Cutting Horse Methods

To an outsider, if I told you everything Cox did in the name of training cutting horses, you would think he's an asshole. The spurring, the jerking, the slapping, the brain chain. I watch schooling all the time that I don't personally agree with. It's too harsh. I have a constant moral dilemma over how much of this should I tell my mother since Mom has a mare in full time training. At what point does education become cruel? (For instance, Cox spilled after working Lucy on the flag, that she was "a psycho")

Most people in the cutting horse world wouldn't even bat their eye at Cox's methods. Taking a horse, who has talent to start with, to do this job takes hours of schooling and precision. Sometimes that "precision" means drilling and scolding, over and over again.

Thursday, Cox decided to "lay a horse down," which is when someone ties up a front leg, and waits for exhaustion to cause the horse to lay down on the ground of the arena. This trick is saved for especially stubborn or spirited horses who are not accepting training. My friend John was going to do it to Sawyer, but luckily, Sawyer turned a turner in training, and it wasn't needed. All it does is makes the horse submit to handling and to be under human control.

The blue roan stallion fought the rope for some time, refusing his fate. He even reared up at some point. Eventually though, he became too tired, and he laid down and then rolled onto his side. Chase sat on him, and patted him over and over.

Voices at the Cox Ranch

 The voices, particularly James (99% of the time, it's just him), run rampart when I'm at work for Cox, saying the same dumb shit they always have been saying--nobody likes you, you're a piece of shit, etc. 

(James told me multiple times I was beautiful yesterday, but his true motive came out today, he said that if I wanted to die pretty, I needed to die soon as age will make me ugly)

My therapist who just handles the psychotic symptoms has decided that I need to journal and use Airbuds (play music while cleaning stalls and walking around the ranch).  My psychiatrist told me that upping my clozapine to the level it would take to get rid of auditory hallucinations would interfere with my functioning, and I probably wouldn't be able to hold down a job nor go to school. 

He also told me that he thought when he first took on my case he would never live to see the day of me functioning so well and at such a high level, and that he considered himself an optimist. He was amazed because I was considering the reality that I might die of old age, and I've never dealt with that before, always thought I'd end my own life.

But I'm still plagued by the voices. I have a theory that if I stop believing in what the voices are saying, then they will go away or at least their power will dissipate. 

The stress of dealing with Cox brings about James. The two are connected some how. Interestingly enough, the voices go away when I'm riding, which is why equine therapy is so helpful, and why I continue to go out to Cox's place. James bugs me mostly when I'm not doing any specific work. 

James continues to spit in my face (metaphorically, of course) that Cox only puts up with me because of my parents.

Bait

 Of course, Cox has baited me, telling me that if I learn to work the flag well enough, I could train some of his horses. 

What a Few Bad Days Means

"You know what my problem with you is," Cox said to me as we sat on our horses in the working arena. All I had said to him moments before, "I'm not sure I can school my horse and handle the remote at the same time." 

Cox had been on me (talked to me a couple of times) about taking over flag duties and doing it myself (moving the flag back and forth with a hand remote instead of someone else operating it for you). I had never done it before, and I didn't want to screw up my horse, fucking up the remote and sending the flag all over the place where the horse can't keep up.

Oh god, I thought. 

"You have all these insecurities that you need to work through," Cox starts, and he continues, "You need to learn to go outside of your comfort zone." 

Eventually, the conversation turns on him, Cox explains that he's having a few "bad days" and I'm witnessing it. Everyday, he told me, "can't be all lovey-dovey." 

My only response to this onslaught was, "you're blunt." That just seemed to make him more angry. I tried to expound to him that I trying to be respectful to him always. His best retort was, "You've been blunt with me." (I don't remember me ever attacking him personally.)

The truth of it is: I am insecure about my riding abilities and in my personal life (thank you, Cox!), and also need to push against my boundaries and learn to dance out of my comfort zones (thank you, Therapist and Cox!). He's not lying. He has a point. But it's not his place to be criticizing me personally when none of it has anything to do with cleaning the stalls or loping the horses. Those are my two jobs and I do them well. He had to attack me on a personal level to find anything wrong with me since I complete my tasks with pride and dedication. 

Somehow it was decided that I wouldn't clean stalls on Saturday, but instead would go to the club cutting about two hours away in order to help. I wake up early, drive there, and show up for the first class, the Open. I cool out one of the horses, and when I find myself free of tasks to do, even after asking his girlfriend if she needs any help, I go to Cox. He's by the show arena, but not in it. "Do you need any help?" I ask him. 

"I'm not the person to ask that today," he says gruffly, laced with irritation.

I figured he would have been in a better mood since he won one of his class, and continued to do well throughout the horse show.  

I find some small chores to do, but after a while, it's obvious that everyone could live without me, and I tell the girlfriend that I'm headed home. I ask if she would like me to clean stalls since they will be super dirty, having skipped being cleaned on Saturday. She surprised me by saying yes, and so, on Mother's Day, I cleaned stalls. 

 

The Hit, Part II

 I've been wondering off and on, maybe too much, what kind of person kicks a puppy for barking? 

The girlfriend, just talking along during a horse show once, explained that the little puppy slept in the bed between her and Cox. 

Surely between the two, the dog isn't neglected or mistreated.

The Hit

 He told me to kick his puppy. I was listening to my airbuds while dragging the manure wagon behind me and his puppy, what they call a "cowboy corgi" came up to me, barking. Cox flagged me from the arena, and I took me airbud out of my good ear. 

"I'm asking you to kick my dog," he says to me in all seriousness. 

At first, I thought this was a test of some sort. Surely, he can't be real. 

He repeats himself. 

I look down at the puppy, and I act stern, and say to her, "No barking," and a paddle her behind gentle with my hand but dramatically in order to fool him or satisfy him, either one or both.