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Katrin Silva Dressage

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Katrin Silva Dressage

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Dressage, Western, Western dressage - quality training and instruction for horses and riders
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10/31/2026

Horses are creatures of habit. So are riders. Rider habits will influence our horses’ habits - in a positive or less positive direction. Habits in and of themselves are neither good nor bad, but they are extremely powerful. And habits that work against a good partnership can keep us stuck in the purgatory of mutual frustration for a long time.
Horses will not change their habits on their own. They are not capable of the kind of decision-making and conscious awareness required to do so. Only changing our own habits will convince our horses to change theirs. But that’s easier said than done.
Fiddling hands are a good example. The habit of micromanaging with the reins can lower a horse’s head for a second or two, but leads to unsteady contact and unhappy horses long-term. I fell into that habit in my late twenties, when I was out on my own for the first time, showing lots of young or green horses for hopeful owners with limited training budgets. Fiddling was a short-sighted survival strategy that helped me win ribbons for a while, but it kept me from advancing my horsemanship in the long run.
By the time I realized this, I was stuck deep in the habit rut. Making the decision to change marked the beginning of a long road toward better connection.
Instructors telling me to just keep my hands quiet did not work. Neither did self-flagellation. Watching the extent of the problem on video helped me analyze what was going on, but did not fix it. My hands wanted to do what they had done for years, even when I told them not to.
What eventually did work was riding with my reins bridged every day. This helped me recognize when I was fiddling, because, with bridged reins, one hand will tell on the other. Playing with one-handed riding whenever I thought I could had a similar effect. Improving my seat helped, too, because it made my hands more independent. It’s been a long process. It’s still going on.
Am I over the habit? I wish I could answer that question with a confident Yes. But I can’t. Old habits never completely go away, I’ve found. Even now in my mid-fifties, I sometimes find my hands trying to go back to what they used to do so many years ago. And then, I bridge my reins.
I feel like a recovering alcoholic. Sometimes, a bottle of booze, aka the temptation to quickly “fix” a horse’s neck position with the reins alone, seems hard to resist. I’ve learned to recognize these moments, and to resist the temptation. But it’s not easy.
Do you have habits that keep you stuck? How did you break out of the habit rut? I’d love to know.

10/28/2026

I've been a part of the Besthorsepractices Summit since the inaugural event in Durango in 2017. It's been an overwhelmingly positive experience: collaborative, inclusive, welcoming, life-changing. Please consider participating in 2027!

10/24/2026

Our barn is full. We’ve got horses in every available stall and pen right now. It’s a good problem to have for a self-employed horse trainer and her team. We are busy - but we can’t be so busy we miss the most important point of our work, which is to help horses and people understand each other.
Horses can’t learn when they’re worried, overly amped up, or distracted. People can’t, either.
If we want to make progress, we need to show up and work hard, while also slowing down and taking time to listen. We need to find the delicate balance between getting things done and not being in a hurry. We need to keep things moving along without raising our stress levels, or those of our horses, into the red zone. Working with horses requires energy, but a quiet, low-key kind of energy. We need to have a plan and a to-do list, but we can’t get carried away.
Horses can tell the difference between a clear sense of purpose and frantic busyness. They mirror our tensions and apprehensions, but also our calm, unhurried emotional states.
How do we keep the energy at the barn from becoming counterproductive?
We try to keep conversations honest, but also polite and sincere - between horses and people, and between people and other people. I try to keep frustration out of my voice. I try to move purposefully, but slowly. Of course, I’m not perfect. Neither are my students, or my employees. We get discouraged, or frustrated with ourselves. Here are a couple of strategies I use as a reset button when I feel that happening:
I use our adobe gateway as a reminder to be present. Every time I walk into the courtyard, I try to breathe, pause, and slow down. I try to leave my grievances and frustrations outside the gate. The barn is no place for loud voices, for negative emotions, for tense movement.
And finally, all of us at the barn use the barn cat as a reminder to breathe and slow down. Sylvester chills on his chair most of the day, every day - and he always appreciates a belly rub, or a treat. It’s a win-win situation.
Here’s the interesting thing: When I slow down, breathe, and feel present, I actually get more done. The horses learn more. My students enjoy their lessons. And, as an added benefit, I experience flashes of gratitude - for the work I get to do, for our barn community, for the horses. How do you keep the balance between getting things done and slowing down enough to do them well?

10/21/2026

Stretching a horse forward and down has fallen out of favor in some equestrian circles. Doesn’t it, people ask, put a horse on the forehand? Doesn’t it work against the ultimate goal of collection, of shifting more of the horse’s weight onto the hindquarters, of lightness and carrying power?
It’s a legitimate question. Yes, a low neck does tend to put a horse on the forehand. No, a low neck does not in and of itself build a correct top line. No, forward and down is not a cure-all. But teaching a horse to stretch forward and down nonetheless plays an important role in developing true collection, and, even more importantly, in developing athletic, happy riding partners. Here is why:
Many horses come to my barn because they are confused about contact, connection, forward, straightness, or the rider’s aids in general. Some of them have developed the wrong set of muscles, e.g. the underside of their necks. Others are stiff, hollow, tense, braced, defensive, one-sided, or curled. They have learned to tolerate a rider, rather than communicate with a rider. Before I can think of lightness or collection with such a horse, I need to explain more basic concepts, like relaxation, alignment, and, from there, contact. Teaching a correct forward and down stretch can relax a tense horse, help straighten a crooked horse, and help a curled horse reach for the bit, rather than tuck his nose behind it.
How do we teach the forward and down? I like to use circles and spiral-out leg-yields for this purpose, first at a walk, then at a relaxed trot. I keep offering the longer rein whenever I feel the horse stretch the outside of his body. I offer the stretch whenever I think the horse will take the invitation. But - and this is crucial - my hands have to remain friendly. The invitation has to remain an invitation, not a summons. I can’t force a horse to stretch. Pulling the neck down will not teach the horse anything useful.
I also can’t chase the horse into a stretch. I’ve seen videos of “stretchy trot” that show horses rushing around the ring in a hurried, unbalanced trot, with their necks low but their noses tucked in. This is not what I’m looking for. The tempo has to stay even. The stretch should help a horse relax more, not less. I want to be able to walk or halt from a stretch, without shortening the reins or the horse’s neck.
Once a horse has figured out how to stretch, the stretch becomes a reward. A break from collected, physically demanding work. A yoga pose in between weight lifting reps. At the same time, the stretch becomes a test for cow correct my contact is. I release horses into a stretch when I think “Now he feels great - forward but not hurried, soft but engaged, supple but not noodly.” Then, the stretch will tell me whether that’s actually true or not. If my horse speeds up, I was holding him together with the reins. If my horse raises his head and becomes a tourist, He was unfocused. If he hollows his back, I was manipulating him into a “frame” he was not ready for. I take the feedback, and work on what the horse told me to work on: alignment, balance, confidence, understanding of the aids, relaxation. And when I think I’ve made progress, I offer the stretch again.
Teaching a horse to stretch takes a rider with patience and tact, but once the horse takes the invitation, he finds himself in a happy place. Stretching forward and down feels good to every horse I’ve ever worked with. It’s a milestone when the tense, crooked, upside-down horse realizes there is an alternative to the way he was moving.
Of course, we don’t stay in the stretched frame forever or exclusively. I use it as a warmup, as a break, as a reward, as a check for how correct my work is, and as a reminder to relax when tension creeps in. I use it for brief periods, at first at the walk, later in all three gaits.
Dressage helps horses become well-rounded athletes and riding partners through a combination of weight lifting, cardio, dance, yoga, and zen meditation. Stretching is time on the yoga mat - an important piece of the process, nothing more, nothing less.

09/26/2026

Which is the correct way to adjust a snaffle bit?
Many English riders have a clear answer to this question: “There should be two to three wrinkles at the corner of the horse’s mouth!” or: “The horse should smile, but not laugh.”
I grew up in Germany, where I learned this rule as an absolute truth. But once I came to the US and immersed myself into the world of Western horsemanship, I realized it wasn’t. My Western mentors taught me a different rule: The bit should hang low. There should be no wrinkles at the corners of the horse’s mouth, ever.
I felt confused. I started experimenting. I started listening closely to what the horses told me. After several decades of doing that, I find myself squarely in the middle between the two camps. A bit that sits too low tends to move around too much, which some horses find irritating, especially if it hits their teeth. A bit that sits a little higher feels more stable, but does not allow the horse to feel a complete release from pressure on a loose rein. So, I aim for just right for optimal communication: not too high, not too low. Finding that sweet spot for each horse is a matter of some trial and error, because not all equine mouths are created the same. Ultimately, only the horse can tell me where the bit should be, or which bit is best. And when I teach, I usually ask any new student why they use the bit they are using and why it’s adjusted the way it is. From there, we may, together, decide to readjust it, or not.
I’ve ridden in dressage clinics where the first thing the instructor does is yank the bit up three holes on each side, without asking me whether I had a reason to adjust it the way I did. This is a red flag, just like clinicians who walk up to my horse and crank the noseband as tight as it will go before they even introduce themselves.
I don’t claim to know a lot, but I do my best to listen to each horse’s feedback about the bit. I’ve also learned to not to spend time and money on teachers who are not willing to listen to their students, or their students’ horses. Rules can be useful, but ultimately, understanding what horses tell us matters more than rules ever will.

09/25/2026

“This is not the right horse for you!” is a common statement in the horse world, overheard in barns and at shows everywhere, uttered by trainers to clients, and from one well-meaning horse owner to another (or, more commonly, about another in hushed tones, as in: “Can you believe she spent money on that horse?” or “She should have never bought that horse!”)
I don’t like to overhear it. I don’t ever say it. I don’t tell my students that they should not ride their horses, unless I see a serious safety issue that needs immediate attention. But even then, suggesting she should get a different horse is not particularly helpful to the owner, who may not have bought her horse for reasons she can easily put into rational, sensible-sounding words. I prefer to listen to my students, to help them figure out whether to keep the horse they are struggling with. I try to be realistic, but also mindful of their emotional ties to their horses.
Is there a right horse for each of us? I doubt it. There is, usually, a wide range of horses who can, with time and education, round up to “the one. Whether or not a horse-rider partnership will work out depends a lot on how committed the rider is. Starting over with a new horse can be a valid choice, no doubt. But discovering hidden potential in the horse you already have is so much more satisfying.
If a client has clear competitive goals, I tell her whether or not I believe her horse will help her reach those goals. And I will remind her that many horses are capable of great things if we train them correctly. But most of my clients don’t have specific competition-oriented goals. They want something far less tangible but ultimately far more ambitious than a blue ribbon. They want to get along better with the horse they’ve got. They want to improve their horsemanship. They want to understand their horse. They want to become a better load to carry. All valid, worthy goals, achievable with almost any horse .
Here is Milagra, cute, solid, unflappable, and definitely the right horse for Aimee Blanchard. We are now discovering she is capable of flying lead changes, too.

09/19/2026

What little I know about horses is not mine. It’s not my property. I did not invent it. It’s not new. It’s not revolutionary.
What I do with horses comes from the masters of horsemanship who lived before me, and from those who live now, in all parts of the world. From the great teachers I’ve had over the years, and even from the not so great teachers, i.e. those who taught me what not to do.
It comes from my colleagues, who set examples I can follow.
It comes from my students, who ask me questions that make me think.
Because I know it is not mine, I have no right to jealously guard my knowledge, or to sell it as my brand.
I will not attach my name to it. It’s not my method. It’s good horsemanship, based on the principles of dressage that have been around since the days of Xenophon. It’s like a river. It’s been the same since humans first climbed on a horse’s back, yet different for every horse we work with. It’s something already discovered thousands of years ago, yet ready to be re-discovered every day, with every horse. It’s both old and brand new, both time-worn and completely fresh, both simple and complicated.
I am just a conduit through which knowledge that has been here all along flows back out into the world.
So, how do I make a living as a professional? What can I offer to my students?
Guidance along a path that has been there all along.
Crumbs of wisdom that horses have given me, so I can share them with others.
Motivation and inspiration, through sharing my long, checkered history of working with horses for many years, of learning and teaching, of tons of mistakes and some lightbulb moments.
Here is what I don’t sell:
Easy solutions. Guaranteed results. A radically new system of horsemanship. The feeling of belonging to a secret club whose members know things other horse people can’t know.
I hope you’re ok with that.

09/17/2026

“Your shoulders are not in alignment with your heels!”
“Your toes are pointing sideways!”
“Only cruel people use snaffle bits!”
“You should only ride on a loose rein. Contact is torture!”
“Your horse’s hind end is not engaged enough!”
“Your horse is tense and unhappy because his ears are not pointing forward!”
I’ve heard those and similar comments since I’ve been working with horses - for almost 40 years. I used to believe that everyone who criticized my horsemanship did so because they knew how to ride, while I clearly did not. Otherwise, I reasoned, why would these people think they had the right to tell me what I was doing wrong?
I was sure as sure as they were that they would do a better job with the horses I was working with. Until about dozen or so years ago, most of these negative voices piped up at shows and clinics. When I started sharing pictures of my work online, they cropped up in the comments section. They still do. I spent many years convinced I was the only professional trainer alive who did not know how to train a horse, in spite of a full barn and many happy clients.
It took me decades to figure out that horse people criticize and judge other horse people for a wide range of reasons, most of which have nothing to do with the target of their criticism. People judge others so they can feel competent. They believe that pointing out the flaws they see in someone else’s horsemanship will improve their own horsemanship (hint: it won’t, at least not without a lot of additional reflection and effort). They think that tearing someone else down will lift them up (hint: it doesn’t). Other times, the fault-finding comes disguised as an effort to educate me, along the lines of “I am only trying to help you!”
Of course, the people who really do try to help me - my teachers and mentors, my assistant trainers, a few other people whose judgment I trust - are in a different category. I ask them for feedback. I pay them for feedback. I thank them for their feedback. I value and appreciate their feedback, even when it’s negative. I need feedback, because I want to get better at what I do. But I’ve learned that not all feedback is created equal.
Now, when I get feedback I did not ask for, I look at the source: Who is commenting? Is this someone I know? Someone whose opinion I respect? Someone whose opinion I care about? Someone who is an accomplished horseman or horsewoman? If the answer is a clear no, I let that comment go. On social media, I can hide or delete it. In real life, there is no such button, but I wish I could find one. I don’t want to waste any more time than I already have on feeling awful because of negative feedback from people who have not earned the right to give it.
If the source is credible, I then try to see the point this person is making. I ask myself: is there truth in it? Are my words contradicting what is in the photo or video? Am I giving advice that won’t help anyone? Am I writing from a place of honest, open awareness, rather than self-righteousness or entrenched habit? Does my writing sound confusing? Am I saying what I really mean to say? And, more than anything, what is my horse's feedback on this matter?
Here is what I don’t ask myself anymore: Am I the worst rider, ever? Should I find a different career? I won’t lie. Criticism of a certain kind still has the power to hurt me. But feels like more of a mosquito bite now, not a seriously painful hornet sting.
You turn, dear colleagues and fellow horse enthusiasts: How do you deal with negative feedback you did not ask for?

09/17/2026

I came across this video from a couple of months ago. Four-year old Corizon was still not sure he could pick up his left lead. He had some strong opinions about it, but soon realized it was not as big a deal as he had thought. When a horse protests, I have a window of opportunity to correct him. My intention is to get from “No!” to “Yes, good.” within a few moments. My correction has to be immediate, appropriate, unemotional, and brief. It should never escalate into a prolonged argument. If Cori had kept up his protest, I would have changed what I was doing. I would have asked: Are you strong enough for this? Are you comfortable in your body? Do you understand what I want from you? Did I prepare you well enough? I would have offered to break the ask down into smaller pieces. I would have played with different ways to explain things to him. But sometimes, when a horse is simply testing out different ways to respond to a request, a simple correction is what we need. We need to say “No. Not this.” Without holding a grudge. Without getting frustrated. But with enough firmness to sound convincing.
The second video is more recent. We are beginning to play with counter canter and more balanced transitions.
Cori’s canter work is now fluid and confident - because of a few "Not like this!" moments and many, many "Good boy!" moments.
Sometimes, it takes a moment of “No!” to get to “Yes, good.”

09/08/2026

It’s September, which means: it’s horse show season. Some of my students are getting ready to compete. I’m more than happy to help them fine-tune their dressage tests, but I don’t feel the slightest urge to be out there with them.
No, this is not because I think competitive dressage is inherently abusive to horses. It’s because competitive dressage takes a heavy toll on me, on a mental and emotional level.
I know how to compete sanely in other areas of my life. I can run races and feel good about them, no matter how I finish. Sure, placing in my age group feels rewarding, but running is much more about the camaraderie and athletic achievement than about winning or losing. I wish I could feel this way about horse shows.
The honest truth is: Horse shows stress me out too much to enjoy them. They always have, not because of pre-show performance anxiety, but because of post-show despair, followed by post-show depression that can last weeks or months. I take what judges tell me way too seriously. I believe every word. Or, more accurately, I believe any negative feedback, while dismissing the positive bits.
I used to compete a lot, because I thought I had to. But I drove home from almost every show inside a dark cloud of self-doubt, feeling completely worthless, convinced I was the worst rider, ever.
I thought I could learn to enjoy showing if I forced myself to do it over and over. I was wrong. Instead of gradually easing, my discomfort grew into panic attacks that became more and more intense. I talked to a couple of therapists, who offered helpful suggestions. I tried breathing exercises. I tried recognizing the self-destructive thoughts as soon as they reared their ugly little heads. But no intervention or acronym could adequately prepare me for picking up the score sheet and taking in the judge’s comments, which I read focusing entirely on what had gone wrong: not enough bend here, late transition there, a spook at C. Then, the tears would come, along with a crashing wave of the familiar anguish: I had failed, once again, to do right by my clients, or my horses. I had no right to be in that arena. I did not know how to ride, much less train. I had no business calling myself a professional. The downward spiral had started. It would take days or weeks to dig myself out of the deep pit of shame and worthlessness. And then, invariably, the cycle would start over at the next show.
My issues with being judged have, of course, complicated reasons. Their roots reach deep into a time before I knew what horse shows were. Knowing this does not help when it matters most, i.e. when the score sheet reveals how awful my riding really is. And, truthfully, dressage shows have made all my insecurities worse. I have not experienced them as a particularly welcoming environment. Judges are not the only ones making negative comments about riders and horses. There’s plenty more coming from other competitors, or from their friends watching from the sidelines. It did not help that I was often riding horses who did not look like dressage horses are supposed to look. They did not belong in that arena, and neither did I. I felt like I was six years old again, an awkward, terminally shy child playing in a sandbox with strange letters around it, while the pretty, popular girls laughed about me behind my back.
A couple of years ago, I decided that my life is too short for this sort of self-imposed suffering. I’m taking a break from competition, while working on my issues with being judged. Will this break be permanent? I don’t know. I do know that, if I do decide to compete again, I want to do it for better reasons than “I’m a trainer. I have to.”
In the meantime, I have found online shows to be a good practice ground, because the score sheet arrives via email, a few days after I ride and record the test, which gives me more time to prepare for the still agonizing process of reading the comments. I’ve also found Western Dressage a more welcoming place for me, my students, and the horses I work with. Still, I very rarely compete, even in online WDAA shows. I’ve lost the desire to compare myself to others, plain and simple.
I realize that something vital is now missing from my training program: the act of loading horses, of going somewhere else, of spending time in a new environment, of testing the limits of the trust I’ve built at home.
So, I’m gearing up to once again venture out of my home arena, starting small, trying to expand my own comfort zone along with my horses’ comfort zone: clinics, local schooling shows, low-key outings. The benefit for the horses will be the same as larger shows. Hopefully, the level of misery will not be the same as larger shows. Hopefully, I’ve become more resilient. There is only one way to find out.
I’m curious: If you compete, why do you choose to compete? If you don’t, why do you choose not to? Does anyone else out there experience panic attacks at competitions? If so, how do you deal with them?
No judgment, I promise.

Address

69 Bonanza Creek Road
Santa Fe, NM

Opening Hours

Monday	9am - 5pm
Tuesday	9am - 5pm
Wednesday	9am - 5pm
Thursday	9am - 5pm
Friday	9am - 5pm
Saturday	9am - 5pm
Sunday	9am - 5pm

Telephone

+15054297968

Website

http://www.katrinsilvadressage.com/

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