Talking to my Horses

This is Madonna and I at a practice, probably seven or eight years ago. 

We sat in a companionable circle around our campfire's fading coals.The wood was mostly ash but a few surviving chunks sent up an occasional flare. It wanted either more fuel or a bucket of water, but nobody felt inclined to make a decision. The night was warm enough, we were tired, full, and everybody had at least a beer or two in them, and the conversation, like the fire, kept flaring up. 

It was the end of the first of a three day clinic, being put on by me and none other but the Big K.

We had worked hard enough to get comfortable with each other and the jokes and razzing was getting easier.

"You know, I don't like the way your horses behave on the ground," an attendee said to me.

"Say, what?" If there was a joke in there I wasn't hearing it.

It was suddenly very quiet.

"Don't take this the wrong way, they're incredible once you get on them, but they're totally different on the ground."

I heard the Big K snort and knew he was trying not to laugh. Instead of making me mad, his derision helped me get sorted. This was a green rider who was trying to learn, plus she had dropped a load of cash and travelled a long way to get here. 

"So, let me ask you," I said, "have you seen them kick or bite at me?"

"Oh, no, not at all," she said.

"Lean on me, push me or crowd me?"

"Mmmmm nope."

I continued, "Have they stepped away when I saddle, refused a bit or been hard to bridle?"

"Well, that's not what I'm talking about," the attendee started to sound a little pissy.

People were starting to grin and snicker a bit, it was going to be tough to quit.

"How about be hard to lead? Not move where I tell them to? Refuse to walk in a stall or trailer?"

"Do you want to know what I mean?" Pissy was turning the corner and heading straight to bitchy.

"Wait, I know, did they yank a foot away, pin their ears at me or tail slap me in the face when I picked up a foot?"

I had gone too far, now she was mad and quit talking. After a minute or two though, she couldn't resist getting back at me. 

"You talk to them," she said.

"Yeah, I guess so," I said.

"They talk to you too." 

I was about flummoxed. "Well, in their own way I guess they do."

"They have opinions!" Her voice was triumphant. You'd of thought she caught me in some secret, giant, trainer lie. 

The Big K couldn't hold back the guffaw that had been building in equal proportion with his beer intake. "Come to think of it, Janet, your horses do have opinions!"

I didn't like the way this was headed but I had to give it to him. Odin had single-hoofedly dismantled a temporary stall and round pen our first two nights at the ranch. Several of the panels were never going to be the same.

"I'm not getting you," I told her.

"I asked, why don't you clip Madonna's bridle path and you said, "Because she doesn't like the clippers."

"That's right," I said.

"When I tried to pet her muzzle, you said she didn't like her face messed with," she said.

"Right again, and when you reached up to scratch her ears I told you she didn't like her ears handled. My horses don't have the habit of sucking back, I'd like to keep it that way," I said.

"You told me not to walk straight up to Odin because he doesn't like people coming at him when he's carrying a rider, and that's just ridiculous," she said. 

There was a smugness to her that made me want to just smack her one, but, I was the professional, and she was not. I took a deep breath and attempted to explain how things worked with me.

"From the day we start them, horses are doing what we tell 'em, and to them, most of it makes no sense at all. We handle them, tie things to them, sit on them, make them move in completely unnatural ways. We control their food, their water, their exercise, make them live in blankets and box stalls and they need to be cheerful and compliant while we're doing it."

"That's what they're supposed to do," she said.

"I agree," I said, "that's what they're supposed to do. Sometimes though, I think, Why are they supposed to? What is the actual purpose here? You know what? There's an awful lot of times when I come up with absolutely nothing. So I don't do it.

"My horse hates having her face handled. She has to hold still and be haltered. She has to accept her bit and let me fold her ears into the bridle. If I need to look in her ears or nose, then she better let me.

"What she doesn't have to do is let people kiss her on the nose, or shave the inside of her ears. She sure as hell doesn't need a bridlepath or shaved fetlocks. 

"Odin has a funny reaction when I'm sitting on him and a stranger walks straight to the only place he can't see. Sometimes his reaction isn't so funny. I think it has something to do with feeling trapped, caught between front and back. I'm not worried about it, and there's no good reason for people to be all up in his blind spot. 

"So I help my horses and respect those small pockets of space. You know what? I guess we do talk. Because they know they can tell me what they don't like and sometimes, they get a choice. I find it makes it easier when they have to do what I say. They know I wouldn't insist unless it mattered."

That gal chose not to talk to me until late the next day. It was okay by me, I liked talking to my horses better any way.