Tempering reactions

There is nothing like the smell of a horse to get the brain to shut up. One of the most sublime moments of this winter has been those rare days when the sun was out, wind down and temps in the 30s's. Clover's blanket comes off, and I bury my face in her neck and take a good, big whiff of her horsey smell. Mmm-mm. More invigorating than the smell of fresh brewed coffee in the morning, which frankly is neither here nor there for me.

Maybe the true purpose of this journal is to sharpen my mind, not just track my progress as an equestrian. I stop short of calling myself a horse trainer, because I'm only just starting my first horse with my trainer's help. It's just not a title you arbitrarily bestow upon yourself; you earn it from years of experience in the saddle and on the ground around horses. You don't get it just by reading about it or even by riding the well-broke horses.

There's a definite tempering of my response to a horse's actions. A couple of weeks ago, a storm was blowing in, so we put some of the smaller horses and ponies into the rear stalls of the little barn. As my trainer set up the evening feed and I watered, CD started banging the stall door impatiently with her hoof. I asked if I should get the kick chain to discourage the behavior, but my trainer said it was only that CD was eager to be fed. Naturally, she stopped when she got her grain, which made me realize it's not only the reaction to a horse's actions that's important, it's knowing instinctively to what degree to act, or even not react at all.

My first trainer's school pony Oblio used to bang on his door something fierce at feeding time. The repetitive behavior irritates me, but there's nothing you can do about it, except ignore it and just throw him the grain already! Weaving and stall walking are some other neurotic vices that drive me loony. I know these are human inflicted vices, symptoms of confinement and not enough exercise. I should feel guilty, not annoyed.