I’ve found there are two places in a warmblood’s life where, if he’s going to be a wee bit naughty, he does so. One is the 5-year-old year. Like their two-legged, 15-year-old counterparts, 5 seems to be the year for warmbloods to push boundaries, especially 5-year-old boy horses.
The other place is the place somewhere between first-ish and second-ish level, when the half-halt has to become less of a subtle rebalancing and more of a SIT DOWN NOW, when the croup really has to lower, when the hocks and stifles really have to go to work.
And naturally, with horses who get a fair start, no injuries or troubles, and who end up in the hands of a rider who’s competent, those two phases start around the same time.
Which is where Fender is now.
Heaven help us.
Fender is never really naughty. Even at his worst, he’s still a pretty good guy, and he’s so dang uncoordinated still that once he explodes it takes him a few minutes to find his legs again to prepare for the next assault anyway.
But there is a LOT of teenage whining going on from Mr. Fender at the moment.
Collection he gets. He struggles, of course, because it IS hard, and he does have to build the strength. I make a few small steps, and then I get out and reward him before it goes south. But every now and then I push for one step too many, or something goes just a little wrong in the beginning, and I don’t get out fast enough, or whatever. Just bad luck. And Fender gets MAD.
“Dangit! I’m not doing this ANY MORE.”
“Honey, your hind legs fell off. It’s cool, they’re back now. Let’s go forward and try again.”
“NO. You’re a MEANIE. It’s MEAN, these things you ask me to do!”
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“Fender, sweetie, I love you, but suck it up. One more time. C’mon.”
“NO!!!!!”
“FENDER. STOP WHINING AND DO YOUR JOB.”
Dramatic sigh. “FINE.”
And then he sits down again, and it’s beautiful. His ears go forward, and it’s like nothing ever happened. He’d do it 10 more times if I asked. So why all the whining in the first place?
Moments like that are becoming fewer and farther in between when I ask him to just sit down. He’s getting stronger and more confident in that work, and I’m still a few months away from the degree of collection I’d want to really knock it out of the park at second level, but whatever. It’s not like success at second level—or any lower level, in truth—is a prerequisite for success at the upper levels.
What is really the issue of the day is the sideways temper tantrum. Fender’s never been all that coordinated sideways. In my first ride on him I asked him to leg yield, and he actually cocked an eye back at me, as if to ask, “What on EARTH are you talking about, weird lady?”
So I’ve been patient, taken my time. He’s gifted for shoulder-in. He’s even figuring out haunches in, in a baby-step kind of way. Leg yield? Not so much.
The gait gets choppy, like he can’t move forward and sideways at the same time. The next step is for him to screw around with his neck. He tends to have that too-light connection anyway, so getting him to really step consistently into the bridle was a real challenge last year; when it starts to go, I prepare myself. Because the next step is the canter. He makes this naughty little on the spot canter. And I keep my leg on and stay cool, because sometimes he gathers himself and goes back to the trot. Sometimes.
The rest of the time, it’s less elegant.
“KABLOOEY! I WILL NOT TROT! I WILL THROW MY HEAD AROUND AND LEAP ABOUT!”
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“Fender, I think your life would be easier if you’d just trot.”
“NO! CALL PETA! CALL THE SPCA! THIS IS CRUELTY, AND I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT!”
“Fender, could you just trot? The trot is actually not cruelty. Nor is trotting sideways, as it turns out.”
“YOU’RE A MEANIE-HEAD! I HATE YOU! I WISH I’D NEVER BEEN BORN!”
“FENDER. My right spur says it doesn’t really give a damn about your feelings, and is going to continue doing so until you trot like a civilized animal, not some feral beast that was raised by wolves. Capiche?”
“Oh. I see.”
And he trots, and we go sideways again, cool as can be. And when we go straight, he’s UNBELIEVABLE—supple, swingy, elastic, and POWERFUL; in short, totally worth all the drama. When he can do a few nice leg yields without the histrionics, we go for a walk outside, where the grass is getting greener and taller before our very eyes, and then we go cuddle in the barn. And it’s like he’s totally forgotten what a troll he was not 10 minutes earlier. The leaping, the laying into my right leg, the dragging me the opposite direction—all gone.
Ella’s teenage phase was pretty short-lived; every now and then she’d just grab the bit and say, “Sayonara, I’m outta here.” It only lasted a few months.
Midge, at 9, is still in his teenage phase. Fortunately it was never all that bad of a phase. Fender takes the cake for naughtiest of my own horses, though admittedly he’s also probably the best mover of the bunch, too. He’s got a bit of a crush on Ella at the moment, which I’m not discouraging. Maybe she’ll teach him some manners.
