Gentling
Though
the weekend round-up had been exhausting, Shannon couldn't
wait to get started with the foals first thing Monday.
After school, and finishing her regular chores, Shannon
headed out to the holding pens. Each mare and her offspring
would be kept here until the foal was weaned and "gentled"
as her father called it. The mares were also handled again
to make them easier to work with should the need arise.
Shannon
had a regular routine down for working with the foals.
At the age of ten she had started working with her brother
Mike, whose job it had been at the time to "gentle"
the foals. Gentling consisted of getting the young horses
used to being touched, groomed, and haltered. Now Mike
and her oldest brother Patrick, spent most of their time
training the older horses and Shannon worked with the
foals.
Shannon
loaded her pockets with treats, mostly carrots she had
chopped into small, nibble-sized pieces. When she had
first started working with Mike they had used a rougher
technique of roping the foals and haltering them. But
Shannon had discovered by taking a little extra time,
she could win the confidence of the foals without all
the rough handling. When Mike had moved on to training
the reining horses, she started handling the foals her
own way.
Shannon
spent the evening working her way through the paddocks.
Many of the mares remembered the routine and immediately
came over looking for snacks and scratches. Shannon rubbed
each of them over, rewarding them for their patience with
little nibbles of carrot. She had discovered that most
horses had itchy spots they could not reach especially
the inside of the back legs. Shannon had to laugh one
day when she entered a pen and was approached by three
mares who promptly turned around and presented their backsides
for a good scratch.
"The
way to a horses heart, is through a good scratch,"
she said to the bay mare she was now rubbing.
Shannon
watched as each of the foals torn between uncertainty
and curiosity skittishly danced around their mothers using
them like a shield. Shyness and a wary nature natural
to all prey animals kept them at a safe distance. However
driven by curiosity, when they thought she was not looking,
mo
st of the foals would sneak a peek to see what Shannon
was doing.
Shannon
never pressed these first contacts. She knew given a little
time, curiosity would win and handling them would come
naturally. Shannon was surprised by the little black and
white filly her father favored. After only a few minutes
in the paddock, while Shannon was running her hands down
the mare's legs, she felt a little snuffling nudge in
her right pocket. The little filly had located an interesting
smell, her pocket full of carrots, and was boldly investigating.
"Hey
there," she said as she stood and tentatively extended
her hand. "Aren't you a brave little girl?"
The
filly held her ground and playfully nibbled at Shannon's
fingers and tossed her head. She could see handling this
little one was not going to be difficult.
Finally
Shannon reached the paddock with the golden colt and his
mother. A brief rain shower earlier in the day had cleaned
off some of the mud and the late afternoon sun danced
off of his flashy coat.
"Aren't
you handsome, Sun Dancer," Shannon said in a soft
voice, trying out the name that popped into her head as
she approached the colt's mother. The colt cocked an ear
in her direction, gazing at her intently with his intense
blue eyes.
Gold
Rush, Sun Dancer's dam, was a pretty, palomino brood mare
with a deep golden hide and flaxen mane. Shannon watched
the colt as she gave [Mare's Name] a few treats. Unlike
the other foals Sun Dancer did not seem shy and try to
hide from her, but he also did not come close.
"How
proud you must be Goldie," Shannon said. "Such
a handsome son you have. He may look like that old rogue,
Warrior, but I know that he will be different."
The
entire time Shannon groomed the mare, the colt held his
ground and watched her intently. When Shannon switched
to the mare's offside, Sun Dancer whinnied in his high
pitched baby voice and trotted around to the other side
of the paddock so he could see her. Shannon loved the
way the colt moved. Even at so young an age, he had a
flowing beauty to his movement, his neck proudly arched
and his little ears pricked forward.
Shannon
continued her routine with the mares and foals each day
after school. After a weeks time almost all allowed her
touch and looked forward to her daily visits. The little
black and white filly pranced proudly in her little leather
halter. At the end of two weeks the foals were weaned.
The separation from their mothers was painful. Shannon
lay awake at night listening to their mournful calls.
To ease their loneliness, the foals were allowed to romp
and play together for a couple of hours each day. All
that is but Sun Dancer.
Even
though he had been weaned, he would still not allow Shannon's
touch. Shannon had hoped that weaning him would help her
to reach him. He would need someone for companionship.
Shannon had tried bringing interesting or enticing things
into his pen. Sun Dancer would approach and inspect each
item carefully, never spooking, but if Shannon advanced
or reached out to touch him, he would step neatly away
and wait for her to retreat before he would return to
his investigation.
The
scrutiny she from her father and brothers made things
even harder. Both she and Sun Dancer were on trial and
Shannon knew it.
"Why
don't you just throw a rope on him," Mike said one
night after Shannon had reported her progress to her father
during dinner. "Easy enough to get the halter on
and teach him to mind the lead."
"Thanks
Mike," Shannon said. "But I think I'll give
him a little more time. We'll work it out." Though
her words sounded confident, Shannon's mind churned with
indecision. She knew in her heart physical force would
not win Sun Dancer over. He would see Shannon as a source
of fear, not pleasure or kindness. But she also needed
to make some progress or her father might step in.
Shannon's
father said very little during her updates especially
about her lack of progress with her colt. The only sign
of his disapproval was that little crease between his
eyebrows, and the occasional twitch of his bushy mustache.
"Just
watch yourself, Shannon," is all he said one night
and let the subject change over to the usual dinner discussions
of horses, the weather, and the jackpot penning next Saturday
night. Shannon looked over to her mother who was unusually
quiet. She could see the worry in her mother's eyes. She
hoped that her mother at least understood. She was the
one that had taught Shannon that patience is sometimes
more important than action. Not always an easy lesson
to learn, but Shannon tried.
Lying
in her bed that night, Shannon's thoughts swirled. "That
little black and white filly has come along so nicely,"
Shannon thought to herself. "She's sweet and eager
to please. Always quiet and gentle. Not even a playful
kick. But Sun Dancer hasn't budged. Its like he's waiting
for something. But what is it?" Shannon finally came
to a decision. Perhaps her brother was right. Perhaps
she should just halter him and be done with it. Maybe
he would respond to a little more authority.
