Don’t be fooled by the photo – after spying the camera, Biskit inhaled deeply, then briefly stopped breathing to slim his silhouette; and since this was taken last fall, his girth has grown. Greatly. So much so that his winter blanket burst at the seam. Literally. And he can’t blame it on the dryer.
But Tuesday we renewed our commitment to wellness. I’ve been watching a new trainer on RFD-TV lately, an advocate for focusing on the horse’s mind to understand and accept what it’s offering – “The Gift of the Horse.” One might think Biskit comes bearing a very small package, simply wrapped in plain brown paper, but he’s actually proven receptive to the approach, as demonstrated in Tuesday’s long-lining pasture walk.
In a dazzling display of horsemanship Don’ts, I snapped the lines on his bridle, draped them in a mildly knotted heap over his back with the end of one dragging just ever-so-slightly on the ground, then led him out of the barn, past Chicago, Rusty and the afternoon hay, down the hill and out to the pasture.
I needed little focus to understand what was happening in Biskit’s mind. The tossing head, sidestepping hindquarters and erratic gait punctuated with bursts of speed followed by sudden stops drew a pretty clear picture. Which worked out well, as I needed most of my attention to stay on my feet through the mine field of snow-covered frozen manure chunks.
But once I accepted Biskit’s offering of a “Left Turn Only” course, and let him walk in a giant counter-clockwise circle, peace prevailed. And after a couple laps, I set him on a course leading back toward the barn and the forage feast of his slacker friends, but only if he took a Right Turn. No problem for the now quiet-minded horse. Not only could he, would he, turn to the right, but he stopped and started, uphill, downhill, past the barn and down the alley with commendable cooperation.
Five minutes of Ugly followed by ten minutes of Pretty Good equals a successful session for the Portly Pony, so we returned to the barn where our happy day got happier when Biskit stood quietly for a bit of brushing without his usual demands for immediate release.
His reward? An apple and a private stash of hay. We can always buy a bigger blanket.
From Four Sticks Farm 