Jumping with Ted

Revelations about riding come and go. You reach a plateau in your training and frustration -- months of frustration -- can set in. Practicing the same movement over and over makes one sour and crabby. It was during just such a period that Ted and I discovered jumping.

The first time we tried it, it was an excuse to find someone, anyone, that could help me get Ted into the canter. Ted cantered for everyone else, but me. I asked a hunter jumper trainer if she would instruct me. This instructor is an affable woman who is liable to laugh rather than to yell while teaching. I felt safe making mistakes. She had the patience to see that I learned to do everything the right way.

The first time I took a lesson with her, she realized I did not really know the basic cues for trot and canter. She addressed this with me immediately. It was a revelation. Trotting and cantering became a part of our routine. Before that it was hit and miss. I would attempt a trot, but frequently the exercise turned into kicking, bucking and rearing.

(At first, I thought this reaction on Ted's part was irritation with my inept riding, but now I think he had managed to get rid of his amateur riders with this behavior. But not me. I stuck to it and inch by inch, I have been able to get him forward without a fuss.)

After I learned to trot and canter, we started trotting poles. Ted could pick his legs up and do the exercise, but had to look at each pole while he did it. Eventually we graduated to cantering poles. Ted relaxed and began to work through these automatically.

I was given an old stirrup leather to grab onto for balance and began to learn the half-seat. Initially when I grabbed the stirrup leather around Ted's neck, I would lose the reins entirely. There I would be, standing in the stirrups with no reins. Despite what it sounds like, I was thrilled. I was learning to balance on my horse, something I had not really achieved in dressage.

The first time Ted and I took a jump, my heart leaped out of my chest. I was afraid and just a bit over stimulated -- excited. I started laughing and couldn't stop. Ted smiled. It was fun.

Gradually we began to work over a series of jumps, and Ted, ever precise, Ted began to gage where he should be with each jump. He moved forward on his own without being asked. Suddenly I had a forward horse. He was just as excited as I was about jumping.

Ted has no reservations about the work at all. When we head to the jumping arena he is willing, eager. To get to the arena we must walk down a long scary gravel road with palm trees. At first the dry rattle of the trees was a problem, he would bolt and buck his way back to the barn. Now he, more often than not, keeps it together until we get to the arena.

Last week, Ted misjudged a jump and blew through it, knocking it over. He was so aggravated, he bucked his way over the second. It scared me. My instructor asked me to take him over the same jump again. He did not misjudge it the second time. He went over with ease and just a bit of extra height. It was an act of faith that I agreed to take Ted over a second time. He rose to the occasion. This small exercise changed the dynamic in our relationship. He trusts me more. I feel safer on his back.

I watched my instructor take Ted over a series of jumps he hadn't gone over before. She asked him to turn quickly, to switch leads and to trust her judgement. He refused one jump, a slotted barrier that was set at an angle. She took him over again. He bent way over to look at it while he was going over and then kicked out. Was it going to eat him? The next time she sent him over it, he didn't even look. The exercise was eye opening. I could see the level of trust he had in her. He went over all the jumps at speed and he looked happy doing it. What was even more pleasing was he looked like an natural. He didn't look like a dressage horse out for a bit of a change of scene. He looked like a jumper.

What have we learned? Ted has a forward button. He has a naturally exuberant nature -- it has a lot to do with the work. I have learned to balance in the half-seat. I have learned to trust a horse I was once sure was out to get me off his back. I have learned to be quiet and to put my hands together and hold them still for straightness.

We have both learned the joy of doing something together that is mutually satisfying. Our attitude has changed. Ted is trying more and more to please me and I him. In the dressage arena, I have more horse than I have ever had before. In the dressage arena, I am a less brittle rider. My hands are quieter, my seat better and my temper less of a monument.

Thank you to Christy for the photos!

Comments

[Lambj]

What a great story! I think you've found a key to working with Ted, and it sounds wonderful. I rode western, so never jumped. I'd be scared.