I just saw this quote from Neil Gaiman and loved it.  He’s talking about one of his cats, and why he’ll miss it when it’s gone (even though it is mean, grumpy, and dangerous).

I’ve also felt this sort of strange affection toward animals that might be, charitably, called evil. I think Gaiman does a nice job of describing why these creatures find a place in our hearts.

There used to be seven cats in this house.  There were always seven cats.  As one died off or went walkabout, never to return, another would turn up at the back door.  But two large white dogs sort of put an end to that, alas.  So as the older cats have died off, the house cat numbers have diminished.

Cocunut, who was once Maddy’s kitten, is the youngest.  He’s a very amiable, easygoing sort of cat.

And then there’s Princess, who is not amiable, and is only easygoing in the sense that the mad old lady who lives down the road and glares at you when you walk past her house is easygoing if you don’t disturb her.  Princess is the oldest cat we have.  She arrived here on June 26th, 1994, Holly’s 9th birthday.  But I’d glimpsed her at a distance, a feral ghost living wild in the woods for a good year before that.  She’s feisty and grumpy and likes making people do their trick for her, which is turning on the tap so a trickle of water comes out, and then waiting while she drinks a little.

She glares at you if you turn the tap off before she’s done.

She also likes making visitors pet her.  In the old days, she would let you know she was done being stroked by viciously sinking her teeth into you, deep and hard.  But she’s tool old for that nonsense now.  I used to have to muzzle her before I could trim her nails or remove knotted balls of fur.  Now she’ll submit to anything. Beneath the fur she weighs nothing at all …

And I just discovered that she has a lump on her left cheek.  I’ll get her to the vet… I hope it’s not something big and bad.  I’ve grown so used to having a bad tempered but beautiful cat that I need to warn visitors about.  She’s outlasted all the cats I loved and all the cats I bonded with.

And I think she’s grown very used to me.

When Zoe died, it was really easy to explain to people how much you could miss a sweet, gentle cat who was nothing but a ball of utter love.  I’m going to have a much harder time one day, months or even years from now, explaining why I miss the meanest, grumpiest, and most dangerous cat I’ve ever encountered.

I totally understand where he’s coming from.

As an example of one of my evil animals, I once had a horse that thought it necessary to buck people off and tap-dance on them.  Over the course of two years he bucked off and kicked everyone who thought they could ride him.  This includes me.  Twice.

(Most of the time, though, he was just fine.  It was just that once in a while when he felt the need to remind you he was evil where you had to be careful.  I’m not really sure what happened to that horse.  My parents waited until I was living overseas, and then sold him quietly. Now, he’s probably off running the Evil League of Evil.)

Quotable: Neil Gaiman’s Evil Cat is a post from: Apolitically Incorrect. Copyright 2009 – 2010, Rob Oakes.

She was beautiful, amazing and just about perfect, and,  I think that I’m going to miss her terribly.

Actually, if how I feel right now is any indication, I already do.

1.

I first met Peekaboo in 2002.  I had just returned from living abroad and had taken a job working for a local barn as a horse trainer.  Peekaboo had been brought to the barn by a friend of the owners and he wished to know how much it would cost to have 60 days worth of riding put on her.

It turns out that the answer to that question would be, “Nothing.”  The barn owner, Frank, fell in love with her on the spot.  After watching her run around, and play with some of the other animals, he made an offer to buy her.

Peekaboo was just that kind of horse.

When she looked at you, it was obvious that she was intelligent.  Early on in her stay at the barn, she figured out how all of the barn levers worked and would routinely let both herself out and most of the other horses.

But it wasn’t just the intelligence, it was  also her personality.  Peekaboo liked people.  If given the choice, she preferred to be part of the party.  She particularly liked to play games and steal root beer when you weren’t looking.  She even taught herself to drink from a can

One of her favorites games would be to stand behind a fence or another obstacle and play, “peek-a-book.”  (It’s where her name came from.)  She would hide her head, and then suddenly pop up and look at you.  If you didn’t look back, she would whicker and whinny.  When you finally did look her way, she would hide her head again and repeat the whole thing.

2.

Because Peekaboo was smart and fun, she was a true joy to ride.

Most horses wish to do the right thing.  If you set things up right, they’ll never let you down.  But, like people, not all horses have the same degree of passion.  Sure, they may wish to do the right thing, but they may feel about people the same way I feel about golf.  It’s there, I enjoy it, but it isn’t my favorite thing in the world.

There are a few special horses, though, that love being ridden and are passionate about it.  They love people, they love performing, and they take pleasure in doing things perfectly.

Peekaboo was like that.

From the very first time she carried a saddle, she was better than many horses after months of work.  She figured out how to go and stop without needing any direction from your hands.  You could look left and she’d go left.  You could look right and she’d go right.  As she got older, she just got better.

Peekaboo learned to spin.  She learned to slide.  She learned to cut and move cattle.  You could rope from her, push steers, or run the barrels; and she did all of these things well.  Really well.  She could run a professional rodeo barrel pattern in 16 seconds and then turn around and give pony rides to a three year old, all while still trying to catch her breath.

Peekaboo was, truly, the one horse who could do it all.

3.

Which, ironically, is why she needed a better owner than I could ever hope to be.  She needed to have her tail braided, and wanted to be ridden in 4-H, and carted off to the 4th of July parade.  She needed someone who could ride her in high school rodeo, and take her to the national championships.  She needed someone who could hide behind her while steeling a first kiss.  And as a struggling, overcommitted student with professional aspirations, I simply didn’t have that kind of time.

So, I let her go and she went to a wonderful home.

But even though I had let her go, she wasn’t gone.  She had loving people who braided her tail and put ribbons in her mane and kept her whiskers cut; but I was encouraged to come and visit.  I was to “Ride any time I felt like it,” and I did.  Most importantly, though, there was an understanding.  Someday, after Peekaboo had conquered the world and raised three screaming little girls, I would get her back.

She was, after all, my horse.

4.

But that time wasn’t quite yet, and Peekaboo was very happy.

She had little girls to fuss over her, comb her tail, and put ribbons in her mane.  (There are few things that make horses happier than fussy little girls.)  She had someone who was going to take her to the High School Rodeo championships, and maybe even to the PRCA.  Everyone recognized that she was the perfect horse and doted on her every desire.

Maybe that’s why her last day on Earth was the most amazing.  She went to the fair and everything went perfectly.  She won every event she entered.  She dominated the poles and she ran the barrels in 16 seconds flat.  They gave her a big ribbon, and a trophy, and a wreath she could wear around her neck.  They put ribbons in her mane and everyone told her she was the “bestest, brightest and most perfect horse ever.”

Which underscores a really important point.  Perfection isn’t really meant for this world.

From the perfect day, Peekaboo came home and got really, really sick.  Her stomach got upset and then it got tied in knots.  And even though her loving family and two wonderful vets did everything they could, and, even though Peekaboo fought like a banshee, she eventually couldn’t fight any more and died.

5.

It sucks, it isn’t fair and Peekaboo’s death has broken  more hearts than mine.  She was awesome, beautiful, and athletic.  She was perfect, in every way that mattered (and quite a few that didn’t).

I already miss her terribly and I think that I always will.  Moreover, this is good, and right, and just.  Because, at the end of the day, Peekaboo was my horse and she was amazing.

Peekaboo (2000–2010) is a post from: Apolitically Incorrect. Copyright 2009 – 2010, Rob Oakes.

Given how the word is used and understood, I find it extremely ironic that so few people understand that “surface work” and it’s attendant ideas of conditioned response, sensitization, desensitization and instinct are actually very important to horse training.  If you want to have any type of real relationship or meaningful communication, you need to do a lot of very tedious surface work to get there.

High and Low Level Responses

To use scientific terms for a moment, you might think of “surface work” as a low level response and “working deep” as a high level response.  A good example that illustrates the difference is found in the experiments of a Russian behaviorist by the name of Ivan Pavlov.  (The same Pavlov of dog fame.)  During the course of his life, Pavlov scientifically demonstrated the mechanisms that can be used to develop a conditioned response.  He showed that animals could associate a very low level behavior  (salivation, for example) with an unrelated trigger (such as a ringing bell).  At the time, it was a very radical idea.

For much of human history, mankind has been preoccupied with the “rational” mind.  You know, that relatively limited part of the psyche responsible for thinking and decision making.  And while most thinkers would at least acknowledge that there was an “instinctive” mind, it was primarily thought to control undesirable traits.  As such, it should be subjugated to the rational mind at all times.  Or at least the thinking went.

Pavlov and colleagues began to change that perception.  They demonstrated that conditioning and instinct were neither bad nor good.  And the work of later scientists would demonstrate that there are behaviors that should be conditioned.  Athletes and musicians, for example, do better when they have mastered basic technical skills at the unconscious level.

This is also true for horses.  Yielding to the rope, hind end disengagement, foot placement during a complicated maneuver, or desensitization to a particular object aren’t things that you want the horse thinking about or grappling with very much.  They should just flow.

Free the Mind for Other Things

“Now wait a minute!” I can hear you saying.  “I don’t want my horse to be some sort of mechanical automaton.  I want him to think through his actions. I want communication to be so seamless that when I have a thought, it just happens.”

This is a good point, and I should point out that I am not saying that you should transform your horse into a machine.  To do so would remove one of the most compelling reasons to ride or work with a horse in the first place.

What I am saying, however, is that you should consider how low level responses can help refine and give true meaning to your high level communication.  Perhaps an example might help to explain my point a little better.

Think about how a doctor does a physical exam.  A good physician can run through the whole routine in about five minutes.  It goes from the top of the head to the bottom of the feet with more than two hundred individual steps.  The doc will check for signs of infection, response to neurological stimuli, irregularities in heart rate, and problems with coordination and balance.

I also happen to know that the first time you do a complete physical exam, it’s utterly terrifying.  You aren’t focused on finding anything wrong with the patient, but on getting through the whole procedure.  In the front of your mind, you’ll be run a little monologue: “Okay,” you’ll say,  “What comes next?  Where do I listen with the stethoscope after the second intercostal space?”

That’s why students don’t perform their first physicals on real patients.  No patient would ever wait while the student fumbled, groped, and otherwise stumbled through the procedure.  Yet, after you’ve been through the process a few hundred times, things change.  Instead of focusing what to do, you can start to think about why and how you’re doing it.  You’re not listening at the second intercostal space because that’s part of the procedure, but because you’re screening for pulmonic regurgitation (if on the left) or aortic regurgitation (if on the right).

For this change to happen, though, you need to have mastered the procedure at the low level.  Once done, you free your mind to think about other things.  The monologue isn’t, “What comes next?”  But rather, “I hear something irregular, what might that be?  What relationship does it have with other signs I’ve seen?”

In the same way, no violinist will give a virtuoso performance if overly worried about fingering or violin hold; and no horse/rider pair is going to get very far if they have to think their way through every little action.

Surface Work and Communication

Not really getting the difference between surface work and deeper stuff might be why it’s so easy to misunderstand this nugget of wisdom from Gail Ivey:

One of the most common methods folks use to get their horses to come to them in the round pen is to “suck” them in, which they believe is “drawing” the horse.  They have the horse working out on the edge of the pen, mentally gone, then they step back and create a big hole that the horse kind of falls into, turning toward them, and allow the horse to stop.  The horse is still struggling mentally, because he didn’t really choose to be there, he just ended up there because this large space opened up where there was less pressure on him.  Often, pretty gentle horses learn to fall into that hole to escape the pressure, and they walk up to the person, they walk right up and mentally go on by them, while stopping their bodies in front of the person.

If you read the passage and thought, “Hey, I do that! … What am I doing wrong?  Am I just some kind of surface worker?”  You aren’t alone.  Nor should you immediately change how you work with horses.  What Gail is describing isn’t necessarily bad, but in the same vein, neither is it good.  It’s a low level and predictable response to a procedure.  Horses have lots of them.  When you frighten a horse or apply pressure, they run away.  When you put weight on a lead rope, they move to escape it.  When you breathe out and relax in the saddle, the horse will slow down and eventually stop.  All of these actions are instinctual.  Two year olds under saddle for the first time and thirty year old nags will both exhibit very similar behavior.

Which is why good trainers make use of in
stinct constantly.  When properly harnessed and focused, it forms the foundations of a “deeper relationship” to be built over time.  The problem arises when you forget that the instinctual response is a means to an end and get overly focused on the procedure.  You may have the horse in the center of the round pen, but is his mind there?  Do you have his attention?  Have you started a genuine conversation, or is the horse fiddling with his “cell phone” while you natter on?

If you’re working in the realm of the former, that’s the foundation of good horsemanship.  You’re like the medical student who has mastered the simple steps of physical diagnosis.  You might even say that instead of monologue, you are now having a dialogue.  You’ve asked the horse to walk up to you, face you, be with you and the horse has reciprocated.  More importantly, he understands.  Tomorrow, you’ll be on his back.  By next month, you’ll be throwing ropes or herding cattle.

But if the horse is off somewhere else, you’ll quickly learn a discouraging lesson: eventually, he stops responding to signals or cues.  Instead of a dialogue, you’ve probably become overly focused on the procedure and your own internal monologue.  When this happens, the horse may become dull and unresponsive, or even dangerous and unpredictable.  This isn’t really his fault, he’s just trying to survive in the best way he knows how; but it still isn’t a good or desirable thing.

The Difference

The difference between “on the surface” or “working deep” lies in engaging the horse and allowing him to make a definitive choice.  To do that requires that he  understand the options.  Low level responses can certainly get you started, they are the common words and phrases at your disposal.  But “Where is the bathroom?” followed by “I’m hot!” is not a coherent or meaningful conversation.  To be meaningful requires that you not only sling the words, but you also “get” when they are appropriate.

Only time, patience and experience can give you that knowledge.  So, by all means, do your very best to speak the language.  Just keep in mind that you have an accent, and won’t always get things right.  You’ll spend a lot of time fumbling your way through the conversation and make all kinds of embarrassing errors; but that’s how experience is gained: one mistake at a time.  (Even very good horse men and women mess things up with more frequency than they would ever admit to.)  To be a "surface worker" isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but by itself, it is insufficient.  You also need to engage the horse’s mind, heart, and spirit.  If you can do that even some of the time, it will have a tremendously big impact on how you perceive your horses and how they perceive you.

On the Surface Versus Working Deep is a post from: Apolitically Incorrect. Copyright 2009 – 2010, Rob Oakes.

And more often than not, the more experienced hand is able to offer some insight that might have a positive impact on a horse-human partnership.  When that happens, it is a tremendously good outcome.  Other times, though, no amount of advice or insight will do anything for the human being or for the animal.  There are a lot of reasons for this: the owner might be trying to manage a behavior beyond their ability, or the root causes might have an intractable physical or mental origin.

As a result, every experienced horse person (whether they be a trainer, riding instructor or long-time rider) should keep one particular line in their arsenal of tools.  It shouldn’t be used often, but there are circumstances where it is not only warranted, but necessary.

Here’s the short version: Sell your horse.

A slightly longer summary might be, “Right now, your horse needs someone who is better able to help him.  You simply do not have the level of experience to get him through some of his rough spots.”

Such a line is bitter medicine, regardless of its occasional necessity.  In fact, there are few other lines more powerful or devastating – no matter how gently delivered.  Telling another to, “Sell your horse,” is a personal repudiation against another their judgment, passion and abilities.  But even so, momentary psychic pain is a far better alternative to serious physical injury.  Horses are big creatures and can be tremendously dangerous.  Every good horseman knows this, it’s why we spend a disproportionate amount of time learning how to be safe.

Yet even when we keep eyes open and maintain good practices, there are still risks.   I learned one such lesson the hard way.  A number of years ago, I was helping a rancher friend to replace a large section of fence.  The fencing had been damaged when a drunk driver had crashed into it the week prior.  Because he had needed to graze part of his herd on the land, he had strung electrical wire and some special visibility tape over the damaged section until he might have a chance to repair it with a more permanent arrangement.

While we were digging replacement holes and cementing replacement uprights, twenty-five or so mares and foals came to investigate the new fence line.  Neither myself, my friend, or any of the other people who were helping with the repairs gave this much mind.  While energetic and curious, they largely avoided the main work area.   One of the foals, however, wandered amongst the helpers, wheelbarrows and buckets.  A number of the people present, myself included, thought this was rather neat.  The foal was very interested in the work, and earned herself more than a few scratches and treats.  This attitude changed, however when a large semi-truck passed very close to the fence-line. 

Predictably, the foal exploded and set off pandemonium in the herd at large.  If horses are good at anything, it’s mass hysteria.  As one, every horse in the group tried to bolt in a different direction, resulting in a solidly impressive impressive game of bumper-pony.

And while not one of the horses bolted far, the confusion was enough that I found himself between two mares trying to go opposite directions.  Horse 1, tried to move horse 2 aside by kicking at her.  But instead of the blow landing on its intended target, she instead sent me flying.  And though I recovered (more frightened than hurt), I learned an important lesson: horses can be unpredictable and when a big animal animal turns unpredictable, it is very easy to be hurt.

In fact, most injuries tend to happen in just such moments.  Either the human is surprised, or the horse is surprised and the rider is unprepared for the resulting movement.  But by then, it’s too late.  The rider has been pitched, stepped on, run into a branch, or kicked.  The horse didn’t mean for this to happen, it just kind of did.

Experience can help diffuse such situations immensely.  I’ve done enough flying dismounts to have gained a certain level of control about it.  But more importantly, I’ve come to appreciate when something dangerous might happen and I can take steps to diffuse it.  Early intervention and good timing are the most valuable skills you can use in a tense situation; and I have been in a lot of tense situations. As a result, I am comfortable in my ability to stay safe in nearly any circumstance.  But many of the people I ride with, or I am occasionally asked to coach, do not necessarily have the same sorts of exposure I do.  And far too often, I find that someone has made an emotional commitment to an animal where they do not have the necessary skills to keep themselves safe.

What is the right thing to say to such a person?    I mean, how do you break the news to a passionate young horseperson that rather than audition for the Black Stallion, they might be better cut out for My Little Pony?

The teacher’s first instinct, where you ask yourself, “Can I teach this person enough in the limited time we have so that they will both be safe?” is an excellent starting point.  Knowledge is power, and though the horse is naturally the best teacher, sometimes people require an interpreter.  Serving as that interpreter is a wonderful opportunity to communicate that you are there to help both the horse and the rider.

But if the answer to that first question is “No,” then that is also something that you also need to communicate.  You see, most people are pretty smart and they have a good idea of when they are in over their heads.  The “foreboding sense of trouble” is often what makes people swallow their pride sufficiently to request help in the first place.  And if that means that you believe the horse’s owner is in a bad spot, you need to share that opinion.

But when you do, please remember:

1. Be professional and kind.  People don’t dig themselves into holes because they are stupid, but rather because they can be shortsighted.
2. Make sure that you are motivated by the horse owner’s safety, and not your own desire for a client.
3. Offer any appropriate help and support that you can.  If you do so, an uncomfortable experience might just be transformed into a positive one.

To those who might receive such advice, horses are a wonderful hobby.  But as noted above.  No horse is worth sacrificing your safety for.  Just as some people will never get along, the same can be true for a horse and rider.  I know that it can be hard to hear that you have bought a horse above your current level, but sometimes it is the most valuable advice that you can receive.  And I can tell you that it is never offered lightly.

Telling someone to sell their horse is advice that no one ever likes to give.

The Advice that No One Likes to Give: Sell Your Horse is a post from: Apolitically Incorrect. Copyright 2009 – 2010, Rob Oakes.

It is possible to draw lessons on horsemanship from a tremendously diverse range of sources.  For me, one of the most important has it’s roots in an unlikely place, a brief exchange between the Chesire Cat and Alice while she first toured Wonderland:

“Chesire Puss,” she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider.  “Come, it’s pleased so far” thought Alice, and she went on.  “Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”

“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat.

“I don’t much care where –” said Alice.

“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.

When considering the important topics of how a horse’s body is balanced, or how to effectively communicate an idea; truer words have never been spoken.  Think about it this way: for something to be labeled a journey, it must have a point or a a destination.  To merely go about doing things isn’t any kind of travel, but only so much wandering (to put it kindly) or a sure indication that the traveler is lost (to put it accurately).

At some point in your travels, you need to have a destination and realize that it matters.  If you want to travel to London, you are unlikely to do so via route of Buenos Aires.  And if you want to turn a horse in a circle, you are unlikely to accomplish that goal by merely pulling on the head.  Eventually, you must move the feet.

Various individuals wiser than myself have said it like this:

If you get control of the feet and the legs, the rest comes easy … Set it up so that he gets relief from moving his feet.  horses can figure out so many things if you arrange it and have a little patience.

To restate this nugget of wisdom in the language of cause and effect, the ultimate effect (or destination) is how a horse moves its feet.  Thus, to get a horse to accomplish a particular goal or to communicate an idea, it’s very important to make sure that you are effectively pushing your ideas to the end destination.

Let’s say that we are teaching a horse to lead, or asking for the hindquarters to move in response to a sideways tug on the rope.  The desired outcome, whether it be lateral disengagement or forward motion, culminates in a single important end-point: movement in the desired direction.  But there are a huge number of things which need to happen prior.  First, the horse will likely relax and soften, looking in the desired direction.  Next, the muscles along the horse’s back and rump will contract, causing it to rise.  Then, the horse will begin to shift into the direction of travel.  Finally, the desired foot moves and the horse is propelled through space.  Each of the intermediary stages involve a different amount of energy and commitment.  To reposition the head, or to shift the body, requires substantially less energy than to move the feet.  But only the movement of the feet actually facilitate the end goal rather than serving as a intermediary point.

To really get an effective response from the horse, you need start with the end in mind.  Thus, when asking for disengagement, you are asking for the feet to move, not for the head or the back.  And while a good rider appreciates that there are many intermediate points to any behavior, and that providing a well timed release at any of them (often called rewarding the slightest try), will condition the horse to actively seek out the next step in the chain, you are still asking for the feet to move and not for the head to bend.  Becoming obsessed about some intermediate step in the middle can lead to confusion and frustration.

All too often, I hear people complain that their horse is “stuck,” or “stiff,” or “being resistant.”  Though the language describing the problem might be different, the behavior looks shockingly similar.  First, the horse is physically stiff and may be actively pulling or pushing against the aid.  Next, rather than having fluid and graceful motions, they are short and heavy – as though the horse were moving through molasses.  Last, the there may be behavior typically associated with resistance –perhaps there is a kink in the tail, or the head is elevated, or the mouth locked.

All too often, the cause of these “problems” is the same: the rider isn’t communicating the message to the feet.  Consider, what would happen, for a minute, if you attempted to disengage the horse’s hindquarters simply by dragging on the lead rope.  Through sheer physical leverage, it is rather easy to forcibly position the horse’s head to the inside; but nearly everything else would be out of balance.

The majority of the body weight would be shifted outward, a position that makes it tremendously difficult for her to follow the feel of the rope.  So when the horse does eventually move, rather than being a soft and willing response, it is far more likely that the horse will brace and pull away.  Should this happen, the “resistance” has nothing to do with the horse’s frame of mind or intentions, and everything to do with position and motion.

Now, think about how the same goal (disengagement of the hind end) might be accomplished in the round pen with the horse at liberty.  First, you teach the horse about motion: how to move forward when pressure is placed behind; how to slow, or change direction when pressure is placed in front; and how to hook on when the handler changes stance from assertive to inviting.  Without the physical connection of the  lead-rope you are forced to focus on the desired end-product, where the horse is moving; and to accomplish anything, you must effectively pushing the feet.  When the motion does come, the head is automatically in the correct position.  When you invite the horse to hook-on, the head follows the direction of motion.  It just happens. With no resistance.  And nothing should change when the leap rope is snapped back on.  In many ways, the lead rope only exists to refine the already clear communication.

When the process happens in reverse, failure to think about destinations can make for some spectacular messes.  We’ve all seen horses who are heavy on the forehand or behind the bit because head position (“collection”) was desired at the exclusion of movement.  We’ve also seen horses that step behind while doing a turnabout for the same reason. 
In each case, it’s not about what the horse’s head is doing, but what the horse’s body is doing.  As noted above, physical manipulation of the head does not result in mastery of motion.  In fact, some of the worst disasters I’ve ever seen (as a riding instructor, clinician, or emergency response technician) occurred when an unfortunate rider made just this assumption.

So, rather than aim for having the head “in the right position,” instead focus on effectively rounding the horse’s back and getting the hind-end to engage.  In this case, the use of  seat and legs will have a far more potent influence on the position of the head than hands alone could ever hope to achieve.  It’s the head that balances the feet, not the other way round.

The Head Balances the Feet is a post from: Apolitically Incorrect. Copyright 2009 – 2010, Rob Oakes.

I like to have nice things and I enjoy browsing and shopping in tremendously stuffy stores.  I want people to think about the overall experience and quality,  and I have an extremely low tolerance for when they don’t.

Unfortunately, being a snob is substantially easier when you have the income and social standing to support it.  In what I consider to be one of the tragedies of existence, I have neither.  In a genuflection to reality, therefore, I take the approach of owning a very small number of high quality things.  Quality, not quantity.

While I try to apply this rule to most things, there is one area of my life where I make absolutely no compromises: horsemanship.  My tack needs to look, feel and hang a certain way.  Some of these preferences stem from the “need” to look a certain way, but many are practical.  I hold strong opinions about how things should be done and get more than a bit fussy when life doesn’t follow my lead.

Consider, for example, a specialized riding hackamore that I often use (seen modeled by my somewhat evil mare, Peekaboo).  I like for it to be made from yacht cord, with a 25 foot lead rope and rawhide touches and tassels. (Style is just as important as substance in most everything.)  While I might be willing to concede that my hackamore is a glorified halter, the various evolutions I’ve added are extremely important to me.  I’ve ridden quite a few colts, and I’ve found that spending the first 30 to 60 days in a halter helps develop a foundation that will last for the rest of the horse’s life.  The tugs, weighting and motions of the halter are first instilled on the ground and then transfer to work under saddle.  You can use a halter with 8 foot rein and 25 foot lead right from the very beginning without having to change tools and this can make a big difference in the horse’s overall development.

There’s just one problem: I’ve never been able to find a 35 foot lead made of yacht cord and I’m simply not willing to go with nylon.  (The yacht cord is important because I like its feel, weight, and durability.)  Additionally, no one makes a halter with rawhide and tasseled accents. (What can I say, I’m a sucker for horse hair tassels.)   Because no one sales the tack I want, I am left with only one alternative: I make it myself.

Hand made (by me) halters, headstalls, riata, and a large variety of other things made from rawhide (in addition to those made of string, leather and miscellaneous baling twine) all hang in my tack locker.  Each one was (more or less) lovingly crafted with an eye to detail and quality.  But even taking the route of the obsessive connoisseur doesn’t solve every problem.

Like … how can the materials for custom, hand-made tack cost more than the store-bought finished product?Don’t believe me?  Consider my quest for the perfect lariat (a handbraided piece of rawhide wonder known as a riata) some 60 feet in length.  I’ve been saving for rawhide so that I can braid it for a while now.  Naturally, it will be my third riata since I just can’t seem to keep my hands on the others.  The first one that I created was both spectacularly beautiful and according to a good braider friend of mine, utterly unusable.  Thus, it hangs in my office as decoration.  On the second round, I created a usable piece of kit (which quite unfortunately parted my company during a weekend roping clinic).

Thus, we are now on round three.  From the first two attempts, I have given up trying to find usable rawhide in my local area.  The local leather supplier largely pedals crap, and overcharges to boot.  My first experiment in buying hide from California was an utter disaster.  It was only after a great deal of searching and writing to every commercial braider in the Western US that I was finally pointed to a nice little website that sales quality stuff.  The catch?  It’s horrifically expensive and the supplier is often out of stock.  Apparently, there is a reason why most serious raw-hide braiders both treat and cut their own string.  Pity that I don’t really have the time, space, or overall desire to do so.  Gives new perspective to, “If you want it done right, do it yourself.”  More depressing, you can find a perfectly passable riata on e-bay for between $150 and $200 dollars (a little less than it would cost me to braid my own).

This situation doesn’t only apply to raw-hide or leather.  Oh no, getting hold of the rope of preference (double braided yacht-cord) is just as difficult.  There are only three stores in my area which will sale it by the foot, and each one overprices it horribly (often 2.00 per foot or more).  It’s even difficult to find it online for much less (about $1.60 per foot from u-braid it).  Given my taste for longer leads, it is essentially impossible to get rope cut for less than fifty dollars.  And yet, fifty dollars can buy a huge amount of crappy rope. Even worse, you can buy a Parelli hackamore for about $75.  What. The. Hell?

It’s just not fair.  Since when are raw materials more expensive than finished products?

I suppose that I could use inferior materials, but that would lead to an inferior product.  And inferior products are simply intolerable.  Truly, it is a curse to be gifted with superior taste.

Trials and Travails of a Tack Snob is a post from: Apolitically Incorrect. Copyright 2009 – 2010, Rob Oakes.

Note: Earlier this afternoon, I came across a note on a horsemanship list that inspired a bit of writing.  A very nice person was quoting a part of True Unity by Tom Dorrance.  This gave me the opportunity to reminisce a little bit and think a few relatively deep thoughts.  After I finished writing my response, I was quite taken with it (something doesn’t happen often) and I have, thus, decided to post most of it here.

Dear Margaret (name changed to protect the innocent),

While you may not know it, you just made my day. In the years since Tom and Bill Dorrance passed away, I haven’t heard or seen much about either one of them. They have dropped from the casual conversation of most horse people that I associate with, their books don’t come up with much frequency and I don’t often hear their names. With their passing, Ray Hunt solidly stepped into the role of horsemanship’s grandfather and became the appeal of ultimate authority. About the same time, Tom’s little blue book seemed to disappear. When trying to find a copy for a friend, I was alarmed to see that Amazon had it listed as out of print and “new” copies started from a heart stopping $115.

Thus, to see you citing it here does my heart good. While Tom’s wisdom and legend will never be forgotten, sometimes I worry that that the man will be. That includes his rather infuriating propensity for impenetrable utterances. (Speaking of which, try saying that last sentence six times fast!)

Your quote:

“Sometimes when a horse has had quite a little work and kind of gets up a sweat–I like to just stay on him and while he is cooling out–drying off–just let him kind of be there to explore a little. It’s so much better than if you just unsaddle him hot. I really like to do that if I have a chance.”

And question:

“What do you think he means by ‘explore a little’?”

Whenever trying to tackle cowboy wisdom, there are three things to keep in mind: 1) background, 2) immediate context, and 3) potential symbolism. People like Tom Dorrance, Ray Hunt, Buck Brannamen and other hard-core cowboys often assume that they are communicating with someone of the same background, that of a stockman. (Consequently, the genius of people like Pat Parrelli or Clinton Anderson was never in their message, but in the packaging. They were able to provide a layer between the source and the receiver that made things a little bit easier. Mark Rashid also does a tremendous job of making the ideas more accessible, though for completely different reasons.)

One of my best friends and mentors told me that having a cowboy background helps you to get inside the heads of these gentleman and allows you to arrive at the “message” a great deal more quickly. Having missed that particular boat by a generation (or more), I’ve always just taken his word on it. But I also came to appreciate one should approach their words of wisdom and writing (“True Unity” and “Think Harmony With Horses” in particular) a bit like one would the Bible or another really old text. That is to say: it requires a bit of work.

So, with that in mind, let’s tackle this particular nugget. First, the background: in big horse operations, many a hand finds himself saddled with more horses than he/she can possibly ride, this I know from firsthand experience.  Every summer from the time I was thirteen until nineteen, I would help the owner of a local ranch start off his new crop of colts. Including those taken in for the summer, there were typically between 10 and 15 horses a day that would need to be ridden. My job was fairly simple: take any potential falls so that the ranch owner or hands wouldn’t have to. To accomplish this job, I typically only had an hour for everything: grooming, saddle, warm-up, cool-down, and cleanup.

If you knock off ten minutes at the beginning to get the horse saddled and 15 minutes at the end for clean-up, that only means thirty-five minutes in the saddle per horse. Thirty five minutes is not much time. The situation only gets worse based upon the number of horses in your string. I know several local trainers who expect to ride between twenty and thirty horses a day. I’ll leave the math to you. It’s against this backdrop that Tom is speaking/writing. And this is why his words are full of gems like, “Take the time it takes which will make it take less time.” (I actually pulled that quote from a journal entry, August 1997.)

With that background. let’s move to the immediate context. So Tom thinks it’s a good idea to spend some quiet time at the end of a workout allowing the horse to explore. What might that mean? The horse is still saddled and the rider is probably still mounted. So, these moments of exploration might mean that you allow the horse to “drive.”  Maybe there’s something scary in the arena. Great! Rather than follow my typical proscribed strategy for dealing with such (ignore it), I might let the horse thoroughly mouth, step on, step under and “mosey by” this object. Or maybe there’s something interesting to see (like the green gate the horse has seen a thousand times). Or maybe you’ll take the chance to herd chickens, or chase children and dogs, or simply stare at the horizon. In each case, it appears that Tom is advocating that something be done with the time. Even if it’s constructively doing nothing at all. Again, put yourself in the position of the harried trainer who still has ten horses to ride, or the cowman who needs to sort and load his animals. In each case, stopping after the “work is done” might appear to be the most effective use of the cool-down when, really, it’s not.

There is another point that should be considered. Different things happen during every minute that we spend with our horses. There’s one string of experiences common to ground work and preparation for riding.  Another happens while you ride, and a third occurs when you cool down and put the horse away. Of the three, some of the most effective (and best) moments happen in the quiet of the cool-down. By giving the horse a chance to do things (explore, chew on, nudge, relax), you open the door to an entire aspect of the horse/human relationship that quite often gets ignored.   It is also in these moments that you polish particular rough edges.

Last, think about the symbolism of the word “explore.” Old cowboys are very particular in their choice of words and Tom Dorrance is even more particular than others I’ve met. Thus, when he chooses to use the word “explore,” that is because it best conveys his meaning. Consider: much of the horse’s life is spent being told what to do. Herd life is dominated by a hierarchy.  Horseback riding is dominated by the person. And while we make noises about a truly equal partnership, the simple truth is that horses are very accustomed to the top down mode of operation.

Explore implies that the human become more passive (often much more passive). Indeed, it almost sounds as though we let the horse take the lead and follow. This, also, happens to be something that doesn’t actually happen very often. As noted above, most of the horseback riding is about a human’s needs. If the horse were to truly have his way, it would probably involve a great deal of eating and not so much running around/jumping over things. You really do have to admit that silly little things like passage, piaffe, slide stops and spins don’t make a tremendous amount of sense from the horse’s perspective.

So, while “allowing the horse to take the lead” starts to get at Tom’s meaning, it’s actually more complicated than that.  You don’t allow the horse to completely take over, either.  In fact, you might need to encourage your horse to explore.  When given complete freedom, it is a rare animal that won’t head toward the nearest gate and the safety, quiet and companionship of the pasture or barn.  So, when I’m riding, I like to pay attention and see what things might interest the horse and then help him to investigate further (In addition to being slightly more passive, exploration is also about helping the horse to be curious and inquisitive.  Like you normally would, except more so.)

Exploration might mean that you linger at the tree stump and let the horse snuffle.  It might also mean that you just stand let the horse take lots of deep breaths. What it probably doesn’t mean is that you are going to do one more turnabout, or take one more jump, or practice loading in the trailer just “one more time” so that you can end on a perfect note.

At its heart, Tom’s advice seems to indicate that the horse continues to learn even though the “training” session is over. I would summarize it this way. “Cool down is a gift of quiet time. Use it wisely.”

Cheers,

Rob Oakes

“Just let him kind of be there to explore a little…” is a post from: Apolitically Incorrect. Copyright 2009 – 2010, Rob Oakes.

Yes, it is true that horses are deeply beautiful creatures: majestic, graceful, intelligent, and wonderful; even spiritual. Nevertheless, they aren’t mysterious or magical. Most who start out with horses often abandon the pursuit within a year, and even fewer remain after five years; and while I somewhat doubt some specific numbers I once heard cited (which claimed that the disenchanted were as high as 80%), I believe the trend. I also believe that an important reason why so many leave in frustration is that they never found the promised vision of sublime mystical perfection. The first time you mount a horse, the perfect moment immediately cracks and you are left with the grittiest parts of reality: horses are big, they have their own ideas, and those notions often don’t match ours. Further, when you sit on their backs, you are utterly at their mercy. This, of course, is to say nothing of the mud, dust, shit and miscellaneous smells. That can be a lot of reality to absorb in a single session.

Nevertheless, even among those who passionately pursue horsemanship, there is often a tremendous degree of stagnation. In my late teens and early twenties, I spent some time as a traveling horse trainer. In three-day spurts, I would work with five or ten people at a time. We would talk about concerns or problems and together we would struggle for a solution. From this experience, several things became clear: many people struggle with a few simple issues, and nearly all of those issues arise from a relatively small number of fundamental behaviors. The particulars were always different – which was what made the job interesting – but those behaviors arose from gaps in foundational knowledge. What is regrettable is that the holes were so unnecessary. At some point, I decided to try and do something about this (which is how this screed began life). Since good beginnings predict successful conclusions, I thought I might share a few observations that I wish others had levered at me. These include a few rules, a few guidelines, and more than a few relatively good suggestions.

A Few Rules

In horsemanship, there are few hard and fast rules. However, after careful reflection, I was able to produce three: 1) Don’t fall off. 2) If you do fall off, don’t die. 3) Remember that it all depends.

The first and second of these rules are self-explanatory. Horsemanship is a physical skill, and any physical skill carries with it the risk of injury. As a result, a shocking bit of good horseback riding is directly related to learning to maintain balance, control and position. In addition, like learning to ride a bike or play a sport, while some things of value come from contemplation and planning, at some point you simply have to participate. This might sound like an incredibly obvious point, but many people stagnate due to a fear of doing something wrong. They might be afraid of hurting their horse, or don’t trust the horse enough to let him mange his bit of the partnership. Either way, they’ve created an impenetrable roadblock to advancement. Improvement requires practice and practice will result in improvement. It’s a wondrous cycle. Even so, you will make sloppy mistakes. Just get over it and try harder next time.

The third rule is a bit more esoteric, but nonetheless, extremely important. In fact, it may be more important than the first two. You see, everyone has notions about how horses should be trained. Some are complementary, many others are not, and still others directly contradict the first set of notions. What is bizarre, however, is that most of these ideas work and just about all have a place in a successful toolbox. Some tools might not make sense except in a set of circumstances so remote that you will probably never use it. For example, during my first year of college, I worked in a veterinary hospital. One of the head technicians thought it important that everyone knew how to restrain a seriously injured horse. He also said that we would likely never use It since medication was substantially more effective. Well, about a year ago, I was staying in Western Wyoming. Sometime during the day, one of their yearlings became entangled in a nasty strand of barbed wire. Using my technique, several lead ropes and a great deal of care, we were able to restrain the horse and remove the wire.

Respect for the ideas and notions of others is a part of becoming an excellent horseperson. Merely because an idea or notion contradicts how you would do a task does not necessarily mean that it is wrong. Over time, you will develop the necessary experience, feel, and timing to determine which tool applies in which circumstance. At some point, it will be as natural as breathing. But even at that point, keep your mind open and evaluate the ideas of others. While not all ideas are equal in merit and importance, they all have value. As you learn, remember that most things in horses are relative. They depend on circumstance, background, current events and future goals.

Some Suggestions

With the rules out of the way, let’s move into a few guidelines and suggestions. Horsemanship is comprised of at least two distinct components: 1) the physical skills required to ride and work with horses and 2) everything else. As a result, to be a good horseperson, you first have to be a good rider; and horseback riding is not a skill that you can just pick up by watching or by experimenting alone. Ultimately, you will need someone knowledgeable to watch and provide feedback on what you are doing well and what isn’t working out: you will need to find a good instructor. Once you have found that instructor, then you will need to listen to her. Finally, you will need to take time to practice.

Find an Instructor

There are few decisions more important than choosing who will introduce you to horsemanship. This is not as simple as opening the yellow pages and choosing a person random. Riding lessons should both safe and fun. They should also provide you a good foundation for being around horses. There is more to horseback riding then getting on and learning how to balance, kick to go, and pull to stop. It all starts on the ground. You need to know how to catch your horse, groom him, saddle and bridle him, determine when the tack doesn’t quite fit, warm him up, cool him down, and hundreds of other equally “trivial’ things. Yet, there are few riding instructors who are willing to take the time to teach these minor points. Their inclusion can easily lengthen a thirty-minute riding lesson to well over an hour.

Further, there are no special qualifications to teach horseback riding. Anyone with an inclination can hang a shingle outside their door and charge for their time. Moreover, while there are groups that will certify riding instructors, a certification does not guarantee a quality experience. The worst riding lesson I ever had was taught by an instructor certified by five or six different organizations. A much better way to find a good riding instructor is to ask around. If you have friends who ride, start by asking them. Do they know anyone who teaches riding lessons for beginners? Take a visit to your l
ocal barn and speak with the trainer there. Ask the people who work at your local tack store and peruse the message board that likely hangs in the entranceway. Talk to your local blacksmith and equine vet. Try to find local riding clubs in your area, and then interrogate the members. If all else fails, you can go online and leave messages on bulletin boards/blogs specific to your area. If you diligently do your homework, then names will start to bubble up through the rather murky water of your horsemanship community.

At that point, start to contact the individual instructors. Kindly introduce yourself (or your child) and ask if you can audit a lesson. If the instructor says no or charges you, remove them from your list. If she says yes, however, take a half hour to go and watch. During this half hour, pay attention to how the instructor works with her student. Then think about how you best learn. Know yourself and how you are likely to respond to a situation. Will you be able to get along with this person? Can she engage you? How does she deliver feedback?

Then talk to the instructor’s students. Ask them what types of things they learn. Are they allowed time to practice their horsemanship skills between lessons? What is the barn atmosphere like? Are students allowed to help in simple barn chores like mucking stalls or turning horses out for exercise? What are the barn rules? What is its culture? What kind of events does the barn host? Is it a competition barn or a neighborhood barn? The answers to each of these questions will influence your experience and may even determine the overall direction you take.

Also remember that in the beginning, your ability to get along with the instructor is more important than their level of achievement. While it is always nice to learn from a world-class rider, it isn’t necessary. In fact, sometimes it isn’t even desirable. I’ve been privileged to meet world champions in reining, cutting, and barrel racing; I’ve known members of the Olympic dressage team. Despite their abilities and accomplishments, I wouldn’t let most of them near a novice rider. World-class riders are highly competitive, aggressive and extremely demanding. They have very little patience for error (both in themselves and in others). Combing that type of personality with a raw beginner is a recipe for disaster.

Instead, try to find someone who is both competent and patient. Is she kind, funny, or entertaining? Can she explain complex things in a simple and straightforward manner? Does she avoid highly technical terms and strange words? Do her actions and various habits have a good rationale? Will she keep you safe?

Throughout your time with horses, you will have many teachers. Your first instructor, however, will always be special. You will adopt her preferences, style, and mannerisms; often despite your best intentions. The way I hang my tack and keep my saddle stems directly from the person who first taught me to ride. If you make a good choice in your first teacher, these first steps will serve as a wonderful foundation upon which you can later build.

Listen and Learn

This is perhaps a good time to invoke my third rule, for I am about to contradict something that I’ve already said. Though it is important to respect the opinions of everyone, an open mind can often be a problem while you are first learning to ride. Once you have found the perfect person to teach you to ride, listen to her very carefully. Heed her advice and follow her instructions. By all means, speak with others and solicit their advice as well, but give deference to your teacher.

Back in the days when the foundations of buildings were set with large stones (rather than the steel reinforced concrete of today), the masons would create a pattern that the stonework should follow. These patterns were a self-repeating series that ensured that all of the stones fit together tightly. Occasionally, junior stonemasons might deviate from the pattern in some way. But over time, cracks in the foundation would first appear at the spots where the pattern deviated. It’s similar to the novice horseman, you need a solid and consistent foundation. A good horse instructor will do their best to provide this for you.

Though this might seem obvious, it is frightening how often it needs to be repeated. Here’s why: when I first learned to ride, I was told that a leg aid should be used on the side opposite of the turn. At a later point, a different instructor taught me that the aid should be used on the same side as the turn. It turns out, however, that both are true. A well-positioned leg on the outside of the turn can be used to move the front feet and a correctly positioned leg on the inside can be used to move the hind feet. A third variation can be used for to illicit a side pass, while a fourth can be used to begin a turn-about on the hind legs. In each case, the reins are used in a slightly different manner, which your instructor will also show you. Therefore, while you will eventually be taught the subtleties, that can’t happen until you know the basics.

The alternative is confusion and frustration. At one clinic I recently taught, there was a young woman who was having some major difficulties with her young mare. On the phone, she explained that it would buck, shy, or rear. In order to spend more time with the horse, I spent the day prior to the clinic and the first group session riding her horse. I found it to be a delightful little animal; not only was it well behaved and relaxed but also amazingly responsive and supple. In short, a perfect little animal to demonstrate the various maneuvers and techniques that I was showing the other riders.

In the afternoon, however, the same horse showed the exact behaviors that the young woman described over the phone. It was both tense and skittish. The reason was clear almost at once, as well. The woman was terrified of her horse, and as a result, spent most of her time manhandling the young animal. She used extremely harsh aids to encourage the horse to move while at the same time, keeping tension on the bit and using the reins for balance. This set of behaviors is both extremely common and disastrous. Yet, any attempts to explain why the horse was so different when her owner was riding were met with resistance.

The woman knew her horse and my “prescription was utterly and completely wrong.  It contradicted something that she had read and she wasn’t going to hear anything to the contrary. After some time, I found myself wondering, “Why has this person solicited my advice if she isn’t interested in hearing it?” Like this young woman, you will also read and hear things that appear contradictory. If you are confused, it is probably likely that you simply lack the context of when fact 1 is true and when fact 2 is true. Allow your instructor to help you make sense of these apparent contradictions. You are, after all, probably paying for her time.

Practice Often

Just like learning to play an instrument, you’ll never get any better if you don’t take the time to practice the skills you are learning. Practice is different from instruction. Instruction time is carefully supervised; practice time is more free form. That is, you get to pick the direction and goals. If you want to work on your balance, then that is where you concentrate your efforts. If you want to wander around and let your horse smell things, then you just do it.

A good instructor will allow both time for practice and a time for instruction. In the beginning, she may invite you to continue riding in the arena while she teaches another lesson. That way, she can offer suggestions or warnings should something get out of your control. When you become more advanced, however, you
might be given a block of time during the week where you can ride with friends. In some barns, you may be invited to lease a particular horse, or to help with its care in return to riding time. Whatever the specific arrangement, however, you will need to spend time thinking about and putting your new skills into practice. If you never get this opportunity, you are unlikely to improve. Golfers must hit balls to improve their swing and horse people must ride horses. It is simply how it is.

Surround Yourselves with Friends

While choosing a good instructor is important, having a group of friends with whom you ride is probably just as important. Horsemanship at its best is a social activity and it is more fun to ride with other people than alone. Depending on your interests, you might have a group with whom you trail-ride, or you might participate in competitions or shows. Either way, take time to practice with your friends too. Just like your riding instructor, they can help you grow and understand. They can offer input, advice and direction. More often, though, they will offer support.

Horses can be very frustrating. Sometimes they don’t behave, or have their own notions. Just like people, horses often have bad days. Everyone has a story about the horse that decided that it didn’t want to get into (or out of) the trailer. Good friends can prevent such a situation from going all to hell. Alternatively, they can be there to offer congratulations for when you win the big show, or successfully coach your horse across the flooding stream. While success feels great, it is even better when shared by those around you.

Conclusion

A life with horses is a wonderful pursuit, but it is much more than a hobby; and it isn’t for everyone. But in your journey to become an amazing horseperson, remember just these few things: horsemanship is a physical activity and you are going to make more than a few sloppy mistakes, choose your instructors with care and then listen to what they have to say, ride (practice) as often as you can, and surround yourselves with friends. Most importantly though, remember that just about everything is relative; it all depends. If you keep these simple guidelines in mind, you’ll go far.

So You Want to Learn to Ride is a post from: Apolitically Incorrect. Copyright 2009 – 2010, Rob Oakes.

Horse work was a wonderful privilege too, but after some hours sitting astride an animal, it felt good to get a change. God never intended for man to sit on certain bones for very long.

Along with the love of reading came a strong imagination and a love of creating my own stories. When I was a small boy, I can recall the sagas born, nurtured and let loose from the minds of myself and friends. In a time when the deserted block of city – half house, half field – seemed the expanse of an entire world; and when creatures of magic – faerie, elf, gnome, giant – walked the woods a stone’s throw away from my door. It was a time when empires, knights, indians and pirates arose, fought, loved and died before dinner and then it began again each morning. Some of those sagas (the lucky ones at least) found their way to paper.

The world in which I live consisted half of the real world of cars, television and modern bustle; and half in the world where the wildest forms of our imagination took form and walked. The phatasms of the mind were kind enough to relive their lives for our amusement and wonder. We believed every word, and somehow that magic stuck with us.

These changes came slow, so slow in fact, that I don’t think we ever noticed. We grew larger and with physical maturation came the enemy of all that is magical: experience. The magic of belief and the simplicity of childhood came to be just that – simple. Each of my cohort went his own way, trying to meet the needs and navigate the complexity of life.

As in all cases, the search for fulfillment is individual and my friends had to find it for themselves. Some looked for that in education, some in faith, others in interests. But a couple of things remained the same. The inner magic and satisfaction of childhood was replaced with a different, much deep seated need. This is an impossible thing to describe with words – like trying to describe a first kiss or thrill of experienced when you clear your first successful jump on a horse; guttural rumblings just don’t come together right.

But the need is something that everyone experiences some time in life. Some ignore it and move on, some get stuck on it. Some overcome it and find a “still spot” where they have some peace.

I might be an exception to that need. Put simply, I suppose that I never grew up. Much of the same magic and simplicity which filled my life as a child is still here. The imagination, the stories, the fantastic are still just as true. If you can believe it, you can see it. That’s one of the beautiful things about imagination, it opens windows long thought closed and revives friendships long thought dead. So, a word to the cautious reader. All the stories in this “collection” are true. You may not agree with the view, but that does not invalidate the events.

So in the best way that I know how, I extend an invitation. Come sit for a while and enjoy the world as I see it. Let the muscles unknot as you relax, wonder, look and think. Keep in mind, though:

Those attempting to find a motive will be prosecuted;
Those attempting to find a plot will be shot.
Those attempting to find a narrative will be killed until dead.

- The Author
September 15, 1998

The Collection – An Introduction (Of Sorts) is a post from: Apolitically Incorrect. Copyright 2009 – 2010, Rob Oakes.