The difference

"When anything gets freed, a zest goes round the world." - Hortense Calisher

Look at the two pictures above. What is the difference between the two? Or is there a difference?

If I told you that I kept my dog Chili in a crate 23 hours a day just to take her out for a training session in the yard once a day with a muzzle on her face so she couldn't open her mouth, what would you think of me? Would it be the same if I told you my horse lived in a stall, but that I rode it every day for an hour to give it exercise?


Why does it seem unacceptable to treat a dog in the above described way, but it is a customary reality for many horses? Horses, like dogs, are born to move. In fact, they are so inclined to move that they stand up and start walking within the first few hours of their lives. Yet people find it acceptable to keep them in stalls, unmoving, day after day.

Before our paths crossed, Little Love used to live at a barn where she never left her stall for other than a riding session. For two years she was let loose a handful of time, each time resulting in some sort of injury.

"She went crazy when she was free," her owner reported to me, "so in the end we never let her free."

Right. That would make sense, wouldn't it? The problem, of course, was that there was no opportunity to put her outside or let her go in the arena on a regular basis. Perhaps in this case it was best to refrain from EVER doing it. I think Leonardo Da Vinci put it well when he said: "Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return." Is it easier for horses to never be let loose than to get the opportunity once a year for thirty minutes or less?

I look at Little Love now, her confident calmness when I slip her halter off and let her loose in the arena or the pasture. She stands there and sniffs the air, then walks off to investigate the area. No crazy running, no injuries waiting to happen. And this only because she goes out in the pasture every day for four hours. That's it. Four hours of solitary freedom, a fraction of what she really needs. But what a difference it has made in who she is. I can only imagine who she would be if she didn't live in a stall at all, if she had access to movement every moment of her life.

So many people don't share (let alone understand) my passion for freeing all horses from stall living. Last winter when the weather was wet, the horses at the barn stayed inside for over two weeks straight. The pastures are grass and the barn owner wants to keep them in pristine condition, which means when it rains, the horses stay in. This happens periodically in the fall, winter and spring. Needless to say, Little Love turns into a maniac when her cabinfever rises. On days of complete stall confinement I do my best to go to the barn at times when others are not there to turn her loose in the arena. But life doesn't always work the way we want, and there are days when her only moment out of the stall is on the end of a rope or with a rider on her back. Which is not enough.

I had a casual conversation about this with the barn owner once, a conversation which started with the usual exchanges about the bad weather. Before I could complain about the horses having to stay inside for days, he brought the subject up himself.

"I don't understand what all the fuss is about horses having to go out every day. They are nice and cozy in their box stalls."

I looked at him in surprise. Had someone else actually voiced a concern? Was I not the only one here thinking this was total animal torture?

"Well, horses weren't exactly meant to live in stalls," I said, bravely. "Little Love is definitely a completely different horse when she gets to go out."

The barn owner gave me a scornful look. I could see I was quickly being labeled as one of those freaks who actually thought about horses' needs. Not that I didn't already have that label tattooed across my forehead before this conversation.

He let out a short laugh that sounded like a bark. "You know what? Ten years ago we didn't put the horses out for the entire winter, and they were fine. Three months inside. Horses don't care." Then he walked off. That was the last time we ever discussed the subject and what was there to discuss? The open hostility of his statement was enough to tell me this man was not going to change his thinking any time soon.

But I can't seem to get over this subject of captivity and freedom, it's as if my car is stuck on a hump in the road and no matter how hard I accelerate, I can't move forward and past it. Everywhere I look, there are horses being held prisoners and people holding them hostage.

A year ago a jumping horse passed through our barn. She was only there for a short while, but as soon as she arrived it was obvious that the mare hated being in a stall. She would kick the walls of her box sometimes non-stop for hours. Obviously this brought upon an injury and then another. As a solution, the owner attached leather straps around the mare's back legs, with a piece of chain on the back. This made kicking the barn walls extremely uncomfortable, although I have to give the mare points for trying. She also developed a bad habit of attacking everyone who passed her stall, which wasn't very pleasant as she lived in a busy location of the barn. Her aggression was not helped by the fact that when she kicked the walls, people would yell at her and even hit the bars of the stall with something, like a brush of a whip. I often stopped by her stall to talk to her, telling her that I understood what she was going through.

Finally, after months of fighting, the mare gave in and stopped the kicking. I was both relieved and sad to watch her surrender; relieved because I knew it would only get worse for her if she didn't stop and sad because the humans had managed to break her spirit. I admired her for her courage; the majority of horses don't dare express their opinions about stall living as vigorously as she did.  If they did, would it make a difference? 

But back to where we started: the two pictures at the top of this blog... If both these animals were locked up 24/7, would you feel more for - the dog or the horse? Or is it all the same? Where do you draw the line?

A goldfish in a fishtank.
A bird in a cage.
A dog in a crate.
A tiger in the zoo.
An elephant in the circus.
A seal in a bathtub.
A horse in a stall.

What is the difference?

~ K

"If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his next again,
I shall not live in vain."

- Emily Dickinson

The Message

“Problems are messages” - Shakti Gawain



Last week a woman called me because she was having trouble riding her horse in a bit. I agreed to meet her to give her the opportunity to try the bitless bridle and talk about bitless riding as an option. Two days later I arrived at the barn and was met by a tall, smiling woman who was holding the lead rope of an enormous warmblood gelding. I was delighted to see that the horse was barefoot, definitely uncommon in my neck of the woods. I asked the lady what exactly was going on. She shook her head and spoke:

“You see, I took the shoes off two years ago. The decision to do that took me a year, but then I finally did it. A while after I started thinking about riding bitless, too. I don’t know why, the thought sort of just came to me. After deliberating for months, I decided to try a hackamore*. My horse hated it, it was impossible to ride him in that bridle. So, I went back to the bit.”

I watched the horse closely. He was eating hay out of a bale placed in the middle of the barn aisle, but I could see he was listening and internalizing his person’s account.

“So, I rode in a bit again. But two months after, the problems started.”

“What kind of problems?” I asked.

“Well, at first he was just opening his mouth. I tried to strap it shut, you know, like everyone does, but it just made everything worse. Soon he was tossing his head.” She looked at the horse. “Then he started with the tongue, it was everywhere but not in his mouth.” She looked desperate. “I got the dentist out a million times, the vet and the chiropractor. We tried everything”. She sighed. “I hope this bridle works, because I’m at the end of my rope.”

I smiled. The horse was looking at me. We both knew it would work.

And it did. The horse was great in the bitless, in fact, he had never been better. The owner was relieved.

“You know what is really weird?” she said after getting off her horse. “He never seemed to have a problem with the bit for the first four years I owned him. It wasn’t until I took the shoes off and then started to think about the bitless option that he no longer supported the bit.”

I looked at the woman, she was so earnest in her bewilderment. I knew she needed me to say out loud what she had trouble putting into words.

“Perhaps your horse wanted you to go bitless all along and he was simply communicating this message to you,” I said and stroked the horses neck. He chewed. “Perhaps that’s why you got the idea to try bitless riding in the first place.”

The woman nodded. “You know, I was thinking about that, but… ” She glanced at me. I could see she wanted confirmation, reassurance. Please tell me I’m not crazy for thinking my horse is actually communicating with me, her face seemed to say. Please tell me I’m not crazy for feeling the way I feel.

“Well,” I said gently. “I commend you for being so observant and listening to your horse. Not everyone is capable of such awareness.”

She shrugged, but I could see she was pleased by the compliment. “In the end it was pretty obvious that he didn’t want the bit.” The woman looked away, sort of embarrassed. “I just didn’t want to believe it at first. It was sort of what happened with the shoes, too. People told me I was crazy when I took them off, but at that point I was convinced it was the right thing to do.”

“You listened to your horse about the shoes, so he figured you would listen about the bit, too,” I said.

I truly do commend people like this woman. It is not obvious to see misbehavior from the horse’s part as a form of communication. But to then look for alternative solutions? Most people will do anything but seek answers especially when they get the feeling the answers will lead to what they fear most – change in themselves.

All people have the ability to connect with another living being, but the belief that humans should dominate animals, especially an animal as big as a horse, gets in the way of true communication and true feelings. When a horse misbehaves, we don’t see this as information, but a problem that needs a solution – fast.

Perhaps the core of this issue lies in the fact that we are living in a brain oriented world. We value reasoning and problem solving over intuition and emotions. But real intelligence is so much more; it happens throughout the whole body, not just the brain. In fact, too much thinking can hinder our capacity to stay in the moment and feel and experience. Horses, on the other hand, are masters at both feeling and experiencing. They communicate with emotion, they live in the moment. And this is why we love being around them; we are seeking something we lost, if not at birth, soon after.

But – although we are unconsciously seeking this – we are also terrified of tapping into our two other brains: the brain in the gut and the brain in the heart. In theory we admire people who communicate with animals, we watch movies of so called horse whisperers and read books of children who grew up running with wild animals. These stories are exceptional and deep down we wish we could have such a gift as being accepted by animals as one of them. In real life, however, it often scares us to be part of something that seems so out of control, so instinctual. Surely something so primitive could not be what we are seeking for? If I listen to my gut and my heart, where are they going to take me? Am I going to have to feel something I won’t be able to handle? Am I going to have to look into myself? Will I like what I see?

For a while there I, too, was living in complete denial of the messages my intuition (and the horses around me) was sending me. It is easy to rationalize and follow the mainstream while making excuses to convince yourself that “this is the way it’s done.” I remember about seven years back a riding student of mine called me a horse whisperer and I laughed at her, claiming to be no such thing. And I was serious, even when she insisted that she saw some strange connection between me and the horses, that the horses acted different when I was present, I merely said “It’s because I’ve been doing this for so long,” dismissing the nagging feeling that I, too, like the horses around me, was capable of communicating with emotions. If I didn’t admit to hearing what horses had to say, I didn’t have to listen, right?

Sometimes it requires a major event such as an illness or an accident to force a person to encounter the emotions buried deep inside. For me it was perhaps a series of small, seemingly unrelated events put together that shattered the old me and opened up a new passage within. When everything else is torn up in pieces, peeled away like layers of an onion, what you have left is your vulnerable authentic self made of honest intuition and raw emotions. It can be an overwhelming experience to discover such hidden potential inside yourself, but at the same time it can free you in ways you never imagined possible.

I drove home from the meeting with the lady and her barefoot warmblood with my heart humming. I always feel uplifted when I meet new people who are changing, people who are brave enough to listen to their horses and the voice from their gut and heart instead to the humans around them, people who are willing to take an honest look at themselves and what they are doing.

Every day I see so many others who continue wanting the best for their horses, but who unwittingly hurt them. I used to wonder if such people were simply ignorant or just so numb to the core that they were incapable of connecting with anything living. Now I realize that probably most are not deaf and blind, nor are they ignorant or unfeeling, they just simply are not ready to hear and see the message. I can only wish their time will come, sooner rather than later, and when it does, they’ll have courage to take in the messages their heart and gut and horses are sending them.

~K

The truth of the matter is that you always know the right thing to do. The hard part is doing it. – H. Norman Schwarzkopf

* A Hackamore is the traditional form of a bitless, but due to the shanks that act as lever arms, it can be a very severe experience for a horse.

Everything Lost

The only true voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands, but rather in seeing with new eyes. - Marcel Proust



Yesterday evening I thought that perhaps it would be nice to go for a trail ride with Little Love, but only if she fully agreed to the ride. When I got to the barn, I haltered her immediately and took her into the indoor arena, a place where we can be in peace together when the weather is good and others ride outside. The indoor arena is not much of a space, but it is as close to freedom that I can offer Little Love in this moment in time. Freedom is a relative concept. For a horse that lives on a 1000 acre farmland an enclosed riding arena would be imprisonment. But for Lilo, who lives in a small stall, the indoor can represent a piece of freedom, however short and small.

I had brought a book to read and I sat on a chair for thirty minutes while Lilo wandered around the arena. Every now and then she stopped by me to push on my book or lick my arm just to turn around and mosey to the other side of the hall. Finally I closed my book and approached her.

“Do you want to go for a ride?” I asked. She turned her head away and walked off. Okay, that was a fairly clear message. She walked a small loop and I thought perhaps she just wanted to hang out tonight, but then she turned and came back to me, putting her head down to the halter. This in her language means: “Yes, why not”.

I walked her to the grooming area, which she entered willingly. She has been known to stop as well, so I took her willingness as another sign that she, too, wanted to go for a ride in the woods. Once I had groomed her, I grabbed the saddle and showed it to her, watching her reaction carefully. She turned her head and looked at me, with her ears forward. This is another “Yes”, something she has just recently started to offer when it comes to the saddle. Before, there was just a whole bunch of “NOs” which she reiterated by biting the saddle, pinning her ears back and moving away from the situation, if she had that option. For this reason I have ridden her less and less, as I want to respect her wishes.

I reached under her belly for the girth, happy that we were going out for a change. Suddenly Little Love moved, trying to pull her rope loose and walk towards her box stall. I stopped what I was doing and, reverting to my old ways, said: “No, stay still, we have to go for the ride.” I didn’t notice the words I had used, the change in my own attitude. Instead, I fixed her stance, turning her head to face away from the stall and tried to grab the girth again. She made another quick move towards her box, pulling on the rope that was loosely thrown over the bar in front of her. I grabbed her halter and moved her back to her original position.

“Stop it, I have to tighten the girth.” I could feel myself tense up. I wanted to ride, I had my mind set on this ride. The forceful dominant rider, someone I used to be, started to lift her ugly head inside me. I tried tightening the girth for the third time, but this time Little Love nearly stepped on me as she moved abruptly towards the stall. Her ears were forward and she stood stock still, staring at her box door.

Then it dawned on me. The barn owner had just delivered her evening hay into her stall. In the wild horses eat almost all day, but in captivity we feed them two or three times a day at set mealtimes. Set mealtimes make horses obsessed with food and Little Love was no different. I suddenly realized what she was trying to tell me. In my tunnel vision world I had not realized what was going on. I was also fairly sure she could not understand why I would want to go on a ride when it was dinner time. In her world that made no sense whatsoever.

“Ok,” I said. “I’ll fix the girth and then you can go eat for a while. Then we’ll see if we go for the ride.” Little Love chewed. She waited patiently for me to get the saddle strapped on properly, content that her person finally had a clue.

I let her into the stall and she started nibbling on the pile of hay on the ground. I thought of what I had said to Lilo earlier; “We have to go for a ride”. Ha. We didn’t have to do anything. This was just human inflexible goal-oriented thinking. Horses must think we humans are nuts. I sat on the bench outside and waited for a good ten minutes. Then I grabbed the bridle and walked back into the barn.

Now she was ready to go. She hadn’t had all her hay, but had been able to eat enough to feel content. We set off for a ride, walking side by side at first. When we got to the top of the hill, I mounted her and she stood still, accepting me on her back. She lifted her head high and peered tensely down the field. I saw a tractor and a hay bailer in the distance.

“That’s okay, we don’t have to go that way, we could try something new today.” I sat on her back and she started walking, not because I had asked her to, but because that was what we were both thinking about; going for a walk. She didn’t take the usual turn to the left because of the tractor, but chose the road up the hill. We came to the edge of the forest.

“Hey, let’s go into the forest path,” I said and gently directed Lilo towards the opening in the trees. She hesitated, but then dove under the branches, ready to give it a try despite the claustrophobia that makes her shy away from trees and branches that come too close. Two fallen logs crossed our path and I could feel her unease. She snorted. Logs meant jumping and jumping meant stress, something she had learned long before our paths met a few years ago.

She stepped over the first log, but couldn’t help the panic that rushed into her limbs. She jumped over the second log and started trotting in alarm down the path. I ducked the tree limbs and leaned over her neck, not touching the reins.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I said, but didn’t try to slow her down. I knew she would calm down in a moment, when she felt the memories had subsided enough.

Soon she slowed down to a walk. We treaded softly over fallen pine needles and browning leaves. Once we were on a wider path, I stroked Little Love’s neck; she was alert, but calm.

“If you want to trot or canter, I’m with you,” I said. I didn’t touch her with my leg, but she picked up the canter. It was slow, tentative. We cantered for a moment, then took a left at the trot to pass the scary cottage in the middle of the forest. Someone was having a party there and children shrieked with delighted surprise when they saw the black horse approaching. Little Love held her breath and her head came up very high, but she didn’t stop or turn to go home like she would have last year.

“Brave horse,” I said to her, focusing on regulating my own breath to help her cope.

It wasn’t easy for her, but she passed the commotion calmly but swiftly. Once it was all behind us, she picked up a nervous trot, trying to shed the experience off the way horses do by running away from it. I didn’t stop her, but instead followed her lead, allowing her to work out the stress from her body.

When we popped out of the forest, the sun was starting to set behind the Jura Mountains and facing this magnificent backdrop, we both caught our breath simultaneously. Although I have lived in Switzerland for over five years, I never stop marveling over the beauty of the mountains, the lush shades of green in the summer and the soft snow peaks in the winter. Little Love, on the other hand, was not admiring the mountains. True to her horse nature, she was content to finally be out of the confines of the forest and back to safety of the wide open spaces where she could see as far as her eye took her.

We approached the barn from the hill above and Lilo slowed down to an ambling walk. She doesn’t like carrying me downhill, so I asked her to stop. She stood patiently waiting for me to climb off, loosen the girt, put up the stirrups and open the noseband. I walked her into a field and she put her head down to graze. I watched her suck in the lush end-of-the-summer grass and thought of nothing in particular.

Suddenly a dog barked at a house by the road and Little Love jumped and snorted in panic. Instead of trying to stop her, I took lead and trotted ten fifteen paces away from the dog before slowing down to a walk again. Little Love, who had followed me, blew air out of her nose and shook her head. And it came to me again, like it often does at small moments like this, that this is what it is like to be “with” the horse, not against the horse. It is like a constant exchange of emotions and reactions, it is a constant effort to understand the messages passed to you in this silent language called horse. To be with the horse is to understand the point of view of the horse and not to forcefully implement that of your own. With force and pressure and control you cannot have togetherness, you can only have separateness.

Long time ago I thought that the horses had to do what we said, or else everything would be lost. Everything. You must be the boss or the horse will take over. I can’t say how many times my trainers told me that. So many, that I believed every word of it and learned to be the boss. But here I am now with this beautiful black mare, and it no longer matters who the boss is, or if there even is one. There is no inequality between friends.

And yes, it is true; everything I ever knew is lost. And I thank the universe for that every day.

~K

One cannot see the light. It is what makes us see. – Henry Corbin

Levels of Imprisonment

A picture is worth a thousand words. Look at the above picture closely. What are the first words that come to your mind?


A horse is an animal that is by nature social and lives in herds, an animal to which movement and continuous grazing is compulsory for good health. We have managed to take this animal and force it to live in a 12x12 stall separated from its family, unable to move or graze all day. And this is the norm.

Some lucky horses get to go out for three hours in the morning to stand individually in their stamp sized paddocks and stare at each other over the electric fence in silence. Some, slightly luckier ones might go out in bigger pastures, still separated by the fence but at least there is a short stretch where you can run side by side and perhaps touch over the fence if you are taller than 16 hands. The luckiest of them all get to go outside together and if you live in a stall such as the one pictured above, it might be your life savior, because despite being imprisoned for life, at least you have each other, another horse to touch, a companion to share your miserable life with.

In other words, there are levels of imprisonment. Some more severe than others.

The more I think about this, the more it makes me sick. It seems so easy to forget that while you are not at the barn that the horse is just standing there, surrounded by four walls, unable to move more than a few feet to the left or right. Out of sight, out of mind. Tucked safely in his jail, so the owner doesn’t have to worry he is outside cantering around, possibly getting hurt.

Some people actually think the horse is happy this way. Just last spring I ran into a woman whose older gelding I used to ride over a year ago. She is now at another stable and since I haven’t seen the horse for quite some time, I asked how he was doing.

“Oh, he’s great. The barn is fantastic. The only down side is that he doesn’t get to go out at all, they don’t have pastures. But he has a really, really big box and straw up to his knees - so he’s happy.”

Really? Don’t you think he’d rather be outside? Knowing the facility, I can see how one can be fooled. Beautiful, vaulted ceilings, large indoor arena, wide barn aisles, state of the art wash racks, gorgeous tack room. Sounds fabulous, but unfortunately all that means nothing to the horse, absolutely nothing.

And then there is Little Love. There are days when I can’t stop thinking about her in her stall. Usually those are the days it rains so heavily, the barn owner doesn’t want the horses outside “ruining the pastures”. My heart is a little fist in my chest as I rush through my work, I speed on the freeway, I will the people in the grocery store to move a little faster just to save some time to go there, to have an extra moment to take my friend out of her prison. Even if it just for 15minutes, it is better than nothing.

Last week it was a day like that, a rainy day when I had thirty minutes to spare that I witnessed something that made me swallow back tears. I was taking Lilo’s halter off when I noticed the horse across the aisle moving restlessly in his stall. I peered at him through the metal bars that separate the horses from each other and seem to reiterate the real function of this barn. The horses are able to see each other, smell each other, but not quite touch each other.

The horse’s eye caught mine and for a moment we stared at each other. Then he turned and tried to lift his nose over the metal bars to touch his neighbor, a very friendly gelding. They could not quite reach; the bars were too high. The friendly gelding shook his head and went to his window, which opened up into the aisle. He pushed his head through and looked at his neighbor, as if to say “come on, come to your window.”

At this barn, each horse has a window which enables them to look out of their stall into the aisle. It also enables them, if they want, to stretch out and touch each other. We can’t talk about full body contact that would allow grooming, but just enough distance for noses to touch.

The horse pushed against his window and the bars rattled in the silent barn. His window was closed. Sometimes, if a horse is really interested in other horses, his window will not be opened. Some people believe that encouraging contact between horses is like encouraging mutiny. Others keep their horse’s windows closed for other reasons, such as fear of injury.

But if there is a will, there is a way. The only opening to this horse’s box stall is a small gap above his feeder through which the barn worker delivers the daily grain portions. It is just big enough to fit a human hand and a scoop. And a horse’s muzzle.

When I saw the horse push his nose out through the opening over his feeder, I couldn’t believe my eyes. To be able to do this he had to twist his neck to an unconceivable angle. But it worked. On the other side was the friendly gelding in the stall next door, waiting with his head out of his window. With tears welling up in my eyes I watched the two horses “play” in this manner, the other with his head through his window and the other with merely his mouth and nostrils fitting through the small hole above his feeder. Gently they touched each other, like two long lost relatives.

I realized that whatever I was doing, trying to provide companionship and momentary relief to one single horse, was just a mere drop in the ocean, a barely noticeable speck of kindness in a sea of injustice. All those horses, all of them, and the ones at the neighboring barns, neighboring countries and many all over the world, are horses just like Little Love and her friends. Horses craving for peer friendship and freedom. Horses craving to be touched by another horse.

Look at the picture in the beginning of this post again. What do you see? Do you see a happy horse living in this stall? Or do you see…

loneliness desperation anguish oppression prisoner breaking out lock up isolation torture life time of misery separation from peers boredom boredom boredom let me out yearning for freedom outdoors suffocating claustrophobia sad horse

imprisonment?

Often we own horses and we expect them to perform for us the moment we enter in their presence. We think: “What can this horse do for me, how can I make it do what I want?” But after everything we have taken away from them; locking them in stalls, denying them a normal family life, withholding movement, continuous grazing. Not to mention nailing shoes to their hooves, putting bits in their mouths, saddles on their backs and riding them whichever way we please.

After all we have done perhaps the right question to ask would be: “What can I do for this horse to make his life better?”



~K

PS. After I wrote this blog, I found out that this horse’s window is closed because people don’t like walking their horses past him as he is so keen to touch them. I talked to the horse owner and we agreed that perhaps it would be alright to open the second window this horse has which does not enable him to touch other horses, but does give him a look at the yard and everything that happens there. So, when the weather is sunny and warm, I have permission to open that window.
PS2. The pictures in this blog were not taken at Lilo's barn, but a barn I visited this summer for a day.

"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference."   — Elie Wiesel
 

The power of the bit

I used to subscribe to mainstream equestrian magazines such as Dressage Today. I also used to regularly read Finnish publications such as Hippos and Hevoset ja Ratsastus which are geared towards the average horse enthusiast. Just a few years ago I found the articles in these magazines helpful and informative. However, since I have found my way onto the less beaten path (of the horse), I haven’t bothered to read such publications as I know they have nothing to offer for someone with my conviction.


So, having only half-heartedly followed the mainstream equestrian world, it has been easy to imagine that some real changes are happening, that people are looking for alternative solutions for their horses. But are they really? Or is it just an illusion created by the fact that I have surrounded myself by a minority which shares my world view? People who want no harm, use no force and base their relationship with their horse on trust and companionship.

Perhaps I’ve been living in a bubble.

To unconsciously prove myself right, I happened to run across one of the main publications in Finland geared toward the horse-loving public. This magazine has a circulation of over 35.000 which is quite a lot in a small country like Finland. And not only that, the magazine is the official publication for the National Equestrian Federation. Very influential, in other words.

The cover supports a picture of the country’s most famous dressage rider walking down a wooded path with her longtime four-legged international dressage partner. Inside I find a short article written by this rider. I turn to it enthusiastically, since I, too, have admired this woman most of my life. She was and still is, after all, the idol of so many aspiring riders. And once upon a time I was one of them.

Her article is titled “Avoid dangerous situations” which is an important subject. We all want to stay safe around horses. I start to read through, but already the first line makes me wince. “A horse is a big and powerful animal, and it does not think or act like a human.” This is all true, of course, but somehow I am starting to get a premonition of where this is going. I read further.

The article is about the competition season and how to minimize the risks of having an accident with your horse while competing and traveling. There is advice about using gloves while lunging and teaching your horse to stand still when you mount. But there is also advice on how to handle the said animal when loading. “I always load my horses with a bridle and a lungeline. With the aid of the bit I can control each step the horse takes.”

With the aid of the bit I can control each step the horse takes.

The words stare at me from the page. When we talk about horses, it always comes down to the same subject, doesn’t it? Control. We must have control. And, according to the article, the way to gain control over this strong and powerful animal is with a bit.

To tell you the truth, I am sort of shocked. This woman, an international competitor, teacher, horse trainer – dare I say: guru - who has been living and breathing horses for the past 40 something years, must use a bit to control the horse’s every step. What happened to trust and kindness? What about learning more about this strong and powerful animal, his language, his mind, instead of immediately using a forceful piece of equipment to get him to behave exactly like we want? Yes, he does not act and think like a human (thank god for that!), but that is why it is crucial for us to find the tools to achieve a two way communication with him. In my book this does not include putting a metal piece in his mouth to inflict pain (nor does it include competing with the horse, but I'll get to that in another blogpost).

The article continues to explain the use of the bitted bridle. “I always use the bridle (with bit) when I take my horse out of his stall in strange places. No matter how calm my horse is, I cannot predict what will happen around him or what others will do. Stallions should never be led without a bit and this should be added to the competition rules on all levels.”

Wow. Never is a strong word. Does she mean never as in not even at home? The article does not explain this, it merely says never. I turn back to the front cover, where this rider is walking leisurely down the path with her beloved stallion, a horse she has ridden and trained for nearly a decade. He is in a bridle, with a bit. And more over, he has a metal stud chain running through the left bit ring and under his chin. Just in case.

I can now see the enormity of the problem people like myself are facing.

After reading this article written by the most influential Finnish rider of all times and published in one of the biggest horse magazines in Finland, I realize that it will take a very, very long time for the entire equestrian community to change and abandon bits. As long as people believe it is absolutely necessary to have a bit to control a horse’s every step, they surely won’t consider riding in bitless bridles any time soon.

In fact, it wouldn’t even cross their minds since their idol and the person they most look up to has announced that the bit will guarantee control, every step of the way. And this saddens me beyond words. Because, having used a bitless bridle for over two years, I can only marvel over the difference it makes in the character of the horse, the relationship between the rider and the mount, and the overall well being of the animal. And, since the horse no longer is reacting to the pain in his mouth, it even helps us gain the coveted control. And when I say horse, I mean stallions as well.

Ok, I admit that it’s not only the bitless bridle that has transformed so many horses. Because, truth be told, going bitless sort of has the power to open your eyes to so many things. When you take the bit away and see the changes in your horse, you suddenly realize that you never really knew who your horse was in the first place. And once you see a glimpse of him, the real him, you want to see more. And then some more. And suddenly you are looking at other ways to improve his life, to help him free himself from the repressive life humans destined him from birth.

On the other hand, in the past two years I have witnessed so many riders crossing over to the “other side” that I have lost count. I still want to remain carefully hopeful that there will be a day when all horses are freed from the oppressive use of a piece of metal in such a sensitive area as the mouth. If people just open their minds to something new and innovative as the bitless bridle, soon we will have masses of riders trying this new way of riding. And I believe – I have to believe – that this is just the beginning of something that will someday become a norm.

As much as articles such as the one described above might discourage me, they also point me to the right direction. It certainly would be easier to get my message across if I was a world famous dressage rider, but I’m not. Perhaps I am a nobody, but when a nobody meets another nobody and then the pair of them run into somebody and anybody, a group has formed. And what was that quote by famous cultural anthropologist Margaret Meade?

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”


Walk with me,

~K

Home

Someone wise once said that home is where your heart is, and I couldn't agree more. Sometimes, however, when your heart is here and there and everywhere, it is hard to determine the exact location of home. Home seems to be many things; home is connected to people, places, memories – even feelings. Perhaps, rather than being a physical position, home is an emotional condition, a sensation of certainty and security, a state of calmness and peace where you feel you can be yourself.

My home is with my family, half of which is scattered around the world. My home is with my dearest friends, whom all live in different countries. My home is where I am physically, right now, but also where I grew up. More importantly, my home is where I spent the carefree summers of my childhood. And then, of course, there are the horses… My home has always been where the horses are.

After being gone for over five weeks on vacation in Finland (at the before mentioned location of carefree childhood summers now transformed to semi-carefree adult summers), I finally returned to Switzerland, my physical home, a few days ago. Before we had even crossed the border in our car, my thoughts frequently turned to Little Love and how it would be to see her again, to feel her presence. Would she forgive me for leaving her for such a long time? What would be her mental state? Had we lost the connection despite my efforts to keep “in touch” over the energy of the universe, by the power of thought only?

I wanted to believe the connection was still there, because I sure had felt it; while lying in bed at night waiting for sleep, while watching clouds drift overhead as I swung in a hammock, while driving the car in a thunderstorm. I would be thinking of something else and then – suddenly, there she was, the black mare. She would enter my thoughts , sometimes as just a feeling, a picture or a phrase. I missed my horse friend, but on the other hand not. Because although she was a thousand miles away, she was right there with me, all along.

After I got home I couldn’t get to the barn fast enough, it was as if a giant magnet was pulling me there. My unpacked suitcases and five loads of laundry could wait, but this couldn’t. I had to see her, feel her energy on the spot. She knew I was coming, of course, as she always does. She was waiting at the stall door.

Her expression was tired; much, much more tired than what I remembered, but her eyes flickered when she saw me. I scrambled to get her halter on, to take her somewhere where we could just be alone, the two of us, unbothered. The barn was busy with people tacking up, longing, riding, taking off on trail rides – the things people do with horses and I could feel Lilo’s reluctance to have any part in that. The only quiet place I found was the indoor arena, not the perfect location, but with the door closed it was an area of complete privacy.

I let her go at the door and she went down to roll. She rolled and she rolled, perhaps six to seven times over. I found a chair in the corner and pulled it out. I sat down and watched for a while; Little Love stood up, her ears moving with all the noises coming from the yard. I pulled a magazine out of my pocket and settled down to read.

It took her a good twenty minutes to walk over to me and touch my arm with her nose. I breathed in her presence, swimming in the feeling of certainty we somehow manage to create together.
“Hi,” I said.

She said nothing, just chewed. Then she turned and walked away for a moment just to return again, this time planting her face in my lap.

I knew better than to touch her, as she doesn’t like to be touched on the face – not by humans. We stayed like that for a moment, our energy fields overlapping, exchanging something I can only describe as soul connections. Then I felt the urge to get up and walk. I knew it was a message from Little Love, she was asking me to join her. Soon we were walking, then running. She trotted behind me, I trotted behind her, we trotted side by side. We cantered and she bucked, then we stopped and stared at each other, the edges of our souls touching, whispering, sharing. Little Love chewed and then, like a gentle shockwave, I felt an overwhelming peace enter my body from her general direction.

I was finally home.

~K

Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration. ~Charles Dickens

This is what I dream of

Dreams are answers to questions we haven't yet figured out how to ask. ~X-Files

She sees me driving by in my car and trots to the gate. Her head is high, her ears tightly pointed forward. She has been waiting for me, I know.


When I approach the pasture, she nods her head and chews. Hello, my human friend, she says. I put my hand on her neck and breathe in her musky horse smell. A light breeze tickles my neck while we spend a moment doing nothing, but feeling everything. Then, side by side, we walk back to the barn to groom and hang out. The sun is still low, the morning only starting, the insects still resting.

“How about a hike in the woods,” I say and immediately feel Little Love’s emotional message. Yes. She touches my arm with her nose to confirm, a sign we use to communicate. I get the saddle and she accepts it, another sign she wants to go out today.

I grab the reins of the bitless bridle and lead Little Love down the road. I like to walk with her until she tells me she is ready for me to ride. Some days we both end up walking, which is just as well, I enjoy it either way. We hike up the road; it is getting warmer and the flies are now out. Little Love touches my arm with her nose. A sense of peace floats between us, or perhaps it is trust or love – it all blends together and forms a lake, a pool of unlimited soul food I have just recently rediscovered.

When I was ten, I fell in love with horses. I had never ridden a horse before, nor had I ever touched one, but the moment I did, I was awestruck. That very day that I made my first contact with these four-legged creatures I biked home with my oversized bike and ran into the house like my butt was on fire.

“Mom, I want to ride horses,” I shouted from the front door. “Do you hear me? Horses.” She has later recounted that she had never seen such conviction in my eyes or heard such determination in my voice.

My mother knew nothing about horses; in fact, like most people, she found them slightly intimidating. But she did know one thing: if she didn’t find a barn for her daughter to ride at, the ten year old would find it on her own. Once I had made the initial connection with a horse, nothing, and I mean NOTHING, was going to get into the way of my relationship with these beautiful animals. I had to be with horses. It was not a choice, nor was it an option – it was my destiny.

My parents were able to scrape together enough money for one lesson a week at the local riding school. I was ecstatic. I loved riding, but even more I loved just hanging out at the barn. For the first six years I rode once a week for 60 minutes, but I went to the barn every single day, seven days a week. I lived and breathed horses.

I was like any other girl who gets bitten by the horse bug. People who witness it from the outside call it a disease and in many ways it seems like one. There is something horses do to certain people, they sort of bewitch them. And when you are bewitched by a horse, you have no other option than to follow your desire to be with these beautiful animals.

I’m still convinced it’s not about the riding; riding is just what is offered to kids when they want to be with horses. At ten, it didn’t matter that I couldn’t ride every day; I still wanted to be at the barn, close to horses. And it really didn’t matter what kind of horse, either. A horse was a horse and when I was near one, I felt peaceful, whole.

It all changed of course. You grow up and suddenly it’s all about being a good rider and riding the best horse in the barn. My riding teachers were merciless and sometimes, hiding in the stall after a particularly hard lesson, I cried bitterly. Hadn’t my drive to be around horses been so strong, I would have quit riding a long time ago. But if there is one thing I’m not, it’s a quitter. So I joined the movement. Soon it was all about the next dressage move, the higher jump, the more difficult horse, the ribbon and the acceptance of the equestrian community. At sixteen, I was selected to join the special training ring at my barn and I became the groom for the feared riding teacher – an honor that brought me even more training in the saddle.

Looking back it’s hard to see when I lost my peace and became so goal oriented. Perhaps it was gradual, rather than something that happened overnight. Suddenly I was riding up to five horses a day (none of them mine). I was still at the barn seven days a week, but instead of slowing down to spend time with horses, I was busy tacking them up, training them, shaping them. Being with horses was all about riding, and riding was about bringing out the hidden potential of each individual horse, making that horse stronger, more beautiful, and above all – trained for success.

Now, at age 42, I am desperately trying to find my way back to that feeling I discovered over thirty years ago. It took me a while to realize that I, like so many others, was searching, desperately searching for something I had lost. And then suddenly there she was, a black mare, bearing gifts I never knew existed; gifts that are earned, not simply received. I suppose it took a horse like Little Love to show me the way, I’m not sure I could have found it without her.

I can feel the sun warming my back as we trot on the edge of the field. Little Love is alert and energetic, yet she listens to my seat, my voice. Do you want to canter? Sure. We pick up the canter as we enter the forest. I can hear her hooves beating on the ground. Her breathing gets heavy as she flies up the hill with such spirit; it feels like she is growing wings. And with Little Love carrying me through the woods, I enter the place of absolute stillness. I can feel everything around me, as if the whole world is underneath a magnifying glass. No past worries to think about, no future endeavors to fret – just the present, the glorious present.

I bend forward and her mane is in my face as she speeds up, catching up with the wind. This is what I dream of at night. Not the arena, not the dressage work, not the competitions, not the successes or victories, but this feeling of freedom and love and connection.

Thank you, Little Love. Thank you for sharing your world with me and helping me remember.

~K

Ps. To read more about the first horse I ever met go back to my blog from April 27, 2009

If you surrender to the wind, you can ride it. ~Toni Morrison