What we learn in clinics may not make itself apparent until Months after. That’s the premise behind this October, 2008 AIHA article.

I attended Bernie Willis’s Gaited Horse Clinic in June, four months ago. Most recently, Fran Bundtzen, our newsletter editor, asked me to write an article about the three-day event. The question that I’ve since been mulling over has been, what did I learn? Something that I learned in graduate school was reaffirmed after the clinic. This is that learning is not always an instantaneous process; we often internalize, and then in specific instances, rely on recall. Rather than fret about what I don’t know, I’m working under the assumption that my job while in a given situation is simply to relax and internalize whatever I can, well knowing that later, what I’ve learned will come into play.

Prior to Bernie’s clinic I was faced with a tough decision. Should I take Raudi, a young and somewhat ditzy five-year old, or Tinni, an old and somewhat jaded 19-year-old? Somewhat was a key word here. Raudi is not yet in her prime and Tinni is not quite past his. I could not decide. Raudi, as is often the case, made the decision for me. The day before the clinic I had a riding lesson in which she threw a fit, I think because five mares in heat had preceded her into the arena. Whatever the reason, my older, steady eddy horse got the nod. If, I decided, he showed any signs of duress, I’d take off my participant and put on my observer cap.

Tinni was initially pleased to be at Bernie’s. He had a ringside seat, and could watch all that was going on. And his stablemate was the infamous Lysy, a small lythe palomino whose attitude is much like that of Paris Hilton’s. Within minutes, the two were engaged in a furious social grooming session, the likes of which I’d never before witnessed.

That evening Bernie talked at length about gaits and gait training, and provided the twelve of us with an overview of what we’d be doing. We understood that he’d instruct and we’d work under his tutelage, in groups of two and three. We’d also watch him put farriery theory to practice, as a few of the Icelandics in attendance needed trims.

On Saturday morning we went in our predetermined order, into the arena. Those of us who were not riding, observed, as Bernie talked about lengthening the horses’ stride at the walk, by focusing on our posture and position. When my turn came, I was pleased to see that when I maintained contact, and moved with Tinni, that indeed, his stride did lengthen. In addition, he began moving in a straight line, which was something that we’d both been struggling with.

In the next session we worked on turns on the haunches, turns on the forehand, sidepassing, and backing. These were all things that Tinni was familiar with, and did somewhat willingly. I say somewhat because while he was living, the requisite level of enthusiasm was not there.

On Day Two of the clinic, we began by working on trot. This was going with what Bernie had said, that this is an important gait. It not only helps the horse to build muscle needed for tolt, but also helps to build and maintain endurance levels. Tinni, who had internalized any of this information, shifted to fifth gear, pace, and refused to go back to three, the trot. The same held true of Lysy, who did the same. Bernie, undaunted, put out some poles, and told both Amy and I to lean on our horses’ necks, and keep them moving. Lysy, having gotten the message, shifted gears. Tinni, not having gotten the message, stumbled over the poles and kept on going.

Bernie, looked over at Tinni and asked me to stop. He felt the horses’ front legs and then had Amy also bring Lysy to the center of arena. Both Amy and I dismounted. Bernie then asked those who were standing around to come on over. Having a basis for comparison made it easier for all to discern that Tinni’s were warm and puffy. Bernie suggested that I take him to down to the lake, and have him stand in the cool water. This did the trick. Tinni’s legs immediately returned to normal.

Tinni pawed at the water, and tears came to my eyes. He was now, at least in my mind, retired. I had decided a few years back, at the Bill Burke clinic, that I would not push him to do what he could not do, and I intended to keep that promise. He’d taught me near everything I knew, which included how to ride on trails with other people, and how to sit the tolt. I put Tinni back in the pen and he, seemingly oblivious to my dismay, resumed flirting with Lysy.

What I learned at this particular clinic made itself apparent shortly after I arrived home. A few days later, I rode Raudi over to one of our favorite riding trails. I squeezed my legs and she picked up the pace. Like Tinni, Raudi loves fifth gear, but for a different reason. She is young, and her muscles are still developing. Tinni is old, and his muscles are atrophying. We came to uneven ground, and Raudi sprung into a trot, which she maintained for the next mile or so. At the near conclusion of our ride, I dismounted, and lead Raudi over to a creek, where I bathed her legs in cold water. I was of course pleased because I’d been able to put what I’d learned in the arena to practice in a differing setting. Being on uneven ground had, as Bernie had said, forced her to pay attention to her legs.

There was still more to recall. For Tinni, semi-retirement has meant a change in job description. Raudi has since become my number one riding horse. However, number two status has its perks. Tinni gets to accompany Raudi and I on neighborhood jaunts and trail rides, and from what I can see, enjoys this. He no longer has to carry extra weight, or worry about what gait he is in. But, interestingly enough, I have noticed that when I am riding Raudi at the trot that Tinni follows suit. This, I think, can only be good for him, both mentally and physically.