Read Me

I've been a blog slacker (BAD blogger, BAD!) because things with Jet have been moving so smoothly, I almost felt like I was going to make my faithful readers barf with one more line of, "Another WONDERFUL session!" Unless I had something damn interesting to say to back it up. Not to mention Jill and Sally were out of town for 2 weeks, so Mom and I were concentrating a lot on trying to help out with barn maintenance.

As our journey as Jet's Mom and Grandma continues, he continues to fascinate me. While Mom was in Cabo for a week and I actually had THREE days off from work (after working 10 days straight with NO day off and didn't see Jet that whole time and actually broke down and cried in my office because I missed him so much), I spent them all at the ranch. Those days I was not at Shiloh, I spent every moment I was not at work either on the forum, or reading articles, completely immersing myself in Parelli teachings. By the time I was able to be with my boy, my brain was functioning as it never has in terms of horsemanship. Somewhere along the line, I stopped worrying so much about whether I was holding my carrot stick right, or phasing lightly enough, or holding the rope correctly. Those all factor into success, of course, but I realized that focusing more into Jet, and anything he was trying to tell me, then balanced out my concentration on how to effectively communicate back to him.

An example: he and I were standing in his pasture and I had been scratching his shoulder while he grazed, when he randomly abandoned his hay and walked to the middle of the field, positioning himself so that he was looking out at the "Parelli bushes" (where Ma and I prefer to play the games). I joined him and continued loving on him, in La-La land, when the question racked my brain: "Does he want to go in there?" Couldn't be. I even asked him, "Do you want to come out and play?" He continued staring out at the field, blinking, swishing his tail, until finally he decided to go back to the hay. I felt the message, "Fine, if we're not going anywhere, I'll just stuff my face." I ran and got his halter and decided, "If he does that again, we're going to the arena." He was eating and not too interested in me. I stood casually, looking around, and just waited. And then...he was there. Caught me, and stuck his nose right in when I opened up his halter. We had a FLAWLESS Patterns session.

I was quite proud of me. I had some very savvy moments. I'm slowly getting the hang of when it is appropriate to give Jets treats as an incentive (just one, in between scratches for other successes, for a real BIG success) so that he is interested in doing stuff, not wrestling me to the ground for the rest of the carrots. Jet also made some great progess with squeezing with a barrel. He didn't try to jump it, BUT:
He put his nose on it.
He rolled it an inch with his foot.
He squeezed between the barrel and the fence with no isues at all.
He squeezed between me and the barrel with no issues at all.
As we know with the LBI's, we take what we can get in small increments. I was thrilled just with the expression on his face as he squeezed around the obstacle. Both eyes were on me, ears forward. Standardly, Jet performs the games well, licks and chews, and appreciates the big reward of letting him do nothing when he's done well. This session, he was REALLY trying, putting in an honest effort, and completely engaged. I was flying high the entire rest of the day. He was just a doll. The horse that showed up that day was a total scholarly delight.

It continued like that through several more sessions over these last few weeks. Then yesterday, Mom and I decided to take him into the bushes for some weave and F8 work at the trot. We've arrived at that point - time to ask for a little more from him. Get some more life into him. He knows the F8 so well now, he falls asleep walking it.

Immediately I could tell that the angelic horse I had the week before was no where to be found. Jet wasn't in a bad mood by any means - he just decided that HE wanted to be the alpha this time. And when Jet gets it into his thick skull that he's the boss, he's...well...he's just a complete asshole.

Up until this point, this has scared the bejeezus (or as Mom and I like to call it, the Big Cheeses) out of us. He's an enormous horse, and he's so athletic and hot-blooded (this is what I wanted from the time I was 9 years old), when he gets riled up, he just gets possessed by the spirit of his great-great-great-great-great-great-grandsire, Man O' War. We're afraid for a few reasons. Afraid if we up our energy and phase 4 him, he'll get WORSE. Afraid he'll get mad at us and hate us for life. Afraid he'll kill us. You know, silly stuff like that.

So, Mom asked him lightly, politely, and very gently (the Jet way) to trot the weave. Apparently, he's so sensitive we need only THINK of asking him to trot because he shot off like a bat out of hell. Reared, bucked, farted, then broke into a trot fit for the track with a sour puss on his face. I hated his expression, but I was not the one with the CS or holding the leadrope this time. Mom was just happy he was trotting. When he broke gait and Mom merely clucked to remind him please don't break gait until I ask, he jumped taller than I've ever seen him do, did some sort of Lippizzan spin and kick out with both legs. Aimed RIGHT at Mom. Had she not been on the end of the 22, and was my height, he WOULD have killed her. It was inexcusable.
I still have thresholds with P4, but NO ONE messes with mi madre. I don't think he was TRYING to hurt her, but he sure wasn't showing any respect. Yet, I was not angry. I didn't want to punish him. I'm realizing in many ways, over and over, that punishment just does NOTHING. But backing up does. A big normie gripe with Parelli is that all we ever do is make horses back up, but watching the herd dynamics in his pasture, I have come to the conclusion that backing up has way more an effect on horses, particularly the dominant ones, than us humans can really fathom. He who backs up is the loser. And BOY did I phase 4. I was ready to back the boy into Pahrump if that's what it took for him to realize, "Shit, they really ARE the alpha mares." I said in my best Linda tone, "Wipe that look off your face!" As soon as Jet gave me both ears and eyes, I dropped the rope, smiled, let him think about it, turned around, and led him back to the cones. He wasn't going to get rubbed, because rubs are rewards for him. But I figured turning my back and putting the pressure off once he had a moment to think would be enough to assure him, "I'm not going to ever punish you, but we will NOT tolerate this behavior." I said to Mom, "I'm willing to bet now he'll offer you a gorgeous, light trot now."

Guess what?

However, it didn't mean he was a saint for the rest of the session. Or during his bath. No. Mom had to P4 him just as I did, tell him to wipe off his smirk, the whole nine yards. By the time he started doing his Ben Vereen act at the washrack, we were starting to run out of ideas. We were filthy, exhausted and reaching the end of our rope with his endless testing. Someone on the forum once mentioned it was important to leave an LBI first after you removed the halter. I have been determined to put that to the test. In the pasture, if Jet leaves before I do, I go and get him to come to me, then I leave before he has a chance to leave again. It's had a positive effect. Until this day, yesterday, he really was acting more respectful. But the old saying goes, you address the horse that shows up.

He was fairly well behaved when we got him back to the field, then I just BOLTED once his halter came off. I glanced back as I headed to the barn, and he was already buried in hay, sulking, as he always does when he loses a dominance game. And people wonder why my username is Spoiled Rotten Savvy. We purposely did not return to see him after that. We wanted to give him all the time in the world to process everything that had gone on.

On days like this, I have always been devestated for the rest of the day. Thoroughly convinced the horse hates me and I've completely destroyed the bond we've ALL worked so hard at creating. This time, my mind was calm. I felt our reinforcements and promises were the right things to do at the appropriate times.

But that didn't stop me from still being a basket case that I was on an ego. The real test would be today, when we returned to the pasture. It's always the next day, not the immediate aftermath. If he came to us, everything was fine. If he ran to the opposite corner, Mom and I had some major licking and chewing to do.

A friend I hadn't seen in awhile showed up to Shiloh. He hadn't met Jet yet, so I took him to the pasture to introduce him. We slipped between the fence, and the movement in the otherwise still paddock was sparked his curiosity enough to walk over and investigate. When he saw it was me, he whinnied.

He WHINNIED.

WHINNIED!!!!

A minute later, his head was in my arms.

A Tribute to Shiloh

Dave, Deonna and crew hosted a Shiloh BBQ last week that was an absolute blast! The ladies wore make-up and the guys brushed their hair - but you know we all would have been more comfortable in our paddock boots and cowboy hats!

Ma and me, or as Jet knows us: Grammy and Mommy.

Ah, who am I kidding? He knows us as Human Who Spoils Me and Human Who Spoils Me More.

Dave, a great Parelli-ite to have around when we get majorly stuck! Check out his blog on my list (Rookie and Numerous) and see how far he's come!

Deonna (left), THE BOSS, and Shiloh's best photographer, and Sharil, who adopted pretty Paint, Cochise (who was found wandering around a Las Vegas neighborhood!), and Borego, an OTTB thoroughly enjoying his retirement.

Sharil and Sally. Sally is Jill's mother, aka my OTHER personal hero.

Jill wasn't able to make it, but she was there in spirit, plus we vowed to hog-tie her to the hood of the car if necessary so she could be at the next BBQ on the 17th!

As I drove to work later that night, not caring that by 5am my legs would be cramping from exhaustion from being up so long, I got to thinking of how unbelievable of a place Shiloh truly is and how much the ranch has taught me.

Thanks to Shiloh, I've learned so much about the good, the bad, and the ugly of the horse world, and I soak up every bit of it as much as I can. Shiloh is a world in itself, a world that works tirelessly for the rights of those who cannot speak for themselves. It's a place where blood, sweat, and tears are put into caring for horses that so many no longer wanted, and trying to prove to those horses in every way that can be thought of that they are loved HERE, and HERE at Shiloh, they are valuable and welcome. Jill and Sally come up 7 days a week in the blazing summers, during the face-ripping winds of winter, in thunderstorms and flawless, sunny days with smiles on their faces and determination in their hearts. They welcome all new visitors and volunteers with warmth, always ready to answer any question, never making you feel like a fool, and somehow know the stories behind each and every one of the 160 animals that rule the 40 acres of desert Shiloh sits on. They put together a basic horsemanship class so that even someone with no experience can learn the basic fundamentals of safety and enjoy the horses. Sally and Jill travel all over the country in the plight to end horse slaughter, bid against killer buyers at auction to bring home horses that later become adopted, proving to the skeptical time and time again that horses on feedlots are NOT always the broken and dying, but more often than not the vibrant and sound, who would make for someone the ultimate trail plodder or roper or jumper.

And then there are the volunteers. Some of us study Parelli, some of us follow Clinton Anderson, we may be traditional English riders, or we may be die-hard Western riders - it just doesn't matter. It's not about our preferred training methods. It's about the horses. It's about providing for horses that no one wanted. It's about keeping them healthy, safe, and happy. Every volunteer and visitor is appreciated - Jill and Sally thank everyone over and over. For me personally, thanks is not deserved. I don't do nearly enough, and I'm not up there nearly as often as I wish I could be. Even on the days where we just give Jet a carrot and pat on the nose so we can dedicate our time to the other horses still looking for their forever homes, I feel like I should have done more that day. And yet, there is no attitude of who-did-what, who-did-more, who-did-nothing between the girls nor the volunteers. Shiloh is MY sanctuary as much as it is for the horses. One of the reasons I love being there the most is because it's a reminder of how GOOD people can be. Shiloh is proof that there are people out there who don't do it for money, glory, power, or fame. They do it because they love it. Because the real satisfaction comes from something as simple as fixing a faulty gate to something as huge as bonding with a horse who becomes your best friend for life. The satisfaction comes from doing something nice. Knowing you helped a horse (or a person) that day. Shiloh reminds me that the world isn't COMPLETELY full of corruption, greed or daggers.

When I daydreamed about moving to Vegas and getting back into horses, I never expected that I would become so committed to a rescue. But I am most thankful to be a part, however small, of such a valiant effort. It always sits in the back of my mind that too many of the animals up here arrived because no one cared what happened to them. Because I can't imagine my life without them.