And so, Nube [pronounced new-bay] retired in limbo. Undiagnosable. Sometimes, the solution for a long-running struggle is to just stop the fight. No answer is an answer. Let it go because peace was better than the ugly struggle of focusing on what was wrong.
Let the anxiety of multiple vet visits stop and the desperate internet searches rest. Most of all, let my hopes and plans, the way I felt in the saddle, all the adventures that were not to be, fade like light on the prairie. We can learn to love the dusk.
It’s valuable to look up a word, even if you know what it means. Retire is a verb, as in; to leave a place or responsibility. Synonyms include to depart, pull out, relinquish, retreat, separate, surrender, and withdraw. Each of these words stabs me. Not to kill me, but to leave a scar. See how I am? Nube’s retirement was all about me. I needed to turn that around.
Nube didn’t like the idea of retirement. There was no cue for it. We had a habit over the years, and we liked it. I didn’t come for him now. He pawed and pushed his chest against the fence panels, anxious when I was with other horses. He watched me like a stalker. Nube had always been an emotional horse. It fueled his brilliance under saddle and his intelligent curiosity. Now it made for explosive reactions and dark secrets. It was impossible to separate his feelings from his physical condition. His energetic gallop from his brutal collapses. There’s always a balance of dark and light, the yin-yang of being alive. Now his extremes were too unpredictable and dangerous for either of us.
We couldn’t find the medical reasons, so all I could do was retire him from any extra daily stress, even if it was me. I still let my hand trace his flank when I passed, breathing with him as always. But the halter was never in my hand. The tack was never on the rail. We might chat around the muck cart, but I didn’t mention our favorite topic. It was like asking politicians to not talk about politics. I made sure that my thoughts, the pictures I showed him, were of our happy life.
So, I taught my body to hide the truth. Humans are transparent and horses can read us without trying. Our anxiety and worst fears echo inside of them, added to their own feelings. I excused my thoughts, so I’d never show my disappointment. It was the only way to let him be free. I learned to control myself, to turn down my body volume to a quiet, safe place. It’s probably what horses like about me now.
Letting go of work is easy for a horse who suffered harsh training. The way Nube and I worked was light and conversational. Affirmative Training is the fine art of saying yes. It has always been more than a slogan. Now I made myself distant. Our conversations were all small talk. I gave him back to the horses.
I already had four other retirees in my herd. He was in good company. Over the next few months, Nube’s body softened and some of his symptoms lessened. Now that his pain was less and his bravado had relaxed, he looked fragile. All horses are fragile.
Too often, a relationship with a horse is based on what they give us or how we use them. Sometimes we ask them to play the human role of a therapist, child, or patient. We race into the barn as if those few hours we spend with our horses are the pinnacle of their day. Ironically, the quality of a horse’s lifestyle outside of work is the best indicator of their confidence on the job. Horses need horses. Depressing, considering the per-hour cost of one horse.
For Nube to have the best retirement, I thought of the things he could surrender, like trying too hard to be perfect. He could withdraw from my endless scrutiny of his health. I hated it, but I hoped he’d retire from all unnecessary human interference.
Now I evaluated each interchange: Did he need to do the thing I asked for his well-being or to please me? If you read calming signals, horses are honest about how they feel about over-care by cloying humans. I abhor neglect, but micromanaging is a fault, too. Call it sweet benign neglect. Short of routine care, I let him be. Because our job is to give horses the most natural life possible.
Besides, there are good reasons to roll in mud and it isn’t so they can spend an hour having us primp them clean. For all the elder horses with a manure stain on their hip and crud in their mane, glad you can lie down and get up again. Glad you had a good nap. I let Nube be dirty, lowering my prissy standards in trade for my horse living his best life. And somehow his gray turned to silver.
Nube was seven when he retired in 2010. It was also the year I started writing this blog. It wasn’t a coincidence.
Nube was thirteen when my Grandfather Horse died. He glided into the sage elder position in the herd without so much as a ripple. One big gray gelding traded for another, happy to carry the Grandfather Horse legacy forward. I ached to watch the herd acknowledge the change. Nube was old before his years, but those years had been good ones. Retirement had been the cure. I hope one day it will be mine, too.
This is always our question. When the vet tells you your horse is fine, but your horse tells you he is not, who do you believe? Will you trust the well-meaning veterinarian’s opinion, or remain adrift in a nebulous swill of unanswered questions?
Nube got to rest, but I chose the swill. Maybe the greatest lesson horses teach us isn’t about what they give us, but who we need to be for them. Maybe navigating nebulous swill is a more valuable attribute. With all I learned while researching and studying, I could qualify as an amateur vet, which is the same thing as becoming a better trainer.
Nube was the most brilliant horse I’d ever owned. I didn’t know he could fail. It broke me. My plan was that we would ride up the dressage levels, laughing all the way. Instead, I learned to listen calmly to things I didn’t want to hear. To spare the horse more anxiety, I put an accepting half-smile on my lips and cocked a hip at bad news. With a nod to Nube, the horse who taught me to not ride.
[Fourteenth in a series called Nube’s Story.]
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Thank you for this. I am on the retirement path with my TB mare, who will be 20 in January. I know it’s coming. Fortunately, we have time, and we have a plan.
Thanks Linda. Wishing your girl peace and a good herd.
Fortunately, “retirement” for her doesn’t mean a sudden change. It just means not riding anymore. She’ll stay at her current barn with her current friends and routine. She’ll graze. We’ll do activities on the ground, including our beloved obstacle clinics which are totally focused on curiosity and exploring. I’ll be there most days. To satisfy my own desire to continue riding at nearly age 70, I’ll pop over to a neighboring farm that has horses for lease and lessons. I think we’ll both be just fine. Change can sometimes be good, especially when we let go of the struggle.
I think that’s it exactly, find the yes. Thanks, Linda. Best wishes to you and your good mare.
You have no idea how much I needed this today Anna. After 3 emergency vet visits for my beloved 27 year old TW mare, (and countless sleepless nights for me), I had decided to take a more practical and calming approach. One that is much less than a host of effective but caustic drugs that wreak havoc on a horses system. I listened to my horse. We worked through it together. I think she knows how hard I tried to help her by ministering to her AND listening to her. Her behavior now seems to indicate improving health, and though I am cautiously optimistic, it is a comfort to me seeing her grazing comfortably in the field again. Thank you Anna.
At 27, the value of a good day grazing can’t be over-rated. Thanks Cindy.
I appreciate your wisdom even more. You are a giant among humans for putting the horse first. I hope you are richly blessed and that the breaks in your heart can be filled with the joy of knowing that you have made a positive difference in the lives of more horses than you could ever imagine.
Shucks, Sueann. Thank you. On a good day, I hope I’ve done some good. Other days, I just want to ride.
❤️
Thanks, Candis
Oh Anna. Such an emotional read beautifully written. So I read it three times . Your classes and clinics have given my horses a better equipped human to make decisions , the big decisions and the wee ones too.
As an aging grey mare I am also easing out to pasture. Hope you are able to do so as the time becomes available for you….. be it mud bath or a nap in the sun with like minded mates.
Thanks, Kim. Nube was the real poet.
Hi Anna Thnx for sharing this. I have 2 horses, both 23 y.o., and both are retired now. My main riding horse, Oz, would like to be on the trails & would probably be very rideable until he’s in his 30’s but, unfortunately, I cannot ride any longer. It truly sucks to get older but it is what it is! I very much enjoy the time I spend with my horses & feel lucky they’re both here. Take care.
Thanks, Susan. Like Ram Dass says, “We’re all just walking each other home.”
“For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, ‘It might have been.'” And yet, I find it curious that far from avoiding you, Nube seemed to not take too kindly to his “forced” retirement. That along with whatever it was that kept him from being a full partner are two mysteries that probably will never be solved. Could it be the ulcers that you discovered he had is what robbed him of his ability to be fully sound?
Ulcers, to the extreme. I think there were a few other things, painful and undiagnosable. At the same time, I’ve never had such a strong connection with a horse. I still came out ahead. Thanks, Lynell.
Oh Anna, I know how deeply the loss of such potential cut. Those of us who have had the opportunity to learn from your experience owe him a debt of gratitude. We also owe Spirit, Dodger, and all the rest who taught you the lessons you have tried to pass along to us. I am glad that you have healed sufficiently to tell his story.
It probably more like I’ve been hoarding him inside… but for all the elusive challenges our horses have, he did give me a leg up. Thanks, Peggy
It has me remember it’s not only horses that can be stoic. I can’t really imagine the humility required for your release of him to the herd. Beautiful. “I learned to listen calmly to things I didn’t want to hear.” We so easily ignore what’s said in a language we hardly understand. I’ll definitely tick that one in one of my handy pockets. And work on the understanding part. Thank you, Anna.
Thanks, Minna. The more I understand, the more I wonder…
Thanks, Anna, for putting words to the feeling behind my Med School graduation yearbook entry in which I thanked Gray for teaching me most about medicine in those 4 years. He was an 11 year old Appy with a questionable future, health-wise, when I made the decision to take him with me to school anyway. He was physically with me until his 29th.
Thank you, Adelheid. Such a life!
PS My Grandfather Horse was an Appy. Got a soft spot for them.
Allowing to let go of what could have been and discovering what is and whats new is such a process. My relationship changes with then as I get older, as they get older. Learning to be with the horses when its not about achieving something has regret and loss and opening and promise. They give us the gift of being present. We need to learn how to receive it.
Thanks for this piece. (peace).
Thanks, Marcy. That state of being present. There is no finer gift.
I never had a second of doubt, as I was reading, that you would chose to listen to Nube.
It’s so hard to make the decision it’s time to stop trying to fix it. Bravo, Anna!
It is, but the more I’m around horses, the more I think we’re nuts if we think they are all born in perfect working order. Thanks, Jane.
PS He was kind of blunt. A little like me, hard to avoid.
On the other hand, Anna – who says WE are all born in perfect working order?
Thanks, Maggie. No, I for one a chronically lame gray mare. I have no canter left in me. And some of us have disorders and physical challenges that are not visible, but we do the best we can.
What a stunningly beautiful way to end this story. Thank you once again for choosing the horse.
Thank you, Ginny.
Thank you for this Anna. I retired my horse this year—the one who taught me dressage. We learned flying changes together. He waited for me while my body healed after that ‘other horse’ put me in the hospital for two months. I thought it was just me, but I do think he is jealous of time I spend with other horses!
Nancy, I spent so much time trying to figure that “jealous” behavior because it happens. Is it resource guarding? Is it separation anxiety? It’s real, I know that. Thanks, Nancy.
Timely for me – just returned from extensive lameness exam for what I thought was a minor issue with my dear gelding. I received a wealth of information, all of which was bad news. I am clinging to your words( and the knowledge that I do not walk this path alone) like a spar in the ocean: “Maybe the greatest lesson horses teach us isn’t about what they give us, but who we need to be for them. . . . With all I learned while researching and studying, I could qualify as an amateur vet, which is the same thing as becoming a better trainer. ” WOW Thanks, and so sorry your wisdom came at such a price
Sue, ack. That kind of lameness exam is so hard to deal with. Good luck, You’ve got this.
Thank you for this. One of the many privileges of having a home I can share with my horses means that they can live out their days here with me. The retirees now are in the majority. Some of them like Nube retired earlier than planned. No pressure though. Now just living their best lives. For that I’m truely grateful 💛
I think if we do it right, we eventually have herds like yours and mine. Thanks, Rebecca. From your horses.
I’m so glad you are writing again this week about Nube. Thank you for sharing his story with us, may his lessons for us and his memory never die. Many have benefitted from your experiences with Nube as folks here are commenting. As you know, Cash in his 10 year retirement with me has transitioned from a perpetually worried horse in high arousal to a calmer, relaxed horse. Could there be anything more magnificent than to witness that ?
Maybe I could have done more with him, eg groundwork or games of some sort, once he began to let go of fear and become safer to be around. I don’t know but he seems content with his life here at my place, and I’m grateful I could do that for him, and for Zen Bear, too, at the end of his life.
The letting go of MY dreams, well, that has been hard to embrace at times, but .mostly I’m proud of the sanctuary I can provide. Cash will likely never have to go for another trailer ride nor be punished for his fear. I don’t know why some of us seem doomed to NOT having a rideable horse !! I’m sorry things went that way with your beautiful Nube… but I’m encouraged that you find peace with it..
What happened with Cash, and Nube, was success. Cash is doing well, and sanctuary is the right word. It’s a tremendous gift. And very courageous of you, to let him heal himself. And I could thank you, Sarah. But even now, Cash does that every day.
I’m curious if you tested him for pssm2 or MIM?
It’s a fairly new discovery, a dna test, and anxiety and good then not good then good again, rinse repeat, are huge symptoms among many.
Vets normally found nothing “wrong” with these horses prior to this discovery.
I’m sorry he had a hard road with his body. Lucky for him he found you.
We tested for everything. Thanks, Sheri.
This takes me right back to one of the most painful moments in my life with horses. My beautiful, quirky, inquisitive, sweet young 3 yr old TWH mare developed an undiagnosable neurologic condition that left her a grade 2.5 out of five ataxia. She was no longer safe to ride. She was my future; my trusty partner who was going to take me trail riding through my old age. I was devastated to lose that dream. I retired her, although I continued to work with her on ground driving and we shared some wonderful walks together. After about a year off, I took her back to the vet school for another neuro exam because I felt she had improved, but they still had her at 2/5. I knew she was better though, so I started saddling her and walking; we extended the time of our walks under saddle and gradually, over the course of a year, I was able to take her on trail rides. She is not my main riding partner, but she is the safe horse that anyone can ride, and we take her out a couple of times a week. My granddaughter learned to ride on her. She is still so special to me, and I feel lucky that I was able to give her a job so that she remained in the mix. I know Nube meant the world to you, and I appreciate the courage it took for you to do what was right for him. ❤️💔
So curious. I wonder what they saw? Perhaps she was young and undeveloped and got stronger?? Glad for you, Rebecca.
Every installment of Nube’s story is wrenching and resonates with everyone who has ever become an unwitting amateur vet for our horses. Your awareness and way of being with horses is a way of being in the world. Thank you.
The story started out well, but all horse stories eventually end the same way… It doesn’t change a thing. Thanks, Kaylene