Together we discuss our training interests and concerns so that Alex can plan what to offer each of us, and we all observe each other’s lessons, gathering in the arena or around stall doors to watch and learn. Witnessing this party from his paddock, Gus objects to his exclusion with a blare of syncopated tubas and bagpipes every hour on the hour. But after our lunch break, it's his turn.
When he and I walk into the arena, he’s mildly flummoxed to see so many people gathered at one end. He likes them all; still, he’s not used to an audience. Nobody can decide what we should show Alex — tricks like tilt-a-chair and retrieves to the pedestal? or “dancer’s arms” and other groundwork? — so we’re a bit discombobulated. Also, I forget to switch to my smaller lead line, so I’m using the very long, heavy rope that’s for walking between paddock and barn, and the first thing Alex notices is how careless I’m being with that rope. She can tell I’ve never learned rope-handling in any systematic way, and that becomes our lesson.
We unleash Gus to go and roll, while Alex has me hold a halter in my two hands in front of me as she moves its lead-line around. Even when the line is very loose, I can feel minor weight shifts and drags and releases; of course horses can feel those too in their jaws and heads. We take turns being the horse and being the handler, walking each other around the arena, to refine my sensitivity to how every hand, arm, and body movement may translate to a feel in the halter. All the while, Gus is mostly content to sniff around on his own, though occasionally he seems to mirror our activity [see video below], and finally he strolls over and pokes his head between us: “Whatcha doooo-in’? Can I join in?”
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