#3 - Fueled by Fear - Quick Silver CLI
Quick Silver CLI (pronounced sly) was the first horse I ever named, so I dubbed her after yours truly. My 6th grade self had big plans of having an entire herd with my initials, CLI, at the end of their names. However, CLI is the only horse ever to carry my monogram. I found CLI, a ¾ Arabian and ¼ Thoroughbred, at a local breeder. She was the most beautiful filly I had ever seen and she was the horse I was going to use in the 4-H colt program.
Armed with my 4-H Colt Manual, I set out to train my new filly. I didn’t realize, however, that being a hot-blooded breed, CLI was more on the reactive side of the spectrum. With no tools or knowledge for how to train a reactive horse, I learned to “tip-toe” and “sneak” around very quietly so as not to set her off. I had never heard of desensitization, except for the paragraph in my manual about “sacking out” your colt, which just seemed cruel to me at the time. As a result, CLI never became accustomed to having ropes around her legs or large movements around her body. Because she spooked easily, I was always on edge when I was near her. Looking back, I’m certain that my anxiety actually made her more fearful because she didn’t have a steady partner whom she could count on.
CLI and I had many scary incidents, which caused us both to become more fearful as our relationship grew. When she was a yearling, I was lunging her with a nylon halter and lunge line. She managed to get away from me. As the lunge line snaked around her legs, she bolted and wildly ran away. She didn’t come to a stop until she had plowed through a barbed wire fence, slicing her neck within an inch of her juggler in two places. Our veterinarian came right out and stitched her up. We had to tie her in a corral next to our patient mare, Brandi, for 2 weeks. I agonized as both horses stood in that same spot the entire time and I sat with them daily. CLI’s cuts healed up and her mane eventually grew to cover the scars. Watching CLI violently run from that lunge line was the most horrific, traumatizing experience I have ever had with horses. To this day, I cringe whenever I see horses inside a barbed wire fence.
The manual said that I needed to start riding CLI as a two year old. I eased my English saddle onto her and kept the stirrups tucked up so they didn’t knock against her sides, inadvertently spooking her. I did lots of lunging like this and surprisingly, she never bucked, even though I was quite wary whenever she went out on the lunge circle. One day I crept onto her back and we had our first ride. I was extremely careful not to touch her sides with my legs and used my voice to get her to walk around. We made it through that first ride and many after. CLI eventually learned to walk, trot, canter, turn, and stop. We still had incidents, however. One day I rode her up to the mailbox to retrieve the newspaper. When I pulled the paper out, she had a huge reaction that landed me in the ditch. No matter how many times I rode her and no matter how good she acted, I was always fearful that something bad was going to happen.
My first attempt to show CLI under saddle was at the Montana Winter Fair. I had shown her in the halter class and won Grand Champion Half-Arabian mare, but when it came time to ride her in the English class it was a different story. I can remember standing outside the show barn in the dead of winter, dressed in my thin English riding outfit literally frozen. Too frozen from fear and cold to move. I just stood there holding her and missed my class. I can remember feeling so crushed and defeated. The following spring, I did manage to ride her in a schooling show. We were definitely not in harmony, as we were both braced and frightened.
This feeling, along with my new trainer telling me she would not make a good show horse, led to my decision to part ways with CLI. I sold her to a lady in Arizona. A year later, she sent me some photos of CLI in a show ring being ridden in a saddle seat English class with a huge ribbon hanging from her bridle. I was honestly shocked and amazed that CLI looked like a real show horse and that she had won a prize.
Looking back, these are the lessons that I learned from CLI:
Horses will live up (or down) to your expectations. I always expected CLI to be reactive and spooky. Her new partner expected her to be an outstanding show horse. CLI lived up to both of our expectations.
You need to be a partner your horse can count on. My fear fueled CLI’s fear and vice versa. She could never count on me being the one to say, “You’re okay. Everything is fine. We’ve got this.”
You must have a reflex to relax, especially when something is spooky. If I can’t show my horse how to relax when something is scary, I can’t expect my horse to relax either. It starts with my body language, calm voice, and confidence.
It’s important to expose horses to many different things that could potentially be spooky. I was afraid to show CLI anything that might cause fear and as such she didn’t learn how to respond; she only reacted.
Not every horse is your ideal partner. No matter how much I loved CLI, we never got to a place where we felt safe with each other. At that time, selling CLI was the best decision I made for both of us. CLI went on to flourish with a new partner and soon after I started down a new path with some very special horses.
