Long gone are the days I could hop up on 16 hands without a stirrup. Opportunity met regression to teenagerhood.

His bucking was my fault. I didn't fully obtain his permission. I neglected to determine that he was ticklish. My desire overrode my animal communication skills.

Buddy stopped quickly once I lay sprawled by his back feet. He turned a sardonic gaze and said, "I was sunbathing, a$$h##e!"

Despite my excitement that I only tore up my knee, my doctor sighed heavily and made me promise to use a saddle. However, she didn't mention a bridle.

Raisa Stone
Expert Animal Communicator
www.reisastone.com

Join me on Facebook

I'm not even sure where the idea began: that the special gift some people have with animals is based upon whispering to them.

Even the popular TV show named The Dog Whisperer is a misnomer. Have you ever witnessed Cesar Millan "whispering" to a dog?!

This notion of whispering comes from the fact that the truly great animal trainers use silent telepathic skills. I've verified this with many. They may not call it Animal Communication, but sending and receiving mental images from animals is routine. Want the dog to sit? Visualize her sitting. Want your horse to canter a circle without constantly applying leg, hand and seat aids? Visualize her cantering the circle, effortlessly.

Try this yourself: at a time of day you don't usually walk your dog, visualize him getting his leash and waiting at the door. Or silently tell your horse you'll be at the pasture gate in an hour, with oats. See what happens.

By the way, follow up on those promises. Animals are simple and sincere. Once you lie to them, they'll have a hard time trusting you. Since telepathy is by far their primary form of communication, not following through with a mental image is the same as being verbally lied to, to a human.

By the same token, visualizing one thing while saying another, is very confusing to animals. If you're galloping towards a jump while anticipating a refusal, the outcome is far more likely to be a refusal.The idea that this is whispering, is a result of the onlookers not hearing the trainer speak. Because Animal Communication is still "woo woo" to the majority, it's not the term trainers use to describe, well, Animal Communication.

Does whispering have a place in animal training? No. Whispering is accompanied by a hiss of air, which is irritating to most creatures. They appreciate a well modulated voice. The closest thing to effective whispering is when you befriend a horse by mutually breathing in each others' nostrils. Chew a mint before doing so, and you have a friend for life!

What most matters is the telepathic and empathic connection. As for giving one word commands: they're efficient for fast paced sports. Otherwise, animals understand complete sentences, particularly when accompanied by mental images. One word, brisk commands are accepted with a mix of amused tolerance and confusion at the human inability to form complete ideas :-D

Yours in the love of animals,
Raisa Stone
www.reisastone.com

Join me on Facebook

Animal Nation

October 04, 2013

Horses Are Not

September 02, 2013

Raisa Stone: Natural Horse Wisdom

June 08, 2012

Reisa Stone: Do Animal Trainers "Whisper"?

March 26, 2012

Horses Are Spirit Driven