The goal of my lesson with Stan was to improve communication so Stan becomes “lighter” in receiving cues. I’ve always felt like I had to yell in my communication with Stan, whether with my voice, body, or under-saddle aids. He’s not stupid; he absolutely knows what to do. But he’s got one hell of a “mute” button when it comes to humans, and he presses it often.
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| Talking about session goals with Kate All photos thanks to Jen! |
Stan has always been a leader in our partnership. As a teenager, I trusted him to make decisions and let him have a say in nearly everything except speed. His sense of direction on the trail was uncanny, and I leaned on him to find our way home. More recently, he’s carried novices around with confidence, steady nerves, and good judgment.
However, this year, he’s been sassier than ever and downright rude at times. My mid-30s patience for bad behavior is a far cry from my teen or 20-something tolerance. I want to correct this and start a fresh chapter in how we communicate.
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| Kate explaining methods |
Kate began by leading Stan to get a read on him. It didn’t take long to see how practiced he was at tuning out people. He smashed that mute button hard until Kate showed him she could override it. Watching his dawning horror was honestly hilarious. His little communication bubble was crumbling, and he was appalled. Adorably appalled.
Kate explained the difference between pressure as communication versus pressure as restraint. She also reminded me: horses react quickly but think slowly. To set him up for success, we gave him a clear four-second window to respond before gently escalating pressure as we worked through asking him for things.
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| Practicing |
At first, Stan wasn’t convinced softer requests were worth acknowledging. He preferred his own agenda - scanning for Q and Grif, quietly determined to drift toward them. Not dangerous, not dramatic, but persistent. Each time he hit mute, Kate made it clear: Sorry, little buddy. Not today.
It didn’t take long before Stan gave up his personal agenda and tuned into ours. Soon he was moving off the lightest pressure in whichever direction Kate asked. Good pony. Next step: testing his respect for personal space while leading. Predictably, he barged right through her “bubble” in about half a second.
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| Stan's learning ears show his focus |
To address that, Kate introduced “snake hunting.” It was the most hilarious and genius way to work through this lesson. She’d lead him casually, then suddenly “spot a snake” on the ground. Stan’s job: get his feet off the snake to stay safe. They zigzagged around the arena, Kate pointing out invisible serpents and asking Stan to move away with increasing attentiveness lest he be "bitten" by the imaginary vipers. Within minutes, he was watching her body language like a hawk, shifting promptly and willingly. The transformation was incredible and hilarious to watch.
For Stan, this was entirely new territory. I loved watching his brain work as he thought through things and found the answers. He had to think and problem-solve, not just tune out the human until they were screaming loud enough. When I’d tried similar things before, my lack of structure meant he could just mash the mute button and wait me out. Because his little rebellions were never dangerous, I let him win. But it cost us communication and connection.
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| Stan's first encounter with mirrors in his life. He was VERY intrigued. |
Since coming home from the clinic, I’ve been practicing the things I learned from Kate. "Snake hunting” has quickly become a favorite game. My relationship with Stan feels brand new. It's so amazing how he's paying attention to me instead of just existing in his own world alongside mine. I’ve squealed with delight more than once at the change. I can’t wait to see where this next chapter takes us, and I’m grateful to finally have a way to turn off that mute button.
