Too Old To Ride?

Nearly as often as I hear people say that my riders are too young to ride so hard, I hear others say that they are too old to ride at all. One day I might be too infirm to ride. I might be too sick to ride. I might even be too dead to ride.

But I will never be too old to ride.

The health benefits, physical and emotional outweigh the risk of injury. Terry and I rode 109 miles in 18 hours last spring to commemorate our combined ages (55 and 54). Even at this stage in life it is good to have a winning card to serve as a reminder when faced with any sort of challenge. (e.g. "There is no way that I can do this. But on the other hand I rode 109 miles and no one thought I could do that either).

(You never know when you might need to reach for those cards. Not too long ago a city lawyer was seeking to intimidate me before trial by listing all of the big cases that he had tried over his career. I listened patiently,told him that I once ate 54 raw oysters at a single sitting, and then turned and walked away. Obviously he had no idea what kind of man he was up against.)

Adults, including adults my age and older, show the same increases in confidence, compassion and courage that the little riders show as they reach higher and higher benchmarks.

Look at the Shoshone chief, Washikie, in the center of this picture. He was older than me at the time this picture was taken.

That is not a barco lounger he is sitting on.

Saving the Sand Horses :Part 10 "You Can't Let Chidren Get In a Pen With a Wild Horse!"

Ten or twelve years ago I used to hear that a lot. I knew they were wrong for two reasons: 1. we were training horses, not alligators 2. My little brother had cerebral palsy and from about age 10 on he was the first person that got on the wild horses that he and I trained together.

As Lido used to reassure the other kids out there, "I can do it--you can too."

If we were training horses the way that was traditional when I was growing up it would have been impossible. Then we trained by getting on the horse and staying on until he got tired of trying to get rid of you.

That would have been to dangerous for city kids.

But that is not how we do things. My little riders learn natural horsemanship. They learn to understand the horse and to use leadership to teach the horse to follow. My little riders learn to become leaders. The more they understand about the horse the more they understand about themselves.

The picture above is the most important picture ever taken at the horse lot. I do not know exactly what year it was taken but many of these kids are now grown. It was near the conclusion of a hot summer in which this group of kids and I got seven wild horses or colts and a donkey tamed and trained well enough to be ridden in the woods with the other horses.

And it was all done without a buck--not without a kid getting bucked off--without a horse ever bucking.

Now imagine a picture of all of those same kids in expensive horse show gear standing there with the ribbons that they won at a horse show and ask yourself one simple question---"Which of those pictures would have demonstrated the most growth in character, confidence, courage, and compassion?"

We practice natural horsemanship not only to make better horses, but to make better people.

A Cold Hard Lesson

Natural horsemanship requires one to understand, to the degree possible, the mind of a horse. That requires us to realize that a horse is not a human and is not driven by human desires. The harder lesson for many people to learn is that a horse is not a dog and is not driven by the desires of a dog.

Of course, human, horse, and dog are all driven by a will to survive but their strategies for survival cause them to exhibit radically different behaviors. A horse wants nothing more than security. A dog is driven by the excitement of the hunt. Horses do not find being hunted to be positive experience. A dog finds warmth and comfort in a small, cozy den.

A horse has evolved to view that warm, cozy den as a life threatening potential trap. A horse needs to be in a place where it can see, hear and smell any oncoming threats to its safety. A dog has no such worries. Puppies will quickly die if exposed to cold weather shortly after being born. Foals are often born on the snow or on frozen ground.

As a predator the dog could afford the luxury of seeking warm comfort and evolved into needing that warmth for survival. The horse's evolution and adaptations took a very different route.

This morning really bore this out. I went out to the horse lot. The wind chill was barely above zero. The dogs were cold. They did not want to come out of their warm house. When they did come out to eat they were clearly uncomfortable and quickly returned to their cozy straw bed in their house. The wind was howling.

The horses acted no differently than they did yesterday when it was nearly thirty degrees warmer. They did not seek windbreaks and the red shelter in the mare's pasture stood empty. The horses ate hay or simply stood in the sunshine. None showed the slightest hint of discomfort.

I was layered heavily and the exposed skin on my face was starting to take on an unfamiliar burning feeling. I looked over to see two horses standing in the shade, not even taking advantage of the bright sunlight. How could this be--with all of my clothing and with the dog's thick hair we were miserable and the horses were completely oblivious to the cold.

On the other hand I sit here in a small room typing. Perhaps there is someone wishing to do me harm in another room--I cannot tell. The door is shut. If someone is sneaking up on me I could not tell. This comfortable, high backed chair blocks my view. I could not even smell the villain--all I smell is this left over pizza that I am eating.

And I am completely oblivious to the threat.

If I was a horse I would not oblivious to the threat.

But I am not a horse--and even more important for me to truly understand, is that a horse is not me.

And that is a cold, hard truth.

Saving the Sand Horses:Part 9

The kids were rolling out of the van/station wagon as soon as it came to a halt. They were among the first kids in my riding program. They were excited to a degree that one rarely reaches after about age eleven. They were yelling and racing to be the first one to tell me of the urgent matter at hand.

"Mister Edwards there are horses on an island that need our help. They need someone to adopt them. You have to go help them now."

I assumed that they were referring to Chincoteague.

"No they are in Carolina and they need our help now.!!!!"

The regional paper had run a story on the Corollas. I had not seen it but the kids had and the ride from Portsmouth had given them plenty of time to get whipped into a frenzy. They remembered the key words "wild horses", "Spanish mustangs", "injured" and "adoption."

They were yelling these words as they ran across the pasture to me. One of them had the article which was about the herd management program at Corolla.  I promised them that I would call.

I only had two concerns--one based on the ignorance of others and one based on my own ignorance. I wanted a stallion if we were to adopt one for use in breeding. I knew that many such horses were immediately gelded because of the misplaced terror that so many horse people have of stallions.

My other concern was that these horses were simply too small, even to use in a breeding program.

 There was absolutely no way that one of these little ponies could carry a grown man, I thought

I was wrong.

This is Manteo, my first Corolla stallion. We adopted him when he was about 18 months old. He was captured because he had a long term problem with a locked stifle that required minor surgery.

Who knows, maybe one day I would get a Corolla mare and breed some of these horses, which I understood were nearly extinct.

Maybe her name would be Baton Rouge.

General Crook Rode A Mule

when he was pursuing Geronimo. I suspect that it was gaited. No doubt it was tough. He understood a bit about Indian horses. He is one of many soldiers who pointed out that unless the cavalry immediately overtook fleeing Indians they simply could not be run down.

The Morgan/Thoroughbred rooted stock of the mounted soldier simply could not cover ground the way the little Spanish ponies that the Indians rode could. I never really understood how fast these horses could cover ground until I got my first Choctaw. Joey is a touch over 14 hands, a bit taller than I prefer but not so big as to be clumsy. He is gaited and has a touch of Cherokee lineage. One of his gaits is significantly faster than the normal canter of most of my other horses. His trot is as fast as the lope that my other horses use when being ridden for stretches of five miles or more.

"My other" horses are also Colonial Spanish horses. Each of them cover fifty miles of rough terrain at a steady, wonderful speed. "My other" horses would leave most modern horses behind after about the fifteenth mile. "My other" horses are highly impressive athletes.

Yet, "my other" horses cannot keep up with my Choctaw. Terry and Emily are putting heavy miles on him. Terry plans to enter him in a 25 mile timed race in a few more weeks. It will be his first competition. It will be her first also. He will have had no formal training. All he will have is a lifestyle that allows him to remain outside 24/7, eat hay, and remain shoeless. I am curious as to how he will do.

In a few weeks I want him to do a good 25 mile run for time. I want some of my big kids to join Terry on that run.

 I hope they can keep her within sight now and then.