I’m standing in a grass field at the end of Talos’ lead rope.  It’s 11:09am and it’s hot.  My phone says it’s 91 degrees, but it feels like 102.  I feel like it’s at least twice that.  Sweat is dripping off of every part of my body and I am questioning a lot of life choices I’ve made.

About two weeks ago, Talos just stopped on our way back to the pasture. We stood & breathed for about 10 minutes, and then he was ready to move on. I chalked it up to processing, needing some time to just stand and breathe. The second time it happened, he stood for over 30 minutes, and I tried to give him as much time as possible, but I had to get to work and I admit in my growing frustration I pulled on the lead rope and then resorted to tapping his leg with the end of the rope to get him to move forward.

I ran it by my Advanced Calming Signals class & Anna Blake agreed it was extended processing, and it was really important that I not pull on his face. She suggested using a neck ring, but I’m not quite brave enough to try that – there’s no gate closing off the property from the road and I don’t want him to head off to Mexico. Not without me and enough money for some tequila shots, anyway. As an alternative she suggested clipping the lead rope to a ring on his halter other than the one under the chin that everyone uses, and to just work with him breath by breath. So, on this broiling hot August morning, we have the rope on the side of his halter and we are trying to breathe under the blistering Texas sun.

I ask Talos to take a step forward by inhaling, and then clucking.  He keeps eating.  I exhale.  Two drops of sweat run down my back, I mentally name them Seabiscuit and Seattle Slew, and bet which one will get to the waistband of my shorts first.  Seabiscuit wins.  I exhale again. Talos shuffles his feet, and takes a half step forward.  I tell him good boy, and he brings the other feet up to match the half step.  I tell him good boy again, and stare longingly at the tree that’s 10 steps away – if we can just get there, I can at least stand in the shade.

Talos watches me while he eats, a shade of anxiety over his face.  I think about how he always has one eye on me, unlike Griffy who will turn his whole ass to me if it means better grass. I exhale and turn parallel to him – staring directly at your horse is not really sending the message “relax,” so I stand not facing him and just watch him out of the corner of my eye.  I try to think of something else – what color was Seattle Slew, anyway? Did he win he Triple Crown? He must have, right? Another half step, another good boy, another exhale.  I edge closer to the shade.  After a few more breaths, he takes two steps.  More good boys.  Seven and a half steps to the tree.  I edge closer, and then to my surprise he walks to me, closing the distance between us and letting me get in the shade.  There is genuine joy in my voice when I tell him good boy and if I had any moisture left in my body, I would have shed a tear of happiness.  I don’t ask him for anything for a few minutes, I just breathe and enjoy the shade & slight breeze. 

The tree is near the edge of the field, then there’s the road to home.  Griffy can see us from their shared pasture and he yells, loudly – he doesn’t like that we’re out here and he’s not.  I yell good boy to him too.

Talos surprises me by taking 2-3 steps at a time now.  There is so much enthusiasm in my good boys.  When we get to the edge of the field he snorts so forcefully I imagine being blown off my feet by it and laugh, and he looks a little less anxious.

We get onto the road and he heads for the edge to graze more. I’m trying to quell my growing impatience and the vague nausea that heralds the beginning of heat stroke. I stand and breathe, when a trailer pulls in. He stops to watch, it pulls up behind the pavilion and then drives to the front. Two horses come down from a pasture and walk behind us, and he turns to face away from the pasture to watch. I scream internally, but try to keep breathing. I wish they had been going up the road instead of down it, but I know they’ll be gone for a while and there was no one else riding who was likely to be leading their horse back because no one except me is dumb enough to be out here right now. Feeling more frustrated and more nauseous, I turn him around with more force than I’d like and let him go back to eating while I try to breathe, but I can’t stand still anymore – I’m literally pacing in little circles at the end of his lead rope.

That’s the point I realize this isn’t working – I’m not pulling on his face, but I cannot stand out here one more minute. I reach forward and tap the back of his front leg with the lead rope. I feel guilty and I swear he looks disappointed in me. He takes 3 steps forward, and the least I can do is an enthusiastic good boy. I tap him again and he walks the rest of the way to the gate. It’s 11:47am when we get there.

This is probably one of the most challenging things I’ve done so far with affirmative training. It’s so easy to force the issue, and I feel very judged even though no one has said anything except the barn owner very politely saying “I notice you guys were having some trouble leading” and not offering any advice or suggestions because she’s awesome and supportive and totally willing to let me do this my own way. I have to remind myself that this is how we build trust, and the awesome relationship I have with Griffy didn’t come overnight, and if I want Talos to trust me the way Griffy does we build that trust one breath at a time.