This may sound ludicrous, but you have to believe me. When I first graduated from college I worked for a detective who had a polygraph service. Yes, I was the assistant at a lie detection agency’s office. Sadly, I never got to sit in on a session–that would have been interesting. It was awkward when people came to sign in. No one was overly friendly as I recall.
There’s no way to hook a horse up to a polygraph machine, but this past week I accidentally discovered a way to determine my young Thoroughbred’s integrity. It had nothing to do with body language or whether or not he had shifty eyes and started to develop sweat beads on his forehead. It had everything to do with #BadSteering on my part as a rider.
All it took was a simple line, an X to a tiny vertical, to find out Knight’s true character.
We were in the middle of a spring break riding lesson. I’m not sure why it’s a million times better to ride in the morning–it just is. His transitions are getting soooo much smoother, we’re staying more connected trotting to the right, everything was golden. The sun was shining, the birds chirping, we had the arena to ourselves and all our flatwork was more than adequate.
Side Note: The problem with being a sensitive, mildly self-critical person with a green horse is that if I don’t ride like a champion, I’m convinced I’m going to ruin Knight. I believe I will teach him all sorts of bad habits and long-term he’ll be a spoiled jerk. I do a lot of apologizing during my riding lessons. So much to the point that my trainer said something to the effect, “It’s really hard to be a perfectionist with jumping–if you want perfection you probably should do dressage.”
So now for the embarrassing reveal about the whole honesty litmus test: it happened after our flatwork. Knight and I rounded our turn and did a bright trot right over the middle of our baby X and then I zoned out until about a stride from the vertical which was the second fence of the line.
I realized, “Crap! We’re going to buzz past the fence. I’m teaching my horse to run out. We’re GOING to jump this,” and I left legged, right reined my poor horse sharply back on path to the fence.
And do you know what happened next? As we jumped the fence, somehow we knocked over the standard! I think Knight actually cleared the standard because I remember feeling more airborne than normal and as we cantered away and my trainer asked, “Are you okay?” I said, “Yeah. Hey, at least I stayed on!”
I wish somebody had been videoing so we could see what actually happened. Knight didn’t panic upon landing, he just kept cantering. He was fine. We looked to see if I had paint on my left boot. Nothing. The only likely explanation is that my foot hit the standard and it fell over.
And although I was having heart palpitations, as my trainer set the standard back upright and said, “You’re doing that again,” I tried to channel a calmer Susan to do the same line again. Lots of times I start to get very talkative. In real life I’m not a nervous conversationalist (I have a friend who gets very chatty when she’s uncomfortable), but when I’m riding I start talking a lot so I am at least breathing.
For the second attempt the standard stayed up–we were a bit off to the left again, but not nearly as dramatic. We jumped it a few more times and Knight continued with the same demeanor which is, “Okay. Let’s do this.”
So there you have it. You’ll know your horse is honest when you fail to pilot him to a fence and then last-minute give sharp aids to force him to jump. If he jumps you’ll know you have a keeper. If he bails, just know it’s not his fault. You were the one to blame for riding like an moron in the first place.
I heart your fun comments, advice, and anecdotes. Do you have a horse honesty litmus test?
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What a lovely honest boy you have! 🙂
I too am kind of a perfectionist. It almost makes me afraid to try things because I know it will be kind of a mess…and I just want everything to go “just so”. I hear your struggle!
Hehehe what a funny story! He is such a good guy!
Haha I’m glad you have an honest one! Wiz saves my butt jumping all the time …
Thanks! Yay for Wiz being a good citizen too!
what a good boy! i almost ate it down a similarly simple line this weekend too – did my very best to try and fall off between the jumps for no good reason at all (i blame the shoddy lesson horse saddle haha), but the very nice pony just kept going and we made it out alive. fun times lol
It’s always the saddle’s fault! Glad you are still alive.
What a gentleman!! I’m also a nervous riding talker- my poor trainer can’t seem to get me to shut up 🙂
Glad I’m not the only nervous talker. I said sorry at least three times in my lesson tonight.
Glad you have an honest horse, they are the best kind. My mare is honest when it comes to barrel racing too, it’s always nice to have one you can rely on.
So if a barrel horse weren’t honest, what would it do? Run the barrel over or turn funny? I rode a barrel hirsewhen I worked at a Christian summer camp a long time ago. The horse knew what to do when we had our weekly staff “rodeo” for the campers. It was really fun.
At the last show of 2014 I decided to do the correct number of strides between each fence, instead of adding in an extra one like I’d been doing all season. I remember cantering up to a 2’6″ oxer at the out of a line and realizing I was at a reaaaalllly long spot way too late.
I remember thinking for a split second “oh sh*t Miles is going to stop and I’m gonna go over that fence by myself” but he didn’t! He went right over, I got jumped way out of the tack and probably caught him in the mouth, but he kept going until I was balanced again.
He got to many pats and treats for that, I can’t even tell you! Talk about an honest horse <3
Oh, Miles!!! What a good boy. I could totally picture the scene from how you described it. Did anyone catch that on video? And good for you for staying on. I have no idea if and when we’ll ever make it to a 2’6″ oxer. 2’3″ verticals feel like a big accomplishment to me at this stage. 🙂 You’re my inspiration.
My mare has this nasty habit of drifting sideways as she jumps. She never runs out to that side – she just drifts. One day we approached a 1.10m oxer (3′ 6″ to you) and as she jumped she swung almost into the upright. In that split second I envisioned my foot being removed by the big heavy upright, so I found myself, in midair over the jump, with two fistfuls of mane and both legs on one side of the horse. At that moment I had a very timely adrenalin rush and by the time Arwen’s front feet hit the ground I had both feet back in their stirrups. No idea how that happened. Arwen didn’t bat an eyelid.