FINDING CONNECTION

FINDING CONNECTION

By Tom Gumbrecht

Originally published in Horse Directory, August 2016

My horses are pleasure horses; being in their company gives me pleasure. There was a time when riding was everything, at first casual and then in local competitions. I may not have yet realized it but the picture I was attempting to paint was one of the human-horse relationship; combined training and jumpers were my medium. While I enjoyed the ribbons and still have a few hanging up, the real payoff for me was how completion validated the strength of our partnership and the effectiveness of our communication.

The author with Bella, who was once
considered aloof.

 The partnership was enhanced in the training arena and culminated in the show ring or the cross country field. But it was really created in the stable, in the day-to-day caring for my horses' basic needs and sometimes special needs as well. That's where we, human and horse alike, learned to trust one another and to develop enough faith in that trust to sometimes go against our instincts and rely totally on the other being. I found that a much harder quality to develop than some of the technical skills.

For better or worse, it seemed that the tightest bonds were created when I was caring for a horse that was ill or injured. I was actually able to feel an intense level of trust developing through the heightened level of daily handling involved in their care. It was that soul connection between friends of different species that I had sought; competition had been one means to that end, but it was becoming evident that it was not the only means.

Bella was not my horse, but I was always responsible for her. She belongs to Samantha, who had multiple successful seasons in jumpers with her when she was home in high school. Bella was a very talented horse, but she was a hot blooded Arabian mare who was concerned about everything. Samantha was one of only a few people who could ride her in competition effectively. They were both accepted at a prestigious Midwest horsey college, and Bella never really fit into their program. While the school touted the qualifications of their trainers, the reality was that these big name trainers only worked with the top human and equine athletes. The overwhelming majority was taught by other students, who in this case were well-meaning but  inexperienced in dealing with a horse like Bella. She became confused and seemed to be losing her spirit. I ended up bringing her back home before her fourth semester was finished, with a mysterious lameness that no one seemed to be able to pinpoint.

Bella had been the most aloof of all of our horses, and often resisted human attempts to show

The author learns that Bella's trust
needs to be earned and cannot be
rushed.

affection. I noticed a subtle shift in attitude when I showed up at the college-town stable to bring her home, something hard to describe; a renewed intensity in her eyes perhaps, and a much more vocal greeting when she became aware of my presence. She associated me with home, it seemed, and she wanted to go home.

In the time that has passed since then, Bella retired from jumpers, but shockingly for such a hot blooded mare, became a rock solid trail mount; I could see the attentiveness in her ears and feel her confidence through reins and seat. She has had issues that sometimes affected her soundness, and at those times required a more intensive regimen of care than normal. As I have now grown to expect, during those times we have become noticeably closer. Recently she has had a few different issues which required a good bit of attention from me, and I actually became aware of an increased sense of trust and gratitude radiating from her. Bella actually is a very affectionate horse, but needs to be allowed to express it in her time and on her terms.

Nap time with Bella.

On a recent summer Sunday morning I lingered in the barn aisle after my chores were completed, drinking my coffee and reading the newspaper. I glanced up from my chair and didn't immediately see Bella, so I stood up and then realized that she had lay down in her stall in front of the fan and was taking a nap. I slid open her stall door to check on her and she raised her head up, looking slightly annoyed at the intrusion.

 Curious, I sat down next to her in the stall with my back against the wall and my legs stretched out in front of me. Her head was to my right, and to my left I kept the stall door open in case she decided to get up and I needed to quickly get out of her way. I made a couple of attempts to stroke her neck and each time she pinned her ears slightly and gave a swish of her tail. So I let her be; she was obviously not fully comfortable with the situation. I just sat there and watched her ears come forward slowly and her eyes lose some of their intensity. I sat still for five, then ten, and ultimately almost thirty minutes when she let out a low groan that might have been concerning had it not been accompanied by the lowering of her head onto my chest and her breathing her breath into mine. Before I was even able to process what had just happened, she let out a nicker that shocked me not only by its volume in my ear or the reverberation in my chest, but also by being totally unexpected.  Bella did not often nicker.

Bella enjoys helping us with our farm chores.

This horse had wanted to connect as much as I did; I needed to find the patience to let it be her idea, to earn her trust and not attempt to force it. My patience was rewarded with a clearer understanding of what it is that I seek from my relationship with our horses. I seek to connect at the heart, and once in a while if I'm ready to receive it, the gift is bestowed upon me.

BREAKING FREE

BREAKING FREE:

How a Horse Delivered Me From the Bondage of Self

By Tom Gumbrecht                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Originally published in Horse Directory,  June, 2014

There is a quotation penned on the whiteboard of our barn, or more accurately, a derivation of one written by someone named Lao Tzu that reads. “He who conquers others is strong; he who conquers himself is mighty.” I had read this before, but it took a long time for me to begin to understand it and I’m certain I still don’t, fully. When I began to understand it is when I put it up on the board, because of its importance to my training (and my life) and how my horses helped me to understand it.

The author with DannyBoy at Equus Valley Horse Trials

I first thought that conquering self was about only self-control, about discipline, about will power. For me, the idea developed further into being about the deconstruction of the image of self that I had created. That image existed in my mind and it was a handsome one, but not terribly accurate. It consisted mainly of who I thought I was, or who thought I could have been if not for the endless obstacles placed in my path by others. I worked on maintaining the image, and it could have possibly existed forever if I had never been exposed to a horse.

I was gifted not especially with talent, but with an almost insatiable appetite for learning when it came to my middle-aged introduction to horses.  I had two trainers at the same time (perhaps would not do that again), rode at literally every opportunity and bought and read every book from every horse trainer, rider, clinician, and horsey philosopher I could find. And still, excellence eluded me. What I became was confused.

In other areas of life, I had become a master of the concept of “fake it ‘til you make it.” In some pursuits, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Acquire some concepts, some jargon and some contacts, let that open a few doors, gain some exposure and acceptance and pick up knowledge through osmosis.  Not so with horses, I was to find out. You can’t fake it with a horse (unless, of course, the horse is in on it) and thereby lay the source of my frequent frustration.  I can present the best façade imaginable, one that may work wonders with some humans and yet the horse would see right past them. The horse, I was to find, responds only to the true self, the true me.  My hope for anything modestly resembling success on horseback required that I first acknowledge, accept, and become familiar with my true self.

I had to turn my gaze inward. Much of what I had yet to learn did not exist in books and found that I didn’t

The author with DannyBoy, leaning to let
go and let the horse do his job.

need to study and master the intellectual concepts of my lessons.  Rather I needed feel them in my fingertips, my calves, my heel, my seat.  My legs would remember what my brain could not comprehend.  It was a new way to learn, and at times frightening.  I had sought to master the horse, and now the horse was my teacher.  My ego, which I assumed had bolstered the little bit of professional recognition I had managed to acquire, was no longer an attribute.  In fact it was a liability, because the horse did not acknowledge or respond to it. The horse knew the real me, and was waiting for me to honestly present it. Perhaps that was the frightening part..

A point came where I found myself struggling with lessons from a teacher who challenged me as no other had. This teacher was a mare who had known nothing but the racetrack and the paddock in my backyard; I began to think that I would never have the level of expertise needed to be successful riding her. But expertise was not what she wanted. She wanted honesty. As she became more fit, I became more overwhelmed and fearful, and rode defensively.  The toughest thing was to admit that, but admitting it was the key.  My trainer had created an environment where it was safe to be 100% honest, and I felt no need to hide my fear. Once I did, we restructured and went back to the point where we had been successful and built from there yet again. Soon we were past the point at which we were once stuck, because someone was able to help me interpret what my horse needed of me.

This I know:  the process of knowing myself has been an incredible adventure, made possible by the many horses I have had the privilege of working with. They have all been my teachers; yet as valuable as it has been to have learned to know myself, I have been especially fortunate to have experienced glimpses of the next dimension:  overcoming myself.

It would not be honest to claim consistency in this concept, but I have tasted it and my appetite to pursue it has been whetted: to enter an arena and for a moment in time, totally and completely give myself over to my horse, to leave my ego at the gate, to trust completely. I have experienced that level of synergy if for a moment, and it has shown me what it is possible to achieve by a magnificent animal’s uncanny ability to remove me from the self which at a point only selves to inhibit and not propel.

Lola- learning partnership from a beautiful soul..

What lofty goals will I achieve, having learned these concepts? Well… the concepts are still for me somewhat elusive but in a way I may have already achieved my goals. I have learned that there are bigger things than the self, and the biggest rewards in life as in riding, come when the self is in the background rather than the foreground.  This is not a remarkable concept for many; it was for me, and it took a horse to teach it in a way that I could accept it.

Charlie Hustle

“Charlie Hustle”                                                                                                                             

 by Tom Gumbrecht                    Originally published in Horse Directory..

Pete Rose, the original "Charlie Hustle"

DannyBoy takes over the title...

Pete Rose was, and is, of course, a legendary baseball player who spent most of his Major League career at first base for the Cincinnati Reds. He seemed to always give 150%, and his nickname, "Charlie Hustle", could only begin to suggest the immense dedication, intensity, motivation, pure skill, talent and athleticism that makes his name synonymous with all of those character traits. On the field, I can't think of a teammate you'd rather have.

Off the field, of course, was a different story. He seemed unable, perhaps unwilling, to stay out of trouble. From all outward appearances a brash, cocky, self-absorbed man, his questionable choices caused the World Series MVP and Gold Glove winner to be deemed permanently ineligible to participate in his sport. Off the field, he may have been a guy who would have been difficult to be friends with. The self-destructive type. But no matter how much shame he brought upon himself and his sport, I include myself in a sizable group, perhaps even a majority, that still reveres his name as the ultimate go-getter, and his talent and motivation as something to be awed.

Recently, I've been back riding my young eventing horse, DannyBoy, after the usual winter layoff due to frozen footing and other cold-weather obstacles. It takes me a few weeks to shake the cobwebs off of him at this time every year, to get his body and mind back on track to compete in the horse trials.

DannyBoy is a natural athlete. He has saved my hide in so many circumstances I've

Look where you're going, Danny, not always at the camera..

lost count. He gives and gives and gives until he just can't give anymore. In a word: exuberant. He loves to work, loves his job. I'm convinced he would walk through fire for me, for us, for the team...he is just so willing and giving that sometimes I get chills at the responsibility of managing such devotion. That is, in the arena...

Out of the arena, he's our little backyard farm's bad boy. He's into everything. Snatching blankets off the other horses backs, running around the paddock with the sweater you foolishly left on tack trunk streaming out of his teeth..until he tramples it...it's all in a day's work. Removing a bungee-corded fire extinguisher from the wall and hurling it into the paddock, nipping at the jacket of an unsuspecting visitor...biting at the flank of a pasturemate...all just a sampling of his off-field persona. With, of course, the requisite "who, me?" look after he's been discovered. He's a bull in a china shop. A goofball. The vet calls him a "goon".
 

In show season, his little antics lessen as his mind is occupied with other things, and when he thinks up some mischief, he might be just tired enough so as to not carry it out. His wonderful demeanor under saddle more than makes up for his antics, which at once seem almost endearing.

In winter time, however, it seems like we get all the bad with none of the good. His youthful exuberance and his devilish ways of expressing it can grow tiring. Just when I think we can't take another day of it, one morning we hear the song of a single bird, then a few more, then the ring starts thawing, the blankets come off and we're back to doing the things that made me love him in the first place.

Well, he's not really Pete Rose. We're not the Cincinnati Reds, and this isn't the World Series. A better analogy perhaps would be of the little league star who gives his all for the team, and when not on the field drives his parents crazy with blowing up stuff, prank phone calls, schoolyard scrapes and detention.

Charlie Hustle. Everybody knows one. I've got one. An overgrown kid who's impossible to stay mad at.  Truth be told, I love him even when he is being a goon.

The deal: I put up with him, he makes me look good..

Perhaps more....

S'no Fun!

S'NO  FUN!  

                                                                                                                                             

                                                            Originally published in Horse Directory, March 2013

By Tom Gumbrecht

DannyBoy plowing snow..

The winter storm they were calling “Nemo” was predicted with the normal Weather Channel adjectives such as “storm of the century”, “apocalyptic “, and the now familiar “superstorm”.  By Friday afternoon I had begun to take it seriously. I had moved my grain pickup day to Thursday from Saturday, started the snow blower and generator, and picked up diesel fuel for the tractor; almost as an afterthought, I did as much grocery shopping as one can do at Dairy Barn.

By 7:00 p.m. I did preliminary passes with the snow blower on the house driveway until a shear pin broke on the machine. Pelted by sleet and windblown snow, I opted to put it away and fire up the forty year old Kubota 4WD tractor parked under the canopy and warmed with an electric block heater.  It had never let me down, and tonight was no exception.  There was about 4” of wet slushy stuff down already, and now it was being frosted by fluffy white stuff.  I put the tractor away feeling satisfied that I had gotten a head start on the job I would be doing tomorrow.

I guess I know how I'm spending my weekend..

At 9:00 p.m. I walked down to the barn to do night check, and my hard work had already been defaced by Mother Nature.  It was hard to tell where I had plowed not two hours ago. I made the decision to lock my horses in their stalls overnight, something I hadn’t done since the night of Hurricane Sandy;  the last time previous to that, I don’t remember.  A few small branches were snapping already and knowing that to be a sound which to a horse means “run”, I decided to play it safe as the paddocks were already quite slippery.

Mary was still at her job as an RN at a hospital in Nassau County, and at 11:00 p.m. the snow was already a foot deep and our street had not yet seen a plow; I let her know that I didn’t think it was safe to travel. She agreed and set up a cot in her office, sleeping as best she could in the midst of hospital activity. When I awoke on Saturday morning, I was a bit shocked to see the snow almost to the top of the three foot fence outside my window.  I dressed and let the dogs out and they promptly disappeared into the drifts into the back yard, bounding along like rocks skipping on an undulating ocean of white. In their enthusiasm, they didn’t even want to come back in to eat breakfast.  Bundling up, I grabbed a shovel and made my way to the barn, a 30 minute ordeal to go 200 feet. While on my trek, I wondered whether anyone who cares for horses on a regular basis truthfully likes snow.  I’m not sure I have ever met that person.

The tractor "shed" falls to Nemo..

My horses were as happy as ever to see me, perhaps a bit more so due to the unavoidably late breakfast. After preparing their feed, and giving hay and water and mucking their stalls, I set about to plan my attack on the great white tsunami that had inundated my little horse farm.  That would involve somehow freeing my tractor from the collapsed canopy that had enveloped it overnight.  After an hour shoveling snow from the canopy roof,  I was able to crawl in and start the tractor, and raise the bucket to lift the roof off of it. Fortunately I found a post and stood it underneath the ridge pole which allowed me to back the tractor out.  Moving snow of this depth with a small farm tractor is a long process, and as the minutes turned to hours I had to remind myself how at age 13, I would have killed for the opportunity to spend a day moving snow with a tractor.  That thought made my job easier for a while, but ten hours on a tractor in the snow can make even the most enthusiastic smile wane.

Thankful for my 1970 Kubota.4WD tractor.

In all, I spent 17 hours moving snow on the weekend of Nemo, made easier on the second day by friends Joanne and Dan lending a hand for half a day on Sunday.  It occurred to me that while I can sometimes secretly resent the twenty minutes it takes to dig someone out of a snow bank from an ill-advised attempt of driving up our unplowed hill, I have not ever once, felt even the slightest tinge of resentment, despair or exasperation in spending two full days to make it possible to continue to supply the most basic services to my horses.  They wake up to two and a half feet of snow and think, seemingly, “Oh, so I guess that’s what today will be.  Walking around in deep snow; that’s fine”.  They have taught me to begin to think the same way, although I sometimes learn slowly.

I think now that I was fortunate to have had the opportunity to spend a harsh winter in rough board with a leased horse prior to having my own barn. It gave me the confidence to branch off the road of the rider and enter the road that leads to horsemanship. While I may not have reached my destination I’m still travelling that road, and I seem to never tire of the scenery.

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