How Long Does It Take To Train a Horse?

I have a herd of relatively normal retired horses. And then this gang of raconteurs, misanthropes, and dangerous characters, referred to as The Spots. If I’m feeling affectionate, they are The Deplorables because those who take such pride in breaking the rules deserve a term of endearment. Excuse my arrogance. I don’t even know the rules where they’re concerned.

I’m just home after being gone working a clinic. No one in the barn acted like they missed me, and my feelings weren’t hurt. If they were all heartbroken and desperate to see me, I’d think they hadn’t been fed enough.

Edgar Rice Burro lifted his noggin and hollered at me in his charming, gasping, farting, honking way. He heaves a bray when he even sees me in the window. He’s probably been calling me when I was gone, so this means I’m days late to come out and I’ll get a real long-ear-full. He’s the brains in the herd. With the agility of a jewel thief, he can open any gate. Think Cary Grant. And right now, he is running at me. I’m thrilled, not because he loves me.

He was hopping with three legs before I left. I hoped it was an abscess because that was the best lameness option, but it had been three weeks. Also, the third serious lameness in a month. I had soaked it twice a day and bandaged it. Donkeys are less tolerant of buckets than horses, and the soaking boots are huge. Then I remembered that I’d gotten a dry bag a few years ago in New Zealand. It was part of a gift bag from Equidays and I didn’t know what it was for the longest time. Well, just the size of a donkey leg. Keep everything, just in case.

Edgar hated the soaking and bandaging twice a day. I tried it pass it off as a spa treatment. He surrendered, hung his head low, and glowered at me. Finally, forty-eight hours before I was supposed to leave, the abscess started seeping. And he was back to wrestling Arthur before I left. Whew.

Arthur was my Grandfather Horse’s goat and has always had an unhealthy relationship with horses. I found him one night lying quietly under his tall friend’s hoof. Arthur’s leg was broken to bits, then reset twice, and is still a peg leg. Earlier this spring, he injured the front leg that he compensates with. The previous goat vet retired, so it was up to me. I wrapped it and miraculously, it healed. More than that, the bandage stayed on for over two weeks, which might be a world record. Please, hold your applause.

Arthur is eight now. Summer is hard and winter is worse. Arthritis has gotten him locked in The Spots pen. If I don’t scratch his nubbins, I get a butt in the butt. He starts every meal trying to knock Edgar off his feet. Arthur says most families are a little dysfunctional. It’s true. I had an uncle just like him.

Just home, I hurried to feel Edgar’s hoof for heat. Bhim walked right up and let me rub his neck. I suppressed a scream. It probably doesn’t sound like a big deal. Then he got a worried look on his face like he woke up with an empty bottle of Jack and a lampshade on his head. For the last ten years, he’s treated me like a cheap one-night stand. I could tell you his sad story, but Bhim thinks sympathy is for dolts. He’s right. Sympathy is worthless to a horse as frightened and angry as he was.

The first glimmer of Bhim softening was eighteen months ago when he showed me his first calming signal. The farrier was coming, and it usually took about forty-five minutes to halter him. Eventually, he would volunteer, but year after year, I had to prove myself every time to get it done. It’s like Edgar Rice Burro says, “The more impatient you are, the longer it takes.” That day Bhim did something I’d never seen. He licked and chewed. His muzzle had always been tight as a cross stitch. It felt like the dark clouds parted and sparkly light shone on him. Neither of us believed it.

I decided to try again, not that we hadn’t tried before. Bhim is the most complicated horse I’ve ever worked with. The least forgiving and the most distrustful. But calming signals change everything. I also decided to video each session with this reactive horse. Then, I let folks follow us and they were excited at first. Most have lost interest. Training is about the tortoise, not the hare.

May I brag? Most trainers don’t have the guts to take on a thirty-six-inch horse, much less let people watch. But I’m not really bragging. He’ll probably outlive me, and he won’t be safe if we can’t make peace.

Where Edgar and Arthur are concerned, I know our best days aren’t ahead of us. I don’t ask a thing of them. We’ll walk it out together. But maybe Bhim’s best days are finally here. Neither of us has quit. And now, eighteen months later, he offered me his neck. He also ground drives wearing a collar and pulling a singletree.

And I finally get to my point. My clients always ask me how long re-training will take. “When will my horse ever be able to …?” Like I have a math equation that works for all horses. Don’t use Bhim as a marker. He is special. Some of my clients are working with horses handled harshly in the past. Or they are learning new methods for a kinder path themselves. It never happens quickly enough. We squint for the finish line.

We wish we were at a different place with our horses. Which means we aren’t actually with our horses at all. We want to change them, but don’t acknowledge calming signals or mark small wins. We are so used to seeing before and after pictures that we forget the best part is in the middle. If Bhim and The Deplorables have taught me anything, it’s to accept them as they are. We train for life, but the journey begins and ends with acceptance. Impatience isn’t the problem.

I’ve been a self-employed artist since I was twenty-one. I’ve worked in a few different media, but horses will always be my favorite. Never forget training is literally an art, no less that painting or writing. Unexpected things come together in ways we don’t foresee if we stay the course. Take pride in stubbornness while giving up control. Cheer the perfect moments. Remember that horses live in their own time zone.

This Ursula Le Guin quote is as applicable to horse training as any other art form:

“If writing bores you, that is pretty fatal. If that is not the case, but you find that it is hard going and it just doesn’t flow, well, what did you expect? It is work; art is work.”

Some days Bhim is reluctant. Other days, I probably ask too much. We are a work in progress. He might be my last horse. But I might be his great masterpiece.

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