I hope I’m not going to end up writing some kind of justification for harsh training. Usually, it’s easier than the alternative. But here goes. It’s important to be clear about how we got here with horses. How, with all I know, I got here with my personal horse, Nube.
Please understand that in all things, horses are complicated and fragile. They are the opposite of how they look and what we dream of in a horse. When we get lost in that counterintuitive swamp of horse ownership, we become love-blind and do some crazy things.
Start here. Why would we think that all horses are born perfect? That all horses are suited, either physically or mentally, to be riding horses? You know, just like all humans are born marathon runners and gymnasts. What? Not you?
Instead, we see potential and cuteness and our own big dreams. Then we choose youngsters over adult, trained horses, in the way you might buy an adorable engine block and expect to have a whole car one day.
Common sense should tell us horses are not all born equal. Some may have straight legs but also a conformation flaw serious enough that they will never be able to carry weight. Some horses are born with internal abnormalities that don’t show up until they are seven or so. A few horses were sound before going under saddle but carrying weight makes them feel unstable, making them anxious. Always being anxious isn’t “normal.”
We want the best, so we start with our local vet. Maybe we get lucky and there is an easy answer. But some horses are not as easy to help. Then we’re off to the specialist, then the vet college, then anyone online that might listen. Some answers seem to work for a while, but some only uncover another condition under the first one, like peeling an onion. It becomes an expensive education.
A good vet will tell you it’s rarely a single issue, but more like a perfect storm of interlocking and obscuring symptoms. We want an easier, less nebulous answer. It’s preferable to believe the horse is faking it to get out of work, spoiled, or just plain stupid. Any of a dozen dirty names used to describe the worst traits in people, none of which apply to horses.
We desperately want to believe our horse is okay. Some vets seem to play on that desire, other vets are doomsday predictors, and in the end, they are sometimes guessing, trying get closer to an answer. And doing their very best. We’re grateful, knowing horses are complicated and fragile. The level of veterinary science we have is not as advanced as any of us wish it was.
In the meantime, owners flounder. What to do when the horse says they aren’t okay but the vet says, “Nothing that I can find.” Pause and do the math: an eight-year-old horse is equal to a thirty-five-year-old human. Horses go from babies to middle age in a blink.
That was the age I noticed I wasn’t as agile as I used to be. I was well on my way to a metabolic condition that would half kill me before it was finally diagnosed. And me, still a teenager and all. Forty years later, many horses are getting similar diagnoses.
Add one more complication. Not only do horses speak a different language, but it’s also their instinct to hide pain. They aren’t being deceptive; it’s a survival instinct. We famously see ourselves in our horses. Anthropomorphism. Add to that, our language skills aren’t that good. When we finally hear the horse over our internal chatter, the horse has become more withdrawn or frantic.
When I ask equine professionals what percentage of horses are sound, they usually say under 10%. Not good, but then we aren’t sound either. The problem is knowing that percentage makes us paranoid. I can’t remember the last time I was convinced a resistant horse was sound. We just don’t know enough.
The lucky horses are owned by people who believe their horse’s reluctance is true and go down a long road of veterinary guessing. We hope within a few thousand dollars, there is an answer that resolves the issue. Lucky horses have owners who rise above their frustration and emotions.
The unlucky and undiagnosable horses don’t have it as good. They get misunderstanding and punishment. Their owners sell them off or send them to rescue, where the horses must convince their next owner that they aren’t okay. Then they get passed around until someone lets them stay without paying rent or they are lost to slaughter.
But all the horses are the same. They do their best to tell us how they feel, and we listen to the degree we are willing to hear, or able to understand.
If the condition continues in our horses, some of us become undiagnosable. There’s something wrong with them and somehow we become unsound inside ourselves either. Research. Tests. Waiting. More research. Because the unknowing has taken such a mammoth proportion of our hearts, we become undone and un-consolable. Eventually, we would love to find a horrible disease just for some peace.
Maybe years later, the answer might become clear in hindsight when we hear of a recent development and immediately do a post-mortem amateur diagnosis. Then it feels like we lose the horse again, helplessly and forever.
For all of our years of living with horses, we still resist listening to what we don’t want to hear. Who would want to? Even when we find the reason, it does not bring the horse back, and it does not give us any satisfaction.
These days we do more full necropsies and the results are stunning. Sometimes the list of abnormalities makes me wonder how they could even pretend to be rideable.
In the end, I couldn’t help Nube. My love couldn’t make him sound. My money couldn’t make an answer appear. Some horses just aren’t born okay. Love them as much as we do, but it does not change the fact that they were never our horses. They always belonged to themselves, sharing their secrets with the moon and the sky.
Recently, I was working with a client. In the past, her horse wouldn’t take a step. He was kind, not the most confident, and definitely not able to tell us where it hurt. We wanted to do better than using a whip, even when frustration made the idea tempting. Months of tests followed, and I was proud of my client for sticking it out for an answer. They were lucky.
As we talked, I watched her good horse close up for ten minutes. There were no wrinkles around his eye, his ears were soft and his poll relaxed. He was a different horse. He was joyously unrecognizable.
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Anna….I did snort at the “we hope within a few thousand dollars” but I will never regret a penny of what it took to help my girl. I consider myself lucky to have been able to find answers regardless of the cost. And yet I still feel guilty for not having found it sooner; for not listening to her; and my own inner voice. I will never be worthy of what my horses give me but I will keep trying.
And with all our experience, you and I are kinda smart. We learn as fast as we can, do our very best, and wish we could do more and quicker. (and I thought that money part was funny, too.) It’s important that we try, knowing many things aren’t under our control. Well done, my friend.
“Some horses just aren’t born okay. Love them as much as we do, but it does not change the fact that they were never our horses. They always belonged to themselves, sharing their secrets with the moon and the sky.” What a beautiful thought for co-existing with them. I’ll take it, thanks, Anna.
Thanks, Lynell. Co-existing in peace can’t be over-rated.
I believe that Nube came into your life because the fates intervened, knowing his would be a life of misery if he didn’t spend it with someone who was patient and kind. Someone who wouldn’t blame him or send him down the road to be someone else’s “problem”. You did not deserve a horse with an unforeseen, inherent, unfixable condition but he didn’t deserve to have it. He did deserve a good life though and you gave it to him. You brought out the best in each other and that is a gift in itself.
You mean, “What if this isn’t wrong?” I reluctantly agree. Thanks Sueann
I think Nube came into Anna’s life BECAUSE he needed to.
There are far too many animals – horses, dogs, cats & others – who arent that fortunate or maybe just lucky. Way too many. And how many of them just might be “fixable” if only someone who cared enough & was patient & kind enough came into Their lives?
I appreciate the thought, but Nube wasn’t “fixable.” I’ve “fixed” plenty of others, and I’m in the process of “fixing” Bhim. Respectfully, Nube came into my life wanting to be a dressage horse. We agreed on that as long as we could. Thanks, Maggie. I know you mean rescue animals.
Yeah Anna I realize Nube’s issues were entirely different – I actually should have used a different word because I wasnt really thinking “fixable” but just someone giving an animal a good life for as much and as long as possible.
Making a life livable doesnt always “fix” whats wrong – maybe eases it.
Reading this has me thinking all the things. Thank you.
It’s been a long and winding road, hasn’t it, Stacy? Love to BV always.
Anna, I am so sorry about Nube. I appreciate you not glossing over or sugar coating or romanticizing the hard parts of loving a horse. In the end, the honesty seems to be some consolation and helping them until the end matters.
I get tired of fairy tales that are more true for the human than the horse. Thanks Sara.
I won’t tell a long story. I just can’t. But in the end the diagnosis was part relief (that no, I wasn’t nuts) and part despair. I’ll lose the mare in about a month, before her condition has more time to get worse. It’s the kindest thing I can do for her now, and she deserves all the kindness she can get. Hindsight may be 20/20, but it explains a lot of things, none of which really matter any more.
Advance hindsight would be better. Good luck Cheryl. Thanks for doing the right thing.
Good day
As you no doubt know, I am a veterinarian. Its not always easy to diagnose the causes of behaviour problems unless they are linked to disease. Your blog is really fun to read. The cause of Nube’s behaviour could be sensory perception – sight is underestimated as a cause. Perhaps he does not see well and panics easily as a result. Or it could be his hearing : this can also lead to a “panic attack” – when something he has not heard coming is suddenly seen.
Thanks, Cheryl. I swear, if you live long enough, everything happens once. I agree about the challenge of making a diagnosis in the instance of behavioral changes. We didn’t find anything with Nube but I had another horse who I really felt was having visual challenges that first showed up an indoor arena, where he had always been great. I am, of course, only a pretend vet and so when something changes from that horse’s “normal” I think it is a message that something isn’t right and it probably isn’t a training issue. I appreciate not only the education and experience required for your work, but also the art of listening and staying curious.
my friend is currently in denial with her lovely horse ‘oh, he’s 95% sound’, I’ll get the vet when he’s really bad’. I can’t force her to do anything, I have said my bit but I am so sad for her wonderful, sweet boy.
Me, too. Thanks Christine. I know it’s hard to watch.