Good boy

Put your head down for the halter.
Stand still in the aisle.
Stop chewing on the lead rope.
Give me your feet.
Stop nipping at me when I tighten the girth.
Open your mouth for the bit.
Close your mouth to tighten the noseband.
Stop moving your head.

Stand still, for crying out loud, can’t you see I’m on the mounting block. Don’t pull on the reins. No backing up. Let go of the whip, it’s not yours. Stop nipping at my leg when I mount.

Go. Move forward energetically, with impulsion, not like an old cow, be a horse, for once.
Stop. There is nothing in the corner of the arena, just like there wasn’t anything yesterday or any day before that, so stop being stupid and get back to work or else.
Go. We’ll be in this arena until you do what I say even if it takes me all night.
Stop. First I have a bad day at the office and now you have to be a little shit.
Go. I don’t have time for games; I can get the draw reins, if I have to.

Stand still when I put the cooler on. Stop rubbing your face on your leg, it’s such an irritating habit. Don’t slobber my jacket, I just washed it. Stop chewing on the reins. Walk slower. Walk faster.
Stop.
Go.
Stop.

Stand still in the aisle while I take the tack off.
I s a i d s t i l l.
Give me your head.
Give me your feet.
Give me your soul.
Hey! Stop nipping at me, I’m only trying to brush you. Stop. That’s it. Crossties are for horses who just won’t listen. It’s your own fault.

Don’t run through the door. Watch my feet. Watch me. And don’t roll in your box with the cooler on, you get straw everywhere and it’s such a nuisance, I don’t want to have to brush you again. Stand still while I change the blanket. Put your head down to take off the halter. No, you can't leave, you need to stay in the box.  Move your head. 
Move. 
Stop.
Get away from me.

Hey! That hurt.

Who’s my boy?
Aaaww, you are so cute. Mommy’s got a bucket with food in it. Mommy’s got some carrots. I have to go now, but I’ll be back at the same time tomorrow.
Be good. I love you so much.
You are such a good boy - the best.

God loved the birds and invented trees.  Man loved the birds and invented cages. - Jacques Deval, Afin de vivre bel et bien

~K

Forty-one

When written in Chinese the word "crisis" is composed of two characters - one represents danger and the other represents opportunity. ~John F. Kennedy, address, 12 April 1959


Long time ago I discovered, thru trial and error, that Little Love is not comfortable in the arena with certain horses and riders. And neither am I. So, to avoid uncomfortable situations, I try to go to the barn at times when I think other people won’t be there. A good time is lunch, since lunch is when normal people eat instead of riding their horses. Or at least the people we want to avoid.

But this is not an airtight plan. Sometimes we get unlucky.

On Wednesday when we entered the arena, Mister Y was longing his horse on one end and Madame X was riding her dressage horse at the other end, practicing shoulder in at the walk. My heart sank, I hadn’t been in the arena with either person for months and that was no coincidence, it was a conscious choice.

A little voice inside my head told me to turn around and leave, but I ignored it. In hindsight, I realize the voice I heard probably belonged to Little Love, she is definitely smarter than I am when it comes to this sort of stuff. And usually I try to hear her, listen to her, but this time I felt like we didn’t have a choice, she needed to have a chance to move before going out to walk on the slippery trails. And how bad could it be, 15 minutes in the arena? 

The situation seemed calm for the first five minutes until Madam X decided to practice passage and piaffe with her mare. The only way for her to get her horse to perform anything resembling either movement was to smack the horse with her long dressage whip several times in quick and sharp successions. It sounded like a machine gun going off: tah-tah-tah-tah or rather whip-whip-whip-whip. At the same time she held the reins tightly, making sure her horse couldn’t escape from underneath her.

The noise of the whip made Little Love’s eyes widen and her body shake. She spun around me nervously, the whites of her eyes flashing towards the dressage horse who was doing her best to figure out what the rider wanted. The look on the dressage horse’s face was tense. 

Madam X was now in full training mode. The whip was smacking continuously, making little whistling and clicking sounds. I counted the whip slashes per round. 16. 27. 41. Forty-one?!! Her horse bucked and bared its teeth, but Madam X kept at it, encouraged by the few uptight passage-like steps she felt in between. Mister Y’s horse started tearing around on the circle, trying in turn to free himself from the tightly adjusted Chambon that tied his head down between his knees.

Little Love, who at this point had lost most of her emotional control, suddenly stood all the way up above me. It was impressive; she’s a tall horse when she rears. She came down and looked at me. “It’s time to leave – now,” she told me. “Now.” Then she reared again and again, her movement very expressive, panicky. After the fourth rear she came down and whirled around me; her neck rock hard from fear, her eyes starting to glaze over. I remained quiet, calm, trying to assure her the whip was not for her. But it was too late, she was going to that place she sometimes goes to; the place where she is all alone with her demons.

Mister Y yelled at his freaked out horse, then he yelled at rearing Little Love and kicked sand at our direction. Was he trying to be helpful? Madam X whiped her horse so fast that I could no longer count the slashes, they all blended into one big one. Suddenly, in the midst of all the chaos, I could feel Little Love’s pain, her terror, her memory of something that once was.

We left the arena as fast as we could, we were both shaking, but Lilo was shaking more than I was. I went outside and hand-walked her in the frozen outdoor arena, talking to her about what had happened, the verbal and physical abuse we had witnessed, the feelings it had triggered in both of us, but especially Little Love.

Fifteen minutes later she was calm enough for us to manage a walk on the icy roads outside, but it took me hours, days to recover from what happened. Not only was I once again sickened by the abuse I had witnessed, but I was floored by the realization of what Little Love was up against. She truly had thought her life was threatened, that she was in danger, we were both in danger. Her reactions to the whip, not used on her, but another horse in her presence, were so acute, so raw, so REAL, that it brought to mind a war veteran with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Did I say Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

Wednesday night I sat down at my computer and did some research. Bingo.

This is what Wikipedia says about PTSD: "Posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a severe anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to any event which results in psychological trauma. This event may involve the threat of death to oneself or to someone else, or to one's own or someone else's physical, sexual, or psychological integrity, overwhelming the individual's psychological defenses."

Forty years of studies have concluded that all mammals can suffer from PTSD. “Lack of predictability and controllability are the central issues for the development and maintenance of PTSD.” (Bessel A. van der Kolk) Horses as we know have little or no control over their environment, which makes them prime candidates for developing stress disorders. Also their training may involve elements of unpredictability.

Of course not everyone who experiences trauma will get PTSD, but the earlier on the trauma occurs, the more likely you are to be affected by it. Interestingly studies done on for example Vietnam veterans also show that soldiers who had a traumatic childhood were more susceptible to developing PTSD than those soldiers who had stable childhoods. This can also be applied to horses since “many young horses experience severe emotional trauma, often at a very early age, as a result of early forced weaning and physical separation from their dam. Such early trauma has been shown to increase individual’s susceptibility to developing PTSD.” (as quoted on www.horse-behavior.com)

I was stunned by my findings, my thoughts. How many horses that were labeled crazy perhaps had PTSD? I thought of the horses I had known in my life, the ones who had been absolutely horrified of tractors, whips, the shoer, the vet, the saddle, the bridle… Apparently an individual could develop PTSD even when they had not been a victim of abuse, but merely witnessed abuse. Even the smallest trigger could bring back powerful emotions, sometimes even stronger than what the individual felt during the original incident. Now I could see why one crack of the whip could send a horse off the deep end, it wasn’t the sound itself, but the memories the sound produced.

There was once a time, years ago, when I thought that perhaps I could change Little Love. Perhaps if I showed her that humans, or at least one human, could be kind, understanding and patient, she would turn around and respond. She would feel safer, calmer, more trusting. And in many ways I have succeeded; I have had moments of amazing connection, moments of such intense love and togetherness. But at the end of the day, we have only taken baby steps; little, tiny steps towards sanity, equilibrium, peace.

When I learn more about PTSD, when I put two and two together, I realize that perhaps it’s time to let go of my dream of Little Love finding complete peace in this world. She is not my horse and I have almost as little control as she has over her environment, her life. This beautiful black friend of mine will possibly never recover from what people have done to her, no matter how much I love her, no matter how much I try. Her memories will always follow her and when triggered properly, haunt her into insanity.

There are moments when I wish Little Love could be a different horse, one that is not so sensitive, expressive and in lack of a better word - damaged. But then I realize that if she wasn’t all those things, I perhaps would not be writing this blog, for it is mostly because of her that I have discovered a whole new world within the world of horses.

Sometimes it is the most difficult and disturbing moments that have the potential to teach us the most. In her distress and pain, Little Love pushed me to look for answers. I have learned to not only embrace those difficult moments, but to treat them as opportunities. Little Love is what she is, and although our time together is sometimes heightened by stressful emotions, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The next time I went to the stables, Little Love and I connected again strongly, the way only she and I can connect. I had a powerful feeling that this connection was strengthened by our experience on Wednesday.  I vowed to protect her from such situations in the future and she put her head in my lap and sighed.  My greatest wish to help Little Love find absolute peace may never come true, but simply by being there for my horse friend, for doing my best to understand her, I may have made her wish come true.  We may not be an airtight team, but we are a team and together we manifest for a better life for the horse that got whipped forty-one times in one round.

~K

Some luck lies in not getting what you thought you wanted but getting what you have, which once you have got it you may be smart enough to see is what you would have wanted had you known. ~Garrison Keillor

Don't try this at home

In October last year the dressage world was shocked by images of an international rider warming up his horse at a FEI World Cup competition. The horses head was rolled down to its chest, its mouth was open trying to avoid the force of the double bridle and its tongue was hanging out. And the tongue was blue. If Rollkur had been a controversy subject before, this footage (aptly named Blue Tongue Video) and the effective use of the internet soon brought Rollkur into everyone’s living room. An international movement against such horse abuse gathered enormous momentum which resulted in the FEI having to finally address the issue of Rollkur. Here is the essential part of the press release that was circulated after their meeting this past week.


FEI ROUND TABLE CONFERENCE RESOLVES ROLLKUR CONTROVERSY


Following constructive debate at the FEI round-table conference at the IOC Headquarters in Lausanne today (9 February), the consensus of the group was that any head and neck position achieved through aggressive force is not acceptable. The group redefined hyperflexion/Rollkur as flexion of the horse’s neck achieved through aggressive force, which is therefore unacceptable. The technique known as Low, Deep and Round (LDR), which achieves flexion without undue force, is acceptable.


The group unanimously agreed that any form of aggressive riding must be sanctioned. The FEI will establish a working group, headed by Dressage Committee Chair Frank Kemperman, to expand the current guidelines for stewards to facilitate the implementation of this policy. The group agreed that no changes are required to the current FEI Rules.


The FEI Management is currently studying a range of additional measures, including the use of closed circuit television for warm-up arenas at selected shows.


The group also emphasised that the main responsibility for the welfare of the horse rests with the rider.


The FEI President HRH Princess Haya accepted a petition of 41,000 signatories against Rollkur presented by Dr Gerd Heuschman.


The title of the press release certainly promises closure to this embarrassing chapter. Rollkur is now banned – isn’t this what all of us 41,000 people who signed the petition wanted? But did we really get what we were looking for?

I’m glad to read that the group unanimously agreed that any form of aggressive riding must be sanctioned. Of course, I thought that was a given, but apparently it took an international uproar to make the FEI clarify this point. I do, however, think that it is vital to define words such as aggressive and force, as they are subject to interpretation. As usual, I consulted my Webster and my Longman’s Dictionary of Contemporary English for clear definitions.

Aggressive:


1. Behaving in an angry, threatening way, as if you want to fight or attack someone.
2. Someone who is aggressive is very determined to succeed or get what they want.


Force:


1. Strength, energy, power
2. The intensity of power
3. Physical power or strength exerted against a person or thing/the use of physical power to overcome or restrain a person

I’m sure everyone who reads these definitions has a somewhat clear picture in their own mind what these words mean and how they apply to riding horses. Unfortunately those definitions are individual, not universally agreed upon. Consensus may be easy and obvious in a situation when someone repeatedly whips their horse in warm up, but what about when the aggression and force used are more subtle? It’s hard for me to imagine anyone achieving a low, deep and round outline without any force, but an FEI Steward watching the world’s top riders warming up before the World Equestrian Games finals will have to be absolutely sure of himself and of what he defines as abuse before he opens his mouth in front of the international crowd to disqualify a rider.

Because let’s face it, who is going to make the distinction between Rollkur and LDR? And what IS the difference? Frankly, it simply looks like the FEI is unwilling to ban a training method widely used by their top riders, so they decided to change the name of it and make it legal. So what used to be called Rollkur is now called Low, Deep and Round (LDR). Only when it looks ugly enough to cause people to sign a petition, is it called Rollkur.

How convenient.

The FEI rules, however, weren’t changed. Which seems strange, as the rules state that the horse’s head " ... should remain in a steady position, as a rule slightly in front of the vertical ... " This is somewhat confusing, since it is a long way from the front of the vertical to between the knees where the LDR happens.

I’m not a vet, but even just common sense tells me that when a horse is rolled low, deep and round, it will be very difficult for the horse to breathe as the position puts the airways under considerable strain. I've certainly read enough articles and statements made by vets which support this view.  Not to mention what such a position of forced submission does to the animal emotionally. This is definitely not a position any horse would chose when moving in freedom.

Sure, the FEI can argue that in the “qualified” hands of the professional top riders the LDR method is not forceful and when used just short periods of time it doesn’t cause significant harm to the horse. However, by making this method acceptable, the FEI is sending a message that the method is safe and harmless to the horse. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of dressage riders all over the world, regardless of skill level, are going to see their idols using this method and will try to use it themselves. So, by allowing such riding to enter the international warm up arenas, the FEI is endorsing a method that is potentially very harmful to horses. Or is this one of those things you shouldn’t try at home?

I’m clearly not on the side of modern dressage and simply because I no longer believe the methods to be ethical. I’m not saying they were necessarily ethical before, I was just not as aware of what was happening, as I am now. And once your eyes have been opened, becoming unaware is no longer an option. I know there are others, just like me, who are starting to question the integrity of the competitive equestrian world. And we should continue to question it.

I think that the issue on Rollkur is just the tip of the iceberg, the beginning of something much more vast and profound. There is a growing movement, a movement based on humanity and kindness, a movement that is on the horse’s side. It may not be a large movement as of date, but it is getting bigger as we speak; people are finding each other and organizing themselves.

So, if you agree with even half of what I have said, you are not alone. We need to not only listen to our horses, but continue to speak up for them as well, so that the people who can’t hear them will one day come to their senses. It is so easy to treat horses badly, but like Carolyn Resnick said in an interview for the movie the Path of the Horse: “We must ask ourselves: Even if we can, should we?”

~K

How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world. ~Anne Frank

To learn more about the effects of Rollkur  go to  http://www.dressagedisgrace.com/
or http://www.bitlessbridle.com/  click on Articles and read "Why is 'Rollkur' wrong?"

Freedom Part 2

“We must be free not because we claim freedom, but because we practice it.” –William Faulkner



Last Sunday my son and I watched the animated movie Spirit, stallion of the Cimarron. Now, if you haven’t seen the movie, it is about a young mustang stallion who sets on an near impossible quest to save his freedom and his homeland. It’s a tear jerker to say the least. My son and I were both sobbing at several occasions. Mind you, we are talking about an animated movie so there are no real horses involved. But that doesn’t mean the real issues we have with horses are not present.

The scene where Spirit is captured for the first time is brutal. Here is this beautiful, strong and wild stallion with ropes around his neck and people pulling and jerking left and right in the attempt to control him. My son covered his eyes in anguish.

“Mom, what are they doing!” he cried out.

In lack of a better expression, I said “They are breaking him.” Because isn’t that what they were doing, breaking his spirit? Interestingly enough in English the term “to break a horse” refers to the training he is given by humans. When you look this term up in the dictionary the definition says: “to tame or make obedient with force”. Exactly.

“What does that mean, they are breaking him?” My son was distressed as he watched the horse fight the humans with all his might, kicking, biting and whirling around trying to free himself from the ropes.

“Well, that’s that they call it in English.” I reverted to Finnish, my native language and said: “It means they are trying to train him.”

My son looked over at me, his eyes streaming with tears. “But mom, that’s not training!”

Oh no, it wasn’t training, it was breaking. And yes, perhaps DreamWorks had exaggerated the process for the sake of movie making and storytelling, but the essence of that act was there, nevertheless. It was breaking; the people were breaking the spirit of the horse.

In the course of the movie Spirit befriends a young Native American man, who falls in love with this beautiful animal. The two of them end up connected through life and death situations and fight for their freedom together. In the end, the boy understands that although they can be friends, he can’t own the stallion, nor does he want to. He sets his own, faithful mare free so she can choose to follow Spirit to wherever he takes her, down the mountain and over the hills.

Perhaps this movie is just a creation of someone’s imagination, but the message in it rings true: to love someone, is to let them go free. I cried, and not just because of the touching scenes, but because of the pain I have in my heart for what we have done to the horses in this world, what we continue doing.

Spirit, the movie, might be about a wild mustang captured by humans in the Wild West, but the story goes on and on today, in my backyard and yours. I’m not saying we need to set all horses free and let them roam the land like they did for millions of years before humans came along. I don’t believe that scenario would be realistic in the world we live in. But perhaps we can look at how we treat these animals and why we do the things we do with them. For example, it is definitely convenient for us humans to keep horses living in a box, but is this in the best interest of a horse? How does it mentally affect any animal to be caged up, separated from their peers?

I find it ironic that we watch movies like Spirit, where a horse is fighting against humans, and we are rooting for the horse, not the human. If the humans had succeeded in “taming” Spirit, what would have Spirit's life been like? Let's see... He would have been living in a stall, separated from his heard, gotten used to a saddle and a bridle and been ridden by a soldier. Doesn’t sound much different than the life of an average horse today, does it?

Isn't it interesting that in movies, we are on the horse’s side, but in real life, we really aren’t. We like the idea of a free horse, but we don’t actually like free horses.

In the end of the movie, when I watched the two animated horses canter into freedom, my heart ached. Not because the movie was sad (it had a happy ending after all!), but because it made me think of Little Love who lives isolated in her square box and only gets to go outside when the weather is good and the pastures are dry enough. Today, it has been 10 days since the horses at the nearby barn where she lives have been outside. 10 days. And they are lucky horses. There are horses in this world that never get to run free in a pasture. NEVER. It is shocking, but true.

Next time you are watching a horse movie and you feel yourself choke up, ask yourself a question: why am I moved? Am I moved because the movie is sad or am I moved because life is sad and the contrast between the two is too much to bear?

~K



“The story that I want to tell you cannot be found in a book. They say that the history of the west was written from the saddle of a horse, but it's never been told from the heart of one. Not till now. I was born here, in this place that would come to be called the Old West. But, to my kind, the land was ageless. It had no beginning and no end, no boundary between earth and sky. Like the wind and the buffalo, we belonged here, we would always belong here. They say the mustang is the spirit of the West. Whether that west was won or lost in the end, you'll have to decide for yourself, but the story I want to tell you is true. I was there and I remember. I remember the sun, the sky, and the wind calling my name in a time when we ran free. I'll never forget the sound and the feeling of running together. The hoof beats were many, but our hearts were one." - beginning of the movie Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron

Thinking outside the box

A good question is never answered. It is not a bolt to be tightened into place but a seed to be planted and to bear more seed toward the hope of greening the landscape of idea. ~John Ciardi



I want to tell you about my friend Sam.

Sam and I go a long way. When I lived in California, we used to work together at a barn, teaching our respective students, re-training and riding horses. Already then I had tremendous respect for him, mainly because of the intuition he has with horses, but also because of his ability to think outside the box. I believe I met Sam at a time when I was about ready to start thinking outside the box myself. (I dare say I met him shortly after I had realized there was an actual box to think outside of!)

Sam is still thinking outside the box. In fact, he is living outside of it. He has done what I only dream of doing which is living the way he believes, even if it means financial disaster. He no longer teaches “mainstream” riding, but has turned his focus completely to guiding people in finding their true relationship with horses. He no longer rides horses the “traditional way”, instead he spends time with them on the ground, being and doing what he feels is right by the horse. And unlike me, he won’t work with a student unless they are willing to follow the same path he is on. Sure, he has lost 70 % of his students, he is living hand to mouth, but – he is being true to what he believes, he is being true to his passion. He is walking his talk.

Oh how I admire and envy him.

I look at myself and I feel like a fraud, a coward. How dare I preach about the ethical way to be with horses when I’m still participating in traditional activities that I know rob theses beautiful animals emotionally, psychologically and physically? Sure, I believe in bitless riding and partnership that starts on the ground, yet I teach people who ride in bits and focus on nothing else but the mounted part of their relationship with their horse. Sure, in my heart all I want to do with Little Love is to get to know her, to offer her more and more freedom, to give her choices without force, yet some days I end up riding her in the arena when I know it’s the last thing she needs, but what her owner expects.

I feel like I am stuck between the worlds, entering in and out of the traditional equestrian realm but also hanging onto this other world, this mystical and invisible world horses can offer, the world I so desperately want to be part of, but which seems to be out of reach. But is it really out of reach? Or, am I just a coward who continues a masquerade because she is afraid to stand up publicly for what she truly believes?

At the end of the day, do I even know what I believe? Or what I dream of?

On Tuesday I met up with a woman who called me last week about trying out a bitless bridle on her young horse. Someone had recommended she contact me, and she had, although she wasn’t sure how I could help. I made the appointment, but when the day arrived, I felt reluctant to meet her. I didn’t feel I had the energy to once again diplomatically explain what I thought bits did to horses, I didn’t want to meet her horse and feel his pain and know that it was up to me to persuade the owner to use softer methods. I wanted to give up, to say “the hell with it,” and hide like the coward I was sure I was.

I had obviously forgotten something important: that when you forget something important, life has a way of sending you a reminder.

When I showed up at her barn with my bridles, the lady was waiting for me with a couple of friends. To my surprise they were all extremely open to the idea of not having a bit in the horse’s mouth. I felt encouraged. Not using a bit is a big step for most people, but little do they know how, in the big scheme of things, it is really only a baby step. Bitless riding is good, but the way I see it, it’s only like a foot wedged in the door. Once that door is open, once someone is thinking outside the box for the first time, the possibilities for change are limitless.

We tacked up Rocky, a young gelding with numerous vices (or so I was told) and I climbed on, my heart feeling heavy. I used to ride strange horses all the time and not think anything of it, but this was before I realized how much I was invading their space by doing that. Every time I ride a horse without its permission, I feel like I’m taking advantage of it. But as I walked Rocky around the half frozen arena, I tried not to think of that. In my mind I apologized to him, telling him that really, ordinarily I wouldn’t have been so rude, but in the name of the cause…

I rode Rocky for 20 minutes and with the help of the bitless bridle the horse was transformed from a troublesome youngster to a happy and forward horse listening to the rider’s aids. My audience seemed keen, curious, excited. The youngest, a woman with a quiet demeanor, seemed especially hopeful. She pointed at a hairy pony standing in the snowy pasture next to the arena.

“That’s my horse, he’s an Islandic. I haven’t been able to ride him for a while because every time I try, he goes crazy and I can’t stop him. Nobody can. He’s afraid of strangers and I’m not a good enough rider to feel confident on him, so I don’t ride him. But, now that you are here with that bridle, and you look so confident, would you ride him?”

They all looked at me expectantly. This was a test, I was fully aware of that.

I looked at the ball of fur standing in the snow and went with my instinct.

The crazy Islandic turned out to be everything but crazy. He was just scared, very, very scared. I’m pretty sure the bit in his mouth had not helped the situation. I talked to the horse and as sometimes happens, I could feel his life flashing by me, as he unloaded his baggage, his history. I talked to him about the bitless bridle, explained who I was and why I was going to ride him. I also told him I wouldn’t hurt him in any way. He didn’t like my legs on his sides, so I held them away. He was very aware of my balance so I did my best to stay quietly in the middle of his back. And I sent him love, lots and lots of love. Sort of like a big hug, but in my mind. Sounds a little loopy, but it always works.

If my audience had been sold on the bridle before, now they were floored. Never had this horse been so relaxed, never had he held his head so low and stopped so willingly. Never had he NOT run off with a rider on his back. They couldn’t believe their eyes. The owner walked over to me when I got off.

“Wow,” she said. “I could hear you talking to him and it was as if he understood you. I wish I could ride him, too. But I’m so afraid.”

“Maybe one day you can,” I replied. I looked at her carefully, not sure how much she was willing to receive in terms of information outside the box. “But riding is not everything, there are so many other things you can do with your horse.”

She looked at my quizzically. “Yes, I’ve recently started doing some ground work in the arena.”

“That’s great! Do you enjoy it?”

She nodded. “But my dream is to go on the trails.” Her voice was wistful.

“Why don’t you go on foot and take your horse with you? You wouldn’t be riding, but you would be spending time with your horse – on the trails.” I petted the Islandic. “He’s a great guy.”

Tears started streaming down the owner’s face. I can’t blame her; I was about to cry, too.

“I know, he is a great guy. I don’t know why I never thought of just going on the trails in hand. I was just so stuck on the idea of riding him.” She hugged her horse and he sighed. There was something about that little horse that really touched my heart, too. He was such a damaged soul, yet he was willing to reach out to me when I reached out to him. He helped me remember why I do what I do.

I realize I have two dreams; a collective dream and a personal dream, and as much as it sometimes tears at my conscious, I must keep my personal dream on hold. There are so many ways to go about this path and I have to remember that while some go one way, I can choose to go another. Everyone must go the way that is best for them. The world needs people like Sam, who live like they believe and set an example for others. But just as much the world needs people like me, people who mingle in the “mainstream” equestrian activities and quietly plant the seeds of change. Neither life is easy, as we all are swimming upstream battling thousands of years of “know how” and questioning hundreds of years of equestrian knowledge.

So – perhaps there is hope; perhaps I’m not such a coward after all. I’m just following a different path parallel to other paths.

Tuesday afternoon, when I was driving home from my bitless bridle quest, I felt emotional, like I always do when I have witnessed people thinking outside the box for the first time. I thought of their excitement, their eagerness to know more, to think more. And I thought of how they could barely contain their excitement. “Wow,” they exclaimed in unison, “we never want to use a bit again, that was amazing. Do you teach lessons? We would love to hear more about your ideas. We have been looking for something like this, something different.”

So there it was, the seed I had so carefully planted with the bitless bridle; it was clearly starting to grow. And perhaps, if I have any luck with watering the soil when I see these ladies again, the seed will grow into a plant. And then, later, there will  be a flower and then another.  As we know, flowers turn into more seeds, more plants, more flowers, until we won’t be able to see anything else but hundreds and thousands of flowers, blossoming and blooming as far as our eye can see.

~K

Letting Go

"There are no facts, only interpretations." - Nietsche

A few days ago I was reminded of an episode that momentarily rocked me off my equilibrium, if there ever really was one.

It was an ordinary fall day, a bit windy, but no rain so I decided to take Little Love for a walk over the fields.  I took her blanket off and threw on the rope halter and off we went, walking side by side.

You really have to know Little Love and her history to know how big of an achievement walking with her on trails is.  I would not have dreamed of such a thing a year ago.  Yet this is something we can now do regularly, something we share and enjoy together.  I have come to love these moments, to cherish them and to feel pride over our connection, our understanding of each other.  I am only human and we humans like to have proof of our accomplishments, and I felt that this was exactly that: proof of our connection, our friendship.  Perhaps that was my first mistake. 

That day we got past the neighboring farm and were well in the fields when suddenly a flock of white seagulls landed in the grass some hundred yards away. This is exceptional, as we don't usually see seagulls this deep inland, but apparently they fly over once every year.

There is something about the color white that truly sets Little Love off. She is especially fearful of small, white animals in the distance be it a dog far away in the grass or a plastic bag in the wind. At the sight of the some 50 white birds she stopped immediately, her head up high and nostrils flaring.

If there is something I have learned from this horse, it is that sometimes it's just best to turn around and go home. Little Love was nervous; trotting and fidgeting on the end of the lead rope, but she remained by my side for the most part. I always have to be careful not to assert too much pressure on her face, as there is nothing she hates more than being restrained. I picked up the pace as I knew that trying to hold her back when she was worried about something resulted in more problems.

By the time we reached the farm, she was teetering on the far edge of her self-control. We only had another 300 yards to the barn, we could already see the building. That was when we both saw the enormous plastic bag flapping in the wind.

Twice a year the Swiss garbage service collects household items such as furniture, clothes, toys - anything people basically want to discard. Today was the day. The farmer had decided to load his junk into a large plastic sack usually used for storing grain. He had placed this enormous cow-sized bag on the side of the road with his forklift. And we were going to have to pass it to get home.

Did I mention the bag was white?

Little Love nearly fell over. Her immediate reaction was to rear and run the other way, but half way through the action she remembered the birds which had followed us and circled the field next door. Completely panic stricken she stood shaking on the end of the lead rope. Any connection we had ever gained dissolved into the wind

Suddenly, she bolted to the only opening she could see: the gate of the pasture that was hanging open on her left. She bulldozed by me as if I was no longer there. I hung on to the rope for about a second and then simply let go.  So much for our connection.

She ran to the other end of the pasture, as far as possible from the gate and the awful, white beast flapping in the wind and stopped in the corner. I thanked the gods above that she was in a fenced area. I went over to her and caught her, hoping to redeem myself, to gain control. Although I remained outwardly calm, I could feel my heart racing in my chest. I was fairly sure Little Love could feel it, too. Horses make it their business to know the emotional states of all humans around them.

To make a long story a bit shorter, it so happened that the garbage truck showed up next and took the white blob away. I would love to tell you that everything was dandy after that with Little Love, but it would be a lie. She paced and snorted and ran around me. I attempted to walk her around, hoping I could bridge a connection, hoping to gain some of control so I could get her home.

Then finally, after 20 minutes in the pasture, Little Love followed me through the gate. I honestly thought we were home free.

Then, of course, there was a loud noise, a tractor behind the barn or perhaps the cows inside. Who knows. Little Love spooked. She spooked and slipped on the asphalt, her backside gliding from underneath her. She scrambled to her feet, now in total panic. In a split second I realized that if I hung on to her, several things could happen: a) she could freak out even more, as she gets more fearful when you try to restrain her b) she might fall over again, and this time all the way down or c) I could get dragged the two hundred yards to her stall and get hurt in the process.

It was a no brainer: I let go. She was loose for the second time that day and this time there were no fences to restrain her.

Little Love trotted off in panic but after 20 yards she stopped and looked at me. Then she turned and walked calmly down the road until she was met in the yard by the guy who works in the barn. Luckily there were no cars, no other people. But I was shocked. I had not let a horse loose for probably a decade and a half. It had, in fact, been so long that I couldn't remember when it happened last. Letting a horse loose was poor horsemanship.

I had done the unthinkable: I had lost control.

As if that wasn't bad enough, I also felt like a failure because I had thought Little Love and I had a special connection, I thought she trusted me, I thought she would never want to run away from me - no matter what. I had been so comfortable, so happy in our connectedness, cocky even. What had happened? Was it all a lie? I was so angry and actually felt betrayed. Betrayed by a horse. I was convinced it would never be the same.

And it wasn't. Interestingly enough our connection seemed stronger than ever. I had failed, and there she was, bonding with me like never before. What had happened? Didn't she know I was a failure?

And then I got it: I had only failed the human standard, which is that no matter what, you must remain in control of your horse at all times. I had only failed the image I had in my own head of a perfectly behaving horse who listened to me (and my standards) every second of her existence.

But from Little Love's point of view I hadn't failed. She had been scared and I had not tried to control her, to hold her down, to force her to face her fear. Instead, I had let her do the one thing she wanted to do which was get away from the scary object. I might have been the first human to ever allow her to do that. This was huge. It was almost as if I had passed a test.  And the result had been there, right before my eyes, when she had trotted off but then, realizing she was free, had no longer been scared.

I'm fully aware that if Little Love and I get into a scary situation like that again, most likely she will choose to flee. I try not to take it personally. Instead, I hope I can give her the freedom she needs to not be scared.  So often it is not the scary object that is creating the panic, but the fact that there is a human at the end of the rope trying to control the outcome of the situation.  For most of us, there is nothing as scary as the loss of control, be it with horses or with our lives. Let's face it, most of us are control-freaks. But sometimes we can learn only when we let go of that control. And interestingly I have discovered that sometimes less is truly more, like in the case of Little Love. She is teaching me so many things, but one of the most important lessons has been to learn to let go at the right moment.

~ K

When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.

-- Lao Tzu

Kapia

Last spring I wrote a blog about Kapia, a horse in Belgium, who helped me discover hidden and lost emotions within myself. (Lessons from a horse’s heart, June 16th 2009)

A few weeks ago I received a message that Kapia had passed away. Although she touched my life only briefly, Kapia had a profound effect on my growth as a person and I will be forever in debt to her for this reason. Not that she ever expected anything in return, apart from honesty and authenticity.

Horse’s have big hearts as I pointed out in my last blog, but Kapia’s heart was extraordinary – she was a healer of the human heart.

To honor Kapia’s memory, below are two poems I wrote in May of this year, both inspired by this magnificent mare.

The beacon - Inspired by Kapia May 3, 2009

I know
what you are saying.
I can see the words
In those kind eyes
When you look straight
Into my heart

You know my desires
Before I can catch them
You guide my path
Before I can find it

You are the beacon
In the night



Words from a wise horse - Talking to Kapia May 2, 2009


the eternal depth
that is within -
it may seem empty
and deep as a hole
but
the space you see
is not darkness

it is a place to
expand
your Strength
your Power
your Womanhood


Thank you, Kapia. I will never forget.

~ K