A Salute to Imprint Training

I looked at the calendar yesterday and realized that our 2007 filly, Tiffany, would be 3 months old. "Better get halter-training back on to her schedule," I said to Ed (horse-husband extraordinaire). "It'll be time to wean her before we know it, and we'll want her to have more 'handle' on her when it's time." Shortly after birth, as part of the imprint-training process, I'd haltered her and taught her to yield to pressure on her face. I repeated all when she was a day old. But since then, she'd been out in the pasture with her mom and other horses, just hangin' out and being a horse-kid. I wondered how much rodeo we'd be in for when I got filly and dam into the barn last night.

Rodeo? No way. The whole episode was basically a non-event. I crooked an arm around the filly's neck, slipped on the halter, and applied lead-rope pressure to say "come left." And that's exactly what she did. Same thing going to the right. No fuss, no fight--she remembered her imprint lessons. Encouraged, I reached down and picked up and held a front foot, as I'd done when she was just minutes old. She didn't care--not about that foot, nor about the other three when I reached for them. Next, I sacked her out with a towel. Ditto on response. There really wasn't one, because she already knew not to be afraid.

Tiffany is the third foal I've imprint-trained at birth, and they've all been pretty much like her about these necessary matters.
My salute to Dr. Robert Miller, DVM, who pioneered the whole imprint-training concept for horses. He helped revolutionize the way young horses get their starts in domesticated life.

Pretty great.

Thanks for the Hay Reports!

I've been away from blogging for a bit, tending to those summertime horse and ranch chores that really eat up the free hours. But it sure is interesting to dial back in and read people's comments about how they stock in their hay. It's obviously an individualized process.

Ed and I were two fairly whipped middle-aged horse lovers by the time we got a 10-ton load off the truck and restacked. But ah, that feeling of knowing you have the stash in the barn....ain't it a great one?

Behind the Lines (Driving Lines, That Is)

Yesterday, before the hay truck arrived (see my previous post), I got to indulge in a favorite annual event--the local Sunday drive and picnic hosted for people who enjoy travel by horse-drawn vehicle. I don't happen to own a driving horse, but am fortunate to have friends who do. I look forward to any chance offered to take the lines (it's poor form to call them "reins") and be the driver of a vehicle. Especially at this event, which involves driving through woods and mountain meadows. It's not every day that most of us get to test our horse-driving skills at all, much less outside the confines of a training arena or a track.

I learned the rudiments of driving as a kid, when my paternal grandfather was still alive. He kept a team of draft horses, even after his days of horse-farming were over, and trained his saddle horses to drive, too. He also was an avid collector of harness and horse-drawn vehicles. These days, I enjoy seeing what people come up with for driving horses and rigs for the Sunday drive. I've seen everything at this event from four matched spotted draft horses hitched to a fancy buckboard, to a lone mule pulling a manure spreader!

If you ever want a lesson in how different horses have a different feel to their mouths, sit up behind two or more driving horses and feel their mouths through the lines. There's nothing else quite like it.

Hay, You

We all know that hay pretty much goes with the own-a-horse equation. And those of us who don't board our horses out, but keep them at home instead, know this as well: The finding, transporting, stacking, and rehandling of hay is right up there on the Major Chores list. And then there's the matter of paying for it.

I have this on my mind because today's the first day of our personal haying season. We'll be bringing the first of this year's locally grown hay crop into the barn, for the coming winter. And since good hay weather is also hot weather, there'll be some sweatin' by the oldies at our place today. Hay season: That's been the meaning of summer for me, ever since I was a kid, growing up on a farm. If you weren't cutting and baling hay, you were hauling, loading and unloading it, or feeding and cleaning up after the crew that did, and you worked at it until you had a whole winter's supply for your animals. That's how I still approach it.

So much for afternoons at the lake, at least for the next spare-time while.

Now I'm curious about how YOU go about laying in a hay supply. There's a big range between one bale bought at a time, from a feed store, to having a semi load delivered and stacked by a paid crew. When it shows up on your to-do list, what does "Get Hay" mean to you?

Sentimental Journey

I just got home from attending the 60th National Appaloosa Show in Oklahoma City. (I didn't go to show, but to take in the scene and catch up on activities in the Appaloosa breed.) With its history reaching back to the 1940s, the National Appaloosa Show is the longest-running single-breed horse show in the country.

And coincidentally, it's also the first major show I ever attended. I couldn't help reminiscing about that while at this latest version. The show was nowhere near its 60th anniversary then, though. My first-trip year was 1970, when I was 16 years old. And things sure have changed since then.

Back then, people showed their horses outdoors, not inside an air-conditioned coliseum, and thought nothing of it. They slept in tents or pickup campers, and thought nothing of that, either. No one had any notion of today's luxurious living-quarters trailer with five- and even six-figure price tags. At the 1970 National Show, my family (and many others) lived on peanut butter or bologna sandwiches, or else on hot dogs and burgers cooked over charcoal. I saw little evidence of that at the 60th show I just attended. But I did see some long lines at all the popular restaurants.

In 1970, I wore outfits sewn by my mother and grandmother, and was proud to have more than one. I won a spot on the national queen's court while wearing those homemade clothes. Last week, I saw little in the way of homemade couture. In its place were exhorbitantly expensive designer duds, even on the littlest kids. Fake tails that swept the ground? We didn't have those 37 years ago. Instead, we shortened our horses' tails with pocketknives, and showed them with roached manes. It was a simpler time for equine hair care, that's for sure.

During that long-ago show from my youth, local people treated it like a circus or fair, and turned out in droves to see it. There were fewer entertainment options in those pre-digital days, so it was notable when a big horse show came to town (Huron, South Dakota, in this case). Last week, the stands were largely empty. Exhibitor clans and their trainers watched the classes, but that was really about it. The townspeople were tuned in elsewhere.

I'm glad I've gotten to be around long enough to have witnessed such an expanse of change. But I also can't help wishing that a few things hadn't changed quite so much.

Horse Stuff on the 4th

Do you plan your July 4 holiday around some kind of horse activity? I've done so pretty much since I was a kid, when if we weren't riding in the local rodeo-day parade, we were saddling up for a horse show or trail ride. This year, I'll be on my way to the National Appaloosa Show in Oklahoma City (not to compete, but to give a presentation). Once that bit of work is done, I'll indulge in as much "spectating" as time allows. Seems like a brand of horse-gal fun to me.

I'm a little sorry I won't be out doing something with my own horse, just because he goes so well with the whole stars-and-stripes theme. With a name like All American Choice, you can just about imagine his red, white, and blue wardrobe!