The Burn Out : my hardest lesson as a trainer

A few years back, I got into doing o-mok-see and gymkhanas on my 23--year-old(+) rescued Paso Fino gelding, Rico. In addition to his age and history with abuse, Rico's other handicap was his breed; the Paso Fino is a "comfort breed" - they have an extremely smooth gait as opposed to a bumpy trot - and are not normally used for racing or speed events, unlike the Quarter Horses we were up against.

None of that mattered to Rico, however. He took to competing like a fish to water, and we blew the competition away the first time we competed. It was a thrill to be on atop this underdog that was challenging the stereotype at these events. And he loved it. He loved the speed, the competition, the crowd - everything!

On top of that, I was fulfilling my own personal expectations. My mother was well known in our area for her past victories in the sport. People were still telling me stories of how she'd gotten sponsors, and how close she was to going pro in the WPRA. They were telling me things like "you remind me of your mother" or "it's in your blood" or "you're going to be just as good as she was." I wanted nothing more than to put a trophy of my own next to the 300+ she had. The ribbons we'd won in the two shows we competed in were great, but I wanted the 'gold'.

It wasn't long before I got my chance. My own stable was hosting an o-mok-see, and they would be offering trophies for the winner of each event. I scanned the list of games, confident that Rico could win every one in his sleep. But competition makes me nervous, and the only way I could combat my nerves was by feeling prepared. So, even though I knew Rico could compete will in the event, I wanted him to be perfect, so..we practiced.

I practiced with him almost every day after work, about two hours each day, for the entire two weeks before the show (are you cringing yet? I am). I was obsessed with getting each pattern perfect and, the more I practiced, the more Rico would get frustrated and get it wrong. Which, of course, frustrated me and made me keep practicing. Thinking about it now makes my stomach sink.

So, the day of the competition, I was ready to kick some butt. Unfortunately, Rico did not feel the same; not only was he getting the patterns wrong, but he was freaking out before and after our runs. We ended up getting disqualified from every single event (well, except the relay race - we won that one).

In the end, I pulled out of the competition and went to my tack room and cried. I wasn't upset because we had done so poorly, or that everyone had seen, or even that I had missed my chance at winning a trophy - it was because I hadn't listened to my horse. I failed that day as a trainer; I was so obsessed with my own goals, my desire to be like my mother and my ego, that I'd taken something Rico loved and warped it into two weeks of frustration, anxiety and torture. In short: I'd burnt him out.

Rico eventually learned to enjoy working the patterns again, but we only did it for fun after that. To be honest, I was afraid to compete with him. I didn't want to put him, or myself, back into a high-pressure situation. I just wanted to have fun with him, working together on our own terms.

Rico passed away a few months ago. He taught me a lot of valuable lessons, but "The Burn Out" definitely ranks high on the list. Since then, I've strived to never put my own ego or personal issues over the well-being of the animal I'm working with - dog, horse, or other - and to always, always listen to what they tell me.