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Chuffa, chuffa, chuf, chuf, chuf

What does one do when a horse gets spooked by a moose and refuses to listen? This was a question that I could not seem to answer by myself. An incident that took place on January, 10, 2009 convinced me that I should ask others. In this case, I asked for advice from Susan Tilly, who was then the President of the Alaska Icelandic Horse Association.

Within a two-week time-frame, we experienced a 60 degree temperature change, so I stopped riding. I figured that -30 degree temperatures would be hard on the horses’ lungs, and +30 degree temperatures would be hard on their legs, should they slip on the glare ice and fall.

A few days after the thaw, our farrier had removed Tinni and Raudi’s ice shoes, trimmed their feet, and put the shoes back on. All, including Siggi, who just got a trim, behaved very well. After he left, I took Tinni out. We crept around the loop at a very slow pace, and Tinni picked his way around the slickest sections. I didn’t take Raudi out because she wouldn’t be as careful.

Yesterday, at about 1 p.m., the plow went by, scraping away the topmost ice layer, and putting down gravel. After, I ran down to the road check it out. A long, wide white road, with random black sprinkles remained. I did a hop, skip, and a jump, because I now had my tolting track back.

Before the plow was even out of earshot, I’d tacked up Raudi. Her weather-related incarceration has been hard on us both. I’ve been trying to keep her amused by working on lunging off-line and trotting around a quasi barrel racing setup. Raudi’s problem (or mine, I’m not sure which) is that she’s easily bored. Once she’s got some aspect or another of groundwork down, she refuses to do any more, or does something really inane. For example, after I taught her (using the clicker), to pick up the crop, she raced off with it and would not give it back.

I mounted Raudi and lead her to the road. All was fine, that is until a quarter of a mile from home when a moose appeared. Raudi, who saw it before me, did a 360 degree turn and began chuffing like a train. I looked to my right and saw a large female moose. Never mind that it was munching on browse, Raudi wanted no part of it. She bolted, stopped, and chuffed some more. I urged her into a trot, and we went a few hundred yards more. I was the first to see the second moose, which appeared to be a smaller version of the first. There was now no going forward or backwards; ahead was the baby moose and behind was its mother.

I dismounted, and Raudi continued chuffing. I decided that we should both go back in the direction of mother. If, say, she charged us, I’d release Raudi, who would race home. As for me, I’d crawl under our neighbor Kirby’s truck. We passed the moose, which paid us no mind, chuffa, chuffa, chuffa, and I got back on Raudi. I figured that we’d keep going, and do the loop in reverse.

When we came to our driveway, Raudi figured that the ride was over, and looked up to the pen where Tinni and Siggi were watching. I gave her a few smart taps with the crop, squeezed with my legs, and she moved on. Right before the turn, my friend Heather appeared ahead of us, in her car. I breathed a sigh of relief for her paying us a visit meant that I didn’t have to go around the loop after all. This was fortuitous. I turned around and saw the young moose standing at the distance, in the middle of the road. Chuffa, chuffa, chuffa, Raudi saw it too.

I put Raudi back in the pen. The question that remained was, just what is one supposed do when they are on a green horse and see a moose? I decided to pose this question to Susan Tilly, the Alaska Icelandic Horse Association President, who, in an email message, wrote the following:

“Things can get dicey when you get between two moose, especially a cow and her calves, so what you did sounded like pretty much the right thing to do. Although, remember not to get off Raudi until you are certain the moose is going to charge. It is much easier and quicker to get away from a charging moose on the back of a horse than it is on your own two pegs.

“Now that you have seen Raudi’s reaction to moose, you might see if you can tell ahead of time about the next encounter. I am sure Raudi smelled or heard the moose before you did. Next time you notice her getting a bit antsy, stop for a moment, maybe give her a cookie to chew, and look around. If you are able to observe the moose before you walk into them, and Raudi can see that nothing bad is going to happen, she may begin to take it in stride quite calmly, kind of like cows and quarter horses getting used to seeing each other. They really don’t want to fraternize, but they aren’t afraid.

“My horses generally freeze when they spot moose, determine which direction the moose is ambling, and then we move on quietly. They however, have moose in the yard, almost nose-to-nose most of the winter. Fluga gets a little nervous and moves away from them, but Dukka and Blondal don’t think too much of it. The only time Dukka gets upset with the moose is when she is eating and they get too close. She charges the fence and scares them away. Thank goodness she has never decided to charge when she is eating.

“I also have the benefit of Basil on our outings. He drops and gets quiet when he spots the moose, so if I am paying attention, I don’t walk right into them. I have the chance to stop on the trail and wait for the moose to meander on through.”

What Susan said about giving Raudi a cookie made sense to me. I was all the way down the driveway before I recalled that I hadn’t grabbed some treats. I’d thought that perhaps this time, I could do without them. I thought wrong. (Some contend that the problem with having treat-trained horses is that one might not always have them on hand. My response to this is that the benefit, which is a more relaxed green horse, is better than the drawback, which is an always on-edge green horse.) Susan’s other comment, which it was safer to stay in the saddle in such instances, also made sense. Raudi might be able to outrun a charging moose, but I cannot.

Most importantly, Susan’s words, and as well, her nicely stated way of putting them, again made me feel confident. I’m a writer, and cursed with an excellent imagination. I had not told her, because I don’t like to admit such things, but the experience had unnerved me. I’d gone to sleep picturing my flying off Raudi, and her racing home. Worse yet, I envisioned the moose trampling me, and Raudi’s tripping over her reins and breaking both front legs.

The following day, I printed up a copy of Susan’s email, slipped it into my coat pocket, and went down to the horse pen. I stood there and read Susan’s message to Raudi, who listened carefully, and then returned to doing what she does best – eating. Did she understand it? Yes or no, this was immaterial to me. My reading the words out loud reiterated what Susan had said, and prepared me for the day’s ride.

It appeared as though it was to be another one of her Princess Di days. As I was saddling her up, she moved about, and repeatedly gave me the eyeball. There were, she was saying, moose everywhere. What was wrong with me? They were falling out of the sky, and popping up out of the ground. And each and every one, big and small, young and old, strong and frail, fat and skinny, were out to get us. There must have been a hundred moose directly across the road, because Raudi began chuffing as I lead her down the driveway. I gave her a handful of grain, and she relaxed. I got on, and we moved off. I focused on me, my riding, staying centered, bringing images to mind that would keep me better balanced. And I breathed, in and out, being one with my horse, the ground, the surrounding landscape, the universe.

After warming up, I asked Raudi to trot, and she complied by gathering herself up, and moving out nicely. We then did walk, trot, whoa transitions. I did not see any moose on this, a most momentous ride. But Raudi did, and let me know, by every so often, chuffing loudly.

When, finally, we were a few hundred yards from our destination, I dismounted, unloosened her girth, and walked her the rest of the way home. Chuffa, chuffa. Horse and rider, we remain joined at the hip and the heart.