Cookie

That which the dream shows is the shadow of such wisdom as exists in man, even if during his waking state he may know nothing about it.... We do not know it because we are fooling away our time with outward and perishing things, and are asleep in regard to that which is real within ourselves. ~Paracelsus, quoted in The Dream Game

It was about a year and a half ago when I had the first dream.  I was riding a brown and white paint bareback.  As often happens in my dreams, I wasn’t myself, but rather a young Native American girl with black hair down to the waist.  We were riding in the forest and I could hear the leaves rustling on the path we were taking. When a stick snapped in half under the weight of my mount, I bent over and whispered: “Ssshhhhh.  We are hiding.”

The next time I saw the pony, he appeared in a dream that had something to do with a big hotel.  I can’t recall the details, except that the same brown and white pony was there, hovering in the backdrop of my sub consciousness.  Who was this pony?  Why was I dreaming about it?  The pony disappeared for a while, but only to show up again months later.  Every time I woke up remembering nothing else about the dream except the soft look on the pony’s face. 

I believe dreams have something to tell us, important messages we are left ignored in our waking life.  Or, if you believe in past lives, dreams are a vessel that takes you back to the wisdom you learned long time ago, but forgot you ever had.  And sometimes, if you are lucky, dreams help you look into the future.  I have always been a vivid dreamer; sometimes I wake up in the morning feeling exhausted after what seems like hours of action.  Other times I lie in bed and marvel over the insanity of my imagination.  And then there are times when I open my eyes remembering nothing else but a small lingering detail, almost like remnants of a feeling or a thought. 

I didn’t know anyone who owned a brown and white paint, but I did know that this pony had something to say to me.  When I met horses with similar coloring, I felt drawn to them, as if inherently I was looking for something, or rather – someone.  I talked to my friend about my dreams, and together we wondered if this pony was someone I had known long time ago, in another life time, or perhaps someone I would once meet, years from now.  Whatever the answer, I knew that even if I never saw the brown and white pony in real life, it had made a permanent impression on me through my dreams.    

That all said, I would like to share an email I received from one of my readers a few weeks ago. 

------

I’m Carol, keeper of 3 beautiful horses who along with our 3 dogs, 2 cats and 3 chickens are my reason for getting up every morning – I do work too but am self-employed as both a travel agent (for the income) and as an equine herbalist (for the knowledge and pleasure).

My 3 horses are Kelso, our herd leader, a wonderful gentle gentleman, aged 22, ex-show cob (not in my lifetime) who has been with me for apx 5 years – Kelso is semi-retired, a bit arthritic, a nice gentle plod out when weather conditions permit for him (chronic sweet itch so can’t go out often in the summer as too hot/fly-ridden). Then we have Murphy, now aged 17, and my ‘special’ boy who came to me 10 years ago when I got back into horse ownership following injury which kept me out of the saddle for 8 years – he was my ‘green + green = let’s figure it out between us’ and he is totally under my skin. Finally there’s Cookie, now 11, our adorable native pony who came to us 6 years ago as our daughter’s third pony.

It is about Cookie that I am sending you this private message because discovering your blog by accident has, I think, given me the answer to my gnawing underlying concern I’ve been going through for the past few weeks.

Cookie is adorable. She’s kind, gentle, sensitive, loving, affectionate. She’s Kelso’s personal grooming slave which is interesting considering he’s almost 16hh and she’s 13.2hh. She stands her ground with her two ‘brothers’ but is devoted to them, as they are to her. Our herd seems very content and happy together.

My ‘human’ situation is this. Around 3 years ago it became very obvious that our daughter was losing interest in riding and her pony in general. Not because of anything Cookie had done. She was simply losing interest, as sometimes happens – either it’s in you (as it was for me as a pony mad child which has stayed with me all my life – I’m now 53), or it’s not. Husband and I were really upset as our daughter and Cookie had had the most wonderful time together – they’d done a bit of Pony Club, cross country, show jumping lessons, and wonderful family trail rides at weekends. We just couldn’t believe that almost overnight, she lost interest.

Nothing I could do would get my daughter interested. Bribery, punishment, you name it – nothing worked, and so I ended up with a reluctant, pouting, sulky child riding because I forced her too. Eventually I gave up as the whole riding experience made me miserable to the point where I finally realized I wasn’t enjoying it. I resolved to loan Cookie out to a family where she would be ridden and loved.

Cookie lasted 2 weeks with the first family. She was desperately unhappy, didn’t settle, and when the opportunity arose she would bolt across a field and dump the child in the hedge. So Cookie came back home – admittedly it was lovely to have her back because I adore this pony and hated to see her go.

I found a lovely petite adult to ride Cookie out with me for a short while, so for the time being we kept Cookie moving while I hoped that my daughter would change her mind.

We then found a wonderful private yard right behind our house so we moved the horses, which meant I lost my petite adult. I advertised for a ‘sharer’ and we found mum Sue with daughter Hollie who absolutely loved Cookie on site. We went out for a lovely hack and Hollie did very well so the deal was done – Hollie would become Cookie’s sharer. Until Cookie decided she didn’t want to leave the boys and go off on her own, and again she bolted across fields and dumped Hollie in the hedge, so that was the end of Hollie.

After a few months I had a brainwave. Ask the local trekking centre if they could use a 13.2 pony! After all, Cookie came to us from a trekking centre so it would be an ideal environment for her, plenty of pony company, and she’d be ridden! The proprietor said she’d give Cookie a go and picked her up. Two weeks later Cookie was back. Apparently she ‘didn’t settle well’ and despite putting one of her most fearless, competent riders on her, Cookie made her feel very nervous – not ideal for a trekking centre with novice children. I remember thinking at the time that the owner hadn’t given Cookie long enough to settle, but I wasn’t going to leave her there if she wasn’t happy. So Cookie came home again.

By now I was started to get the impression that Cookie didn’t want to leave us. We’d tried to find her other riders but each time, and very out of character with her (she’d never bolted or thrown my daughter in all the time she rode her), Cookie came home. I decided that Cookie had spoken, and finally I’d listened – Cookie wasn’t going anywhere.

Again we had a long gap where Cookie wasn’t being ridden. However, she never seemed bothered by it, and on the odd occasion when I plodded out on Kelso I would lead her off the big fella and we’d all get a leg-stretch. She never showed any adverse signs of not being ridden other than getting a bit porky but being a herbalist I manage their environment and supplement them all with appropriate blends to keep them healthy – they’re also all barefoot and we ride bitless.

Then around 4 months ago I found a wonderful sharer, again a petite adult, who adored Cookie, and together they’d go off for hours over the countryside and pop over jumps and have the best time ever. Cookie lost weight, fittened up, and looked and seemed very happy. Then unexpectedly, a month ago we lost our sharer as she suddenly had to move house. Us humans were all devastated, sharer included, and once again Cookie had no rider.

So this last week I’ve been battling with myself with my head saying ‘Cookie needs to be ridden’, ‘Cookie needs to be ridden’. I finally called a local riding school on Friday asking if she could be useful to them. They came, saw, loved her, and I’m meant to be taking her over tomorrow. It’s only a mile or so away so not far, and the arrangement is that I’ll go over every day to help her settle, and if she doesn’t, she comes home again.

Hurrah! I’ve found what seems like a great home for Cookie, with plenty for her to do, lots of kiddies to love, cuddle and groom her, she’ll get fit and be happy!

So here’s my human dilemma. Why, since Friday, when I should be riding on the crest of this ‘I’ve sorted something for Cookie’, have I had an underlying niggle saying ‘no’, and to keep Cookie with her boys and us in our lovely paddock. I seem to have this eternal ‘thing’ in my head that says that Cookie needs to be ridden – why? For her health, happiness, sanity? Isn’t it what ponies are meant to do? Won’t she just get stale and vice-y if she doesn’t ‘do’ anything?

So why have I now been worrying all weekend that Cookie won’t settle, she’s told me enough time in the last couple of years that she doesn’t want to leave us . . . and why am I so hell bent on thinking that she HAS to be ridden?

My two selves are fighting each other – the sensible Carol is saying, for god’s sake get a grip, it’s a fantastic life for Cookie, let her go there, settle her in, she’ll always be ours, and when she’s older and no longer rideable she comes home to retire. The sensitive, emotional, instinctive Carol is saying ‘no’, it’s another move for Cookie, a separation from her boys and from us, and that’s not healthy, not good for her happiness, not good for her sanity.

Sensible brain/emotional brain – neither one’s winning. Yet now I’m trying to find excuses in my head for not taking her over tomorrow, even though I know there’s no written agreement, no sale, no anything!

So, to bring this all together, I was reading a blog the other day – Thursday, I think, where the blogger mentioned she’d discovered your blog and had spent so much time reading it that her family didn’t get their dinner that night. I clicked on the link, and started reading it. Loved it. Say no more. My family barely got their dinner that night either.

I haven’t had a chance to read more of it since then until this morning. I’m an early riser (horses/dogs/cats/chooks) – husband isn’t, so my weekend mornings are a nice, quiet, me-moment to go back to bed with a coffee, laptop, plug in headphones with nice soothing music and play blog catch-up. I uploaded yours and read your entire first page from top to bottom.

When I got to the post ‘To Live Life Backwards’, something stirred in me. Not that your situation was the same as one of mine, but it was the calling of Little Love’s name. I do that with Cookie from a distance. She lifts her head, no matter how far away, and starts walking towards me. Murf does too. It’s special, and makes me feel good and warm and fuzzy. I don’t kid myself that it’s not pure cupboard love, but still makes me feel nice. Fact is, she knows me, knows her name, recognizes my call.

Then I got to ‘Never Forget Me’. Now I started to become aware that this was getting a bit spooky. Blimey, I thought. I was meant to read this. What ifs. What if I sent her to this riding school and in the months to come we passed her on the trails – what if she recognised us, or Murf or Kelso (depending on who I was on) recognised her – what if they started calling to each other, as they do now when I’m leaving/returning to the yard and they’re all calling out to each other? What if Cookie will really, really miss us. Which she’s demonstrated several times in the past that she does.

Then we got to ‘Unmapped Country’. By now I was aware of the spookiness of the coincidence that your blog posts were here especially for me to read. Why does Cookie ‘have’ to be ridden? I can only put this down to some ingrained training or ‘expectation’ that comes with years of riding and horse ownership. This post put everything in perspective to me. She doesn’t ‘need’ to be ridden. No matter what the circumstances, in your blog’s case a scared rider (haven’t we all been there!) which is NOT the case for Cookie, but more my expectation that it’s the RIGHT thing for Cookie. But isn’t her being happy, content, safe, secure, loved and settled in her existing regime with her boys all she wants and needs?

I’m so glad I read your blog. Part of me still thinks the riding school is the better option for her as of COURSE she’ll settle – eventually. But the other part of me, having read your blog, now has the majority vote. I’m going to call the riding school today and thank them enormously for their consideration but decline their lovely offer. Cookie stays put, happy in her 4 acres with her boys, and I’ll just keep plodding out with her on occasion with the big boy to give her an occasional change of scenery.

To conclude, the Carol insecurity is tightening in my chest and is saying that if after all this, you think I’m terribly terribly wrong, I’d love to hear it! However, in some spooky, ethereal other-universe way, I think I was meant to read your blog, right now, at this time, day and age. I could have been about to do the worst possible thing for our gorgeous, sensitive, loving girl. Or the best. Either way though, she’ll be perfectly happy staying put until I eventually, possibly, maybe, find someone else to come and ride her.

------

I don’t know about you, but when I first read Carol’s email, I was rooting for Cookie.  I could see this opinionated little mare before me as if she was really there.  Cookie obviously deserved to be heard.  I wrote Carol back immediately, supporting her decision to keep Cookie at home with the boys.  When Carol wrote back, relieved I had taken the time to answer, she said: “Cookie must have sensed that I was calmer and back to my 'normal' self after reading your reply - we all went to the yard as a family (a rare thing - usually it's just me), and husband Richard and I were cuddling the girl with Rich by her withers and her head in my tummy. The sun was shining, the air was still and warm. Cookie then turned her head round to Rich and nudged him. The next second Richard jumped up over her back, no prompting from me, and just lay across her. Bear in mind he's a good 13stone-plus, and hasn't ridden for years, let alone lain across a bareback, untacked pony! Very out of character! Cookie remained stock still, very chilled. Next thing Rich scrabbled his legs up and over and sat on Cookie. She stayed looking really happy and calm. Then Rich leaned forward up her neck and wrapped his arms around her, giving her a big cuddle. He stayed there for ages, just cuddling our girl. 'Are you comfy?' I asked. 'Yes, really comfy,' he said, and grinned the biggest grin at me. 'I've never sat on Cookie before.' 'I know!' I replied. It was a lovely moment. Then he slid off and we were all back to normal.”

Carol also attached a picture of Cookie.  When I opened the file, I cried out loud; Cookie looked exactly like the pony from my dreams!  The strange thing was that I had somehow known this all along.  From the moment I started reading Carol’s first email, I had imagined Cookie to be a brown and white paint. I had never met Carol, nor did I know if she would think I was completely crazy, but I felt a need to tell her about my dreams.  I wasn’t sure how she would react, but it ddn't matter, I just had to share my experience.  She said: "...here's my freaky back to you. Don't know why but I somehow felt that you'd connect with Cookie - I felt a real need to email her photo over to you…it's quirky how life pans out, but this great big universe of ours is a whole lot more powerful than we can even begin to understand!” 

Carol was certainly right about the universe part.  I can’t tell you for sure if Cookie is the pony I had seen so many times in my dreams, but I do know that I haven’t seen her since.  Did Cookie and I connect months before I connected with her owner?  I will never know, but I have a strong feeling that something out of the ordinary happened here. Or, on second thought, is this something that occurs all the time, but we just happen to miss it? I do believe we are all connected over the vast universe by the energy between us. In my case this connection used to be something I was not aware of, but slowly, as I have connected more and more with horses, I have also discovered an uncanny ability within myself to “know” things.  There are so many things I cannot even begin to understand about the aptitude we posses, but I do know I want to understand it further.  Why does heeling by prayer/manifesting seem to work?  How can I sometimes feel other people’s emotions, even if they aren’t with me at the time?   How does my energy affect others; people, animals, plants?  Can we balance the bad energy in the world by adding more good energy?  If I think of someone I haven’t seen for a while, can they feel it?  Do things happen for a reason?

I wanted to share Cookie’s story because it awakened so many question in me.  I hope it does the same for you.  We may not know the answers – yet, but what I do know without a doubt is that our souls are more powerful than we can ever imagine.   

~K

Thank you Carol for allowing me to post a picture of Cookie and share your eloquently written story about this amazing pony!

PS. I have been writing this blog for two and a half years and one of my favorite things to do is to read the comments people leave.  Occasionally I receive emails from people who have felt a need to comment personally on what I have written.  Many of these letters have moved me to tears; the heartfelt stories of the authors and their horses are often powerful and charged with emotion.  When I started writing this blog, I never imagined it would offer me this sort of a connection with people I have never physically met.  It proves to me that even if sometimes we may feel lonely in our thoughts and beliefs, we are never completely alone.  There is always someone else in the world, experiencing something similar.  Thank you for reading (and writing)!

 “Black horse wisdom is felt more deeply than it can ever be explained…It champions knowledge rejected by the mainstream: instinct, emotion, intuition, sensory and extrasensory awareness and the human-animal partnership often associated with tribal cultures…It is an innately pure, nonjaded, spirited, yet immature, source of knowledge.  It has been neglected for so long that it initially lacks the ability to interface directly with the modern human mind.”            - Linda Kohanov

The Flower

An essay about Time, Teaching and Treasures

"The clock talked loud.  I threw it away, it scared me what it talked."  ~Tillie Olsen, Tell Me a Riddle

Last spring I ran into an old student, who had recently bought herself yet another horse.  She invited me to come and give her a lesson, “for old time’s sake”.  This I knew meant that she had run into problems with her new horse, as I had never known her to ask for a lesson with me unless the other trainers she rode with had failed to help her.  I agreed, mainly because I was curious, but also because I felt that I had never really been able to reach the woman in terms of helping her understand her horses.  She had always been very set on the traditional way of training.  She had goals for herself and her mounts; therefore she wanted results and she wanted them fast.  But, behind all this there was something else, something waiting to be ignited; she had, after all, periodically sought lessons from me. 

When I arrived, she had the new horse tacked up.  He had just turned four years old and was standing obediently in the middle of the indoor arena.  I noted the drawreins hanging on the horse’s neck.  I knew immediately this was the real reason I was there to give the lesson. My student read my thoughts. 

“I know I know, I shouldn’t use drawreins, but I just have them for security.”

“Security,” I repeated and gave the gelding a horse-human handshake by extending the back of my hand out and letting him sniff it.  There was something very touching about how he approached me, as if he was surprised I had acknowledged his presence. 

“He is normally really calm, but then suddenly, without any reason, he goes completely crazy.  He lifts his head up and takes off.  I just can’t have that.  It’s dangerous for one thing.”

 

I nodded, looking at the horse. The phrase that had caught my ear was “without any reason”.  There was always a reason.  But I didn’t say that out loud, because I knew that such a statement would surely end the conversation.  Nobody wants to hear that they are incompetent in interpreting their horse.  At least not point-blank within the first two minutes of the conversation.  I would get there later.

 “And does this occur every time you ride him?” I asked. 

“No, that’s the thing, I can never know when it’s going to happen.  One day he’s perfect and the next he flips out.  That’s why I have the drawreins, so I can stop him if he goes nuts.” 

 

“I see,” I said and stroked the neck of the young horse listening to him play with the bit in his mouth.  It made a jingling noise, something I had never paid attention to years ago, but which now sounded as loud as a church bell.  So many messages were hidden in every little thing that took place in a horse-human interaction, even in something as commonplace as this noise.  

I asked the woman more questions and found out that the gelding only had these episodes in the arena, never on the trails.  In fact, on the trails he was apparently “an angel”.  Also, the fits never happened while longing or long-reining, only under saddle.  The saddle had been checked, the osteopath had been consulted.  Even the vet had been out.

“He does it with the trainer, too, and she’s a good rider,” the owner concluded.  “So, it’s not just me.”  She sighed and looked sad.  “In the beginning he was the perfect horse, but now…  I don’t know, maybe I should sell him.  Or what do you think?  Do you think he can get over this?” 

I closed my eyes.  When people use the expression “perfect horse”, something stirs inside me, even though I don’t know how many times I have used that very same expression myself.   Sometimes I believe I teach students such as this lady just because I have a need to repent my past.   Facing your old self over and over again can turn into a sort of cathartic experience.  It also helps in defining the line between the person you were before and who you are now.  I searched for the right words to say, words that would sink in, instead of blow over.  

“Perhaps he feels he is being pushed beyond his limit,” I said.

My student shook her head and looked at her horse. “Yeah, but my other young horse never does this and we push him way more.”

 

“But perhaps this guy needs a little less pushing and a little more time.  We are all different.” 

 

The lady looked at me and wrinkled her brow. 

“But he’s a horse,” she said.   

Yes indeed, he was a horse.  A breathing and feeling sentient being.  I could see the wheels turning in the lady’s head.  She shrugged.  “We don’t have time,” she said.  “I was planning to enter him in some young horse classes this summer.”

“Here’s another thought,” I continued, ignoring her comment about the competitions and not having time.  I didn’t know if this was the perfect moment to share my earlier thoughts, but I had to go for it or the moment would be lost forever.  “What if you don’t look at this behavior as bad, but instead see it as a means of communication.” I pointed at her young gelding. “What do you think he is trying to tell you and your trainers?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying that there is always a reason why a horse behaves a certain way.  They are not trying to be naughty, but rather trying to tell us something. ” I stroked the gelding’s neck.  “It is your responsibility to figure out what the message is.” 

I could see that I had perhaps gone a bit far.  The lady looked very confused and perhaps a bit offended.  I decided to commence the lesson and come back to the subject later.  Sometimes, when you really challenge someone’s belief system, they shut down to all information.  I didn’t want to ruin the opportunity to awaken this woman’s budding realization of how to understand her horse.  

But something my student had said kept playing in my head; “We don’t have time”.  What was it with our current society’s growing obsession with getting everything made for them on the spot?  What ever happened to perseverance?  

Ironically around the same time I gave this lesson, I was learning about perseverance myself.  Little Love, my horse, has several traits that most people would call “deal breakers”, were they considering to buy her.  One of her long time issue has to do with her inability to enter small spaces, such as a trailer.  I, too, was faced with this problem when I bought her in the beginning of the year.  As I fought with her in the pouring rain for nearly two hours, I thought to myself: “Never again”.  I swore on the spot to work on the issue, giving it time, actual real time, to help Little Love get over her fear of the trailer. 

Luckily the place where I moved had a trailer, and not only that, but a trailer that opened from both the front and the back, so the horse could walk through.  This gave me the perfect opportunity to help Little Love with her fear.  The starting situation was grim; if the ramp was down, Little Love was immediately agitated and anxious, as if she was anticipating something bad to happen even if I never asked her to approach the trailer.   She needed something she had never truly gotten when it came to trailers and that was Time with a capital T. 

Giving my horse Time took some training on my side.  I, too, have a long history in an equestrian culture where you must produce results and fast.  I had seen all kinds of people from “horse whispers” to natural horsemanship trainers load problem horses.  All those methods were based on some sort of pressure and force, and were geared towards making the horse a perfect loader in a set time frame.  “Look, I can load the unloadable horse in less than 30 minutes!”  A few years ago it had appeared to me that those horses were “perfect” loaders.  It wasn’t until later that I understood that it came with a price.  Did I want my horse to be bullied into a trailer?  Definitely not.  

I decided to merely expose my horse to the trailer several times a week.  But I couldn’t help myself; I asked her over and over again to come on to the ramp with one foot.  Despite my good intentions, I was still falling into the trap of trying to get immediate results.  No matter how much I swore I had no time restraints or goals, it wasn’t true; I subconsciously hoped for progress and tried to push for it.  I also noticed my own heightened anxiety every time my horse approached the trailer.  Not only did my horse need time to learn to go into the trailer, I needed time to learn to let go of the “trainer” within.  I decided to always ask only twice and accept the answer, whatever that was.  

I won’t lie: I was happy when a few days later my mare was comfortable with standing on the ramp with her front feet.  I was encouraged about her progress, immediately visioning the next step and then the next.  But then I stopped myself.  What was I doing - again?  I looked at my horse as she backed off the ramp on her own.  I didn’t interfere.  I’m sure this broke the basic rule of most trainers in the world, for I too had been drilled since childhood to “never let the horse have the last word.”  But I realized that perhaps this was exactly the way to go. 

I stopped leading my mare to the trailer, but instead let her loose in the vicinity.  This gave my horse the opportunity to choose for herself.  She started walking to the trailer confidently, instead of anxiously.  She still only put her front feet on the ramp, but I told myself the rest would come later.  But it didn’t.  I put a bucket of food inside the trailer, but for days and weeks Little Love merely stood on the ramp.  I actually started to give up ever getting her inside without force.  Talk about perseverance... I kept on going.

Then one day, she walked in.  Just like that.  I didn’t lead her in, but rather opened the door and let my horse choose to go in.  From that day on, she always went in when I opened the trailer.  Slowly we started practicing standing in the trailer instead of just walking through.  When I closed the back bar for the first time, she walked out the open front, knocking the grain bucket over.  I didn’t try to stop her.  I had finally realized what it meant to “take time”.  It wasn't only about the time, it was also about what I did with that time. 

In the course of three months, I had a horse that would load by herself and trailer without sweating.  Were we done learning?  Hardly.  But my horse was learning to accept the trailer and I was learning what it meant to empower your horse.  I was also learning lots of things about what it meant to take time.  In the meanwhile, our bond became stronger and changed our relationship to the better.  It also changed me.  I am not in any rush now when it comes to horses.  My only wish is to convey this message to the world: if you take time, you stumble upon invisible inner treasures you never knew existed.  But how do you convey a message to people who are not ready to hear?  This was my problem with the lady who owned the young gelding.  

She called me back two weeks after our lesson.  The lesson had gone well from my point of view, but afterwards I was fairly sure I would never hear from this woman again.  Many things had surfaced during the hour and all of them had something to do with the ethics of horsemanship.  Should she push this horse past his limit?  Should she listen to him and see his “fits” as means of communication?  Could she look at her own riding and admit how much her own tension, her baggage and her expectations were affecting this sensitive animal and his reactions? Could she resist the urge to sell this “imperfect” animal and instead find the time to work with him?  Needless to say I was encouraged to hear her voice on the other end of the line.

“I’ve really been thinking,” she started the conversation, “that you may have a point.  I think we are pushing this horse too much.”  

I smiled at my cell phone.  

“I’m happy you have been doing some reflecting.  I could see at the end of our lesson that you were quite confused and perhaps unhappy.”

“Oh yeah, it was bad.  I went home and cried.  I was depressed for days.  But I needed to do that to really see what was going on.  The problem is now my two trainers.  They think I’m crazy.  They think the horse should just be shown his place, that they should force him to comply at any cost when he has his fits.  Last time they rode him, they fought with him for two hours.”

“Remember, he is still your horse,” I said.  I know I sounded calm and matter of fact, but I wanted to scream.  I don’t believe anybody wants to be violent towards animals; it is just the old traditions, the way equestrian sports have evolved, that make people unable to see anything wrong with what they are doing.  Hadn’t I been one of these people a few years ago?  How could I judge them now?  I knew anger would get me nowhere.

 “I know it’s scary to stand up to professionals in this field, but I really advise you to go with your gut feeling.  You are an experienced enough rider to ride him and teach him the basics.  Then you can do it on your own terms.  Or rather, the terms of your horse.”  

“Yeah,” my student said at the other end of the phone connection.  “I actually told the trainers we should take a break.  I think the gelding needs some time.  And I need some time to think.” 

I took a deep breath.  This is what I had been hoping to hear.  Tears sprung to my eyes, but they were happy tears.  Ever since I parted onto this other path, the Path of the Horse, I have experienced a variety of emotions.  Mainly there has been a lot of sadness as my heart aches for the things I have done in the past.  But there is also another ache, the ache for the present as there are so many horses in the world that suffer abuse on a daily basis.  Teaching riding is becoming increasingly harder for me, but it is moments like these that make it worthwhile.  I commended my old student for making the decision.  This particular horse needed probably more than a break, but a break was a step in the right direction.  

I believe each horse is perfect in their own right.  If your dream for your horse does not align with reality, perhaps it is time to either adjust your dream or the methods you are using to achieve the dream.  We talk about taking time with horses, either giving them the time to learn or the time to adjust.  But have we ever stopped to think what this really means?  What, for example, is enough time for a young horse to learn the basics of riding or to load into a trailer?  Two hours?  Two months?  Two years?  A life time?  When it comes to any learning, is there ever really an end station, or is it rather a long, long track that continues for our entire life?  Why do we always want to ride the bullet train instead of taking the man-powered trolley? 

Months later I heard my student had gone back to the trainers.  This was no surprise.  Most people go back to what they know; the other alternative is too scary.  I can’t say I wasn’t disheartened by this news of my old student and her young gelding, because I was.  But I also was hopeful that whatever happened between us during that last lesson was still present in my student’s heart; that the seed I planted remains somewhere under everything.  You never know, it may vegetate in her heart for years only to sprout into a real plant one day; a flower that blooms so spectacularly that it will lead her off the beaten path.   And that is exactly where those invisible inner riches reside, off the beaten path.  

I have decided to hold on to that image of the flower, as there are days when that is the only thing that keeps me teaching.  And it is important to continue teaching for so many reasons.

~K

“We cannot teach people anything; we can only help them discover it within themselves.” – Galileo Galilei

Quicksilver

“Once your awareness becomes a flame, it burns up the whole slavery that the mind has created.”
- Osho


Today, when a friend and I were visiting a small farm house with a few horses, we met a man who had an Argentinean Criollo. The sturdy little gelding was absolutely beautiful, but eyed us suspiciously from the moment we entered his range of vision. His owner was grooming the horse and I immediately noticed how slowly and deliberately he was moving around him. Before the man could really say anything to us about his horse, my friend marched over to the paint which was tied to the wall of the farm, and pushed both of her hands into his face, rubbing his forehead vigorously.

“You are so cute,” she said loudly and then proceeded to energetically pet the animal’s neck. I winced at the gesture, even though I used pet horses in the same near violent manner some years ago. The horse stood still, but a barely noticeable quiver of panic went through his body and his eyes bulged in his head. I wanted to physically pull my friend away, but at that moment the owner of the horse interfered. He took a step closer to his horse, wedging himself slightly between my friend and the animal.

“This is Arizona. He is quite sensitive and not so sure about people,” he said.

You would think this would have deterred my friend, but she is not one to take hints. Perhaps this is the very reason she seems to have zero ability to read horses, a trait that will undoubtedly one day get her into a lot of trouble. She pushed her hands back into the horses face and this time Arizona backed away, visibly scared. Finally my friend stopped touching the gelding, but still didn’t back away. She turned to look at me, still clueless.

“He is so cute, isn’t he?” She said, with a broad smile on her face.

It was obvious that my friend was not at all aware of the fact that she was frightening Arizona. Nearly every time we are around horses together, I have witnessed behavior from her part which is either dangerous or disrespectful to the horse. Heaven knows I have tried to address these issues, both diplomatically and less so, but with no luck. She does not seem to understand what I’m saying and my good intentions end in awkward silences and blank looks.

I have come to realize that no matter how hard I would like my friend to change her behavior around horses, I cannot force this change. A person cannot change something of which they are not aware. This is perhaps the first lesson I learned 30 years ago when I started teaching vaulting and riding as a young teenager. Since then, it has always been awareness that I strive to bring to my students. When they see what is happening, when they feel their own mistake, they can start realizing the consequences of their own actions. When I was still teaching traditional riding, it didn’t seem to take long for my students to catch onto what I pointed out. Everything was one-dimensional; the rider pulled on the reins unintentionally – the horse slowed down. The rider kicked the horse too hard – the horse scooted off. But now… bringing people’s attention to the subtle cause and effect patterns they are stuck in with their horses is one of the hardest things to do. It is especially difficult when the person in question is not ready to enter such a state of consciousness.

And even when we think we have all the awareness in the world, holding onto it may be the hardest thing we ever do. We are only human and can sometimes make human sized mistakes. Being aware of our place in the universe, of our actions and the impact we have on every living being is like holding quicksilver in the palm of your hand. This deeper level of consciousness escapes us when we least expect it, slipping away just when we think we have it trapped completely. To catch that moment, to return back to that world that is separate from our human world, is like catching quicksilver: one must have quite a bit of patience and motivation and perseverance. Lucky for us humans, horses have all three. I don’t think they will ever cease to bring us back to any given lesson over and over again, until we get it. And this means that perhaps one day my friend, too, will learn to become more aware of her own personal cause and effect .

Over ten years ago, when I was still a vaulting coach, I met a horse called Designer Socks. Socks was an interesting character to say the least and anyone who had the privilege to know him can testify to this. This was a horse who couldn’t speak the human language, yet he spoke volumes of what he liked and disliked, what he wanted and what he didn’t want. Because of this, he had a reputation of being difficult. In fact, when I met him, I called him that myself. Now, in hindsight, I realize that there really is no such thing as a difficult horse, there are just opinionated ones. And then there are truck loads of ignorant humans. Which perhaps is the reason some horses choose to be so animated; they would never get through to us otherwise.

I can’t say I was always quick to catch on to what Socks was pointing out, but he was relentless; he would spell his message out until even a hardheaded equestrian like myself got the picture. And once I allowed myself to listen to Socks, he taught me more than any horse before him had, opening my eyes to so many things.

Socks was extremely sensitive and particular. He would perform beautifully under saddle, but only when he felt like it. If you pushed him too much, he exploded, becoming hotheaded and hyper within seconds. And once he got that bee in his bonnet, there was nothing - short of stopping everything at once- that would calm him down. To ride this horse you had to know him and work with him. And it was the same when it came to vaulting on him. Socks willingly participated in vaulting, but only under one condition: that we did it his way. Forget training a routine for hours; forget running through a team freestyle program several times at the canter. Oh no. The team could have one go at it and then Socks was done. If the vaulters were having a particularly bad day (which meant they were imbalanced or sloppy), he wouldn’t give them even that one go. Which, to think of it, was completely fair. Why would Socks have to be at his best, when other (human) members of the team weren’t?

Sometimes Socks’ messages were extremely subtle and encoding the meaning behind certain behavior would take me more than a few tries. Take for example the issue with the sunglasses. As we were living and practicing in California, there was a lot of sunshine. Coming from Finland, my eyes were especially sensitive and when summer came around, I wore sunglasses nearly all the time. Socks, however, didn’t like this one bit. He this behavior very suspicious, especially when I was lunging him on a circle for vaulting. In the spring, it took me a while to realize it was the sunglasses that had caused the change in him. Once I removed them and Socks could see my eyes again, he was back to his normal self. After that day, I have avoided using sunglasses around horses altogether.

I have since realized that there are many other minor details in the human behavior that can bother horses; hats, perfume, body lotion, laundry detergent - to mention a few. I have noticed that my horse Little Love definitely acts different when I have lathered myself in a body lotion with a strong scent. The first time this happened a few years back, she flared her nostrils and moved away from me, as if I was a stranger. Now I make an effort to never use scented lotion before going to the barn, and have switched to an ecological, scentless laundry detergent in her behalf. Luckily I was never one to wear perfumes in the first place!

Last week, when I was spending time with my mare, Little Love, I received a call on my cell phone. The caller was a young boy whom I had had the privilege to coach in floorball on and off for the past few years. I had seen this boy, now a teenager, grow from a beginner into a skilled athlete. Weeks before all his hard work had paid off and he had been invited to try out for a regional team. This in itself had been big news, but I knew he was calling to tell me the results of the tryout camp.

“Hello,” I answered and saw Little Love, my mare, pin her ears back. Distracted, I ignored the gesture and continued brushing her, holding the phone to my ear with my other hand. I was hoping to have enough time to go out for a walk and I was a bit pressed with time. I moved around her briskly, at the same time listening to what the young boy had to say at the other side of the phone conversation.

Little Love pinned her ears back several times and she stomped her foot; she swished her tail and yanked her foot out of my hand when I was picking the hooves. At that point I should have had the sense to walk away from her, but since I was more focused on the phone conversation, I kept on working around her. And it was a long conversation. By the time I was done talking on the phone, Little Love was tacked up and ready to go. But she didn’t seem ready mentally. Somehow, during the grooming and tacking process, she had become irate and nervous. She stood tied to the grooming rail with her nostrils flaring and her head held high. I could see the whites of her eyes and she paced nervously.

I looked at my horse impatiently. What in the world had gotten into her? Seeing she was anxious and overly energetic, I decided to take her into the arena first, to assess the situation before venturing out. The weather had changed two days earlier and now that the rains had set in, the temperature was much lower. Perhaps the change in weather was causing this behavior? That day was also fairly windy, which I immediately pegged down as another cause for Little Love's "irritation". Obviously I didn't have the brain space at that moment to think very creatively.

In the arena I asked Little Love to trot on the long rope. She literally looked at me and sighed, then started trotting around me with a sour face. A funny feeling filled my chest, as if I had forgotten something important. At first I thought I was feeling nervous about going out with Little Love on such a windy day, but soon realized this was something else. I looked back at what we had done together so far and that was when the thought hit me in the head like a ton of bricks: the phone.

How would you feel if you were having dinner with one of your best friends and in the middle of your time together, she would suddenly start talking on the phone, completely ignoring you, yet continue eating her dinner, as if nothing was wrong? I’m sure you would be hurt – at least I would. I would also feel annoyed and neglected. I would probably want to walk away from the situation.

When we are with horses, we must be with them 100% or not at all. This is a lesson Little Love has taught me over and over again. Staying in the moment is paramount. But of course when you are on the phone, staying in the moment becomes impossible. I believe I knew that already, but somehow had forgotten it. Yet again. Obviously it was time for me to "relearn" it that day.

The realization of how rudely I had just treated my friend came over me like a huge wave.
"I am so sorry," I said out loud to Little Love. "So, so sorry. I can't believe I did that to you."

She licked her lips. I swear she was thinking: "Well duh, finally you have a clue!" I am a slow learner at times.

I have been thinking about Socks a lot lately. I can now see that he had more lessons in store for me than I was able to handle at the time. Perhaps I was a bit like my friend is now, like an elephant in a china shop. And I still have a long way to go. Perhaps that is why Little Love came along the way, to continue the work Socks started. I don’t know if this work will ever be completed, but I sure am trying to be the best student possible and catch that quicksilver. Like they say: the teacher will appear when the student is ready, and I’m definitely ready now.

What comes to that windy day last week when I was talking on my cell phone… After I realized my mistake and sincerely apologized for it, it was as if a switch went off in my horse. She stood by me calmly and all signs of nervousness were gone. We walked out through the barn gate and took a long walk on the trails in the cool summer weather. The strong wind didn’t bother either one of us, quite the contrary, it kept the bugs at bay when we stopped in the middle of the emerald field to graze on the tall, abundant grass. And again, I felt like I was holding that infamous quicksilver in the palm of my hand for a short, glorious moment.

~K

“The mind, this globe of awareness, is a starry universe that when you push off with your foot, a thousand new roads become clear, as you yourself do at dawn, sailing through the light.” ~Rumi

Embrace the World Within

Last week I attended my second Epona workshop ever. Two years ago, when I plunged into the Epona world of authenticity and emotion for the first time, the experience blew me away and left me a changed person. Although I had been around horses nearly all my life, their capacity to know my deepest secrets caught me by surprise. I was awed by their emotional intelligence.

Going into this second experience, called Accessing Authenticity, was very different. This time I would attend the workshop with Melissa, my best friend. I also wanted to believe I had evolved emotionally in the past two years. But, I also knew that whatever my expectations were, they would pale in comparison to the reality. I was right. I may have been prepared for the wisdom horses have to offer, but their uncanny ability to look into my heart and see what nobody, even myself, had not seen before still does not seize to amaze me.

Perhaps the most revealing of sessions happened with Bramble, a white pony that I felt drawn to from the first time I saw her. It wasn’t her outer appearance that interested me (although she was very cute!), but rather this feeling that she had a message for me. So, when we could choose the horse for our reflective round pen session, the choice was really not mine, but Bramble’s.

I have to mention that last time I did reflective work with a horse in the frame work of an Epona course, my biggest problem was the interference of my head. Most of us have this problem; our thoughts and rational thinking get in the way of what our body and soul is trying to tell us. It is not the easiest task to shut this “voice of reason” off. In fact, it is what Linda Kohanov calls The False Self that often runs our life, giving us no time or space to really feel who we are. Social conditioning, self-judgment, assumptions of others, our need to seek approval, our critical and controlling beliefs are all different ways for the False Self to interfere with our intuition, our Authentic Self.

With this in mind I approached the round pen; I was determined to shut off my False Self and give room to whatever was to come, no matter how irrational or confusing this information may be. The object of the exercise was to treat all emotions, images, words or whatever else appeared as valuable information. This was not about succeeding or achieving a set goal; this was about being in the moment and really listening.

Standing outside the round pen and facing away from Bramble, I started with a body scan. Silently, with closed eyes and my arms hanging loosely on my sides, I “scanned” my body for feelings of pressure, pain, heat, cold – any sensation really. I was immediately drawn to the feeling of pressure around my throat and chest. It was not a painful feeling, but rather felt as if I had a heavy blanket wrapped around me, pressing on the front of my shoulders. Through this pressure I could feel my heart beating in my chest; a strong, clear rhythm, as if standing there required physical effort. I asked myself what was the message behind this feeling and received a picture of myself holding a large ball. When I focused on that image, I could feel my heart beat dissipate into the rest of my body, still pulsating, but with less vigor. This was a sign that I had understood the message my body was trying to tell me. Without questioning this perhaps confusing information I ordinarily would have dismissed as “stupid” or “weird” (A ball? Makes no sense. Why was I holding it? etc.), I turned around and looked at Bramble. She was standing in the round pen, staring at me intently with her ears forward. I closed my eyes again, opening my mind to any other images or messages that would come from the horse.

Immediately, as if I was watching a powerful dream, I had a vision of a very small door. It was in the middle of a stone wall far, far away. I had a strong feeling I was supposed to go through the door, but I could see it was closed. I silently asked Bramble what this meant, could she possibly help me? When I opened my eyes again to look at her, I knew she had the key to this door.

Rosie, the facilitator, asked me what was going on. I filled her in. She nodded and said:

“Do you feel like you need more information on what this is about or do you feel ready to go into the round pen?”

This is the brilliance of being part of the Epona method. I’m fairly sure nothing I said could have fazed Rosie. I had told her about my images about the ball and the door, and in any other context this would have made no sense whatsoever. Imagine trying to explain this to a stranger; I would have sounded crazy. And perhaps you, too, now reading it, are thinking I have lost my marbles once and for all. But it all felt natural. I was confident and relaxed going into the round pen.

I walked over to Bramble and gave her a horse-human handshake, extending the back of my hand out for her to touch. Then I stepped back, closing my eyes. Immediately I was taken back to the image of the door. I asked Bramble what I should do with the door, did she have the key?

“No, no key,” she answered, “The door is already open.”

And she was right, for in that moment I saw the whole wall split open. Suddenly I realized that I was holding the ball again, it was enormous and my hands barely reached around it to steady it on my chest. But now I saw it was not a ball after all, it was the Earth; I had the entire world in my arms. I held onto it tight as I stepped through the wall, towards light.

And that is when I understood what Bramble was trying to help me understand. For some months now I have been planning a move to Finland. Despite this move being a choice that I made with my husband, I have been extremely anxious about the decision. Should we have decided to go to California instead (this is where we lived before Switzerland)? Are we taking a risk going to Finland? What if it doesn’t work? What was there really in Finland for me? In the midst of the logistics of the move, the concrete, everyday tasks, I had not allowed myself to truly reflect on my true emotions concerning the move.

I was filled with a strong sense of knowing, which I cannot even begin to describe, as words have their limitations. I realized I had lived in Switzerland for six years, but had never truly been happy there. Why? This question has gone unanswered until that very moment in the round pen. I have met many wonderful people in Switzerland, people whom have made a definite impact on my life. But, despite these friendships, I feel strongly disconnected from the world around me. This probably partly stems from the fact that during my years in Switzerland, I have gone through some major changes in my life, searching for the right path with horses and myself as a person. In other words, I feel separate and detached.

Moving to Finland is an opportunity to change this. In Finland I will be welcomed by a group of close friends, but also a larger network of like-minded people with whom I have connected long distance over the years. For the first time since I left California six years ago, I have the opportunity to be part of a true community; to be supported and accepted as who I am. The realization of this was profound and I felt like a weight was lifted off my chest. Hope for the future was restored. In fact, as my eyes were still closed, I saw the enormous globe I had been holding slowly sink into my chest, as if I was swallowing Mother Earth itself. And isn’t this true? Community is not something outside of us, but rather an internal phenomenon that we cherish and that connects us to others. Instead of seeing myself as someone roaming the earth looking for answers, I needed to embrace the world within.

I had been squatting down on the ground, but now I stood up and opened my eyes. Bramble was looking at me quizzically with her wise, beautiful eyes. I stepped to her side and said a silent thank you. She touched me with her nose and the air was filled with gratitude. Then she walked to the gate as if to say “my work is done.” Which it was.

I left the round pen with a newly found peace. Life would be alright, I would be alright. Why had I not seen this all before? I had been so focused on getting myself, my horse, my family to Finland, that I had not taken the time to stop and realize what moving back to my home country really meant to me. When I returned to my chair and recapped the round pen experience to Rosie and Melissa, I became very emotional, but in a good way. The tears that surfaced were tears of relief and joy and hope, tears I should have shed a long time ago, instead of bottling them deep inside.

Intuition is perhaps the most important piece of our genetic makeup. Unfortunately it is usually the first piece we lose, when life gets the best of us. Most people ignore their intuition. Actually, most people wouldn’t even recognize their intuition, even if it hit them in the head (which it often does…). Animals, such as horses, operate in the world using their intuition, their sixth sense of “knowing”. Often I think that our ability to speak is what stifles our innate knowing of what we need, what is right for us, and only us. The great French writer, Gustave Flaubert, wrote about this in his first novel, Madame Bovary, when he said that “…the truth is that fullness of soul can sometimes overflow in utter vapidity of language, for none of us can ever express the exact measure of his needs or his thoughts or his sorrows; the human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars.”

I left England and the Epona course with a better sense of knowing. I felt more at peace than I had for a long time, more in my body rather than in my head. So often, especially in a time of turmoil, my head takes over and I am plunged into a destructive pattern of frantic thinking. I am not saying thinking is a bad thing, but enough is enough. Sometimes we need to stop and take tally of what we really feel and where those feelings are coming from. What are those feelings telling you? What is the message of your intuition? What does your heart desire?

I believe that if we open ourselves to life, life will flow freely into our bodies and we will be able to feel the present moment more deeply. Yes, this can be scary at times, as often there are emotions within us that are not comfortable. But each emotion is a pool of information. If we learn to treat our feelings as messages from our heart, our lives can have so much more meaning.

I thank Bramble and all the horses in the world for not giving up on us humans. You seem to always be ready to help us the moment we are ready to receive the help. I don’t think I can ever understand this gift you have, but I know I will admire it forever.

~K

Wild Geese

By Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clear blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - -
over and over announcing you place
in the family of things.



To learn more about Rosie and her courses, go to http://horsesasteachers.co.uk/
To learn more about Epona, go to http://www.taoofequus.com/

To live life backwards

“When written in Chinese the word ‘crisis’ is composed of two characters – one represents danger and the other represents opportunity.” - John F. Kennedy


It was an ordinary day, apart from the fact that I was in a hurry; I was leaving for a trip the next morning and still had a lot of packing to do. When I arrived at the barn in the late afternoon, I did my usual chores. The horses had been outside all day enjoying the sunshine, but as I was finishing up with the evening feed, they showed up. I looked at my watch; it was only 5 pm. I had done the chores faster than usual. Should I take the horses out for a quick ride or should I go home and pack? I chose to ride.

I tacked up my friends gelding. His owner was gone on a business trip and as usual had asked me to ride. Since I was leaving for a few days myself, this was my last chance of doing this. I slipped a halter on my mare and climbed on the gelding while my mare waited patiently next to him; she knew the drill already.

We crossed the busy road without incident and headed through the field to take our normal “short loop”. When we made it to the other side I hesitated for a moment, but then took a left instead of the usual right. Going to the left meant a longer ride, but less cars, less commotion and a safer ride – or so I thought.

When we entered the forest, I took a sharp right up the hill, planning to cut through the trees to the other side, pass the single farm on the left, descend the hill and return home through the field. Perhaps there would be a chance to get some trot in on the long rise through the forest.

We passed a lonely car parked on the side of the road. I peered into the old Fiat and saw a young man leaned back in his seat resting his bare feet on the dashboard while smoking a cigarette. I’d never seen a car on this particular road and neither had the horses, but they didn’t seem to care.

I directed the gelding onto the soft part of the otherwise paved road and my mare followed in hand. We started trotting up hill. I could smell the pine trees as the sun rays beamed through the branches. Both horses made relaxed snorts and I could feel the geldings relaxed muscles working under the saddle.

I don’t know where the cow came from, but it seemed to materialize from thin air. It stood on top of the hill and looked like it had been waiting for us to come out of the forest. It was white and stood majestically on the side of the road in a solid frame.

The gelding stopped in his tracks. My mare followed suit. Neither horse was in particular afraid of cows as the gelding had lived most of his life on a dairy farm and my mare in the close vicinity of one. But despite this history with the bovine, I could feel the gelding’s heart pounding in his chest and between my legs. I glanced at my mare on my left. She was alert, but not fearful.

Previously, when I had taken the two horses out together, I had encountered much scarier things than this white cow. The gelding was a relatively brave soul, but when in doubt, he froze in place, refusing to move until he felt the coast was clear. I respected his choice and never tried to force him forward as that merely resulted in vigorous resistance.

When the situation calls for it, I always dismount and walk the frightened horse past the scary object. My mare, who is not the bravest soul under saddle, seems to have unquestionable trust in me when I’m on the ground. This, when we are out all together, in turn helps the gelding, who snaps out of his frozen position and follows my mare.

So, short of any other ideas, I dismounted.

The very second my feet touched the ground, something happened. Perhaps the cow moved or made a noise. I don’t know, because I was busy coming off the horse. Whatever it was, it made the gelding do something very unusual to him, but not unusual to horses; he turned around and ran.

He rammed into me, toppling me over. My mare was only a fraction of a second behind his movement. I held on to the reins only long enough to realize that holding on was not going to help. I could only watch, helplessly, as the two horses gained speed on the downhill slope.

What went through my mind? I saw my mare slip and fall; she went almost completely down, skidding across the pavement while she was scrambling back to her feet. How she managed to get up within just fractions of a second I could not fathom. I watched in disbelief as the two horses disappeared around the bend. Instinctively I ran after them, thinking about the busy road between that moment and the barn. I have never felt so powerless, so utterly incapable of controlling the future as I did then.

Next thing, I saw the young man we had passed earlier racing up the hill towards me in his beat up red Fiat. He stopped on my side, his windows rolled down.

“Hey,” he shouted over the noise of the engine, “are you alright? I saw the horses.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Can you help me?”

He nodded and pushed the door open. I was barely in the seat when he was already peeling down the road, following the horses.

We all know the brilliant wisdom of hindsight; knowing exactly what we should have done, but didn’t. Should have could have would have. I can’t tell you how many times I have gone through the events of that particular day in my head. Why did I ride the gelding that day? Why did I take my mare with us? Would it have made a difference had I been alone with the gelding? Did I come off because I genuinely thought I could get the two horses past the cow or did I come down because my instinct told me this was the safe thing to do? If I had stayed in the saddle, could I have stopped the panic fed frenzy of this large animal? Or, would I have gotten seriously hurt in the process?

There are so many questions to which I will never know the answers. Oh, how I wish I could turn back time.

But unfortunately time does not work backwards. There are many things you can redo in life; a math test, your kitchen paint job or even the nose you inherited from your father. But, no matter how hard you try, you cannot turn around time. So, when mistakes are made, the only option is to deal with the situation and hopefully later learn from it.

So many things went wrong that day. However, on the same token, so many things went right, as well.

The young man drove to the bottom of the hill where I had entered the forest. There was not a sign of the horses and I prayed they had taken the sharp left towards home instead of going straight where the big road loomed in the distance. I held onto the dashboard as we took the turn in the little car, my heart racing in my chest.

We drove down the road on the side of the field and immediately saw the horses in front of us. They had slowed down to a trot, but were still moving at a brisk pace. How could we stop them before they took the last leg through the field towards home and the big road? I didn’t know.

The man slowed his car down, obviously fearful of further upsetting the horses. I told him to hurry, as I knew what would happen next. And I was right. Suddenly the gelding took a sharp right down a tractor path that led directly to the horse pasture on the other side of the busy road. I looked up and saw cars whizzing by at high speeds. No, I thought. No. Anything but the road where drivers coming around the blind turn would not have time to stop. Horses would get hurt. And not just horses, people, too.

The man looked at me frantically. I watched the horses a good 30 yards away trot towards the traffic with their heads high, their step determined; they wanted to go home. I wanted to scream at them, I wanted to beg them to stop. I also wanted to take back the past hour of my life and start all over again, with the right choices.

Short of better ideas, I did the one thing I could think of; I stuck my head out of the car window and called my horse.

“Little Love!”

Even to my own surprise, my voice didn’t sound desperate, nor did it sound panicky. It sounded just as calm and hopeful as it did when I called her in from the field to eat dinner.

“Little Love!”

And that is when it happened. My black mare, who had been trotting beside the gelding, stopped in her tracks and turned to look at me. The gelding stopped, too. And against all odds, time seemed to stop, too. I hung out of the car window and the horses stood still in the middle of the field. For a very long second the three of us merely stared at each other. Then the horses blew air out of their noses and lowered their heads to eat grass, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

And just like that, the situation was over.

The young man stopped his car on the side of the road and I got out, my whole body shaking from both adrenaline rush and relief. I walked down the field to the horses and both touched me with their noses, visibly relieved to see me.

Neither horse was seriously hurt. Little Love had some scrapes down her side from the fall and the gelding was stiff at the shoulder, but both horses healed miraculously within a week. The traffic on the road went on uninterrupted. The man, who helped me, drove off to continue his day and undoubtedly tell his friends about his adventure catching two runaway horses. And I… I was in one piece, unharmed physically. Yes, my rider’s ego was crushed and the embarrassment I felt over the episode was colossal, but I had also lived to tell the tale.

When I look back at the events of that day, my primary feeling is failure. As someone who has been involved with horses for over 30 years, it is hard to accept that with all the knowledge and experience I possess, I still managed to get myself in a dangerous situation involving two horses. What did I learn? That I was starting to be overconfident in my dealings with horses? Perhaps I needed to be reminded that really, there is no such thing as control, when it comes down to it. Perhaps it was time for me to learn to be humble. And more cautious. Is this how people become afraid of horses? Will I ever be able to relax on a trail ride again?

I have been out since, walking my mare in hand and have to say that the first time we passed a herd of cows I was more on edge than usual. And so was she. But maybe she was nervous only because I was nervous. I can already feel the ramifications of history taking hold of the future. I remind myself that horses live in the here and now; if it is not happening now, it’s not happening. But despite my efforts, my human brain keeps returning to the events of that day. Was the ultimate lesson of all this merely to show me how vulnerable I am in the face of these big animals? Or was the lesson something even more profound; that no matter what happens, I must learn to trust, over and over again?

Perhaps with time thinking back can help me see what really is important; the relationship I have with this particular horse, with Little Love. Sometimes bad things happen and illusions of perfect harmony are broken. But, in the meanwhile, if we can see the good from the bad, hope is also restored.

I have a feeling that years and years from now, I will still recall how it felt to watch the two horses canter away at full speed. But, I know for sure that I will never forget the moment when I called the name of my beautiful black mare and - after all that had happened - she stopped in her tracks to look at me.

Gratefully,

K

“Nobody gets to live life backward. Look ahead, that is where your future lies.” - Ann Landers

“Having harvested all the knowledge and wisdom we can from our mistakes and failures, we should put them behind us and go ahead.” - Edith Johnson

Never forget me

Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would I'd never leave. ~A.A. Milne


Last year, when my horse Little Love was not yet mine and she was still living at a large commercial stable, something interesting happened. At the end of the summer the owners of the barn bought a new horse for their teenage daughter. The big, brown gelding arrived from Germany and was immediately put into the routines of the barn.


After the gelding had been at the barn for about three days, I noticed a difference in Little Love’s behavior. The first time it happened it was morning, when all the horses went outside in their separate runs. I was walking her up to her allotted pasture strip when she called out in a clear and high pitch whinny. I hadn’t heard her say a peep for months and her loud voice caught me by surprise. Her head was up high and she took a few trot steps, peering to her right at the pastures reserved for the barn owner’s four horses.

I heard a whinny coming from the first pasture and saw the new gelding trot to the fence, his eyes fixed on Little Love. She stopped in her tracks and spun around, staring at the gelding. A soft nicker erupted from her throat; low and melodious it sounded as if she was singing. I had never heard her talk like that and when the gelding answered in an equally beautiful tone, low and bubbly, as if he was laughing, I could only smile in wonder.

I didn’t think much of the incident, until the next day when I drove to the barn and saw the gelding standing in his pasture at the fence and staring keenly at the barn. When I passed in my car, saw Little Love’s head poked out her stall window. Ears up and nose forward, she was looking at the gelding. What was going on?

At first I thought perhaps it was the novelty of a new male horse entering the barn, but as soon as the thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it. It was not unusual for horses to come and go at this facility, as it had over 35 stalls with privately owned horses. And why would Little Love feel drawn to this particular gelding when there were four stallions living in the barn? And even when she did express interest towards the stallion, it was never anything like this. There was something special about this gelding.

I asked the owners where he had come from, but it didn’t tell me much as I also was not completely familiar with Little Love’s past. But I did know that she had originated from Germany, just like this gelding. As the weeks turned into months, I watched as the gelding stood vigil in front of Little Love’s window until it was closed for the winter. Once, when the new barn worker messed up the turn out schedule, Little Love ended up in someone else’s run, next to the gelding. Oh the joy of the reunion! There was no amount of electricity that could keep the two from touching each other. They sniffed over the fence and when Little Love peed it sent the gelding into a wild gallop up and down the fence. Unfortunately this behavior was frowned upon and the turn out schedule was resumed in the correct fashion.

It was obvious that the two horses had a connection. And not just any connection; I was convinced they had known each other before. But it had been 9 years since Little Love had left Germany where the gelding had been bought from. Could it be possible that the two had met in their youth and remembered each other after so many years? Who was he and what had he meant to her then? Had they shared an experience? I was fascinated.

How good is the memory of a horse? In a study led by Evelyn Hanggi, MS, PhD, co-director at the Equine Research Foundation (ERF) in Aptos, Calif., horses that had been tested on recognition and advanced learning abilities as many as 10 years earlier were able to repeat the same tasks with a nearly perfect level of accuracy without having to learn the skills again. Not only were the horses able to remember the specific objects learned years ago, they were able to apply those previously learned rules and concepts to never-before-seen objects years later.

Just recently ethologist Carol Sankey of the University of Rennes and her colleagues tested how well 23 horses remembered a female trainer and her instructions after she and the horses had been separated up to eight months. Although the time lapsed in this study was significantly shorter than the one done by Hanggi, and results were similar – horses have good memories. The added twist to this research was the fact that some of the subject horses were trained using positive reinforcement and others using none. The researchers concluded that the “horses trained without reinforcement expressed four to six times more 'negative' behaviors, such as biting, kicking and 'falling down' on the experimenter." Also, after the 8 months of separation, the horses trained with positive reinforcement gravitated towards their old trainer, rather than other people. They also seemed to accept other humans more willingly than the other subject horses that had not received positive reinforcement during training.

Studies such as the ones mentioned above, often focus on learning and the animal’s ability to remember what it has learned. But what about horse- horse relationships? Will a foal remember its mother for as long as it lives? Do buddies stabled together recognize each other after years of separation? You only have to do a search on the subject on the internet to believe that they do, as it seems like almost everyone has a story to share about happy horse reunions. And not just horse reunions, but horse – human reunions as well.

Little Love is now my horse and she lives at a very small barn in the country side. It is the first time in ten years that she has the opportunity to have a social life with another horse. Her friend Col is a Danish warmblood gelding who loves Little Love at least as much as she loves him. Watching the two horses spend time together is my favorite past time, as you can visibly see the friendship and the caring emanating from the two.

But, as much as I enjoy the relationship between the two horses, it also makes my heart heavy. In a few months my family will be moving to another country and naturally I will be taking my beautiful Little Love with me. How will the two horses cope with the separation, a separation that will most likely last a lifetime? What right do I have to even think of separating them?

Horses form life lasting relationships, but only if we allow them to do so. My thoughts are with all the hundreds of thousands of horses that are sold yearly all around the world. Some have been with their peers for years and get uprooted in a moment’s notice; some travel around the world and never have a moment to form a lasting bond with a horse or human before they are sent off to the next barn. And then there are those that live in such pain and suffering and stress that they don’t even have the emotional capacity to connect with another living being.  Just the thought of that makes me want sit down and spend a moment remembering all the hundreds of horses that have passed through my life, many of them which gave me many valuable experiences.  Was I, too, someone who gave them a good moment in time, a positive memory? If we met again, would they remember?  Would they even want to remember?

I have two dogs and I would never dream of selling them to a soul. Nor would I dream of separating them for any reason. Most dog owners would think you crazy, if you asked them to sell you their dog. Dogs are family members. Why do we treat horses so differently? Is it because they don’t live with us, sleep in the same house with us, follow us around, that we consider them more distant, not worthy of the same level of bonding, of love? And how much does monetary value play a part in our feelings or the lack thereof?

I once knew someone who sold her horse to another continent after owning it for over a decade. It was a phenomenal horse and helped his owner become a respected competitor and trainer. She had acquired the horse as a foal and trained it single handedly up the dressage levels. When I heard she had done the unthinkable, I at first could not believe it; what had possessed her to sell her dressage partner? I’m not sure the owner could even believe it herself when she watched her long time friend load on a truck and leave.

The horse flew across the ocean to his new home, but already during the long trip, he fell horribly ill. The vets worked as hard as they could, but the gelding would not get better. Finally, as a last resort his old owner flew to see him, to help heal the gelding’s high fever and lost appetite. She stayed with him for a week and he recovered from his physical symptoms, but the underlying broken heart was probably never cured on neither person nor horse.

I, too, once sold my horse, the only one I ever owned before Little Love. I can’t say I sold him without a second thought, because it did affect me, and still does even if I owned him for only a short while. At that time, it seemed like the logical thing to do, given that I was moving overseas. I soothed my guilty conscious by telling myself he went to a good home, which he did. I have seen him since and each time we meet I can’t help but wonder why I didn’t try harder to keep him with me. But even when I wonder, I know. It was more convenient to exchange him for well-needed cash. Ironically, most of the money I received for his sale was still sitting in my bank account until a few months ago. It was as if I was waiting for something important enough, worthy enough, to come along before my conscious allowed me to touch the money. Or perhaps I knew in my heart that someday, six years later, I would need it to buy another horse, a horse that I did not want to leave behind.

How much do we really know about the emotional lives of horses? Not much. But we know they are sentient being with vast emotional landscape, perhaps even more complex, but certainly different, than ours. I may never find out how Little Love knew the big, brown gelding at her old barn, but does it matter? They know who they are and where they met and I am sure they rejoiced in the fact that they were lucky enough to meet again. I hope that in the years to come I can introduce Little Love to many more horses, horses that will stay in her life for years to come, some perhaps for the rest of her life. Like me.

As what comes to Little Love and her current friend Col, only time will tell. I am selfishly going to take my mare with me to our new home, because this time I am not ready to sell my horse. In fact, that is no longer an option and never will be, because truth told, she is not really mine, but rather I am hers.

~K

Some interesting links:

www.equineresearch.org - more on equine research

http://horsehints.org/StudyMemoryDiscovery.htm - an interesting article about horse’s memory

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mOgtI23xqXE - a heartwarming video of a woman and a horse who meet for clicker training after 7 years of separation

Naked Flesh of Feeling

How much has to be explored and discarded before reaching the naked flesh of feeling. ~Claude Debussy


Do animals have emotions?

Having been involved with animals all my life, I have no doubt in my mind that they do. If you own a dog, cat, horse or any other animal, you know what I’m talking about. Animals are intelligent and feeling individuals; they know things that are not visible to the naked eye, often more accurately than us humans. But it wasn’t so long ago that the majority of people denied the existence of animal emotions. In fact, skeptics remain, many whom draw their conclusions from the lack of scientific proof; consequently the emotional lives of animals has not been researched much in the past mainly because researchers thought there wasn’t anything to study in the first place. Luckily research has evolved and proof is emerging from the woodworks of the scientific world. I guess at this point the question is not if animals have emotions, but rather what kind of emotions do they have.

Author and ethologist Marc Bekoff provides evidence of animals having emotions in his book, The Emotional Lives of Animals. The following story is an excerpt from his book:

“A few years ago my friend Rod and I were riding our bicycles around Boulder, Colorado, when we witnessed a very interesting encounter among five magpies. Magpies are corvids, a very intelligent family of birds. One magpie had obviously been hit by a car and was laying dead on the side of the road. The four other magpies were standing around him. One approached the corpse, gently pecked at it-just as an elephant noses the carcass of another elephant- and stepped back. Another magpie did the same thing. Next, one of the magpies flew off, brought back some grass, and laid it by the corpse. Another magpie did the same. Then, all four magpies stood vigil for a few seconds and one by one flew off.”

Often pet owners who say their pet is happy or sad or mischievous or sorry are accused of giving animals “human” emotions. This practice, also known as anthropomorphism, is widely criticized, and for a reason. as often it is connected to disturbing behavior such as dressing your dog up in human clothes or punishing your horse for something that happened long time ago because “he knew what he was doing.” But when it comes to feelings, why should humans have the monopoly on emotions? Look at the story of the magpies; how can you possibly interpret the behavior of the four magpies in any other way than through emotional vocabulary? The birds were obviously mourning the loss of their conspecific; they were sad.

Recently, I read the book Second Nature by animal behaviorist Jonathan Balcombe and Wild Justice by Mark Bekoff in which they explore the emotional and intellectual lives of animals. Even though I have been a big believer in animal emotions for quite a while, I don’t think I had quite understood the depth of the subject. It was fascinating to read scientific proof of emotions in creatures big and small. We often think that for example animals such as fish or rodents don’t have much going on in terms of intelligence or feelings, but turns out they can have feelings like empathy for each other. Mark Bekoff recounts a study made with rats, where caged rats were taught to press a level for food. Once this behavior was set in, however, the scientists added a twist; when the rat pushed the lever to get the food, another rat in the cage next door received an electric shock via the metal floor. What did the rats do? They stopped eating. Some individuals were known to starve themselves for as long as 14 days. I wonder how humans would “excel”to starve themselves in this sort of an experiment… (I also find it sickening that this was a study on rat empathy, but the empathy of the human researchers seemed to fail as they subjected other living beings to such cruel experiments…)

Jonathan Balcombe in particular writes eloquently about animal empathy, an emotion non-animal people often dismiss as solely a human emotion. But anyone who has ever been close to a horse when they have needed a friend, might know the capacity they have for empathy. And not just empathy, but unconditional support.

Two years ago I participated in an introductory workshop of the Epona method (check out my blog from June 16,2009 Lessons from a Horse’s Heart). At the end of the three day course, I felt like I was at the core of my true self, all my emotions were raw and real. Our very last exercise was an individual session with a horse that was assigned to us by the psychologist. My horse was Geo, a young paint gelding with whom I had worked with before, but had failed to find a deep connection. I was last to go and when it came my time to step up to have a private talk with Kathleen Barry Ingram, the facilitator, I was shaking with so many feelings I didn’t even know where to start unwinding them. It had been a long weekend observing others fall apart and collect the pieces as they made an attempt to re-establish themselves and I felt like an outsider in many respects. There were so many other people at the course who had real problems, people who deserved and needed the help of the horses and humans there. I, on the other hand, felt like I often feel; that I was there to support others instead of to receive support.

I approached the round pen where Geo was grazing at the other end completely disinterested in me. Kathleen pulled me aside and asked how I was feeling. I shrugged.

“I really feel like I don’t belong here,” I said. “All these other people are battling such major emotional issues and traumatic pasts. I don’t have that. They need this, they need the support.”

“So you feel like you don’t deserve to have that?”

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s always like this, you know, I hold up everyone else, but it’s only because I don’t need holding up. Kind of like there is a big pie and everyone else gets a big slice. In the end there isn’t much left for me. But that’s okay, because I don’t really need the pie.” I looked at Kathleen. “Do you know what I mean?”

Kathleen nodded. “But you know what? You deserve your own piece. You deserve this time, this sacred space of possibility. You deserve support, too. Look at all those people.” She motioned towards the 20 odd students sitting in their chairs, ready to observe my interaction with Geo. “They are here for you. Maybe you don’t feel deserving of their time, but they are here, nevertheless.” She motioned at Geo. “And look at that horse.” I looked at the horse, he couldn’t have looked less interested in Kathleen and me. “He is here for you.” She pushed on my back gently. “Now go and see what he has to bring to the table.”

I opened the gate to the round pen and walked in. Suddenly my hands were shaking. And not just my hands, but my whole body was quivering, as if it was a little blade of grass in a storm. Geo didn’t move, he didn’t as much as look at me. I started crying. I don’t know why I was crying, but there was an unstoppable wave of sorrow and sadness inside me that erupted to the surface so suddenly that I couldn’t stop it. I started sobbing, something completely uncharacteristic to me.

Overwhelmed by my emotions, I stopped about ten feet away from the grazing Geo. The last thing I wanted to do was force my emotions on him. Tears were flowing down my face, I don’t think I have cried like that since childhood. I looked at Geo and wanted to leave, to just run out of there and hide somewhere. But just then he lifted his head and looked back at me. Then he turned and walked over. He stopped in front of me. I was still sobbing and it felt like the top of my head was going to explode, the pounding was so strong, so blinding that I closed my eyes. An ache grew in my chest and even though I wanted to clutch my hands to it, I let my arms hang at my sides, exposing myself completely in front of this horse.

Geo lifted his nose and pressed it to my chest. I could feel him breathing into me. I could also feel something else, a strange sensation of lightness, as if this horse I barely knew was sucking the irrational sadness out of me like an enormous vacuum. I opened my eyes and Geo moved his nose to my forehead and performed the same exercise there, sucking away my pain, pulling it out of me and sending it off into the universe.

I stopped crying. Geo took his nose off my forehead. I swear the look on his face was playful. He grabbed the cloth of my sleeve between his lips and pulled on it. Come now, he seemed to say, let’s be done feeling sad.

Without thinking I turned and started running down the round pen. Geo squealed and took off at a canter, bucking and romping around like the teenager he was. I laughed out loud. I don’t think I have ever felt so alive and so light, like I could have perhaps taken off in flight. We ran another round and then Geo stopped to graze and I walked to the gate. The whole interaction had taken perhaps four minutes, but it had been an intense four; he had given me exactly what I needed, his time and his support – his empathy. I came through that gate with a new respect for horses as sentient beings.

Exploring animal emotions brings us face to face with many ethical questions; perhaps the real reason humans have so reluctantly studied this subject. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, right? If we admit to animals being sentient beings with rich emotional lives, how do we possibly justify the way we treat them? What does the current treatment of animals tell us about ourselves? I for certain think about this question on a daily basis. Do we have the right to use horses for our own pleasure? And how do they feel when we do? For thousands of years we have assumed an inferior role over nature and other animals. Perhaps it is time for us to notice and acknowledge animals as who they really are; subjects of their own lives, living and feeling beings

Geo and the other horses at the Epona workshop exposed the very essence of horses. Ever since I had this experience, I have not been able to stop seeing the hidden meaning behind each horse-human relationship I encounter. When we are initially drawn to horses, perhaps it is not the action of riding or training or driving or grooming that touches us so deeply, but rather the soul of the animal we are connecting with, or rather, who is connecting with us. Horses, even the ones that live under stressful conditions, have the capacity to emotionally heel humans. Often we don’t know this when we meet them, but the potential is always there. Horses are altruistic; they give selflessly, even when the human is not paying attention.

In his book Second Nature Jonathan Balcombe tells so many touching stories of animals caring for each other, working together, striving to understand each other, seeking comfort from each other – even in the most surprising situations. I want to share one particular story with you, because it perhaps demonstrates the capacity that animals can have for empathy, even across species. This is a story about Washoe, a chimpanzee.

Balcombe writes: “… Beatrice and Allen Gardner of the University of Oklahoma taught American Sign Language to Washoe. When Beatrice became pregnant, Washoe became more attentive than usual and regularly asked questions (using sign language) about the baby. Washoe had had two pregnancies of her own, both of which had resulted in the infants’ deaths. When Beatrice returned after an extended absence, Washoe acknowledged her return but was aloof. The teacher explained that she had had a miscarriage and signed to Washoe: “My baby died.” Washoe looked at Beatrice and signed “Cry”, then signed “Please person hug” as Beatrice was leaving.”

Sometimes there are no words for what we feel when we are with our animals and it is because emotions are beyond words. In fact, spoken language can even block being able to feel and read the emotions of others. Perhaps that is why animals are better at it than us humans are, they are used to communicating nonverbally. My written account of the moment with Geo doesn’t do justice to what really happened, because there are no words to truly describe the matters of the heart. All I can say is that I wish to connect again and again to that sacred place he opened up in me.

~K

“It is of interest to note that while some dolphins are reported to have learned English – up to fifty words used in correct context – no human being has been reported to have learned dolphinese.”
- Carl Sagan