Alicia and I have a habit of closing down restaurants. They are usually putting the chairs upside down on the tables or mopping the floor by the time we look around and realize we should probably go, and have been talking horses for a solid couple of hours. In one of these many talks, all of which I cherish of course, Alicia told me that when she takes lessons with Anne Kursinski, sometimes things that Anne tells her won't click until months later, and then she'll realize what Anne was talking about in the middle of a ride. When Alicia told me this, I thought, "Gosh I wish that would happen. More often than not I feel like things are sailing over my head, barely sinking in, or getting lost in translation. But last night I had one of those moments, for the first time.
The advice was this: "You need to make a place for yourself to sit on your horse." When I first heard this from Alicia, I had a vague sense of what she meant but no sense of how that would feel or how it would be accomplished. Last night I got the feeling and thought "Oh! I get it!" I was perfectly centered in the middle of my horse, comfortably sitting with his stride, balanced, secure and relaxed. And it wasn't a fleeting feeling. It lasted. And it was good.
Here is how it came about. We warmed up at the walk and he felt good. No gadgets, no gimicks, because I wanted a true sense of how his adjustment had changed his way of going. It definitely made a difference -- no more head tilt for starters. When we moved into the trot, he was forward and relaxed but he wasn't quite balanced. I started doing some big serpentines and he tripped twice behind, which is like a giant neon flashing light that reads: "Your horse is on his forehand and his hind end is actually about a mile behind you doing absolutely nothing. Would you care to fix this before both of you topple over?"
Ah, yes. Perhaps I should do something about this, before, as the sign says, we topple over. So I went back down to the walk. I remembered that one day this summer we had a lesson out in the grass field and Alicia had me work on halting using only my seat and leg, sending him forward if he tried to balance off my hand for the halt, and then asking again. So I went back to this. This time he caught on very quickly (he is after all a Wunderkind) so a couple of times I asked him to back softly after he halted, using a lot of seat and leg. The first few times he wanted to swing his hind end to the left or right as he backed up. I straightened him out slowly and asked for another couple of steps of backing. When he backed up straight, lots of praise.
When I had a really balanced walk, pushing off from his hind end, I went back to a sitting trot. And what a sitting trot it was. I thought about pulling my knee away from the saddle, sinking into my heel, sitting evenly on both seat bones, and stretching tall through my shoulders (the shoulders may have only been partially accomplished. It's a weakness).
For the transition to the canter I stretched tall, lifted my hand, kept a firm contact on my outside rein, and asked him to canter with support from my inside leg. Excellent departure, and beautiful canter. And then suddenly I felt it -- I had made a place for myself to sit. My legs felt like they were just wrapped around him (nevermind they come halfway down his sides). I could feel his back lift beneath me and his hind end become completely engaged. I was using my inside calf muscle to balance him in my canter circles -- and he was responding and holding his bend! I lifted my hand and sat deeper down the long sides of the arena and his canter stride stayed the same length. I never got displaced from where I was sitting. I felt like I was six feet tall and had the grace and strength of a ballerina. It was amazing.
Then the moment came when a choir of angels began to sing. I had this awesome canter and I really thought about my downward transition. I thought -- just ask for it the same way you asked for the halt. Seat and leg: stretch tall and sit deep, use your inner thighs. And it worked! There was no herky-jerky emergency-break style downward transition. It was light as a feather, and his trot was big and bouncy and soft. It felt so good I almost quit on that, but I wanted to see if I could make it happen in the other direction.
And the best part is -- I did! His right lead canter is always easier so I was optimistic. I centered myself again, asked for the upward transition with an elevated hand, firm contact on the left rein and supporting right leg. Another beautiful transition, into the same uphill soft canter. I had a place to sit. I had a moment where I thought -- now don't get too discouraged if you can't repeat the downward transition. This will still be a fantastic ride. But I thought about my halt transitions, asked the same way, and got the same soft downward transition. I actually said out loud: "I get it! Tucker! I totally get it!"
I quit on that note and gave him all kinds of praise and affection. And he knew he was good too. You could see it written all over his face while I was cooling him out: "I am the MAN."
How lucky are we, horse people? Do you ever stop and think about it? On a regular old Wednesday night, I got to do something that made me feel thoroughly satisfied and completely elated. Do you ever think about the fact that people who don't ride must get that feeling so much less frequently? Sure, they have other things that make them happy, but that walking-on-air, everything-is-right-with-the-universe feeling that we get after a good ride must be so hard to replicate in a life without horses. I am so grateful that a few nights a week I get to see this face and know that my life has meaning. This horse is such a blessing. 
And here's a profile shot of his handsome face:
And here is Indie, helping me, um, cross-tie (?):
