A Winter's Walk

It’s been a long, cold, icy winter, and there have been many days when I’ve dreamt of tunnelling into a cave to hibernate. 

Instead, on “nicer” days, I force myself to get out for a walk.  I’d like to take Muscade with me, but at 15, she can’t handle walking for more than a few minutes at a time.  So, for company, I decided that this winter, I’d bring the horses with me on my walks.  That way, we’d all get some exercise, and I could work on the horses’ ground manners at the same time.

The first time I took Maggie out for a walk was a beautiful sunny afternoon sometime in December.  There was lots of fresh, fluffy snow on the ground, so I free-lunged her for awhile in Murray’s paddock first (which, as it turns out, is a great stand-in for a round-pen).  She trotted and cantered happily through the snow, and managed to work up a bit of a sweat.  I planned on a nice walk together to cool her down.

Across the road from our place, a path had been plowed through our neighbour’s hayfield.  It leads to the woods, to an area where logs are cut and trees harvested.  The packed snow made for perfect footing, and I was curious to see how far into the woods the path went.  So, I secured a wool cooler to Maggie’s back, tied the rope halter around her head, shoved a handful of treats into my pocket, and off we went.  While we walked, I worked with Maggie, practicing getting her to halt or walk on command, with very little pressure from me.  I praised her for her efforts with treat after treat.  We were relaxed, and enjoying ourselves. 

Once we crossed the field to the tree-line, the path narrowed a bit.  De-limbed trees were stacked in neat piles on either side of what was left of the path.  I wondered for a minute whether it was a familiar scene for Maggie—who I was told had been used to haul logs out of the woods before we got her.  We walked on for another 30 feet or so, and came to the end of the plowed path.  The road itself continued through the trees and around a turn, but it hadn’t been cleared recently.  I could see sunlight streaming in through the trees where the path started to curve, and I wondered whether there was a clearing ahead.  It was such a beautiful day that I didn’t feel ready to turn back.  So, I urged Maggie forward into the un-packed snow.    

I didn’t realize just how deep that snow would be.  After a few steps, I tripped on what I assume was a log, invisible to me under the snow.  Maggie and I both stumbled blindly over it and onto the other side.   Suddenly, we had dropped down into snow that was up to my waist, and Maggie’s belly.  We staggered on for another 20 or 30 feet, trying to find more stable footing, but the ground was uneven, and the snow too deep.  We wiggled and waded on the narrow path, and managed to turn around to face back toward the field.  That’s when Maggie’s homing instinct kicked in and she showed me what 1300 pounds of pulling power can do.  She dropped her head, threw her shoulders forward, and with a squeal, she lurched ahead in a leaping motion.  She built up momentum and started hauling herself out through the snow like that in a very efficient fashion.  The only problem was that I couldn’t keep up.  I felt her lean into the rope halter as I grabbed the nylon lead with both hands, but I lost my grip as I stumbled clumsily through the snow. The lead slipped through my hands and I had visions of Maggie running free through the field, careening across the road, and then falling on our icy driveway. 

Luckily, there was a knot in the end of the lead, and I grabbed for it as I turned my head to avoid the snowballs flying through the air in Maggie’s wake.  My arm was yanked forward as Maggie bounded ahead of me. I yelled “whoa,” and hung on with all my strength.  She kept going, towing me through the deep snow as she went.  Finally she reached the buried log.  She gave one last leap, and landed on solid footing, dragging me with her.  But my feet got tangled in the log and I fell onto my knees.  I expected Maggie to pull the rope from my hand at any moment.  But she didn’t.  She just stood there with swirls of steam rising from her sweaty body, her sides heaving from her efforts. She waited while I got to my feet and caught my breath.  Then she turned her head toward me with a look that clearly said “don’t I get a reward for hauling your useless two-legged body out of the snow?”  So, I reached into my pocket and fished out several tiny treats for her.  Then, with jelly-like legs (at least on my part), we walked calmly back to the barn. 

Maggie's Trick is no Treat for Murray

There's no question that Murray outranks Maggie in our three-horse-herd. He's less bossy than he used to be, but he still spends much of his days herding her from hay pile to hay pile, or forcing her to keep him company in the run-in shed while he naps. Overall Maggie doesn't seem to mind, but lately she has found a way to exert a bit of revenge.

Early one October Morning:

It's a morning like any other. As I walk into the feed room to prepare the grain, the horses begin their "feed me" rituals. Jaava pins her ears, shakes her head, trots around her stall, and rears several times. Maggie pins her ears and starts biting and licking the metal bars on Murray's stall wall. Murray stands patiently, but his nostrils quiver as he emits his "I'm hungry" noise. It's a whisper-like, high-pitched, not-at-all-masculine whinny.

Murray gets the most grain, and he's a slow eater, so he always gets fed first. I walk into his stall with a bucket of crumbly, soaked beet pulp in one hand, and a bucket of dry, hard, green pellets in the other. Murray spins around and follows excitedly as I walk toward the feed tub in the back corner of his stall. When he's halfway there, and at the point closest to Maggie's door, she stretches her head and neck close to him, then exhales abruptly through her nose to let out a sharp, loud snort. It's the noise horses make when they sense danger.

Murray, who's paranoid on the best of days, wastes no time in reacting to this call-to-arms. He abandons his breakfast, leaps sideways, sprints out the backdoor of his stall, and takes up an alert position in the centre of his paddock. His head is raised high. His ears are pricked, and his eyes scan the horizon for the invading army of enemies.

I turn back to Maggie to see if I can figure out what's caused this state of high anxiety. But she doesn't have the wide-eyed gaze of an anxious, spooked horse. The only thing she's staring at is me, and my buckets of grain. She shakes her head at me imploringly, rattling the long braids of her mane, so I give a shrug and go about dishing out the rest of the morning meal.

Murray, however, is determined not to be caught off guard. He stands outside for a few minutes, then eventually trots back into his stall. He picks at his breakfast distractedly, turning to look out his door between mouthfuls.

I forget about the incident until the same thing happens again a few days later. Just as Murray turns to follow me to his feed tub, Maggie again lets out a loud, urgent snort, and the whole scenario repeats itself. I start to wonder whether perhaps Maggie is frightening Murray on purpose.

Then, a few days after that, on a warm, sunny morning, it happens again, though in a different context. This time, the horses are out together in the larger paddock. I'm in the riding ring below, driving our truck around, and around, and around, in an effort to drag the ring and smooth the footing. I look up at the paddock and smile when I see Murray laying down for a snooze in a pile of hay. With his legs tucked under his body, he rests his chin on the ground, and closes his eyes. Maggie stands nearby to "guard" him. It's a peaceful scene.

The peace doesn't last long. After a few minutes, Maggie steps in even closer to the unsuspecting, dozing Murray. She then stretches out her head, closes her mouth, and snorts loudly through her nose. Murray's head snaps up instantly. Then, for dramatic effect, Maggie widens her eyes and trots two steps forward toward the fence-- purportedly staring at some immediate threat lurking beyond the treeline. Without any care for his arthritic joints, poor, old Murray leaps to his feet. The moment he does, Maggie relaxes. She turns back toward the hay pile and starts eating, as though nothing has happened. Murray simply stares perplexedly at the woods in search of a non-existent enemy. I swear there's a smirk on Maggie's face.

That was a few weeks ago. I don't know how often Maggie employs her decoy snort outside. But inside, she now gives a hearty "breakfast snort" every few days. And poor Murray falls for it every single time.

"Ponying" the Pony

My goal is to ride all three horses at least three times a week. Ideally, I'd like to ride them all four times a week, but between my work schedule and the nasty weather we've been having, that just seems a bit unrealistic.

The one who suffers most from my lack of time is Jaava. I ride Murray to keep the "old guy's" lungs opened up and his arthritis at bay. I ride Maggie to keep her quiet and workable for Dave. Then, if I have time, I ride Jaava. I really enjoy riding her, but I'm a bit big for her stubby pony legs, so I don't like to work her too hard under-saddle (at least that's my excuse). However, when I saw her waddle in from the pasture the other day, I realized she needs more exercise. I vowed to either lunge or ride her every day...even if it's just for 20 minutes.

Saturday June 11, 2011
It's a warm, sunny, Saturday evening. I worked all day, and am now putting the rest of my energy to use riding Maggie. I didn't lunge Jaava this morning, and it will probably be almost dark by the time I get Maggie put away. I start to feel guilty. It was just yesterday that I vowed to give "the pony" more exercise.

As Maggie and I serpentine around the ring at a trot, my mind drifts, and I try to think of ways to make more time for Jaava. Then, I get an idea.

I yell up to Dave who's puttering about in his workshop. I ask him to catch Jaava in the pasture, and bring her down to the riding ring. It's almost supper time and Jaava thinks she's coming in for her evening meal. She seems a little bewildered though when Dave turns her down the hill toward Maggie and me.


Dave leads Jaava up to where Maggie and I are standing in the centre of the ring. Maggie nickers softly and turns her head to nuzzle the pony's nose. Jaava gives a short sniff in response, then turns her head to look up at me. She's likely trying to figure out what's going on. I reach down and take the leadline from Dave's hand. I hold it in my right hand, along with my right rein, and I nudge Maggie with my legs. She moves forward obligingly and I hope the pony will follow. The lead line tightens and Jaava startles a bit as she's tugged forward alongside of Maggie.

We walk like this for a minute or so, then I tell Maggie to "whoa". Both she and Jaava instantly come to a halt. I'd forgotten how well Jaava listens to voice commands. I prepare for us to walk forward again, but this time I say "walk on" out loud so Jaava will know what to expect and won't be unwittingly dragged forward like she was the first time.


We do a few more walk-halt transitions together, along with some turns and circles. The "girls" seem to be getting the hang of this side-by-side routine, so I figure it's time to step it up a notch. I cluck my tongue and say "t-rot" in the same sing-songy voice I use when I'm lunging them. Jaava's hesitant, and likely a bit confused, but after a lag of a second or two (during which time Maggie picks up a trot), her pony legs propel her into the faster gait as well. She has to move at a pretty good clip to keep up with Maggie, even though she's on the inside. This will give her a workout.

After a few minutes, we've mastered this one-rider pas-de-deux, and are managing some nice walk/ trot and even trot/ halt transitions. Maggie seems thrilled to have a companion with her in the ring. Jaava, however, turns her ears sideways and slightly back, and seems thoroughly humiliated at having to trundle along in Maggie's dusty wake. I think it will be awhile before we're ready to do canter work together, but at least I'm able to spend 15-20 minutes exercising two horses at once.


Oddly enough, the one who seems most disturbed by this new training routine is Murray. With both girls in the ring, he has no one to boss around. He whinnies frantically, and, alone in his pasture, he abandons the grass and trots back and forth along the fence line that overlooks the riding ring. I'm not too worried about his behaviour though. When I think about, I guess it's good. This way I'm actually exercising all three of them at once.