“Zen” is off to a good start in life.

As Brent and Cayman stand calmly by, I work Zen from the fence, rubbing her with my right foot so she gets used to a leg passing over her back. And is she not cute in that saddle? I think she is!

I can imagine how it must feel to see your baby girl walk out the door wearing makeup for the first time. This weekend, my baby girl wore a saddle for the first time. And a rider. And it was all good.

I look at Brent Graef, an AQHA Professional Horseman from Canyon, Texas, as my mentor in all things equine. He’s a good friend and a great horseman. And, as a matter of fact, I was at his house when “Zen” was born. So it made perfect sense to come full circle. He and his wife, Kris, had offered to help me with Zen’s first saddling and her first ride. And by “help,” what I mean is that Brent and Kris did most of the work while I watched and learned. They’re pros, and Brent even wore the microphone he uses for clinics so that I could hear his comments over the gale-force winds we were having. It was invaluable commentary.

When using a horsemanship flag to accustom Zen to things going over her back, Brent would say, “I’m looking for a change …. there!” and he’d smoothly and quickly remove the flag. The “there!” coincided perfectly with a change in Zen’s demeanor – a slight lowering of her head, a deeper breath, any small sign of relaxation and acceptance. The small signs could be easily missed, so Brent’s running commentary helped me pick up on those things. As I’ve done clinics with Brent, I always try to see the things he’s looking for. Sometimes I see them, and sometimes I don’t, but it’s a learning process, a journey.

I couldn’t help but feel like a proud mom as I saw Zen beginning her own journey, becoming a grownup horse. (Does she look good in a saddle or what?) Some things she handled with aplomb, and others sent her into young-horse tizzy fits before she was able to figure out that everything was OK. The day Brent saddled her for the first time, she was taken to a round pen – away from Junior, her traveling buddy from home – and the isolation worried her. There was a llama in the pasture next door that also provided some distraction, and a neighbor somewhere was shooting off a shotgun. But that’s OK; the real world is full of stuff like that, so she might as well get used to it now.

Brent kept her feet moving and kept asking her to bring her mind back inside the round pen, on him, rather than on all the stuff outside. She wasn’t able to until he actually saddled her. You could almost see the thought bubble over her head: “Ooooh, my goodness; maybe I should pay attention to what’s going on in here!” With the saddle on for the first time, and the wind blowing saddle strings and latigos every which way, Zen really needed to move her feet. But instead of bucking, she skittered. That’s a technical term, meant to describe a tail-tucking, butt-tucking scoot across the pen. When she skitter/scooted, she wasn’t of a mind to listen to Brent. But again, Brent’s a pro, and I was so thankful to have him to help her through these fears. They continued working, and when Zen relaxed a little, Brent took off her saddle and called it a day.

The next day, Brent did more groundwork, then saddled her up. After some work in the round pen, focusing on getting her to relax with the saddle, we went for a family ride. Brent ponied Zen off of Cayman, an older gelding who is his choice when there’s a job to do. Whether it’s working cattle or colts, Cayman’s up for the challenge. Kris rode her horse, Bo, a handsome black/brown boy, and I borrowed steady Foxy, a mare whom I’ve ridden before and always fall in love with her sweetness.

We went down the road and through a plowed field – with Brent working to rate Zen, keeping her up with Cayman, and making sure she’d listen when he needed to pull her up. She was starting to tune in. We even went by the llama pasture, which also held some pens of pigs, and there weren’t any major dramas. (Although, have you ever seen a llama lope? They’re about as graceful as giraffes, and I think if I were a horse, it’d spook me! Talk about llama drama!)

After the ride, Zen was soft and relaxed. The humans involved were windblown, so we unsaddled everybody and went in the house for a break. Zen had lots to think about, and I’m sure she made good use of her time. We talked about where she was, the changes we’d seen her make, and we agreed she was ready for the first ride. I wanted to be the crash test dummy.

At home, I had worked Zen from the fence, putting a leg over her while still hanging onto the fence, and even putting most of my weight on her. That was what we’d do for the first ride. I would ask her to come around to the fence to pick me up, then I’d put a leg over her and rub her with it and with my hand until she was calm. When things looked auspicious, I would ease into the saddle. It was Kris’ colt saddle we were using, and it had a handy night latch on the left side of the pommel. I’d hold onto that with my left hand and grip the cantle with my right hand, sucking myself into a very secure seat; all I had to do was hold on. Brent, mounted on Cayman, had Zen’s lead rope, and he would be my brakes and steering. Kris was manning a camera, recording the event for posterity.

We’d talked about Zen’s M.O. Once she had a rider on, she likely wouldn’t buck, but she sure might skitter. She was calm, thankfully, until I got settled into the saddle. And then something unnerved her – whether it was the weight on her back that wasn’t going away, or maybe the wind sending a latigo smacking into her shoulder – and, yes, she did skitter. Thank goodness for steady Cayman, who was probably rolling his eyes at the silly colt, and skillful Brent, who kept things under control. Unfortunately, with all the sideways action, my saddle began to slip. As soon as Zen stopped, I made a quick dismount, and Brent worked with her from the ground some more, to help her realize that it all was OK. And it was. We all lived, and nothing bad happened that we’d have to overcome later. They may have been small steps, but they were positive, and we’ll take progress in any form we can get it.

The next day, we trailered to a different arena, where Brent was giving a clinic. I was riding Junior in it, and Zen went along for a pre-clinic workout. In the new environment, with new horses around, people raising and lowering overhead doors, and other commotion, Zen was pretty darned calm. It was interesting to see her more-accepting demeanor; she really must have been cooking on things overnight. She got more saddlings, and Kris began working with her on mounting from the ground. She did more fence work, tossing the end of the lead rope over the saddle, then her coat, then her leg with fringed chaps. The chaps were the only thing Zen really reacted to, and Kris helped her through that. She also did some work flexing the occipital condyle (See the free download for more on this exercise) with the softest of hands. Zen melted.

That seemed to work well. Kris worked the occipital condyle and got Zen to relax, then she began moving the stirrups around, and eventually lifted her left leg into the stirrup. Keeping her left knee bent, so that she could move with the horse should there be a sudden spook, Kris raised herself into mounting position and even leaned her body into the saddle seat, adding some weight there. When Brent had a break in clinic work, he came over and ponied Zen off Cayman. Kris mounted all the way into the saddle, and Brent led them part way around the arena. There was no skittering and no butt tucking. They repeated this several times with equal success.

By the end of the weekend, Zen was ignoring her buddy Junior and instead looking to her handler, whether it was Brent or Kris, for comfort. That was huge. And the last two times Brent unsaddled her and left the pen, she stayed in the same spot for a good while, even licking and chewing a little bit. She wasn’t in a hurry to leave … good things had happened there, and she seemed to be mulling them over.

As we drove home Sunday, both of us had lots to think about. Zen’s life had just changed, and so had mine. For my part, I had lots of homework assignments – things to work on to get Zen more comfortable with the saddle, so that it’s just a part of her. That’ll translate into homework for her, too – and eventually into a partnership that I hope will last for years to come. Brent and Kris, I can’t thank you enough for giving my girl such a good start.

Happy riding!
Holly Clanahan
Editor, America’s Horse magazine

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