She is a woman of a certain age. A retired wildlife biologist who wears Crocs when weather permits, and muck boots the rest of the time. She’s living her dream, a farm filled with rescue horses and dogs. She’s one of us. I think she’s taken every course I teach, and I’ve been to her farm. Over time, I’ve watched her herd change and seen this woman’s skills blossom. Part of it is she flat out loves her horses. Nothing unusual about that. I think the biology background helps, but she’s been watching birds and snakes since childhood. Watching is an art. I always encourage my clients to play “Jane Goodall” but few take the dare. Watching should be our greatest skill with horses, and by that I mean listening.
She was considering a pair of horses at a rescue. The younger gelding had a reputation and rescues never want to say that, so it was probably true. But what was his side of the story? The woman wanted my opinion about how dangerous he might be. If you are a professional, it’s a question you must take seriously. We watched the videos again and again. He didn’t look like he had chronic pain, always the first thing to check. He moved well, but didn’t want to be haltered. They teased him with food and baby talk to get the job done.
Screechy voices. Ears sour, pull back, look away. Narrow eyes. Escape. Play dead. Don’t trust.
I’ll say this part as simply as I can. The rider thought the horse was belligerent, or at the least, stubborn. Those are excuse words humans use when they ask a horse to do something with great rudeness, and the horse doesn’t answer quickly enough. Which the human saw as defiance. The gelding “unseated” him more than once.
Freeze. Tighten jaw against the bit. Brow furrowed, braced neck. Give warning. Can’t breathe. Give warning. Spin away from his hand. A quick flinch behind, lift hips to stop it.
I scrutinized the horse for fault. It’s my job. After observing his calming signals, all I think was my mare would have bucked sooner. Not that this gelding would be easy. His fear was palpable, but that I thought the woman had what he needed. He was done being pushed, but she didn’t push. A match. She brought both horses home and put them in a pasture. They needed time to decompress, so she let them be. She mucked and fed and watched. She would have loved to do more. They weren’t ready.
The older mare came around first. She accepted the halter but expected the worst. Immediately, the woman removed the halter; the mare was fascinated. We saw videos every week in class. The mare leading in a neck ring, being groomed, and relaxing into life. Meanwhile, the young horse couldn’t let himself be caught, but didn’t want to be left out. He didn’t trust enough to join, but didn’t want to leave. Always in frame, watching. He walked away and circled right back, aching with curiosity and bound by fear.
Sometimes she could touch him, but he was a different horse if there was a halter. So, she carried a halter in the crook of her arm, like the late Queen of England carried a purse. She gave him exactly what he wanted. Time to think.
One night in class, the woman was telling us about her week. She’d lost a beautiful elder whose last year was one of safety at last. The herd was adjusting. She shared a video of some good work with the new mare. Finally, she mentioned the gelding came up to the gate where she was standing. Close to her.
Lips pressed together. Nuzzle her fingers. Eyes pulled inside folds of skin. Show her. Bite the gate.
Was he colicking? She flew into care mode. She told us he was fine now. That it worked out, and our conversation continued. I told her she buried the lead. Pause. Smiling, did she notice that her fearful horse asked her for help?
The woman said, “I was so caught up in concern that he was going to colic, that all I could think about was what to do to help him. And how incredibly grateful I was to know he was not being cute or affectionate. So grateful for you and your peaceful persistence pounding calming signals into our heads and hearts and lives so I could listen to him.”
The herd shakes out their polls and stretch necks long. They rub their noses on their knees. Graze keeping her in their line of sight. The gelding’s eyes close, pull inside. To balance the past against the woman.
See how humble she is? She listened and got him what he needed. And she’s right about me. I do pound away about calming signals. I often see horses trying to get their owner’s attention, their calming signals ignored or misunderstood, while the owner takes a selfie. Horses must think humans have the intellect of a goat. (Goats can be a little narcissistic, if you don’t know any.)
The woman said, “The crazy thing is that I didn’t see the key piece you pointed out. When you did point it out, it brought me to my knees, made me tear up. Horses are brilliant and truly amazing. And I missed that piece. I missed that huge offering. So glad, though, that I’ve learned to be a better listener, even when I ‘hear’ things that are not what I hoped/thought/wanted. What a privilege to ‘hear’ what is true.”
To deeply focus on a conversation, to try so hard to get it right, that you only later sit back, awestruck by the intelligence of horses. To choose truth over false affection. To be intimate with the natural world.
Horses blow out a warm, moist exhale and cock a hip. Eyes soften. This is a woman a horse could stand beside.
…
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What a wonderful story (as wonderful as a story can be where it’s about helping a horse recover from damage done by humans in the first place). I assume he wasn’t in need of a syringe of banamine, or was he “trained” to accept those? If not so trained, I’m relieved it was not one of the tragedies where we might help but can’t deliver it.
Thanks, Susan. The barometer settled…She caught it quickly and did a work around.
As always, thanks for sharing this story!
Thanks for reading along, Candis.
Just beautiful. “This is a woman a horse can stand beside”. Is there any greater compliment?
No. None I can think of. Thanks, Jane.
Yes, this! Love it
Right? That final line says it all
Really great story – love hearing actual experiences horse’s people are having – to the benefit of the horses.
Thanks, Maggie. Me, too. I make people nervous writing about them, but it is just such joy to watch.
I know and love this “woman of a certain age” she is amazing!! This made my heart sing
Women of a certain age are the best, if you ask horses. Thanks, Irene
Yes, this 💕
Thanks, Toni. Yes.
Wow, just wow. So much listening and understanding. ❤️
Thanks, Lynea. I just love the conversations that we have in classes.
I love this story! I bought a coming 5 year old Lusitano gelding as a yearling. He had no baggage as the breeders are fabulous and leave their young horses alone as much as possible. This boy was frightened of his shadow. I couldn’t get 20 feet close to him to attempt to halter. It took over a year to gain his trust and stand beside him. I carried my halter like a purse and he just said: “try me” and ran just enough to be out of reach. Having learned about calming signals helped me to respect what he signaled and took loads of time around him until the moments were right for him.
Four years later he carries a saddle and trusts me. I have not started riding him as he needed so much time to accept a human. He is not quite a “puppy dog” yet but he soooo wants to be. One day at a time. He truly taught me to never rush, that slow is fast and that breathing is a good remedy. Thank you Anna!
And this is how we get our Horse for Life. Just so smart to believe his anxiety… Thanks Susanne
I just want to understand. Because this (fearful) horse came up to the gate where she was and did what you described, this horse was asking for help? Is this because this was the first time he had approached her? Then the face expression and the biting of the gate said he wasn’t feeling good? Colic? So what was it she did to help him feel better since she couldn’t handle him yet??
Yes, those were calming signals about being in pain. It seemed gastric… and there are workarounds by putting meds in feed but only because she caught it quickly and watched him closely. But the challenge (from lots of experience here) is always the knowledge that when a horse is terrified, health concerns will be the biggest challenge. I have used a fence panel chute in the worst cases. Thanks Virginia
Wow, Anna. What a telling. Thanks for telling it.
Thanks, Lynell. Fun to write.
Lovely post but I am not clear on what was the signal for help? Thanks for clearing that up.
Grateful horse owner,
Susan
I’m going to paste a comment I posted elsewhere, because that is a big question. Horses talk to us through body language. I know that you can tell when your horse is tense, but that is just the start. Thanks, Susan.
“Lips pressed together. Nuzzle her fingers. Eyes pulled inside folds of skin. Show her. Bite the gate.”
I meant the odd language to be “horse” and sorry if it wasn’t clear. I am careful putting words in horse’s mouths.
He did not usually come to the gate, so it was a cue. Pain is always visible if you know where to look. Muzzle tension is often gastric pain. It can look almost like they are pursing their lips. Eye wrinkles are another. Horses are not aggressive, so biting is a call for help in my experience. You can’t take one sign out of context, but together it’s clear. As she watched him further, it all confirmed her thoughts. Horses are intelligent. They know who to ask, but we have to be ready to listen to cues we don’t want to hear. As a trainer, I constantly see behaviors that people think are training issues that are actually calls for help.
The woman has taken courses where we talk about what to look for. We study equine body language using photos and videos. She recognized the messages quickly enough to catch the issue in early stages.
Humans chatter on to hear the sound of our voices, but horses are very intentional in their communications. We’ve all been told to listen more, but not taught WHAT to listen to. This is a short and incomplete answer. We can’t learn a new language in a comment box. But that’s what we do at The Barn School. THANK YOU FOR ASKING!
If you had a like button – I’d hit it hard right here. Went back and re-read the post again – such a great one!