True Connection with a Horse is Life Changing

One of the blogs I occasionally read is written by the owner of a retirement farm for horses in TN.  I love reading about the antics of these extremely well-loved and well cared for horses, whose owners choose to fund a life of luxury for them after their riding careers are finished.

If you're curious the blog is Paradigm Farms.

Flash, January 2012

I feel a strong connection with the spirit of this place and these owners, because my own faithful equine companion of 18 years, Flash, is now past his riding days.  At almost 29 years old, he has a degenerative condition of his connective tissue, which is most evident in his hind legs.  I no longer ask him to carry me around the arena, or travel the distances we once did exploring new trails, or go round and round struting our stuff in the show ring, or endure the distance and stress of a parade route.  I no longer have the pleasure of his powerful comfortable gaits, feeling just as strong and borrowing some of his beauty and grace as we rode.  He no longer teaches children how to ride, explaning the importance of quiet gentle hands through his quick response to their every move.  But it is because of all of those things he has done that he deserves nothing but the best retirement.  I am incredibly thankful for every ride we had, and still today for every moment I get to enjoy his quirky personality which still remains, despite his declining physical condition. 

Flash and I, Winter 2006

He is no longer the boss in his pasture, but rather now needs to wear a sheet or warm blanket in any type of inclement weather, because he quickly cedes the ample covered space to any horse that looks his way.  His teeth are worn to nubs, and he requires a specially soaked nutrient packed diet to attempt to keep weight on his once lovely round frame. (Thankfully we have a wonderful barn manager who does all she can to tempt him to eat all of his mushy ration, as well as organize chores to give him ample time to eat.)  He needs a patient and efficient farrier to trim his hooves while respecting his difficulty in bearing all his weight on one hind leg or the other. (Thankfully we have a fantastic farrier that we love!)

But my deep connection with my horse makes any extra expense and stress necessary in maintaining a senior horse more than worth it.  (Thankfully I have an exceptional husband who understands this without question.)

John and Flash Winter 2006

It is hard for me to imagine ever truly knowing another horse the way I know Flash, but I am now beginning to try to form that bond with my new mare Lizzie. 

Lizzie and I, First ride at home, April 2012

The reason I got started writing this post was to share a blog post I became aware of through Paradigm Farms.  This post was not written by the owner of Paradign Farms, but rather by a blogger named Nicole Cliffe.  The original is here, but I also feel a need to copy and paste the text to my blog, to be certain I will never lose this interesting observation.

This truly helps to explain why the relationship between humans and horses is so unique, why horse people need to think with a different mindset around our equine companions, and why the differences in a relationship with a horse (as compared to a dog or cat) have the potential to make it such a deep, trusting, and beautiful partnership.

The Horse, Explained (emphasis added)
"You may or may not be familiar with The Horse. Perhaps as a child, you had many Marguerite Henry books, or you watched National Velvet every day after school for four months, or you pretended to be taking jumps over fences during long car rides. Perhaps you held fake weddings for your model horses (in retrospect, your pink My Little Pony was ill-suited for a life with your foot-high faux-Shadowfax).

Some of us, apparently, actually got to take riding lessons as children, which allowed said children to get all of this out of their system at an early age, while others did not gain access to actual horses until moving to the sticks in their mid-twenties and discovering that full-board was cheaper than their city parking space had been.

In your mid-twenties and beyond, the equine learning curve is steeper. You are further from the ground. You do not bounce upon making contact with the ground, so much as splat. You are closer to being aware of your own mortality. (You are mortal, in case you didn't know.)

If you haven't spent a lot of time around horses, you may have the idea that they are like dogs and cats (really big, dangerous dogs and cats). This is untrue. YOU are like dogs and cats, in that you are a predator. Let's not get sucked into the canines/intestines/primates-eating-fruit aspect of our disputed status as omnivores. The fact is, if someone says to you "hey, let's try this new brunch place that has amazing cocktails," there's a decent chance you'll say "great, meet you there." Your dog feels similarly. New things are fun! That is because you are a predator.

Prey animals do not think new things are fun. New things, if you are a prey animal, usually mean a swift death. Horses are like deer. They see something unexpected, they freeze for a second, and then they book it on out of there. They don't like to leave the herd. They have no interest in breakfast cocktails. If you try to take your horse to a new brunch place, you need to convince them that a) you've been there before, b) there are no cave trolls at the brunch place, c) there will be other horses at the brunch place, and d) you will be a royal pain in their ass until they quit dicking around and agree to go to the brunch place.

There's a decent wash-out rate when people begin riding horses, for just this reason. It's also why you should begin your equine journey on a five-thousand-year-old Quarter Horse gelding. They've been to a lot of brunch places, and if you give them something resembling the correct cue, they'll do what you say.

Or, you can be kind of a fool, and buy (see picture) a stunningly beautiful three-year-old half-Thoroughbred mare who, if asked to come up with a list of her fears, would instead come up with a (brief) list of not-fears (her own stall, dressage arenas, baths, treats, boy horses). This is not...necessarily...a disaster, if you have a good trainer (thanks, Aurora!) and are not in a rush. But it's not what you would call a good idea.

What happens, though, when you fall in love with an ill-advised horse, is you become kind of a wonderful bitch, in a good way. You have to be braver than you really are, or you'll get hurt. You have to fake it. You have to convince this beautiful, dumb, flighty creature that you are a strong and bossy person who knows what's best. You need to pretend you're a horse, as a rider, in a way you never really have to empathize with your dog or cat. "Oh, there's a plastic bag drifting across the arena. That's terrifying." "That other mare is in heat, and if I get too close to her, she's going to kick me in the face." "Everyone's getting fed right now, so we kind of want to duck out at the gate."

Horses are sublime. They're gorgeous mythical beasts that emerge from antiquity to destroy your bank account and break your collarbone. They're fragile. They're dangerous. They need new shoes every six to eight weeks. They eat your heart. They fall in love with your vet, and deliberately colic themselves in order to spend more time with him.

You are not vitally important to your horse, not really, not like you are to your dog, ever. They never figure out who you are, and why you do the silly things you do. You have to forge a relationship with your horse while knowing that, given the chance, they'd probably rather hang out with their buddies than spend time with you. But then, one day you pull up to the barn, and you realize that your horse has memorized the sound of your car, as opposed to other people's cars, and has wandered over to the gate to greet you.

It makes you feel lucky. Not just "oh, God, I can afford to do this idiotic sport" lucky, which you should feel every day, but some kind of stupid semi-spiritual lucky, because you've managed to connect with an animal ten times your size, and convinced them to ignore every instinct they possess in order to let you clamber onto their back and stick a metal bar in their mouth. It's crazy. It doesn't make any sense.

You're a horse-person now. Maybe it'll pay off when the zombies come, and the gas pumps stop working."

While some of this is tongue-in-cheek and meant to be funny, much of it is true and interesting.  I hope this touches someone else as much as it does me.