After Chemaine spent several hours kicking Izzy's butt on Sunday, I wasn't sure what I'd get the next time I got on him. Would he be resentful and sour or meek as a lamb? Since I am a Pollyanna at heart, I decided to be prepared for awesomeness.
After the mouthiness discussion, I walked him up to the tack room and plopped his saddle on with zero ceremony. Each time he tried to stare off into the distance, I jerked his halter back into my hemisphere. I wasn't about to waste one ounce of the ass kicking he had received the day before. I wanted him to remember how uncomfortable his life can get when he insists on being the boss.
I did some quick stretches, snugged up my girth, and got on. Izzy dropped his head and spent the next eight minutes giving me a yes ma'am as often as he could. Just to check his buttons, I asked for a small leg yield off my right leg, and when he didn't jump away from it, I swatted him with the whip right behind my leg. The next time I asked, he fairly leaped away from my leg. That's right, mister.
We crossed the diagonal, and when he threatened to pop his head up for a look around, I gave him a sharp wiggle on the rein and said, don't you dare try it. He could not get back into shape fast enough. When I asked for a halt, he stood still. And even though he was tempted to take a quick peek, he knew standing there listening to me was his best option.
The eight minute ride - there is absolutely nothing better!