September 18, 2026: My Hands Needed Training Too

I thought my graduation days were behind me. I have the diplomas. I did the corporate career. I retired. At this point in life, I assumed any future ceremonies would involve me sitting comfortably in the audience while someone else wore the cap and gown.

Apparently not.

Like many celebrities collecting honorary degrees, I am still earning a few of my own. Mine just happen to come from Sarah Salter, there is no cap or gown, and this particular degree appears to be in Not Yanking on My Horse's Face.

I'll take it.

This was otherwise a fairly uneventful week in Bee World. We've had a few more hits on her sale ads. One sweet young rider came out to try her, and both Bee and she did well, but the money is the sticking point. Another interested person needs to sell her own horse before she can seriously consider buying Bee.

So, we're still waiting.

No dramatic announcements. No moving trucks. No tearful goodbye photos. Bee remains blissfully unaware that people on the internet are discussing her future and continues reporting for meals as though her employment contract has been renewed indefinitely.

But while we're waiting for Bee's next person, something pretty significant happened for me.

Sarah Gave Me a New Bit

Those of you who have been following along know that Sarah has spent months teaching me to do less.

Less grabbing. Less correcting. Less reacting.

Slow my hands down. Feel what Bee is doing before I respond. Ask instead of demand. Give Bee a chance to answer. Reward the try.

This week, apparently, my hands finally passed inspection.

Sarah moved me into a correction bit with shanks.

Now, before my non-horse friends picture some medieval torture device, and before my horse friends start debating bits in the comments, there's an important lesson here. A bit isn't simply "mild" or "harsh" based on what it looks like. Its design, mouthpiece, shanks, bridle setup, fit and, perhaps most importantly, the hands holding the reins all affect how it communicates with the horse.

A snaffle works with direct pressure. The reins attach at approximately the same level as the mouthpiece, so there isn't leverage multiplying the rider's rein pressure. A shanked bit works differently. The reins attach below the mouthpiece, creating leverage. Depending on the design and setup, rein pressure can act on several areas, including the horse's mouth, chin and poll.

In very simple terms, a little movement from my hand can now say a lot more.

Which is precisely why Sarah didn't hand me this bit six months ago.

Wise woman.

Apparently, My Hands Needed Training Too

When I first started riding Bee, I thought reins were mostly about steering and stopping. Want to go left? Left rein. Want to stop? Pull back.

Adorable.

What I've learned is that every change in bit, bridle and shank, or lack thereof, changes the conversation happening between your hands and your horse. Even something considered a mild bit can become severe in rough hands, while good hands are supposed to communicate clearly and then release pressure when the horse responds. Utah State's equine specialists specifically note that the rider has a tremendous effect on how a bit acts and emphasize soft hands and proper training.

With this new setup, I'm also riding Bee differently.

I'm doing considerably more neck reining, where the horse responds to the rein laying against the side of the neck rather than relying primarily on direct rein contact to guide the nose in a particular direction. My hand movements are smaller. The contact feels different. And when I move my hand just a little, Bee notices.

Immediately.

There is considerably less room for:

"I SAID SLOW DOWN, BEE."

And considerably more:

"Excuse me, ma'am, if you wouldn't mind..."

Bee apparently prefers the second management style.

Western riding guidance actually reflects this idea. With a curb-style setup, the reins can be carried so that a small movement of the hand gives direction to the bit while the horse is neck reined.

So this graduation wasn't really about earning a "bigger" or "stronger" bit.

I earned quieter hands.

And I'm surprisingly proud of that.

I would love to tell you Sarah presented the new bridle while "Pomp and Circumstance" played over the arena speakers. Perhaps Allyson tossed rose petals. Lori handed me a diploma. Bee stood quietly wearing a tiny graduation cap.

None of this happened.

Sarah basically changed my tack and expected me to ride correctly.

Rude.

I Graduated. But apparently there’s another class. 😂

Still Learning While We're Waiting

The funny part is that I'm actively trying to sell the horse who is still teaching me how to ride.

Every inquiry makes me wonder whether this will be Bee's person. Every rider who comes to meet her makes the possibility of her leaving feel a little more real. And then another week passes, she's still here, and Sarah teaches me something new.

Maybe that is what this in-between season is supposed to look like.

Bee doesn't need to hurry out the door, and I don't need to stop learning just because she's for sale. Until the right person comes along, we keep riding. We keep working. I keep learning to listen to what she's telling me before I decide what I need to tell her.

And this week, apparently, I graduated.

There was no ceremony.

There was no diploma.

There wasn't even cake, which frankly feels like an oversight.

But Sarah trusted me with more refined equipment because she trusted the hands holding the reins.

I'll take that degree.

Although I do think honorary graduates usually get better swag.