My First Lesson with Little Janie

After something like only 6 months of teaching, though I didn't know it at the time, I would be faced with my biggest challenge that came in the form of a 10-year-old little girl named Janie. To say Janie was difficult would have been an understatement. When I first met her, and her parents, it was explained to me that Janie had certain mental health challenges, without providing any further details. Not wanting to pry, I listened quietly while her mother explained to me that they had been through a half a dozen other trainers and they were running out of options. I couldn't help but to slightly raise my eyebrows at the thought of this little girl going through more trainers than I had been through and I was nearly twice her age.

"Would you please be willing to try teaching her? We've heard great things about you," she begged. Not one to deny a good challenge, I agreed and thought to myself, "Okay, how bad could this possibly be?"

I began with her on the ground, though my boss would prefer I had the horses ready for the students. As a rider who came from a humble, hard knox, do-it-yourself background, I always preferred to get my own horses ready and I liked to teach my kids the same. Grooming is part of the overall bonding experience and gives you an opportunity to get a feel for your horse's mood, which I've always found helpful in the saddle.

It didn't take long for me to quickly realize just why Janie had frustrated so many instructors (most of whom had way more years of experience than me). She moved quickly, almost violently, and seemed incapable of slowing down or creating fluid movements in her muscles. I took a deep breath, smiled at her parents while inviting them to sit in the viewing area. I don't like parents hovering when I'm trying to educate a child. It's hard enough to keep their attention, and I need to be able to command the space for the safety of the horse and the child. Once her parents were safely out of earshot and out of sight, I took a deep breath and offered to help show Janie how to use the curry comb.

"Here, can I show you something?" I asked, outstretching my hand to politely ask for the curry comb hooked over the palm of her hand.

"No, I got it," she said, aggressively slapping and banging the curry comb onto the side of my oldest, and most trusted, pony in the lesson program. I could see the fear in his eyes as he looked to me for help. He was one of those great schoolmasters that when he felt threatened or uncomfortable, would simply freeze in place and wait for help. He was an absolute saint - especially considering most horses would have either bitten or kicked her by now - and I wouldn't have blamed them one bit.

I sharply inhaled, having to think quickly on my feet. "Please, Janie, let me see the curry comb. I want to show you a neat trick."

At the sound of the word "trick" Janie abruptly stop, spun on one heel so quickly I thought she was going to fall right over, cocked her head to the side and looked up at me from underneath her Troxel helmet. "A trick? Yeah, cool!" she said, and finally handed over the curry comb.

I took the curry comb from her and made a point to move extra slow, extra soft and lower my voice to just above a whisper. I could tell that Janie needed a role model, and not another adult in her life telling her what to do. I knew the feeling all too well.

"So, horses are really sensitive creatures. They may be bigger than you, but they are flight animals. Do you know what a flight animal is?" I asked Janie.

She shook her head, and to my amusement she was actually patiently standing, waiting, and eager to listen.

"In the animal kingdom, there are two main types of animals: fight or flight animals. Basically, what that means is that fight animals will often stand their ground and get ready to find anything that scares or intimidate them. Like, a tiger or a bear. Flight animals do the opposite. When flight animals are scared or threatened, they run. Horses are flight animals," I explained.

"Oooooooooh," she said, and I could tell she was already starting to lose interest after my 60-second explanation. "Oh boy. This was going to be an adventure," I thought to myself.

"So, with that in mind, we always need to move softly and quietly. Any sort of abrupt movement, loud noise, or a number of other things could scare our horse. And then what would happen?" I asked, making sure to re-engage her before I lost her attention entirely.

"Run!" she said.

"Exactly," I said. "And we don't want that. So, when we are brushing our horse, we need to move like this," I positioned myself next to the schoolmaster pony and made a point to go in extra soft, light circles with the curry comb on his neck. "Small circles, gentle and soft. And we don't want to use this on their legs or their face because it's too harsh for those areas."

After showing her how to do one side, I offered the curry comb back to her. Having grown bored of watching and anxious to do, she snatched the curry comb from my hand and attacked the pony with swift, jerking zig zags across his belly.

"Okay, but remember what I just said? We need to be extra gentle. We don't want to hurt him," I came up next to her and put my hand over hers. I wanted her to feel the soft circular motion without having to guess. After a few moments, I could feel her muscles soften as she let out a deep breath. Janie was wound up tighter than me during finals week in college. I can remember thinking that whatever it is she is living with, she must be exhausted by the end of any given day. Her body was rigid, and her muscles didn't move with fluidity like most kids I worked with.

Realizing that this grooming session had already taken up 10 minutes and we had gotten nowhere, I decided to let Janie watch while I finished grooming and sped tacked the pony to get her on. She waited impatiently, but I could tell she tried her best to not interrupt, even though I could feel that she was dying to. Some parents don't realize that kids need to learn how to stand patiently without engaging with anyting in their environment. When they grow up, waiting patiently is simply a part of life that they cannot escape.

We finally headed into the indoor as I could feel Janie getting a whole new rush of energy. This girl put off some seriously strong vibes, but I just had to keep reminding myself "35 more minutes. You just have to last 35 more minutes."

When I positioned the pony at the mounting block, I instructed Janie to climb to the top. Once she finally got herself situated with both feet in the stirrups, I looked up at her from the ground.

"Okay, do you know how to hold your reins?" I asked.

"Yeah, I got it," she said, yanking both reins from my hand and grabbing them with a single fist.

"Okay, but no, you don't got it," I said, trying to keep the kindness in my voice but also making a point to inflict a tone that denoted a correction. Kids need to know when to admit they don't know.

"Thumbs up, pinkies out," I said, showing her my hands making the "kowabunga" hand signal.

She smiled. Kids loved it when I showed them goofy ways to remember things.

"Thumbs up, pinkies out," she repeated, dropping both reins and flailing both her hands in the air.

"Okay, so, yes...but rule #1 is we don't ever let go of the reins. Except if you're falling off. Then you always want to let go."

The schoolmaster pony was being my shining star as always, completely ignoring the flailing and loud 10-year-old who wouldn't stop wiggling around in the saddle. I could tell that balancing for her was a lot harder than it was for most people, but even I had to admit she was holding her own pretty well.

"Oh," she smiled with a blush as she reached for her reins. I helped her place her fingers properly around the braided leather, pinkies underneath and thumbs on top. Then I closed my hands around hers and told her to hold tight.

"Alright, let's walk on," I said, and the schoolmaster pony, being voice trained (the way I train all my horses) began to step forward. To my horror, even after he was already moving, Janie lifted both legs as wide as she could and gave him a swift, harsh kick to his sides. As if that weren't bad enough, she pulled as hard as she could back on the reins at the same time, practically ripping his mouth.

"Ok, Janie, first off - you can't pull your reins while you're telling him to go forward, right?" I asked, figuring that if I phrased it as a question she wouldn't take such offense to me being critical before she had barely left the mounting block.

"Oh, right," she said and immediately pushed her hands forward as if to give them back. Alright, so she acknowledged her mistake and corrected it. "We're getting there," I thought to myself. "Just 25 more minutes."

"Okay, and, who taught you to kick like that? That is not how we tell our horses to go forward. We put our heels down, wrap our legs deep and around like you're sitting on a barrely, and we squeeze with our leg," I say, while squatting with my hands in front to demonstrate. I'm such a visual learner, and I was blessed as a kid to be surrounded my phenomenal teachers who catered to that. Perhaps it's the other reason I took to equestrian sports so young - it's a monkey-see-monkey-do type of learning complimented by verbal queues.

"Sorry," she said, blushing again while crumbling her shoulders low. She looked genuinely defeated.

"No, that's okay. No need to apologize. We are here to listen and to learn. You are allowed to make mistakes, but what matters is how you correct them. Cool?" I asked, needing her to verbally engage. She immediately perked up as a smirk pulled across her face.

"Alright, so let's stay down on this half of the arena. Just walking in a circle, staying on the rail. I want you to sit up nice and tall, hands forward, heels down, eyes up," I explained. "Now go out to the rail."

Janie yanked her right rain and did another giant cowboy kick, "Walk!" she shouted.

"Ok, right idea, but do you think you could ask a little bit nicer?" I suggested. To my pleasant surprise, the word "nicer" queued and entirely different gear that Janie shifted down into.

"Yes, there we go," I said, as I watched her minimize all her movements simultaneously and focus dilligently on evoking a "nice" rider.

After a few times around walking, I could tell that Janie was getting bored. I wasn't quite sure if I was ready for Janie to trot, as her stability made me a little hesitant. The trot is a bouncy gate, even on a tiny pony, and can easily unseat someone who isn't balanced in the saddle. The last thing I needed was for Janie to fall off in her very first lesson, parents watching from the viewing room in what I imagined would be horror.

"Can I trot now?" she asked, as if she had read my thoughts.

"Do you feel ready to trot? Have you trotted before?" I asked.

"Yeah," and with another cowboy kick, Janie was off trotting, bopping in the saddle  while using her reins to balance her upper body.

"Okay but if you're going to trot you can't keep pulling on your reins to balance. That isn't fair. Your balance has to come from your seat and your leg, not your hands. Your hands are there for steering and for braking. Are you trying to brake right now?" I asked.

"No, I want to trot!" she proclaimed.

"Okay, then show me you want him to trot by not pulling on his mouth. And no more cowboy kicks! We are hunter jumper riders. We ride with softness and grace. We do not use any more force than necessary to accomplish any task," I explained.

"I'm trying," she moaned, her body already reverting back to her harsh and abrupt movement.

It was painful to watch the way Janie beat down on my favorite schoolmaster's back. Max had lived a long and full life, going all around to shows and winning tons of ribbons for kids. Now he taught mostly beginner kids because of his relaxed been-there-done-that demeanor. He was a little dark bay with a handful of white socks and one of the safest horses - if not the safest - horses I had ever worked with.

"Okay, that's enough trotting. Let's go back to the walk and work on our two-point," I said.

She slammed on the brakes by abruptly yanking back on her reins, her elbows drawn back as if she were rowing a boat. Finally, once he came down to a walk, she let a bit of a loop in his rein and Max immediately relaxed.

"Ok, so, we need to work on your braking skills, but we'll save that for next time. Show me your two-point," I reminded her.

She looked at me, one lip curled and a hair flip head turn. I got a glimpse of that pre-teen attitude starting to come out. "Huh?" she said.

"Um...your two-point. I guess, your jumping position?" I asked. Not all trainers use the same language so sometimes educating kids means figuring out what works for them, though I always liked to teach them the proper terminology where I felt it was important.

She immediately stood straught up in her stirrups and practically threw her body onto poor Max's neck.

"Okay, so, sort of. Do you know why they call it a two-point?"

"No, why?" she responded.

"Because, in a two point, you should be touching your horse in two places: your hands out in front of you, and your heels down on his side," I explained, assuming the position myself as if I were sitting on a horse.

"So, that means I need you to lift your body up, keep your eyes straight ahead, push those heels down and stick your butt out. Think about sinking down more than standing up," I said. A common mistake most kids made was thinking that over a fence you just stood straight up. If that were the case, the horse wouldn't be able to balance most of the time, and that's when things can go wrong. A two-point, also known as a jumping position, is for the rider to get out of the horses way and stay light on their back while clearing an obstacle. It was also a great position to practice for core strength and overall conditioning in the saddle. I ride in a hunt seat most of the time when jumping, just like I was taught from my days in the East Coast hunter rings.

After a few more minutes of me explaining further, it became apparent that she just wasn't getting it. "Okay, come to the center of the ring. Right to me," I said.

As she steered Max over to me, I took position on the left side of Max and held his left rein with my left hand.

"Okay, show me your two-point again," I instructed.

Janie stood straight up in the saddle, arched her back and threw herself onto Max's neck. "Gosh, this horse is a saint," I remember thinking.

"Okay, Janie, is it okay if I correct your position?" I asked and waited for a response before reaching to her.

"Yes," she said. I assessed her position by tapping the points on her body that needed to shift slightly. I began with her heel, which I moved from way out behind her to right underneath her hip bone. Then, I tapped her shoulder, indicating for her to rise taller. I placed my hands on her hands and moved them up his neck, for what is known as a crest-release, a proper release of the reins to allow the horse to reach for his fences.

"Okay, now, look at me," I said as I stepped back so Janie had a better view of my full body.

"Now, I want you to stick your butt out. But remember, think 'sink down' not 'stand up'," I instructed.

To my amazement, Janie adjusted and for a brief moment I thought this kid might actually make it over a jump one day.

"Yes! Perfect!" I exclaimed with a clap. A big grin wiped across her face as she looked to me for approval.

"But eyes forward!" I corrected as she giggled. She was actually kind of charming when she wasn't frustrated.

"Awesome, Janie, well I think that's all we have time for today. So give Max a big pat and tell him he was a good boy," I said.

She reached forward and slapped him hard four times. "Good boy!" she cooed.

As we exited the arena we were greeted by her parents waiting to collect little Janie and take her home. Janie ran to them as if she hadn't seen them all summer.

I smiled to her mother as I walked Max back to the grooming stall where I would begin untacking him and grooming him out before putting him back in his stall.

"Excuse me, Cat?" She said, peaking her head through the grooming stall.

"Yes?" I turned to her, my arms full of tack.

"I just wanted to say - thank you. So much. I haven't seen her able to make that much progress in the entire time she has been riding. Most of the time, the instructors in the past have made her cry or caused a complete tantrum. That's the first lesson she lasted all the way through without either one," she said with an obvious sense of relief.

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and widen my eyes at bit at the thought that I just survived a full-on gauntlet without even realizing it.

"Oh, really? I mean, she's not the easiest but she tries really hard," I explained. I couldn't deny Janie had the work ethic, though I had yet to see how bad her worst was.

"Trust me, that was amazing. We would love to come back and keep riding with you if you'll have us?" she asked, and it dawned on me that more than one trainer had asked that they not come back.

"Yeah, of course," I said, doing the mental math of what it meant to sign on a new consistent client. I needed every penny I could get to put toward shareboarding a horse and taking lessons of my own.

Before leaving, Janie came running up to me to say thank you, and then viciously threw her arms around and gave me a hard squeeze.

"Thanks!" she said, and ran to the front door where she met her parents waiting in the car.

It wasn't until they were gone that I could finally let out a genuine sigh of relief. I had survived to teach another day.