125. VIDEO: Pedal mettle

Shopping success at last:  I score a hi-hat cymbals set at a yard sale.  I have to buy the matching snare, two toms, and bass drum as well, which I’ll give away at some point.  My plan for introducing the hi-hat to Gus was to start with just the detached foot pedal, and by luck the seller separated the bass drum’s pedal when loading it into my car.  That gives me two pedals to work with, which makes me willing to start training before trying to donkey-proof or reinforce the thing.  I was pleased to see how well it seems to be built — thick metal, a bicycle chain, a strong spring . . .   But who knows whether Gus will totally trash it, or what modifications it might need for equine-user-friendliness.

I begin, as I do for all unfamiliar items, with “touch.”  Gus is rarely spooked by any visible object, and sure enough he willingly noses the pedal, even when it moves and clicks.

Now I set it down in front of him.  Equines aren’t very good at seeing directly ahead of themselves — their long faces get in the way.  One of the many terrifying aspects of jumping horses is that, just as they launch themselves into the air, they lose sight of the obstacle they’re jumping. They need to see it in advance and then gauge their blind leap.  Likewise (but much more safely) Gus will need to know where the pedal is so that he can target his foot onto it accurately.  

To show him the basic idea, I pick up his leg and place his hoof on the pedal.  He seems clueless, but just as I reach down for his ankle again, he flops his foot up and over the pedal.  I click and treat him for that approximation.  I don’t want to keep handling his foot, though, because he’ll need to figure out the mechanics and placement for himself.  Since he knows and loves our chacha, I wonder if he might imitate me if I slowly, clearly, dramatically plop my own foot onto the pedal.  Again, clueless.  

 

Next, I play face-to-face chacha with Gus and set the pedal in his path, hoping he’ll accidentally step on it.  When any part of his hoof bumbles against any part of the pedal, I click and treat.  That keeps him playing the game, and in no time at all, he does happen to step smack onto the pedal.  I don’t just click and treat for that; before he can step off, I’m blitz-clicking:  giving him a click and treat just about every half-second.  I want him to know that foot-on-pedal is the best place to be in the world.  After six or eight clicks, I ask him to step back, and I click him for that too.  If stepping on the pedal is ab fab, he also needs to know that stepping off it again is nearly as fab.  After all, in concert (ahem), crashing the cymbals will require him to press and release the pedal repeatedly.

The next day, we play with the pedal again, and Gus blows my mind by landing on the pedal in at least 50% of our tries. He’s really digging this game, and suddenly he depresses the pedal especially deftly, with apparent purpose and confidence.  Click!  Peppermint!  (You can hear him chewing it in the last sequence here:)