Courage: The Aftermath

I saw Courage the other day.

creeper status

Teresa was here and we drove past his owner's place. He was out in the field with a buddy. He was as stunning as ever.

The thing that struck me the most was his topline.

on-track thoroughbred

3 years post-track thoroughbred

Courage was short coupled and upright and always SO TIGHT through his neck and back. I became the subject matter expect on suppling the anxious horse who held tension right in front of his withers. We did dressage exercises and trail exercises. I learned to use poles and terrain and lateral work and all kinds of things to help him. 

I did everything I knew how to do. I used all my resources to find new ways to help him. 

He built a fantastic neck for a thoroughbred and had a lot of cool buttons, but he was always .05 seconds away from an up-periscope and hard spin/bolt.

you've all seen enough photos of that so let's look at this adorable smoosh instead

So the other day, I saw Courage for the first time in two years. He's a trail horse now--he'll never have to go in a frame and be under pressure again. He spends most of his days out in a big, grassy pasture.

And after two years, that tension is gone.

He looked like a horse.

Loose.

Comfortable.

yup we're back to zb pictures

It was a strangely harmonious moment for me--not just because a horse I cared about for so long is absolutely thriving, but because of what it meant.

I'm a classic overachiever and so much of the past couple years for me has been learning to let go and accept what happens, even if it's messy.

definitely messy

Letting go of Courage felt like giving up in so many ways.

Both of us are in a better place now because of it.

We were never going to get there and pushing and struggling and training and drilling and trying.

I let him go.

A horse that suited me better came my way.

A series of dominos cascaded that I never could have planned.

Sometimes I ask myself if I fought too hard and tried for too long. If asking that was fair to him. If I should have let go sooner. If I shouldn't have posted those fail photos. If there was something else that would have just made it work. If someone else could have done it better.

If I did him a disservice.

I'll never know.

I know that some people try that hard and go that far and they succeed. I know some horses come back from the brink. They grow into lovely performance horses and their people are applauded for what they accomplished.

But I also know that sometimes they don't. Sometimes the struggle isn't worth it. Sometimes the mountain wasn't meant to be overcome. Sometimes the pasture in the valley really is the destination.

Sometimes, failing is the best thing you can do for both of you.

I failed.

Because of that failure, Courage looks better than he ever has. He's living his best life now and he's free to be the horse I always believed he could be.

Because I failed, I spend my time with the smooshiest baby horse who I absolutely adore. We jump and we trail ride and we toodle and we dressage and we play barbies and we laugh.

I'll never be the person I was before Courage. 

I'll never be able to thank him enough for what he taught me.

Horses are my Therapy, A Follow Up

Lauren is a fantastic human and blogger who wrote the Plaid Horse post, "Horses Can't Be Our Only Therapy". It's good. You should read it.

a world in contrast

I wanted to append her thoughts just a little bit because they're a topic that strikes very close to home for me. 

I loathe the "horses are my therapy" sentiment. 

Loathe. 

beyond side eye

Horses are amazing. Many things to many people. I've invested years of my life into them and I will 100% tell you they (and the people I met through them) shaped me into the person I am today and I will forever be grateful for that. 

reflection

However. 

I'm going to be very personal for a minute and tell you I was raised in a shitty environment where there were a lot of unhealthy expectations and that I was never allowed to think for myself or have an emotion or respond to anything and as a very young human, I learned to choke everything down. By the time I turned 18, I literally didn't have emotional responses to anything. Ever. If that sounds weird AF, it fucking is. 

smoosh weird

You know why I kept that fucking hellmare for so long?

Because I literally didn't know how to feel fear. Couldn't process it. Didn't have a space in my head for it. 

It took three deeply unhealthy years of me trying everything and doing everything and being unable to process a goddamn basic concept like fear before I was able to be like "ho shit the reason my stomach feels weird every time I go to get on this animal is an emotion called FEAR and that is a normal and rational response to being wildly overhorsed and hey, it's an important red flag that your brain is trying to keep you from actually dying". 

hellmare glory

If that sounds weird AF, it fucking is. 

And if you think it might have been smarter/safer/cheaper to address all that in the confines of a therapist's office, you're probably right. If you think it was unfair to drag a horse along with me through that particular puddle of shit, you're also right.

when does this story get a zb?

I'd like to say the story has a happy ending there, right? I learned that fear is a thing and that life is better without fear and that fear means you might actually die and you should pay attention when you feel fear. And then I met Cuna. And everything was great.

From him, I learned another super-elementary concept: love. For the first time in my life, there was someone I couldn't wait to see. Wanted to be with all the time. This connection that no one else got but it was just the two of us against the world and I never cared that he was this goofy old red horse and he never cared that I was this weirdly damaged oddball who desperately tried to look normal. 

<3

As you all know, the next step after that was learning to lose him. 

And then Courage, with every cheesy implication you can think of. I think the most important thing I learned from him was that no matter how far down I thought I'd stuffed my emotions and how hidden every response was, I still had to acknowledge them. They still mattered. 

it was a complicated relationship

I still fucking mattered. 

It didn't matter one iota if no other human on the face of the planet knew I was a fucking wreck who was going through hell. 

He knew. 

He called me on it. 

It was zero fun. Do not recommend.

If that sounds weird AF, it fucking is.  

and yet we still looked magical

Because see. I vividly remember showing up to ride because y'know horses are therapy or whatever bullshit. The moment I stepped out of the car, he knew what was up. 

I literally couldn't catch him in his stall. 

IN HIS STALL. 

Standing there. Crying. Because the one thing that was supposed to be "my therapy", the "fun thing" in my life, was no fun at all. 

I learned a lot. I learned that I have emotions. That those emotions matter. That sensitive creatures can call us out on those emotions even when humans can't or won't or don't care.

But you know what else I learned?

a better way

Horses have emotions too. They respond to us on a very innate level. It is completely and totally unfair to them to show up and dump our stress and our shit and our negativity into their otherwise placid lives and then blame them for their responses. We are responsible for their well-being, not the other way around. 

If I can't meet my horse in a calm, understanding frame of mind and be in that moment with them, I need to not be there. 

<3

I cringe when I watch people take their shit out on their horses and their dogs and their kids. It bothers me on a very visceral level when I hear people assign intention to an action by an animal. The horse isn't being a jerk. He doesn't care one way or another about your right leg or your left rein or the jump in front of him or whatever stupid bullshit you're blaming him for. 

All the horse is doing is responding to what you don't even know you brought with you. 

this

Some are like Zoe and they're golden through and through and will tolerate a lot more. Some are like Courage and won't. 

It doesn't matter though. 

It's still our responsibility to be better than that. 

We owe it to them. 

baby mare

I spend less time with Zoe on a weekly basis than any other horse I've had. 

Every time I'm with her, I am able to breathe in and breathe out and be part of that moment. 

Not dragging my shit behind me.

Not blaming her for what I brought with me. 

Not taking out on her things she has nothing to do with. 

sunshine and grass

And you know what? 

We're stronger for it. Time spent together, no matter what we're doing, is positive for both of us. 

also bareback dressage

hellomylivia hop: What I Didn't Know I Didn't Know

Olivia started this with one of the coolest blog posts I've read in a while and then Liz pitched in and now I want to give it a go. Here's what I would tell myself as a brand new adult amateur horse owner who just got handed the lead rope to the hellmare and all the things that followed:

aw look how i'm not on her

1) You have no idea what you're getting in to.

I rode as a kid, on lesson horses and half leases here and there. I worked hard and cleaned stalls and did 4H and never had the newest, nicest, or best, but I read everything I could get my hands on, spent every moment I could get at the barn, rode anything anyone would let me, and I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

best old man horse

2) You have no idea how much you need this.

Horses and horse people have been a driving force for good in my life on so many levels. The people I've met and connections I've made have shaped the life I lead today in more ways than I can count. No matter what was going on in the rest of my life, I was always surrounded by passionate, intelligent, driven women who became role models to me whether they knew it or not.

possibly our best jump lesson ever

3) Even your lowest moments will shape you in positive ways.

When I had my wreck on the hellmare and was too afraid to keep trying but too stupid to quit, I found a community of people to ask hard questions and help me find perspective. When I lost Cuna, I was surrounded by once in a lifetime friends who carried me through dark times I couldn't handle alone. When I had to let go of Courage, I was again among incredible people who helped both of us find a resolution.

and this is how you jump a bank with 3 broken bones
which is apparently a thing i can do

4) The horses are pretty great too.

Every one of them has something to show me and learning to listen and communicate, shape behavior and respond, has been transformative in my life. To me, it's not about the shows and the ribbons and the outfits. Learning to connect and trust another living being is a truly amazing experience and to me it makes the blood, sweat, tears, and dollars all worth it so many times over.

I love how horses can continue to evolve with us. My goals and approach now are completely different than they used to be. I'm more relaxed and more focused. I never expected to be where I am today, but now that I'm here, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Here's to the horses that made it possible.

Requiem for a Friend

Sometimes we aren't the final landing place for a horse. Sometimes we're just a stop along their way to where they were meant to be. 

hello handsome

That's what a friend told me the other day when we were talking about Courage. 

When I met him, he needed a soft landing and I needed someone to soak up the tears from the looming inevitable. 

I loved him. I wanted him to be my horse, the one that I trusted to take me places and do all the things. He was gorgeous and intelligent and good minded and oh-so-athletic. 

When I needed him to be quiet and put the pieces of a shattered heart back together, he was there. 

But when I asked him to be the horse I always wanted, he exited stage left. Repeatedly. He gave me one good season. One giant champion ribbon. One serious education in what it looks like when a horse tries his heart out for you, but he just can't do it anymore. 

I rode through his antics. I learned to work with his quirks. I gave him a solid education in life beyond the track. 

It was hard to understand at the time and it's only a little easier now. 

just another day

I cannot overstate what he did for me and how he taught me to think through every step. To ask hard questions. To become more than myself and go beyond what I thought I could do. It wasn't always fun. It was never easy. It was blood, sweat, and tears, but the person I became because of him is someone I'm proud to be. 

and i will always love this photo

I see now that in some ways, I did the same for him. He came off the track mentally broken. Failing at a demanding career. Discarded by the people who took the most from him. Wearing physical reminders that he'd never be the horse he once was. 

his last win

He was never going to be the performance horse I wanted, but to be the horse he is now, he needed an in between time to learn that he could try again. 

I felt like a failure when I admitted I couldn't make him be what I wanted and I couldn't make myself want what he needed. 

there were a lot of years to get here

But sometimes life isn't about me. It's about giving an old warhorse a chance at a life he earned a thousand times over. 

When I met his new person, I knew he'd hit the jackpot. He stepped off the trailer at his new home and landed where he was meant to be. 

not gonna lie, i'd like to live in his barn

His owner is a private person and I respect that. I get photos of him once in a while and they make me so happy for him. He's wild and woolly and goes on trail rides in the mountains and never has to jump a jump or do dressage again. 

it's a good look for him

No primping and preening and trying to make him what he's not. No more failing and disappointment for a hard knocking campaigner who gave his all. 

It's not that I failed him or wasted my time. It's that there were things we needed to teach each other before we were each ready to be what we really needed to be. 

forever summing us up

Happy trails, my friend. You deserve them. 

On Rider Issues

I'm guessing most of you remember Courage.

110% solid sex appeal

Beautiful. Tempestuous. Not an ambi-turner.

He had this sweet move where we'd go to turn right and he'd drop his shoulder and bolt left.

For better or worse, I stayed on. HOWEVER. The mechanics of staying on with those G-Forces involved putting all my weight in the left stirrup and staying to the LEFT OF CENTER every time we thought about turning right. (You'll notice this biomechanically compounded the not-turning-right issue. I never said it wasn't a shitshow.)

plz send your hate mail directly to my spam folder

Which, whatever. We dealt with what we dealt with and I owe y'all a post on C and how he's doing and some final thoughts, but that's a story for another day. 

The point is that now I ride my glorious ZB who is the champion of the entire world. 

champion of outfits too

Fun facts: baby mare is a-ok with turning either direction. Canters on both leads. Has zero baggage about racetracks or pressure or whatever. See again: champion.

Now, I had someone else put the first 10 rides on her because I knew my brain wasn't up for it. AND. She gets twice weekly training rides by my trainer because again. I want her to be started well and not just haul around my baggage for me. 

and clinics!

I had to have a laugh the other night though. I was riding with a barn buddy in the indoor. 

not this night. a night we actually put on saddles. 

We walk/trotted around to the left and ZB was KILLING IT like the champion she is. 

And then we changed direction. 

INSTANTLY she was overbent to the right with her left shoulder popped out and completely unable to turn right. 

photo by Courage Has Opinions

I tried changing a number of things with my hands and reins and that didn't really help at all. 

I had to just stop and think about it a while. 

ZB is TOTALLY FINE for my trainer, which means it's a me issue. 

return of the dik dik

And oh yeah, the way I survived the HARD BOLT LEFT was to get all my weight to the left.

If we're keeping track, ZB is super round, which means my weight left means my saddle slides left.

It didn't even matter how much I told myself to step into the right stirrup--I'd just drop my weight into it, brace against it, and twist my saddle ever farther left. 

you're making dik dik jesus cry

I find the timing here interesting. This problem hasn't really cropped up for us until right now. I'd wager it's because we're stepping up the work. Zoe is performing at a similar level to Courage when he stepped down, which means my subconscious is kicking defense mechanisms into high gear from sheer force of muscle memory.

It's frustrating, because my conscious brain isn't even slightly rattled. I'm building a new thing with Zoe. She's an incredible force for good in my life and I enjoy every moment with her. 

also hats are itchy. fyi.

I have a plan. I have a trainer. We're going to fix this. 

But omfg body. GET ON THE BUS.