Filed under: Horse Training, horsemanship | Tags: book review, Chris Cox, Horse Training, horsemanship, Ride the Journey
Ride the Journey by Chris Cox along with Cynthia McFarland have put together a clear and concise guide to how to improve your horsemanship skills and achieve a more satisfying partnership between you and your horse. Using the minimum amount of gear and gimmicks, Cox has created a program which starts with easy lessons and builds to more complicated skills. He covers topics such as equipment, groundwork, trailer loading, riding posture, rein management and cues, how to create a natural headset and the list goes on.
Cox grew up on the backs of horses on a ranch in Australia. In 1986, he flew to Florida to build a career with horses. The 2007 and 2008 The Road to the Horse Champion is a highly sought after horse clinician and star of Chris Cox Horsemanship on RTF TV. He helps millions of people improve their expertise and relationship with their horses.
Ride the Journey is an asset to horse owners across the country. Not only does he describe techniques and methods, but he also talks about the horse’s mind and how to connect and communicate with them using rhythm, timing and personal presence which he describes as energy levels. It takes more than technique to train a horse. It requires a feel from the rider which is developed through practice over time. Through Ride the Journey, Chris Cox not only provides you with more knowledge, but he also helps you understand a horse’s psychology better.
Filed under: Horse Training | Tags: horse, Horse Training, horse's mind, Lanny West
The buckskin colt trotted counter clockwise around the round pen. His ears stiffened, his back arched. The colt was getting ready to crow-hop. Lanny West stood tall, shoulders wide and relaxed, his gaze focused on the colt’s girth. He was driving him forward to keep his feet moving. ”Don’t do it,” he said. He slid his right hand up the lead rope and tilted the nose to the right. Dirt exploded beneath the horse’s hooves when he changed directions.
Tucker, a sorrel gelding, stood quietly by the fence inside the round-pen licking his lips. Dee, a tall lean woman with brown hair rested her forearms on a crossbar and watched her colt respond to Lanny. I stood on the outside videoing the entire thing. This was going to be the colt’s first ride and Dee wanted the event documented.
Lanny lunged the colt back and forth. He pulled on the halter to make sure the colt would give in to the pressure and turn his head. He turned the colt the other way.
After a while, the colt’s head dropped and the muscles in his neck, shoulders and rump relaxed. The colt’s inside ear faced Lanny and he trotted calmly around the pen. Lanny crouched and stepped toward the horse’s rump. He shifted his hind end around, faced Lanny and stopped. They both stood quietly for a few breaths. Then he picked up a slicker which was hanging on the fence. He rustled it around the horse’s feet and over his body. He placed the coat on the horse’s back and let it sit for a few moments before he pulled it down to the ground.
As soon as the buckskin’s head dropped, Lanny stopped. ”A lot of people think sacking out a horse deadens him,” he said. ”I’ve never had a problem with it. The main thing is you don’t irritate them. As soon as they start working, stop. Over-doing it deadens them.”
“Tucker,” Lanny said. The horse stood there. ”Hey Tucker,” Lanny said louder. The gelding blinked a few times, turned his head and approached Lanny.
Lanny held onto the colt’s lead rope and got onto Tucker. He lead the colt around and went through the same exercises as he did on the ground. He kept colt’s feet moving, he put pressure on the head with the halter to make sure he gave in and he sacked him out. He whacked colt’s the saddle, leaned the weight of his body onto the seat of the saddle and then hit it some more.
“Ok, Dee,” he said. She entered the round pen and went to her colt. She slapped the seat of the saddle. Lanny studied the horse’s reaction. The colt didn’t seem bothered. “Get on,” Lanny said. She put the toe of her boot into the stirrup and swung her leg over. As soon as she settled, Lanny led the horse around the pen. He held his head high, his ears worked back and forth, but they didn’t stiffen. He wasn’t threatening to crow-hop.
“Some people like to sneak their first ride. I don’t sneak around my horses,” he said.
Dee smacked the saddle, petted his neck and kept up one sort of ruckus or another. Lanny lead the horse, put pressure on the halter and released as soon as the horse gave. He changed directions often, anything to hold onto the horse’s mind whenever his attention seemed to drift.
As soon as the colt settled into the new experience, Lanny stopped. ”That’s enough for the day.” Dee got down and loosened the cinch. Lanny got off Tucker and they stood quietly for a few moments letting the dust settle in the pen. Then Dee led both horses out.
“There’s a lot of different methods people use to start a colt. I don’t care what kind of method you use. The main thing is you have to make sure the horse understands what you are telling them, and when they start working, leave them alone. Don’t over do it.”
I led my gentle, well-trained gelding into the round pen and it struck me. The principles Lanny West used to start the two-year old colt were the same principles he taught me to get along with my horse. Make sure Gambler understood what I was communicating. Don’t irritate him. When he started to work, stop. Don’t over do it.”
I lunged Gambler back and forth. Then I got on a rode. Lanny sat in the shade of a tree playing with his grandson and talking to his wife. Dee stood on a hill videoing me. After a while Gambler I started to get along better.
Lanny shouted. ”Get off. Loosen that cinch.”
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Horse Training, Lanny West, mind, Thinking Constructively
Horsemavericks.com has been up and running since October. You have had the chance to get to know me. Now, I want a chance to get to know you. Cast your vote. Let me know which topics you like. I will use the information to bring you stories you want to read.
Filed under: Doctoring, Horse Training | Tags: Doctoring, horse, Horse Training, Lanny West
“He’s a pretty boy,” Key said tying the one-year-old colt to the hitching post. He was a bay with a mane as fuzzy as yarn and a coat so soft and silky, I could barely feel it when I slid my hand across his shoulder. “His mother isn’t the only one who will love him,” Key said stroking his neck. Her blue eyes twinkled with affection.
I couldn’t argue with that. In addition to good looks, he seemed to be a good kid chocked full of mischief. And like most healthy youngsters, he had a skinned knee. But, since he was a horse, the laceration was just above his right rear hoof, and Key needed to apply medicine.
Lanny West was under a gelding trimming the back hoof. He stopped what he was doing and watched Key slide the back of her hand down the colt’s leg. A tube of ointment dangled in her fingers. When she got to the cut, she squeezed the medicine. The colt lifted his hoof to avoid the sting. Key tried again and the horse lifted the foot once more. After a few more attempts, Lanny said. “It’s turning into a game. Let me teach you something.” Lanny removed the gelding’s hoof from the shoeing stand and placed it on the ground.
He went over to the colt and picked up the right front leg, which was on the same side as the injured foot. He bent it close to the colt’s body. He wiggled it back and forth so the colt would be off balance and the little bay couldn’t lift his back hoof. “Sometimes you have to get in and get out.”
While Lanny held the front leg, Key sat on her haunches and applied the ointment above the rear hoof. When she was finished, Lanny told her to run her hand down the leg and around the cut so that the colt could learn she wasn’t going to doctor him every time. Then he set the hoof down and asked Key to pet the leg and rub around the wound once more. The colt didn’t move.
Both Key and Lanny stood quietly next the horse for a few moments. The bay relaxed, lowered his head and chewed his lips. His tail dangled quietly and a breeze shifted the horsehairs. Lanny went back to shoeing the gelding, and Key put the ointment away in her truck.
I felt as if I had just witnessed something incredible. To a casual bystander, there would have been nothing more to see than two people doctoring a colt. But what I saw and felt was an intricate dance between a large, athletic creature and a couple of small two-legged individuals.
Lanny and Key used pragmatic solutions while communicating a sense of reassurance even though the medicine stung. Accomplishing that required knowledge, razor-sharp timing and empathy–an art form that takes years of practice and dedication to develop.
Filed under: Horse Training, Uncategorized | Tags: horse, Horse Training, Lanny West
Key and I sat down on the blue overturned barrel, while Lanny West led a paint horse through the gate of the round-pen. He eased into the saddle, tapped his legs against the ribs and asked the horse to draw his head inward so that his face was perpendicular to the ground. Lanny walked the gelding around perimeter, stopped, backed, turned him around and trotted the other direction. Then he cross-reined the paint by tilting his nose to the left and moving clockwise. After that, he asked him to spin.
Key swept her long blond hair behind her shoulder. She placed her hands on her knees and leaned forward on locked arms. Her blue eyes were large and round. The muscles in her arms and legs twitched concurrently with the paint’s movements. She may have been sitting on the barrel next to me, but I knew she was in the pen with her horse. She gasped. “There,” she said. A few moments later she gasped again. “There.”
I watched the horse make sudden 180-degree turns and I couldn’t figure out what she was seeing. “What is he trying to get the horse to do?”
“He wants him to park his ass and swing his front-end around. Watch,” she said.
Lanny trotted the horse for a couple of laps, and then he did the turning routine again. This time, the horse spun until his hind legs stood still while he crossed his front feet around in a true pivot. It all happened so fast, if I had blinked, I would have missed it. “There did you see it?” Key said.
“Yeah,” I said sitting forward on the barrel, and I wanted to see it again. A moment later, Lanny got the horse to turn around once more, this time with its butt tucked, its hind legs planted in the footing and his body swooped around in an arc. Key and I gasped at the same time. “There,” we said in unison. A thrill crawled up my spine and I got caught up in the moment.
But the moment didn’t last long, because once the horse whirled around, Lanny stopped, dismounted and loosened the cinch. I felt let down. I had finally figured out what all the excitement was about and I wanted watch them do it again.
“When the horse starts workin’ good,” said Lanny, “get your ass off of him. Leave him alone. That’s the best reward you can give ‘em. They’ll work to find that spot the next time.”
I looked at Key. She wasn’t saying anything.
I knew better than to protest. My own horse stood behind me with his eyes half closed. As soon as Lanny led the paint out of the round pen, I would lead my gelding in. I knew Gambler would be more responsive to my queues because Lanny was training him. His methods worked. As much as I wanted Lanny to make the paint do it again so I could enjoy a display of equine athleticism, I kept my mouth shut. This was about the horse, not about me.
Filed under: Horse Training | Tags: Gambler, horse, Horse Training, Lanny West
“Go get your horse,” Lanny West said handing me a halter. When I took it, he disappeared into the tack room. I sauntered from the barn to Gambler’s pasture.
The gelding poked his nose through the metal tubing of the gate searching for a carrot. I knew Lanny wouldn’t approve but I didn’t do anything about it. I wasn’t quite sure what to do and it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Other horses bit, but Gambler never did. Besides, Lanny was in the tack room. He couldn’t see what was happening anyway.
“Don’t let that horse nudge you like that.” His voice rang through he window of the barn.
Oops, I thought. I got caught.
I pushed Gambler’s nose in an attempt to make him be respectful. I felt for the latch, which secured the chain that was wrapped around the fence and gate. The horse responded by sniffing my hand. I shoved him away and continued to fumble trying to unclip the hook. In less than a second he spread snot across my forearm.
I glanced at the barn to see if Lanny was still there. I didn’t see him. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do what he had asked, I just didn’t know how to make the horse stop. My efforts were completely ineffective.
I managed to unhook and remove the chain, and it rattled it across the metal tubing. The horse stepped backward when I opened the gate. I closed it and passed the chain around the fence post and left in dangling on a crossbar. Gambler hovered over my shoulder the entire time. The gelding wasn’t showing me respect. I leaned my body into his chest to get him to back up. I glanced at the barn again. No Lanny. I was relieved.
I slung the rope over Gambler’s neck, slipped his head into the halter and tied it up. When I opened the gate, Gambler brushed his nose along my back.
I directed him through the opening, doing my best to do it just like Lanny had instructed. As I closed the gate, Gambler was inches away. “Back up,” I said shoving his chest. Gambler half-heartedly stepped away.
He hovered his nose over my right shoulder as we walked to the barn. I stopped, glared at him and said, “Hey.” He looked at me as if to say, “I’m not doing nothin’.” If he were human, he would have been shrugging.
I turned and continued walking. He managed to wait for an entire second before following, but within one or two strides, he was crowding me again. When I entered the barn, I could hear Lanny moving around in the tack room. He peaked his head through the door and said, “Go get that brush over there.” He pointed to a little shelf under the window.
Lanny didn’t talk about how Gambler had walked all over me. He just gave me instructions on how to groom. He didn’t say anything while he demonstrated how to get the horse to pay attention while I put on the saddle and bridle. He never said a word when we road through the public land, which bordered his property. I thought he had missed the entire incident, and I wasn’t going to say anything–partly because it hadn’t come up, partly because I was trying to learn the gazillion other things, and partly because I thought I could do a better job next time.
I was wrong. At the end of the day he sat on a bail of hay and said, “You can’t lie to a horse.”
I nodded. I had heard the phrase a hundred times, and I didn’t think I had lied to the Gambler.
“You know this morning when Gambler nudged you and you pushed back. And, when you led him to the barn, he walked all over you, and you just pushed back. You were lying to him.”
I snorted, amused. I should have known he had not missed a thing. I should have known that a man who trained horses his entire life would have a highly developed sense of awareness of every creature around him. It was what made him able to predict a horse’s behavior, sense a dangerous situation, and stay a step ahead. It was what made him able to act at just the right time in order to train and communicate to horses. I should have known he had been watching.
“You can’t pick at the horse. You ask and, if he doesn’t do it, you get after him. Otherwise you’re lyin’ to him.” He leaned forward, put an elbow on his knee and looked at me. “Never beat a horse, but you have to be as hard as necessary and as soft as you possibly can be.”
He wanted me to do what it took to get Gambler to believe I was in charge. For my horse, it meant getting energetic, loud and making him move around so he knew I expected him to do what I had asked. If I wanted him keep a respectable distance, he was going to do it–otherwise, my requests were lies.
Some horses are more sensitive than Gambler and require a lighter touch. Knowing how hard or how soft to be takes years of experience in interpreting horses’ behavior. Lanny’s experience spans a lifetime.
What methods do you use to make sure your horse maintains a respectable distance?
Photo Credit cjwoolridge
Filed under: Horse Training, Roping, Thinking Constructively | Tags: Gambler, Horse Training, Lanny West, thinking right
Lanny West
I am not exaggerating when I say Lanny West has ridden a horse nearly every day of his life. His horsemanship skills are on par with men like Chris Cox, Buck Brannaman, Tom and Bill Dorance and Ray Hunt. In times past, he used to put on roping schools and taught thousands of people from California to Canada how to rope, but now he prefers the quiet life–surrounding himself with quality individuals and handing out his advice and skills for next to nothing. To those who listen, he tells his stories; to those who don’t listen, he shrugs and moves on.
Lanny West’s techniques are fairly similar to other horse-training gurus, but he adds another element. He believes in the importance of thinking right, of creating a healthy state-of-mind and a constructive attitude. Confidence and respect are the comer-stones of everything from learning how to rope, ride and train horses to how to raise kids and have good marriages.
For the past several months, he has been teaching me. I’m having a blast, but this isn’t about roping. It’s about learning how to train my mind to think constructively. It’s about being at peace with myself. It’s about gratitude and contentment. Acquiring these attributes requires a certain discipline and roping provides that. Horses create a scenario to practice new habits.
Recently I hit a plateau in roping. No matter how much I tried to catch the horns of the dummy, I persistently roped the neck. I made little progress even though I practiced regularly. I was getting frustrated. But after a couple of serendipitous conversations and events, I finally had a breakthrough. On one particular day, I learned several lessons and have been getting better by leaps and bounds ever since.
I am starting a series titled The Art of Believing. Through several posts, I will share my journey from frustration to breakthrough. I hope you enjoy it. I looked forward to reading your comments and getting new ideas.
Quit on a Miss: Part One of The Art of Believing
The clouds hung low in the sky and dumped large drops of water. It hammered on the tin roof. It was too wet to ride, so instead of saddling the horses inside the barn, the dummy stood on the concrete slab. Lanny West sat on an over-turned bucket next to the door of the tack room. He was watching me rope.
I swung the lariat over my head. The top of the loop faced the ground. My eyes focused on the horns and I watched the tip swing just above them. Perfect. I went for the delivery. The loop caught the right horn, swung under the nose and around the left horn. I pulled the rope taut and squelched my frustration.
Several voices from past conversations flashed through my mind.
A few weeks ago you would have been happy to rope the neck, my husband had said yesterday.
But I wasn’t going for the neck, I thought.
You’ll get it, my dad had told me repeatedly over the phone.
But I wasn’t getting it, I thought.
Lanny’s words from past conversations chimed-in, Quit fighting yourself.
I’m not, I thought with gritted teeth.
I took a deep breath and slowly if not calmly removed the rope. I was trying to hide my emotions from the guy who sat on the bucket watching me.
“For you,” Lanny said, “you need to quit on a miss.”
I wasn’t hiding anything. “Ah-huh,” I said. There was no use arguing the wisdom of ending on a good catch. I have been around him long enough to know he had his reasons. I waited for the explanation. “You need to not worry about missing.” Then he went on to tell me the technical reasons of why I wasn’t catching the horns.
“Okay,” I said and dutifully created another loop. I took a deep breath and focused my mind on feeling the texture of the rope in my fingers, feeling the tip swing over my head and listening to the swish as the lariat rotated in the air. I stared at the horns.
A cramp grew in my hand, a culmination of fatigue from all the practice I had done the previous weeks. I tried for the delivery. The loop hooked the right horn, crossed the forehead of the dummy and swung under the left horn. I pulled the rope taut.
The rain, which had been falling the entire time, suddenly filled my ears with the sound of its hammering. The smell of the moist dirt infused my nostrils and I saw the branches of a large oak tree poke through the fog. It was a good catch, which meant it was a bad time to quit.
I shook out another loop and tried again. I missed. I did it again. I caught the right horn and nose. I tried again and looped the neck.
“It’s a good time to quit,” Lanny said.
I resisted the urge to argue. I unhooked the rope and coiled it. I flung the hood of my jacket over my head. Lanny and I tromped through the rain and I watched the toes of my cowboy boots moisten. I glanced down the hill at Gambler with his dripping winter coat. I wondered if I would ever learn to rope real live steers off my horse.
Weeks later, Lanny explained over the phone why it was particularly important for me to quit on a miss. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to sit and watch you rope in the cold,” he said. “It was because I was training your mind. I can’t teach you unless your attitude is right. If you quit on a miss, you will learn to NOT get frustrated when you make a mistake.”
“So, I have to get my mind right first?” I said.
“It’s like training a horse. I can’t get a horse to load onto a trailer unless I have a hold of his mind. If he’s agitated and frustrated, I’m not going to try to teach him to go into a trailer. Same thing with you. If you are agitated and frustrated, I can’t teach you how to rope.”
“Hum,” I said. With Lanny, it was always about the mind.
Filed under: Horse Training, Uncategorized | Tags: Gambler, horse, Horse Training, Lanny West
Image by Corey West
The first time I met Gambler, it was a dull day in Jamestown, California. He stood under a forest of oak trees on damp earth with his head hanging over the fence. I didn’t know the official name of his color. He was just brown with a brown mane. It seemed as if Fate had been in a hurry when she added the diamond between his eyes. White paint dripped from the bottom point.
Gambler watched me get out of the car in Diana’s driveway. He seemed friendly. Although later, I would learn I was assigning human sensibilities to a horse. Hindsight has wizened me. What made him seem friendly was that he was calm. He didn’t so much as flinch a muscle when we slammed the car doors. He didn’t run from or follow us. He just watched unalarmed.
Before going into Diana’s home, I paused and looked at him. I liked him, though I’m not sure he felt the same about me.
It’s his tough luck, though, because a few years later, Fate threw him in my direction. Diana’s daughter, who lived in Texas, had a baby. She wanted to move closer to her brand-new grandchild, and she couldn’t take Gambler with her. Diana adored the horse and couldn’t bear the thought of selling him; he was family.
My mother told me about Diana’s dilemma and I mentioned off-handedly that I wouldn’t mind owning Gambler. I never thought I would actually get the ole boy. After all, I had precious little equine experience.
It wasn’t until after I graduated from college did my parents get two Missouri Foxtrotters named Mister and Rosy. I used to go on a rides with them once in a while or watch when the ferrier came over to put on new shoes. That’s how I met Lanny West. He was their shoer.
One day, when I visited my parents, Gambler was munching down the grass on their five acres and working out the pecking order with Mister and Rosy. Diana had given him to my parents for me. He was mine.
Gambler was so large and round I couldn’t help but smile. He was like a big happy Buddha. He was what Lanny liked to call an easy-keeper. He adored all things edible and had a tendency to mouth your shirt, arm or hand looking for apples or carrots, a bad habit.
When Lanny found out I was going to take on the ole boy, he offered to train him for me. In reality, Lanny has been training me, not my horse. The other day, I asked Lanny, “Does Gambler have any other bad habits besides the mouthing thing?”
“Nope,” he said. “And he doesn’t do that anymore.”
It’s been a year since my husband and I started shopping for a house with a pasture for Gambler. Two years ago if somebody had told me I would own a horse I would have laughed out loud. That old lady Fate must have looked down on me and decided I needed a horse and . . .poof . . . there he was waiting for me on a silver platter. I thank my lucky stars.
Have you ever had a lucky equine experience? Tell me about it.
Filed under: Horse Training, Thinking Constructively | Tags: horse, Horse Training, Lanny West, Thinking Constructively, thinking right
Karen sat tall in her saddle on a dapple-gray horse. She drew the right rein back. The gelding opened his mouth, twitched his ears and allowed his nose to be pulled to the right. He tugged on the bit, but he didn’t force his head forward.
Karen grinned at Lanny West who was leaning against the fence of the round pen. She had been working on getting the horse to bend his neck for a long time. At last he had finally done it and Lanny was there to see it.
Lanny wasn’t watching Karen; he was studying the horse’s face. He said. “He’s not giving to the bit.”
“What?” She swung her long brunette ponytail over her shoulder. “He just gave.”
Lanny shook his head. “If the horse’s mouth is open, he’s not giving.”
Karen let go of the rein. The gelding swung his head back and forth. His tail twitched.
“The horse is not soft.” Lanny said. “Let me show you.”
Karen swung down incredulous at what Lanny was saying. She had been riding horses for years. She knew when a horse was giving and when a horse wasn’t. That horse’s nose had nearly touched her stirrup. That meant he was giving.
Lanny eased into the saddle. He walked the gray along the perimeter of the round pen for a couple of laps and then stopped. He pulled back on the left rein to put stress on the left side of the horse’s mouth. The gelding’s lips were closed and his tail hung at ease. His entire body seemed supple and calm. Lanny released as soon as the gray gave the slightest indication he was giving into the pressure.
Lanny repeated the process. Each time the horse turned his nose a little further until he could get the gelding to touch the toe of his boot on both sides.
Karen, after working so hard and being frustrated for so long, thought she had finally gotten somewhere. Now she felt completely deflated. “You just tore down my confidence.”
Lanny dismounted. “Just get on and try,” he said.
Karen took a deep breath to get a hold of her disappointment and the nervousness bubbling in her belly. She gathered the reins and a few gray hairs of the horse’s mane. She eased up and set herself down in the saddle. She flicked the ponytail behind her shoulder. With her left hand, she gently pulled on the rein.
The horse turned his head slightly. She immediately let go. When she tried again, the gelding opened his mouth and thrust his nose forward making the leather drag through her fingers. Her nervousness increased and her efforts became more futile. Karen huffed in frustration.
Lanny leaned against the fence watching her. “You know,” he said. “The thing you said is part of the problem.”
Karen loosened the reins and just looked at him. She didn’t understand what he meant.
“You thought you had confidence when you believed the horse was giving,” he said. “But, you have to have confidence when you mess-up.” Lanny shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “All you’re doing right now is learning the feel and the timing of how to teach the horse to give to the bit. Just keep believing that you can do it and keep trying.”
Karen had had enough for one day. She swung her leg over her saddle and got down. “Thanks for your help,” she said. “I’ll do my best.”
Karen led the gelding to the barn. She removed the horse’s bridle.
Lanny said, “Keep trying and listen to the horse.” After waving goodbye, he got in his truck and drove away. He left a cloud of dust behind him.
She paused before taking off the horse’s saddle to watch the cloud settle. She realized her confidence was dependant on her performance. What Lanny was trying to say was that confidence should be dependant on believing in her ability to learn to do anything when she gave herself enough time and practice.
Karen pulled off the saddle and led her horse to his corral. Tomorrow she would tack up her horse and try again.
How would you define self-confidence?
The story is fictitious, but it is based on a true scenario.
Filed under: Horse Training, Roping | Tags: horse, Horse Training, Lanny West, Roping
When I was a kid meandering along a red-dirt road through the evergreens of the Sierra Foothills, I happened upon a spit hoof-print of a buck sunken in the dry mud. My pulse palpitated. In my imagination I filled the print with a hoof, then a leg, and then a buck with a six point rack leaping through the woods. I wondered where he was going and why, and how he might have felt–questions which never found answers.
Twenty years later sitting on the fence of John Hollen’s old arena, the place had the same effect on my mind as that old hoof-print. In my imagination those old splintery bleachers were filled with spectators and their yappy dogs cheering on brothers, husbands and friends. Once, those old round lights mounted on wooden telephone poles lit the dark sky into the wee hours of the morning so the team ropers could chase steers. And the rickety old booth standing cock-eyed on stilts used to house the announcer who would read off the competitor’s times in monotone when it was too late for any sane person to be awake.
I imagined the corrals and shoots packed with steers and riders warming up their horses around the outside of the fences. Men wore cowboy hats, big shiny oval buckles, wrangler jeans, and dusty boots, and women wore jeans or short skirts. I could almost smell the livestock–manure and sweaty horseflesh mingled with dust.
That old fence I was sitting on with its long gray splinters used to create the perimeter of that old arena which Lanny West, in his roping days, competed in.
And the ancient adrenaline of the steers, the horses, the competitors, and the onlookers was almost tangible to me, and suddenly I felt a bit downcast in the way a person might feel when she realized she was too late for the party.
Lanny West, who was bent over shoeing John Hollen’s horse, didn’t have to try to imagine what it was once like, he remembered it. Old John Hollen, the owner, a man who used to strut across his property hosting jack pots, now suffered from a faulty heart and his wife, a woman who–as Lanny recalled–used to be tough, rarely left her house anymore.
The excitement of the old days had run its course through the people and through the land. What was left were the stories Lanny told and that old arena, a footprint of the past sunken deeply into the earth.
Lanny placed the horse’s hoof on the ground and eased himself into a standing position. His back wasn’t as elastic as I imagined it once was in his younger years. Lanny didn’t seem to notice. He just led Hollen’s horse to the corral. Then he unloaded two geldings, Leroy and Gambler, from his horse trailer. They were tacked up and ready to go.
He sauntered over to the arena and opened the old sagging gate. Once both horses were inside, he closed the gate and tied them up. He ambled to where a donkey was corralled and herded him in. The donkey headed for the two horses and stood next to them with one long ear facing Gambler and the other ear following Lanny’s movements as he untied Leroy.
Lanny eased the bit into Leroy’s mouth, careful not to bang the metal against the horse’s teeth and then slipped the leather over the ears. He tightened the cinch and swung himself into the saddle and settled down.
Lanny asked the gelding to move forward. And there, in that neglected footing darkened with a crusty surface, were fresh hoof-prints.
After Leroy walked a few laps, Lanny asked him to trot in a circle in the middle of the arena and those fresh prints created soft tufts of dirt. While Leroy trotted, the tracks piled upon themselves and the dust began to rise around the gelding’s ankles. Lanny posted in the saddle and it seemed to me as if he lost at least 20 of his nearly 60 years.
He untied the lariat from the saddle and shook out a loop. Leroy chased the donkey and Lanny swung the rope over his head. I blinked and the next thing I saw was the donkey’s feet caught in a loop. Leroy stopped and faced the donkey so Lanny could, if he had wanted to, dally. He didn’t, though, and instead he let the donkey go. Lanny coiled the rope to do it again.
After chasing the donkey a couple times, Lanny walked the horse to the fence. His smile was as wide as a man of 25 years. “He didn’t do one thing wrong,” he said to me. He dismounted and carefully removed the bridle. He put on the halter and tied Leroy up.
It was Gambler’s turn to practice. While Lanny slipped on his bridle, he paused and looked at me. “I’ve struggled with horses my entire life,” he said. “And I still don’t know anything.” He got on Gambler and rode around the arena.
I chuckled at the irony. I was sitting there on that fence watching him train my horse so I could learn from him and he didn’t know anything. I guess I didn’t mind. I liked listening to his stories and bullshit, and I appreciated being able to observe him enter the sunset years of his life and recall the trail he left behind. He was an old footprint of his past. And I enjoyed hearing where he had gone and why, and how he felt–questions which had answers.
Names have been changed to protect individual’s privacy.
If you are a reader who knows Lanny personally, what is your favorite story you can tell about him?
