Dr LeCrone
03-30-2006, 09:32 AM
Several years ago while on vacation my wife, daughter and I decided to rent horses and take a ride along a scenic mountain path one beautiful summer afternoon. Because we knew little about horses and were inexperienced riders, we decided to hire a guide for a ride that was to last about an hour.
After arriving at the stables the guide began to pick out horses for us, asking us questions about our riding experience and about whether we wanted to go along well-traveled paths or seek more adventurous trails. We assured him we wanted a ride along an established path that the horses and the guide were familiar with.
My daughter, who was only 5 at the time, was given a horse that seemed to be very docile. The guide indicated the larger horse given my wife was “mild-mannered and accustomed to the trail with no history of being spooked or provoked by novice equestrians.”
Now the largest horse of the three, picked for me, was called Old Blue, and the guide declared him to be the perfect animal on which to pursue this adventure.
With everyone saddled up and eager for the ride through the beautiful aspen trees high in the mountains, we climbed aboard our mounts. The journey began fairly uneventfully, with the guide taking the lead and me bringing up the rear.
We had gone no farther than quarter-mile when Old Blue decided to graze on some succulent green grass along the trail. As my sturdy steed bowed his head and proceeded to eat, I took a firm grip on the reins and attempted to communicate verbally and non-verbally.
“Old Blue,” I said, “you are not to eat. You are to follow the other horses.” After seeing that my attempts at influencing Old Blue were unsuccessful, the guide left his positive at the front of the procession and returned to instruct me on the proper techniques to keep Old Blue moving ahead.
He told me to pull firmly on the reins, and, if necessary, to kick Old Blue in the flanks with my heels. My lack of familiarity with this situation caused me to wonder: How firm was firmly, and, how hard do you kick a horse in the flanks without being cruel to the animal?
I assumed that pulling up the reins tightly and kicking the horse in the flanks was more a method of encouragement than of punishment; so, I perhaps was timid in following the guide’s instructions. The result was that Old Blue moved a few steps ahead, then resumed his grazing by the side of the trail. This scenario went through about three cycles and I decided that either I wasn’t strong enough, mean enough or persistent enough to get my message across to Old Blue.
At this point the guide returned to the rear of the procession again and proceeded to slap Old Blue on the flanks. Old Blue began moving forward, and the guide told me that Old Blue now had the message and would be compliant.
After another half-mile, Old Blue came to a complete standstill in the middle of the path and began turning his head and neck back toward the direction of the stables. I tried all the techniques again, pulling on the reins, kicking him in the flanks and I even considered taking off my belt to whip him on the flanks. But Old Blue seemed to know he had me at his mercy.
At that point I thought about dismounting and leading him on the trail, but the path was quite narrow and the drop to the mountain stream below was several hundred feet. Besides, my daughter and wife were out of sight on the trail in front of me. What if Old Blue retaliated by pitching me down the mountain?
As I sat on the horse pondering my predicament, it suddenly occurred to me that this was a situation many of us deal with in life when we come to a point at which whatever vehicle we are using to help us along the path we are traveling quits responding to our efforts and seems to leave us in limbo.
I don’t usually leave my readers in limbo, either, but I will have to this time and will continue with the saga of Old Blue and how I got off the mountain and off the horse in my next visit with you.
Harold H. LeCrone, Jr., Ph.D. Copyright 1987
After arriving at the stables the guide began to pick out horses for us, asking us questions about our riding experience and about whether we wanted to go along well-traveled paths or seek more adventurous trails. We assured him we wanted a ride along an established path that the horses and the guide were familiar with.
My daughter, who was only 5 at the time, was given a horse that seemed to be very docile. The guide indicated the larger horse given my wife was “mild-mannered and accustomed to the trail with no history of being spooked or provoked by novice equestrians.”
Now the largest horse of the three, picked for me, was called Old Blue, and the guide declared him to be the perfect animal on which to pursue this adventure.
With everyone saddled up and eager for the ride through the beautiful aspen trees high in the mountains, we climbed aboard our mounts. The journey began fairly uneventfully, with the guide taking the lead and me bringing up the rear.
We had gone no farther than quarter-mile when Old Blue decided to graze on some succulent green grass along the trail. As my sturdy steed bowed his head and proceeded to eat, I took a firm grip on the reins and attempted to communicate verbally and non-verbally.
“Old Blue,” I said, “you are not to eat. You are to follow the other horses.” After seeing that my attempts at influencing Old Blue were unsuccessful, the guide left his positive at the front of the procession and returned to instruct me on the proper techniques to keep Old Blue moving ahead.
He told me to pull firmly on the reins, and, if necessary, to kick Old Blue in the flanks with my heels. My lack of familiarity with this situation caused me to wonder: How firm was firmly, and, how hard do you kick a horse in the flanks without being cruel to the animal?
I assumed that pulling up the reins tightly and kicking the horse in the flanks was more a method of encouragement than of punishment; so, I perhaps was timid in following the guide’s instructions. The result was that Old Blue moved a few steps ahead, then resumed his grazing by the side of the trail. This scenario went through about three cycles and I decided that either I wasn’t strong enough, mean enough or persistent enough to get my message across to Old Blue.
At this point the guide returned to the rear of the procession again and proceeded to slap Old Blue on the flanks. Old Blue began moving forward, and the guide told me that Old Blue now had the message and would be compliant.
After another half-mile, Old Blue came to a complete standstill in the middle of the path and began turning his head and neck back toward the direction of the stables. I tried all the techniques again, pulling on the reins, kicking him in the flanks and I even considered taking off my belt to whip him on the flanks. But Old Blue seemed to know he had me at his mercy.
At that point I thought about dismounting and leading him on the trail, but the path was quite narrow and the drop to the mountain stream below was several hundred feet. Besides, my daughter and wife were out of sight on the trail in front of me. What if Old Blue retaliated by pitching me down the mountain?
As I sat on the horse pondering my predicament, it suddenly occurred to me that this was a situation many of us deal with in life when we come to a point at which whatever vehicle we are using to help us along the path we are traveling quits responding to our efforts and seems to leave us in limbo.
I don’t usually leave my readers in limbo, either, but I will have to this time and will continue with the saga of Old Blue and how I got off the mountain and off the horse in my next visit with you.
Harold H. LeCrone, Jr., Ph.D. Copyright 1987