I don't know what it is, but despite all the Spilkeration that has gone on in my life, I still have a tendency to want to turn the horses into minions. Not to beat myself up about this, but there it is. I'm working on it.
One form this hegemony takes is the desire to Make George Do Things. One thing I like to ask him to do is to move his shoulder away. I ask him to do this because he hates it, and for some reason I think I should be able to randomly make him do things he doesn't want to, just because he's a horse and I'm a human. Whenever I suggest he move his shoulder away (unless, of course, there's a good reason for it, in which case he is impeccably courteous), he gives me his best "You are such a bitch" look.
Yesterday evening, we were out having a pleasant time together - George getting his tummy scratched, me dancing about to keep my be-sandaled feet from being trampled - when I decided we would practice doing a teeny bit of shoulder moving. Only this time I was determined to be reeeaally nice about it, and make it completely optional, and not, well, not be such a bitch about it.
So I stood by his shoulder and pointed, not at his shoulder, but in the direction toward which I was asking his shoulder to move, holding my arm in front of his chest. Pretty soon he did move in the desired manner, with the result that his butt came round to a good scratching position. That works.
Later, I tried again. Before granting me my whim, George first had to focus on some other agenda items. First we had to stare into the distance at some deer, and then we had to scratch his chest. And also he first had to make me move away from him. He achieved this by the not-so-subtle means of nudging me over with his head. Fair enough. And then finally he did move away in the desired manner, again bringing his quarters back to scratching position.
But only for a moment. He disengaged from scratching, carefully backed up to re-position me by his shoulder, said, "Allow me to demonstrate once more," and again moved his shoulder away from me. Then back to scratching.
So he schooled me in patience, reciprocity, and shoulder moving, without ever once telling me I was a bitch.
This morning, as I returned from yoga, Chloe was waiting for me and marched up to the fence while I was parking the car. Clearly she was a pony on a mission, and as I assumed it involved Improved Grazing Opportunities, I opened the two gates which face each other on either side of the drive and ushered George, Bridget, and Rose out from their current pasture over into the barn pasture. Chloe did not follow - the normal rules do not apply to her - so I shut the others in and let her stay out.
She nibbled a little clover but then walked purposefully over to me. It's been quite a while since she's let me climb on her back, but today I was getting the feeling that maybe it would ok. So I got into - well, it's not mounting position cos that would be giving me too much credit - let's call it scrambling-aboard position. Chloe stood still while I plonked myself like a sack of meal over her back. Feeling that it might be nice if there were less flailing and more dignity involved in the next step of actually getting one leg over Chloe's back, I went in and fetched out the kitchen step stool to aid in the process. But when I put it next to Chloe and stood on it, she walked forward. Only a couple of steps though. She walked forward, stopped, and waited. Ok, no step stool.
I got back into scrambling-aboard position, and Chloe stood, planting her feet, giving that kind of solid, reliable feeling that seems to say, "That's ok, take all the time you need. I know you're a complete klutz; I'll just stand here til you're up." Once I was up, Chloe turned her head to inspect my leg, looking at it rather indulgently. Then she set off. She's very careful not to unseat me, and at first she stops every step or two, as she can feel my wobbliness. (Tall person on short pony makes for an unstable situation.) She walked over to the gate where the other horses were and stopped. I got off and asked her if she wanted to go in, but the other horses were crowding the gate, and she didn't want to.
For a little while, I pottered about doing other things. Chloe wandered down the drive a little, and when I went to see what she was up to, she seemed to invite me on board once more. So I scrambled on. Chloe turned to inspect my leg again and then carefully walked up to the gate. This time the other horses were out of the way, so when I got off and opened the gate for Chloe, she went right in.
I don't know what Chloe's plan was, or even if it was a plan. But it sure seemed like one.
Showing posts with label give-and-take. Show all posts
Showing posts with label give-and-take. Show all posts
Monday, June 17, 2013
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Asking Permission
Charlie is 40 years old. He has his own life, in the deep woods with the goats and the rabbits and the chickens. People come and go occasionally; they bring him food and sometimes trouble him with bothersome things like fly spray or hoof trimming. His owner, now a college student who has had him since she was in elementary school, is the only one he likes.
His feet have improved a lot since the first time I saw him. Yesterday was my third visit. His little feet have become rock hard in the dry weather, and the nippers struggled to break through. His behavior has improved a lot also, and yesterday I had with me a mini hoof stand (loaned to me by another client), and sometimes Charlie stood like a little angel with his hoof resting on the sling.
But, as I said, Charlie lives in his own world, and sometimes he just wants to get back to it in mid-trim. If it gets a little hard to balance, or if there's too much leverage while I'm nippering, or if it's going on too long, Charlie says, "I'm outta here!" Not mean, not aggressive - just claiming his freedom.
I came armed with carrots this time, which Charlie took happily. His lack of regular human interaction was, I think, evidenced by the fact that he's not very good at taking treats without taking a bit of hand also. With my own horses, I've gotten quite careless about treats, because they're so careful to not nip flesh while taking even a tiny morsel from your hand.
Having experienced the kicking banshees the other day, I appreciated - for the first time - Charlie's restraint in not kicking. He rears or moves away, but he never kicks or bites (except when mistaking fingers for carrots).
So, here's a little horse who keeps his own counsel, who values his liberty, who doesn't have much use for humans, and yet who remains calm and restrained while being bothered and beset by them.
So, as we were getting near the end of the trim, and Charlie was getting fed up with me taking his hind leg and kept moving away, I thought I'd better properly ask permission. Not just be polite and tactful about asking him to pick up his foot but asking permission to approach at all.
He stood a few feet away, his owner holding him. I stood a moment then moved half a step toward him. He flinched away. I moved back. Again, I took a tiny step forward, and again he pulled back. I backed off. About five or six times he moved away at my approach, and each time I retreated. But then, on the last attempt, he stayed still and allowed me to come in and pick up his foot, and I finished trimming.
All of which tells me that Charlie's objections to trimming are not so much due to specific discomfort (although I'm sure he suffers some of that) but more to being manhandled and pushed around. And it's a good reminder to me that really asking permission is not just a formulaic thing but has to have real consequences - such as not going ahead if the answer is no.
I believe there are horses from whom it is sometimes best not to ask permission - with whom it's best to be polite but firm. Some horses (like people) need one approach one day and a different approach the next. It can be hard to figure out who is which when - the way to find out is to listen. The real challenge is to stay listening and stay in the moment.
I just finished reading Moses by Sholem Asch. The sages have it that Moses was condemned to never reach the Promised Land not because he was disobedient, but because he was too harsh when he struck the rock (Numbers 20, 2-13). Asch's interpretation is that Moses was angry - not with the generation of Israelites before him, who were just thirsty - but with the previous, more obdurate, generation, allowing his frustration from those days to color his experience of the present. There were times when the Lord himself was angry with the Israelites, and Moses had to plead for them. This was a time when Moses allowed his own anger to eclipse the Lord's forbearance. I've started to notice how often my behavior is rigid and formulaic, based on past assumptions or on things I've heard only at second-hand. I'm not sure I'm really ready for the freedom to grasp each moment as it comes. But I really want to make it to the Promised Land.
His feet have improved a lot since the first time I saw him. Yesterday was my third visit. His little feet have become rock hard in the dry weather, and the nippers struggled to break through. His behavior has improved a lot also, and yesterday I had with me a mini hoof stand (loaned to me by another client), and sometimes Charlie stood like a little angel with his hoof resting on the sling.
But, as I said, Charlie lives in his own world, and sometimes he just wants to get back to it in mid-trim. If it gets a little hard to balance, or if there's too much leverage while I'm nippering, or if it's going on too long, Charlie says, "I'm outta here!" Not mean, not aggressive - just claiming his freedom.
I came armed with carrots this time, which Charlie took happily. His lack of regular human interaction was, I think, evidenced by the fact that he's not very good at taking treats without taking a bit of hand also. With my own horses, I've gotten quite careless about treats, because they're so careful to not nip flesh while taking even a tiny morsel from your hand.
Having experienced the kicking banshees the other day, I appreciated - for the first time - Charlie's restraint in not kicking. He rears or moves away, but he never kicks or bites (except when mistaking fingers for carrots).
So, here's a little horse who keeps his own counsel, who values his liberty, who doesn't have much use for humans, and yet who remains calm and restrained while being bothered and beset by them.
So, as we were getting near the end of the trim, and Charlie was getting fed up with me taking his hind leg and kept moving away, I thought I'd better properly ask permission. Not just be polite and tactful about asking him to pick up his foot but asking permission to approach at all.
He stood a few feet away, his owner holding him. I stood a moment then moved half a step toward him. He flinched away. I moved back. Again, I took a tiny step forward, and again he pulled back. I backed off. About five or six times he moved away at my approach, and each time I retreated. But then, on the last attempt, he stayed still and allowed me to come in and pick up his foot, and I finished trimming.
All of which tells me that Charlie's objections to trimming are not so much due to specific discomfort (although I'm sure he suffers some of that) but more to being manhandled and pushed around. And it's a good reminder to me that really asking permission is not just a formulaic thing but has to have real consequences - such as not going ahead if the answer is no.
I believe there are horses from whom it is sometimes best not to ask permission - with whom it's best to be polite but firm. Some horses (like people) need one approach one day and a different approach the next. It can be hard to figure out who is which when - the way to find out is to listen. The real challenge is to stay listening and stay in the moment.
I just finished reading Moses by Sholem Asch. The sages have it that Moses was condemned to never reach the Promised Land not because he was disobedient, but because he was too harsh when he struck the rock (Numbers 20, 2-13). Asch's interpretation is that Moses was angry - not with the generation of Israelites before him, who were just thirsty - but with the previous, more obdurate, generation, allowing his frustration from those days to color his experience of the present. There were times when the Lord himself was angry with the Israelites, and Moses had to plead for them. This was a time when Moses allowed his own anger to eclipse the Lord's forbearance. I've started to notice how often my behavior is rigid and formulaic, based on past assumptions or on things I've heard only at second-hand. I'm not sure I'm really ready for the freedom to grasp each moment as it comes. But I really want to make it to the Promised Land.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Sketches
Two Cleveland Bay gelding brothers, both about 5 or 6 - each with a sore hind leg (stifle?) and reluctant to stand on three legs when one of the three is the sore one. One brother is in-your-face, friendly, and cocky. He goes along with the trimming cheerfully, but when it's time to do the hind leg opposite the sore one, he balks. He snatches. He starts to cowkick. The grapevine has already told me that this owner has been badly kicked (broken bone) by one of his horses. Could it be this one? Not taking any chances - the unfinished hoof didn't need much done to it anyway, so I tell the owner we're not going to do any more. The other brother is suffering much more. He has that anxious, pained look on his face that tells you the horse is in constant discomfort. When I ask him to pick up the leg opposite the sore one, he thinks long and hard about how he'll achieve this. He rearranges his balance, he cocks the sore leg at just the right angle and manages to shift his weight onto it, allowing me to finish the opposite hoof. After the trim, I thank him for being so helpful. He drops his head and stands with his face pressed against my chest. Brothers - but very different.
Maria is a 20-year old QH mare. She has never been particularly friendly and often looks sour. She frequently snatches her feet away. A few weeks ago I went to trim her for maybe the third or fourth time. This time, I paid more attention: why is she that way? The answer was obvious - the mare was in constant pain. I realized then that her impatience was very controlled. Despite being uncomfortable and irritated, she never snatched her foot violently, but always carefully - emphatically, yes, but never knocking anything or anyone in the process. She never cowkicked. What seemed like a slightly sour temperament was actually stoic endurance. (I think she suffers in her stifles, and possibly her back and/or hips.) The most recent time I went to trim, I was delighted to see a very feisty Maria being chased around the paddock by her owner. Perhaps the warmer weather makes her feel better. When I trimmed her, things went better - and this time I complimented her on her forbearance and long-suffering behavior.
Lightning is a very naughty, dominant, adorable yearling miniature horse. The first time I went to trim him was the first time (apart from when he was moved) that he ever had a halter on. We did not do any trimming that day. The first time I actually trimmed him, he was still drugged from being gelded. So my most recent visit to Lightning was really his first time. And he was not having any of it. He wasn't scared, and he wasn't sore. He was just: You Can't Make Me. I tried leading him around and making him back up. I tried patience-and-understanding. I tried cajoling. I tried getting stern. Finally we wedged him up against the wall of the barn, and I got hold of one of his feet, and I refused to let go, and pretty soon he was munching hay and standing like a pro. His owner felt bad that he'd made such a fuss - but I reminded her that the first time I "trimmed" Lightning's two older brothers when they were babies, all I'd done was work on picking up their feet - so I reckon he did good. He just has to learn that it's safe for him to temporarily loan his feet. After trimming Lightning, I worked on the older two, and they were smugly well-behaved.
Charlie had the kind of feet that make my heart sink. Long, curling-up toes, with a distorted hoof capsule. He's a very small pony, about 40 years old and lives in a clearing in the woods with a flock of charming goats (one of whom is his special buddy) and some feral rabbits. His owner takes good care of him, but the previous farrier for some reason had just let his toes grow and grow. Charlie may be 40+, but age does not prevent him from energetically rearing up whenever he's tired of cooperating. Which the first time I trimmed him was about every three seconds. And no wonder - with feet like that, it's next to impossible to stand comfortably on four legs never mind three. I hacked away for ages, and finally got something like a level landing for his forefeet. He was at the end of his tether, so I left the hind feet alone. They were long, but at least not distorted. I asked the owner to make an appointment for four weeks later. When I returned a few days ago, I was dreading another battle. But - hooray! - this time the little guy agreed to cooperate. I had to be patient and reassure him that he could have his feet back whenever he wanted, but he became quite helpful. Until - being a hardheaded little pony - he finally got fed up and reverted to his old tricks. Realizing that he'd just gotten tired of the whole process, I finally said, "Nope - it's two against one - your owner's holding the rope, and I'm not letting go of your foot, no matter what, and by the way you're hopping awfully agile for an ancient horse with a sore foot." And he capitulated. The owner then told me that the previous farrier had always had to just immobilize him like that, so I was pleased that we'd managed to get 7/8 done before resorting to strong-arm tactics. This time, the hind feet got licked into pretty good shape. The forefeet will need a few more months before the distortion grows out, but they're getting better. I felt in a really good mood after trimming Charlie.
Two inseparable Thoroughbred mares - getting on in years, rescued a decade ago from near starvation by a kind lady who has kept them as pets ever since. Sadly, her husband recently lost his job, and she is looking for another home for them as the family is finding it hard to support the horses as well as themselves. I felt so worried about them - how likely is it that someone will take in two superannuated horses? The two mares had excellent feet as the owner is religious about getting them trimmed. (The previous trimmer failed to return phone calls, so they called me.) They were friendly and affectionate - as I trimmed one, the other would stand close by, chewing on my hair or breathing down my neck. Friendly - but both quite feisty. One had a puffy fetlock and was just not-not-not going to let me pick up the opposite leg. She wouldn't let her owner pick it up either. Fortunately her hind feet needed hardly any work. I gave the owner an unemployed discount on the trimming charge. I hope things work out ok for them.
An anxious paint gelding who looks around constantly, ready to move off when he hears an unexpected sound. I'm working on maybe the third or fourth foot, when he hears a noise in the distance, or catches sight of something out of the corner of his eye. He tenses, pulls away, lifts his hind foot off the stand, ready to go - then he pauses, collects himself, and his hind foot - still in the air - reaches back to find the stand again. What more could you ask of a horse?
Maria is a 20-year old QH mare. She has never been particularly friendly and often looks sour. She frequently snatches her feet away. A few weeks ago I went to trim her for maybe the third or fourth time. This time, I paid more attention: why is she that way? The answer was obvious - the mare was in constant pain. I realized then that her impatience was very controlled. Despite being uncomfortable and irritated, she never snatched her foot violently, but always carefully - emphatically, yes, but never knocking anything or anyone in the process. She never cowkicked. What seemed like a slightly sour temperament was actually stoic endurance. (I think she suffers in her stifles, and possibly her back and/or hips.) The most recent time I went to trim, I was delighted to see a very feisty Maria being chased around the paddock by her owner. Perhaps the warmer weather makes her feel better. When I trimmed her, things went better - and this time I complimented her on her forbearance and long-suffering behavior.
Lightning is a very naughty, dominant, adorable yearling miniature horse. The first time I went to trim him was the first time (apart from when he was moved) that he ever had a halter on. We did not do any trimming that day. The first time I actually trimmed him, he was still drugged from being gelded. So my most recent visit to Lightning was really his first time. And he was not having any of it. He wasn't scared, and he wasn't sore. He was just: You Can't Make Me. I tried leading him around and making him back up. I tried patience-and-understanding. I tried cajoling. I tried getting stern. Finally we wedged him up against the wall of the barn, and I got hold of one of his feet, and I refused to let go, and pretty soon he was munching hay and standing like a pro. His owner felt bad that he'd made such a fuss - but I reminded her that the first time I "trimmed" Lightning's two older brothers when they were babies, all I'd done was work on picking up their feet - so I reckon he did good. He just has to learn that it's safe for him to temporarily loan his feet. After trimming Lightning, I worked on the older two, and they were smugly well-behaved.
Charlie had the kind of feet that make my heart sink. Long, curling-up toes, with a distorted hoof capsule. He's a very small pony, about 40 years old and lives in a clearing in the woods with a flock of charming goats (one of whom is his special buddy) and some feral rabbits. His owner takes good care of him, but the previous farrier for some reason had just let his toes grow and grow. Charlie may be 40+, but age does not prevent him from energetically rearing up whenever he's tired of cooperating. Which the first time I trimmed him was about every three seconds. And no wonder - with feet like that, it's next to impossible to stand comfortably on four legs never mind three. I hacked away for ages, and finally got something like a level landing for his forefeet. He was at the end of his tether, so I left the hind feet alone. They were long, but at least not distorted. I asked the owner to make an appointment for four weeks later. When I returned a few days ago, I was dreading another battle. But - hooray! - this time the little guy agreed to cooperate. I had to be patient and reassure him that he could have his feet back whenever he wanted, but he became quite helpful. Until - being a hardheaded little pony - he finally got fed up and reverted to his old tricks. Realizing that he'd just gotten tired of the whole process, I finally said, "Nope - it's two against one - your owner's holding the rope, and I'm not letting go of your foot, no matter what, and by the way you're hopping awfully agile for an ancient horse with a sore foot." And he capitulated. The owner then told me that the previous farrier had always had to just immobilize him like that, so I was pleased that we'd managed to get 7/8 done before resorting to strong-arm tactics. This time, the hind feet got licked into pretty good shape. The forefeet will need a few more months before the distortion grows out, but they're getting better. I felt in a really good mood after trimming Charlie.
Two inseparable Thoroughbred mares - getting on in years, rescued a decade ago from near starvation by a kind lady who has kept them as pets ever since. Sadly, her husband recently lost his job, and she is looking for another home for them as the family is finding it hard to support the horses as well as themselves. I felt so worried about them - how likely is it that someone will take in two superannuated horses? The two mares had excellent feet as the owner is religious about getting them trimmed. (The previous trimmer failed to return phone calls, so they called me.) They were friendly and affectionate - as I trimmed one, the other would stand close by, chewing on my hair or breathing down my neck. Friendly - but both quite feisty. One had a puffy fetlock and was just not-not-not going to let me pick up the opposite leg. She wouldn't let her owner pick it up either. Fortunately her hind feet needed hardly any work. I gave the owner an unemployed discount on the trimming charge. I hope things work out ok for them.
An anxious paint gelding who looks around constantly, ready to move off when he hears an unexpected sound. I'm working on maybe the third or fourth foot, when he hears a noise in the distance, or catches sight of something out of the corner of his eye. He tenses, pulls away, lifts his hind foot off the stand, ready to go - then he pauses, collects himself, and his hind foot - still in the air - reaches back to find the stand again. What more could you ask of a horse?
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Riding George
I still haven't quite figured out how this goes. The power-sharing thing, that is. George hasn't figured it out either.
If I say stop, and George says go, that's not ok. I guess. If I say go, and George says no, that is ok. I'm sure of that. We can just wait. If I say go this way, and George says, let's go that way, that might be fine. If I say go forward, and George says go back, that's ok-but-not-ok - in other words, I'll let him go back, but with an expectation that it's temporary.
It's ok to eat, but mostly that should happen when I decide. Mostly. If George decides to trot, that's fine, but he has to let me control the speed.
On Sunday, I felt like going for a ride. So, as is my new custom, I announced my intention by fetching out a saddle and hanging it on the gate; I then waited to see who would come over. Well, they all came, and I think they were actually hoping that I'd let them out to play in the yard. However, George touched the saddle with his nose, which is the signal for "Take me out and let's tack up!" It is highly likely that George didn't in fact know that this signifies any such thing, but if he'd objected to being tacked up, I'd've put him back in the field. In fact, he was a little angel, and didn't even make a face when I did up the girth.
I got my daughter to stand by his head while I hopped up onto his back with my newfound agility. (Some day I'll tell you about that.) George decided to go down the drive, and I agreed. At the end of the drive, there was a period of discussion, involving me saying, "Let's go," and George demurring. However, I waited, and pretty soon he decided to set off.
Once in motion, he got quite keen and even wanted to trot away from home down the farm lane. There were a lot of things to look at and wonder about, but he stayed with me. We had a couple of bounces and frights on the way back, what with the crazy mares running around the field, and the lawnmower, and such, but nothing too unsettling.
The thing I see with George is that he does not have an expectation that I'm going to be saying much to him, other than in very broad terms - stop/go/left/right. Whereas with Rose already, who is much "greener," I can feel an awareness from her that I might be communicating on a more subtle level - communicating things about her body and movement, input which she might consider taking into account. I rode George with the bitless bridle, and I think he actually prefers the bit. He's never minded putting it on, and the wider straps of the bitless were causing him to want to scratch his head a lot. Perhaps he'd be more in listening mode if he were wearing the bit.
When we returned home, I was able to tell my daughter that George had been very nice. I reflected that there was a time when such a ride might have resulted in my saying that the horse had been annoying or difficult. But each time we had a difference of opinion, neither of us became irritated or fearful or resistant, and so I was able to truthfully say that George had been nice. Which he was.
If I say stop, and George says go, that's not ok. I guess. If I say go, and George says no, that is ok. I'm sure of that. We can just wait. If I say go this way, and George says, let's go that way, that might be fine. If I say go forward, and George says go back, that's ok-but-not-ok - in other words, I'll let him go back, but with an expectation that it's temporary.
It's ok to eat, but mostly that should happen when I decide. Mostly. If George decides to trot, that's fine, but he has to let me control the speed.
On Sunday, I felt like going for a ride. So, as is my new custom, I announced my intention by fetching out a saddle and hanging it on the gate; I then waited to see who would come over. Well, they all came, and I think they were actually hoping that I'd let them out to play in the yard. However, George touched the saddle with his nose, which is the signal for "Take me out and let's tack up!" It is highly likely that George didn't in fact know that this signifies any such thing, but if he'd objected to being tacked up, I'd've put him back in the field. In fact, he was a little angel, and didn't even make a face when I did up the girth.
I got my daughter to stand by his head while I hopped up onto his back with my newfound agility. (Some day I'll tell you about that.) George decided to go down the drive, and I agreed. At the end of the drive, there was a period of discussion, involving me saying, "Let's go," and George demurring. However, I waited, and pretty soon he decided to set off.
Once in motion, he got quite keen and even wanted to trot away from home down the farm lane. There were a lot of things to look at and wonder about, but he stayed with me. We had a couple of bounces and frights on the way back, what with the crazy mares running around the field, and the lawnmower, and such, but nothing too unsettling.
The thing I see with George is that he does not have an expectation that I'm going to be saying much to him, other than in very broad terms - stop/go/left/right. Whereas with Rose already, who is much "greener," I can feel an awareness from her that I might be communicating on a more subtle level - communicating things about her body and movement, input which she might consider taking into account. I rode George with the bitless bridle, and I think he actually prefers the bit. He's never minded putting it on, and the wider straps of the bitless were causing him to want to scratch his head a lot. Perhaps he'd be more in listening mode if he were wearing the bit.
When we returned home, I was able to tell my daughter that George had been very nice. I reflected that there was a time when such a ride might have resulted in my saying that the horse had been annoying or difficult. But each time we had a difference of opinion, neither of us became irritated or fearful or resistant, and so I was able to truthfully say that George had been nice. Which he was.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Buck
Ok, hands up everyone who's seen the movie Buck Brannaman. Cos I'd really like to know what y'all think of it.
Thanks to my internet having been fixed (fingers crossed), so that the download speed is now like 2.65 megawotsits instead of only 0.14, I was at last able to view the movie all the way through.
Buck is a documentary about Buck Brannaman, a real-life "horse whisperer," who helped Robert Redford with Redford's role in the eponymous movie.
Buck Brannaman is a real likeable guy who has some fine things to say about horses. For example: Don't be critical - Don't discourage them or they'll shut down. There's some other cool stuff in the movie, such as the lady who works cows with her dressage horses, as she says it brings "meaning and purpose" into the dressage training because the horses know it helps them with their cattle work, which they love.
There's a sad incident, however, involving a three-year old orphan stud colt, who had been bottle raised and then, when his owner had a bad accident when he was three months old, had been left to his own devices for the next three years. After his difficult birth, he had lain without breathing for some time until he was revived, and there was some thought that this oxygen deprivation had left him mentally impaired.
This youngster was extremely aggressive, to the point where he would attack vehicles and charge fences to bite people on the other side.
Nothing daunted, Buck brings him into the round pen to see what can be done. From his horse, Buck ropes the colt's ankle and starts to be able to control his movements. From there, Buck's cowboy assistant is able to go up to the colt, sack him out, saddle, mount, and ride him. So far so good.
But on the ground, the horse continues to be a menace. Buck blames the owner, for allowing the horse's behavior to escalate to this point, and for not having had him gelded sooner. Buck says orphan horses are the worst, because they're spoiled and not taught respect as they would be if they were with their mothers. He's in a pen with the colt and has to continually fend off his aggressive charges by flapping sticks at him.
Later, they bring him back to the round pen. The colt has a halter and rope on, and the cowboy is holding the rope in one hand and a blanket in the other. It's not clear whether he's using the blanket as a kind of goad to make the horse move forward or whether he's trying to sack him out some more. They move around the pen a little, the cowboy apparently having a little success in getting the horse to move forward on command.
Then - seemingly out of the blue - the colt leaps forward, bites the cowboy's head, knocks him to the ground, and leaves the scene to go over to the other side of the pen.
The cowboy is bloodied and needs stitches in his head. The owner is distraught and realizes her only option is to have the horse destroyed. Buck doesn't disagree. Someone - sooner or later - is going to get killed.
The horse's death sentence is sealed, and he is hauled off in a truck. The next day, Buck talks to the other participants in the clinic about what happened. He says that human beings let the horse down. He says that perhaps the horse was a little retarded after being deprived of oxygen, but that this doesn't mean he had to end so badly. With the proper training, he could have been a good little horse, quietly "packing" someone around, leading a life which would have been of use to himself and to others.
Life doesn't have the option of instant replay, but Netflix streaming does, and so I replayed these scenes over and over until I got a sense of what really happened.
Thanks to my internet having been fixed (fingers crossed), so that the download speed is now like 2.65 megawotsits instead of only 0.14, I was at last able to view the movie all the way through.
Buck is a documentary about Buck Brannaman, a real-life "horse whisperer," who helped Robert Redford with Redford's role in the eponymous movie.
Buck Brannaman is a real likeable guy who has some fine things to say about horses. For example: Don't be critical - Don't discourage them or they'll shut down. There's some other cool stuff in the movie, such as the lady who works cows with her dressage horses, as she says it brings "meaning and purpose" into the dressage training because the horses know it helps them with their cattle work, which they love.
There's a sad incident, however, involving a three-year old orphan stud colt, who had been bottle raised and then, when his owner had a bad accident when he was three months old, had been left to his own devices for the next three years. After his difficult birth, he had lain without breathing for some time until he was revived, and there was some thought that this oxygen deprivation had left him mentally impaired.
This youngster was extremely aggressive, to the point where he would attack vehicles and charge fences to bite people on the other side.
Nothing daunted, Buck brings him into the round pen to see what can be done. From his horse, Buck ropes the colt's ankle and starts to be able to control his movements. From there, Buck's cowboy assistant is able to go up to the colt, sack him out, saddle, mount, and ride him. So far so good.
But on the ground, the horse continues to be a menace. Buck blames the owner, for allowing the horse's behavior to escalate to this point, and for not having had him gelded sooner. Buck says orphan horses are the worst, because they're spoiled and not taught respect as they would be if they were with their mothers. He's in a pen with the colt and has to continually fend off his aggressive charges by flapping sticks at him.
Later, they bring him back to the round pen. The colt has a halter and rope on, and the cowboy is holding the rope in one hand and a blanket in the other. It's not clear whether he's using the blanket as a kind of goad to make the horse move forward or whether he's trying to sack him out some more. They move around the pen a little, the cowboy apparently having a little success in getting the horse to move forward on command.
Then - seemingly out of the blue - the colt leaps forward, bites the cowboy's head, knocks him to the ground, and leaves the scene to go over to the other side of the pen.
The cowboy is bloodied and needs stitches in his head. The owner is distraught and realizes her only option is to have the horse destroyed. Buck doesn't disagree. Someone - sooner or later - is going to get killed.
The horse's death sentence is sealed, and he is hauled off in a truck. The next day, Buck talks to the other participants in the clinic about what happened. He says that human beings let the horse down. He says that perhaps the horse was a little retarded after being deprived of oxygen, but that this doesn't mean he had to end so badly. With the proper training, he could have been a good little horse, quietly "packing" someone around, leading a life which would have been of use to himself and to others.
Life doesn't have the option of instant replay, but Netflix streaming does, and so I replayed these scenes over and over until I got a sense of what really happened.
First of all: Buck in the pen with the colt. He has driven the colt off to the far side of the pen, using his flag-ended stick. As Buck talks to the owner, the colt sidles up behind him, chewing and licking. Buck senses his approach out of the corner of his eye and instead of engaging the colt and acknowledging his pacific intent, immediately turns round and starts aggressively flailing the air with the stick to drive the colt away. The colt instantly reacts by returning the aggression, rearing, striking, and trying to get at Buck.
Later: in the pen with the cowboy. The young horse repeatedly gives the cowboy a chance. He turns to face him, stands his ground, expresses his displeasure at the blanket onslaught. Finally, the cowboy approaches him directly. The horse takes a step backwards and stops, looking at the cowboy (who incidentally is wearing dark glasses). The cowboy ignores the horse's gesture of retreat, as well as his intentionality to connect, and moves in closer in an unmistakeably predatory manner, holding the blanket like a weapon.
Faster than you can blink, the horse leaps forward, mouth open and lunges toward the cowboy's head.
The humans present at the clinic, observing the terrifying attacks, presumably saw what I saw on my first watch-through of the scenes - chaos and fury being unleashed with no prior warning. It took me many re-plays until I could see more clearly what was going on. I imagine horses are able to see at that speed all the time.
The humans present at the clinic, observing the terrifying attacks, presumably saw what I saw on my first watch-through of the scenes - chaos and fury being unleashed with no prior warning. It took me many re-plays until I could see more clearly what was going on. I imagine horses are able to see at that speed all the time.
The first thing that comes to mind is that you can see the limitations of technique here. Any one method is going to come up against a situation where it is not the best method. This young horse was clearly far too dangerous to work with in a confined space, never mind at the end of a short rope. John Lyons would have fared better with his liberty work in a 60' round pen, working the horse from a safe distance. Mark Rashid's "Old Man" would have done even better with his technique of leaving the horse - for weeks if necessary - alone in a large pasture, visiting him twice a day only to feed him and dictate the terms under which he may eat. And where is it written that you must go from three-years-with-no-handling to sacked-out-and-under-saddle in one weekend clinic?
Secondly, far from being weak-brained, this horse is clearly extremely intelligent, extremely proud, and extremely courageous. Many times he expresses his willingness to work with Buck or the cowboy. But he has zero tolerance for any show of aggression on their part, meting out retribution with lightning speed. He tolerates the cowboy saddling and riding him on their first encounter, because the cowboy's behavior is very different when he knows that Buck controls the horse by means of the ankle rope. Because the cowboy is reassured that someone has control of the horse, aggression is absent from his demeanor.
Thirdly, I don't buy the orphan horse theory, which I have heard before. Here's my theory, or rather my working hypothesis: the problem with orphan foals is not that they are spoiled and fail to learn respect from their mothers. The problem is that they learn fear-aggression from being turned out with older horses without the protection of their mother. The two dozen nurse mare foals at Twelve Oaks in Mississippi were mollycoddled and coochycooed like you wouldn't believe, but they all turned out mild-mannered and pleasant, without anyone having to "sort them out." And here - according to my hypothesis - is why: they were all babies together, with no mean old grownups to chase them or steal their food.
The colt in the movie fit the bill - he had been turned out at the age of three months in a field with a bunch of adults and left to fend for himself. He could have become a wretched doormat, but because of his strong personality, instead he became a spitfire. If Buck or the cowboy had acknowledged his pride and his sense of self, I think they could have ended up working with him.
Now, that's not to say I'd ever be willing to work with such a horse, or that it would have been safe for his owner to take him home. But, as Buck himself said in his post-incident talk to the clinic, your horse is a mirror of yourself - and Buck, for all his kindness, is unable to see something in the horse, perhaps because he can't see it in himself.
This renegade colt was close to my heart as, of course, Bridget is an orphan foal, and George was/is fear-aggressive and studdish. I believe that given a large paddock, a lot of time, and a willingness to stand down, someone (not me, thanks!) could ultimately have turned that horse into a super star.
I turned to Youtube to see Hempfling at work with aggressive stallions, to compare that with what I'd seen on the movie. Two things stick out - Hempfling's willingness to stand down and back off, and his laser-like awareness of the horse as a unique individual in that moment. Compare that to Buck's cowboy's approach to the horse as a dangerous object.
I turned to Youtube to see Hempfling at work with aggressive stallions, to compare that with what I'd seen on the movie. Two things stick out - Hempfling's willingness to stand down and back off, and his laser-like awareness of the horse as a unique individual in that moment. Compare that to Buck's cowboy's approach to the horse as a dangerous object.
Finally, I think, it all gets down to still - despite the kindler, gentler ways - treating the horse as an object of use to be controlled. When you look at the faces of the horses in the movie, you don't observe the stress, the anxiety, the pain, the sorrow that are so often seen in horses who are supposedly doing magnificent things. But neither do you see anything in the way of sparkly-eyed engagement.
(OK, yes, Buck's horses can canter side-passes, and I can get on my horse, period. Thanks for pointing that out.)
(OK, yes, Buck's horses can canter side-passes, and I can get on my horse, period. Thanks for pointing that out.)
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
A Challenge
Well, just in case we were getting all too complacent and comfy around here, we had a good old shake-up today. Did I say, "If that means half an hour has gone by and nobody has their shots yet, and [the vet] has to leave and come back another day, then that's ok"? What I obviously meant was "an hour and a half."
As reported in my last entry, I invited the vet to come to my place to discuss the possibility with the horses of their receiving shots. I told him in advance that we were going to be willing to relinquish any and all tangible accomplishments of a veterinary nature.
This morning, I had the horses confined to the yard, and had Bridget ready with her halter and leadrope. The vet arrived, introduced his nice new young assistant, and produced cookies for the horses. Bridget was quite willing to be swabbed, and to have her temperature taken and her heart listened to. Foolishly, I then let the vet prepare three shots for her - rabies, eastern/western/tetanus, and potomac. Foolishly, because I should have said to get only one ready, and we'd see.
Bridget was positively, no way, don't even think about it, totally not willing to be stuck in the neck. I was very careful that we gave her space, paused, left the rope loose, etc. But when she felt that needle, she was pissed off. The vet got the rabies stuck into her, but then she pulled away, and hopped about until she shook it loose. We backed off and then worked on familiarizing Bridget with the capped hypodermic. Her curiosity kept bringing her back to see what the vet was holding in his hand, and she finally allowed the vet to touch the syringe to the scary spot on her neck. At this point (which, I might add, took quite a long time to get to), George hove into view. I decided to take this as notification that we should quit while we were ahead with Bridget, cut her loose, and start with George.
I think at this point, I was losing my focus (or hadn't found it yet) - after a brief introduction, we started right in with the vet tech swabbing George's neck, which - sorry to say - lead to George reaching round and biting the poor girl's arm. Without waiting to see the damage, I got really mad at George, and whacked him several times with the lead rope. I'm sorry, I just want George to be quite clear that serious bites will cause me to attempt equicide. Maybe it's not fair, but that's the way it is. Actually, I whacked him precisely the right number of times, plus one. Because he stood there and let me whack him, until the last time, when he said, "Nope, that's enough, you made your point," and sortof bucked. So I stopped, and he calmed right down and came back to me, physically and mentally.
Fortunately, the vet tech had on long sleeves and a sweatshirt and so was unharmed. She's a horsewoman and remained cheerful and unfazed. I must say George's outburst brought us to a more focussed place, which was needed. Up to this point, I really wasn't very specific about what I wanted the vet to do, and all of a sudden there was a lot more clarity to the situation.
First of all, we started discussing George's past, and his personality. I had not originally wanted to bring any of this up, as I don't think it's fair to throw a horse's past in his face if he's moved on. However, George is obviously still very, very protective of his body, and I felt we really needed to talk about it. We talked about how sensitive he is, how his aggression is based in fear and defensiveness. I told the vet how far George has come, how it's taken him a year to let the mares into his space, and how he's only recently taken to enjoying being scratched, etc., etc. I said I thought he had been weaned too early and turned out at a young, defenseless age with larger, meaner horses.
Then we started working in earnest. We stood with George, and the vet asked him if he could listen to his heart. The vet's first approach was to raise his arm with the stethoscope and hold it out towards George and wait for his pinned-ears/stinkeye look to subside - a sortof desensitization approach. But I asked him to try something different - namely to look for the "no" and retreat immediately upon seeing it. So he raised his arm and then retracted it as soon as George looked askance. Pause, ask again. Retreat, pause, ask again. In this way, the vet was able to listen to a few seconds' of George's heartbeat. Importantly, in the process the vet became very tuned in to George. Again, we quit while we're ahead - the vet could hear all he needed in a very short space of time.
Then George did something quite remarkable. He swung around and turned his rear end to face the vet and began grazing. For George to do that shows a lot of trust. I told the vet that all George's aggression is at the front - for George, it's all about the crosshairs and the head-on offensive, whereas Bridget will stake her claim with her hindlegs too - for George to turn his back on someone shows he is comfortable with them. I began scratching George's tummy, and he began to stretch out his neck and do the happy nose-waggle, and I told the vet he could scratch George too. Lo and behold, George did the happy nose-waggle for him too. After a while, the vet leaned on George's back and remarked that sometimes he hated to gain the horse's trust and then "betray" it by jabbing him in the neck with a needle. I said, Let's just quit for the day, and we cut George loose.
We talked some more. The vet was interested to hear about Imke Spilker and wants to check out her website. He had quite a brilliant idea for George - some dogs are greatly helped with anxiety issues by the "thunder vest" - a sort of swaddling jacket, which hugs them tight and enables them to deal emotionally with thunderstorms and other slings and arrows of that sort. The vet said that there's this post-colic surgery band which is wrapped around a horse's torso to protect the incision, and that maybe it could function like a horse thunder vest.
I tried to explain my approach. I said it is an approach, not a technique or a method but that it might help to say the main tenets are "the horse is allowed to say no" and "ask, don't tell." I said I used to be into natural horsemanship and John Lyons and stuff, but that the mantra of natural horsemanship - "Make the right thing easy and the wrong thing hard" was not something I followed any more. My intention is to win the full, free cooperation of the horse simply by asking. I told him one or two anecdotes to suggest that this is possible.
I told him that George had really opened up to him at the end, and he agreed that he'd really felt that.
Here are some other points of note:
1) I was actually nervous when the vet first arrived.
2) When we were intially working with George, Bridget was getting in the way, so I put her through a gate into the field. Chloe and Rose were out of sight around the house, and Bridget started going crazy. When she slipped and fell, I decided I'd better go let her join the others, but as the vet was holding George, I didn't want to just open the gate and let her charge through. So I went in with a halter to fetch her out. She refused to let me catch her - which has never happened before - to the point of starting to rear up or strike at me when I attempted. So in the end I did just open the gate, and charge she did. However, it didn't rattle George. There must have been a Strange Disturbance in the Force for Bridget to act like this.
3) I found myself able, as we went along, to become more articulate and more authoritative toward the vet, which helped him understand the situation.
4) When we started working with the vet and the stethoscope, George several times "nipped" my arm - but not really a nip, more like just a little tug or something. Each time, I just said "No, I really don't like that." But it was a gesture of communication, not aggression.
5) Despite our differences, Bridget and George stayed engaged with us and did not attempt to leave.
6) Afterwards, I kept finding myself tempted to say to the horses, "Well now, you got off lightly today, but next time he comes, you'd better behave ...." Nuh uh, not the point of the exercise.
7) This has made me realize how deep in this I am. I don't even know how to explain this.
8) I am $220 out and no shots. This could happen again, and again, and .......
9) When George bites, the universe unfolds.
As reported in my last entry, I invited the vet to come to my place to discuss the possibility with the horses of their receiving shots. I told him in advance that we were going to be willing to relinquish any and all tangible accomplishments of a veterinary nature.
This morning, I had the horses confined to the yard, and had Bridget ready with her halter and leadrope. The vet arrived, introduced his nice new young assistant, and produced cookies for the horses. Bridget was quite willing to be swabbed, and to have her temperature taken and her heart listened to. Foolishly, I then let the vet prepare three shots for her - rabies, eastern/western/tetanus, and potomac. Foolishly, because I should have said to get only one ready, and we'd see.
Bridget was positively, no way, don't even think about it, totally not willing to be stuck in the neck. I was very careful that we gave her space, paused, left the rope loose, etc. But when she felt that needle, she was pissed off. The vet got the rabies stuck into her, but then she pulled away, and hopped about until she shook it loose. We backed off and then worked on familiarizing Bridget with the capped hypodermic. Her curiosity kept bringing her back to see what the vet was holding in his hand, and she finally allowed the vet to touch the syringe to the scary spot on her neck. At this point (which, I might add, took quite a long time to get to), George hove into view. I decided to take this as notification that we should quit while we were ahead with Bridget, cut her loose, and start with George.
I think at this point, I was losing my focus (or hadn't found it yet) - after a brief introduction, we started right in with the vet tech swabbing George's neck, which - sorry to say - lead to George reaching round and biting the poor girl's arm. Without waiting to see the damage, I got really mad at George, and whacked him several times with the lead rope. I'm sorry, I just want George to be quite clear that serious bites will cause me to attempt equicide. Maybe it's not fair, but that's the way it is. Actually, I whacked him precisely the right number of times, plus one. Because he stood there and let me whack him, until the last time, when he said, "Nope, that's enough, you made your point," and sortof bucked. So I stopped, and he calmed right down and came back to me, physically and mentally.
Fortunately, the vet tech had on long sleeves and a sweatshirt and so was unharmed. She's a horsewoman and remained cheerful and unfazed. I must say George's outburst brought us to a more focussed place, which was needed. Up to this point, I really wasn't very specific about what I wanted the vet to do, and all of a sudden there was a lot more clarity to the situation.
First of all, we started discussing George's past, and his personality. I had not originally wanted to bring any of this up, as I don't think it's fair to throw a horse's past in his face if he's moved on. However, George is obviously still very, very protective of his body, and I felt we really needed to talk about it. We talked about how sensitive he is, how his aggression is based in fear and defensiveness. I told the vet how far George has come, how it's taken him a year to let the mares into his space, and how he's only recently taken to enjoying being scratched, etc., etc. I said I thought he had been weaned too early and turned out at a young, defenseless age with larger, meaner horses.
Then we started working in earnest. We stood with George, and the vet asked him if he could listen to his heart. The vet's first approach was to raise his arm with the stethoscope and hold it out towards George and wait for his pinned-ears/stinkeye look to subside - a sortof desensitization approach. But I asked him to try something different - namely to look for the "no" and retreat immediately upon seeing it. So he raised his arm and then retracted it as soon as George looked askance. Pause, ask again. Retreat, pause, ask again. In this way, the vet was able to listen to a few seconds' of George's heartbeat. Importantly, in the process the vet became very tuned in to George. Again, we quit while we're ahead - the vet could hear all he needed in a very short space of time.
Then George did something quite remarkable. He swung around and turned his rear end to face the vet and began grazing. For George to do that shows a lot of trust. I told the vet that all George's aggression is at the front - for George, it's all about the crosshairs and the head-on offensive, whereas Bridget will stake her claim with her hindlegs too - for George to turn his back on someone shows he is comfortable with them. I began scratching George's tummy, and he began to stretch out his neck and do the happy nose-waggle, and I told the vet he could scratch George too. Lo and behold, George did the happy nose-waggle for him too. After a while, the vet leaned on George's back and remarked that sometimes he hated to gain the horse's trust and then "betray" it by jabbing him in the neck with a needle. I said, Let's just quit for the day, and we cut George loose.
We talked some more. The vet was interested to hear about Imke Spilker and wants to check out her website. He had quite a brilliant idea for George - some dogs are greatly helped with anxiety issues by the "thunder vest" - a sort of swaddling jacket, which hugs them tight and enables them to deal emotionally with thunderstorms and other slings and arrows of that sort. The vet said that there's this post-colic surgery band which is wrapped around a horse's torso to protect the incision, and that maybe it could function like a horse thunder vest.
I tried to explain my approach. I said it is an approach, not a technique or a method but that it might help to say the main tenets are "the horse is allowed to say no" and "ask, don't tell." I said I used to be into natural horsemanship and John Lyons and stuff, but that the mantra of natural horsemanship - "Make the right thing easy and the wrong thing hard" was not something I followed any more. My intention is to win the full, free cooperation of the horse simply by asking. I told him one or two anecdotes to suggest that this is possible.
I told him that George had really opened up to him at the end, and he agreed that he'd really felt that.
Here are some other points of note:
1) I was actually nervous when the vet first arrived.
2) When we were intially working with George, Bridget was getting in the way, so I put her through a gate into the field. Chloe and Rose were out of sight around the house, and Bridget started going crazy. When she slipped and fell, I decided I'd better go let her join the others, but as the vet was holding George, I didn't want to just open the gate and let her charge through. So I went in with a halter to fetch her out. She refused to let me catch her - which has never happened before - to the point of starting to rear up or strike at me when I attempted. So in the end I did just open the gate, and charge she did. However, it didn't rattle George. There must have been a Strange Disturbance in the Force for Bridget to act like this.
3) I found myself able, as we went along, to become more articulate and more authoritative toward the vet, which helped him understand the situation.
4) When we started working with the vet and the stethoscope, George several times "nipped" my arm - but not really a nip, more like just a little tug or something. Each time, I just said "No, I really don't like that." But it was a gesture of communication, not aggression.
5) Despite our differences, Bridget and George stayed engaged with us and did not attempt to leave.
6) Afterwards, I kept finding myself tempted to say to the horses, "Well now, you got off lightly today, but next time he comes, you'd better behave ...." Nuh uh, not the point of the exercise.
7) This has made me realize how deep in this I am. I don't even know how to explain this.
8) I am $220 out and no shots. This could happen again, and again, and .......
9) When George bites, the universe unfolds.
Friday, February 25, 2011
A Missed Opportunity?
For the last many months, I've been trying to give the horses more credit. But sometimes I wonder if I'm still not giving them nearly enough.
I've been pondering an incident which happened a couple of days ago. Really, it doesn't merit the status of "incident" - it was the briefest of interactions between George and me.
If George is standing with his head by the fence and I want to walk along the fence line in front of him, I'll stop beside him, indicate that I want to pass, and then wait. He always steps back, with more or less good grace depending on the mood he's in.
The other day, it was me who was standing by the fence and George who wanted to get past. He came up - didn't exactly stop and ask - but neither did he push past. He made it clear that he was planning to get by me.
I didn't tell him no or shoo him away. However, I didn't move - and there wasn't room for him to pass. So he executed the horsey equivalent of a teenage eye roll, and went around behind me instead.
I must confess that in my mind some unformed atavistic thought was brewing - along the lines of: "Mustn't let the horse push me around." But - ahem - excuse me - can't we have a little give-and-take here? If he moves for me, why shouldn't I move for him? Why shouldn't we aspire to an egalitarian relationship characterized by mutuality and cordiality? I don't know from herd dynamics, and frankly I don't care if such relationships don't exist in the horse world - I want to have a relationship where the fact that I give way to you freely today in no way suggests that tomorrow I can be forced to give way. If horses don't know about that kind of arrangement, well they're smart enough - and moral enough - to desire it anyway. Hopefully so am I.
It may be a dog-eat-dog world, but in the Kingdom we're preaching, the lion eats straw like the ox, (poor ox, don't we have anything better to give him for supper?), the baby plays with the viper, and the George can be given an inch (or a few yards), and be trusted to not take a mile.
When George wanted to get past, I could have connected my attention to his, paused, and then invited him to pass in front of me. Why didn't I? Not surprising, as Jen-ska said in her comment to my last post, that he is still wondering about me.
I've been pondering an incident which happened a couple of days ago. Really, it doesn't merit the status of "incident" - it was the briefest of interactions between George and me.
If George is standing with his head by the fence and I want to walk along the fence line in front of him, I'll stop beside him, indicate that I want to pass, and then wait. He always steps back, with more or less good grace depending on the mood he's in.
The other day, it was me who was standing by the fence and George who wanted to get past. He came up - didn't exactly stop and ask - but neither did he push past. He made it clear that he was planning to get by me.
I didn't tell him no or shoo him away. However, I didn't move - and there wasn't room for him to pass. So he executed the horsey equivalent of a teenage eye roll, and went around behind me instead.
I must confess that in my mind some unformed atavistic thought was brewing - along the lines of: "Mustn't let the horse push me around." But - ahem - excuse me - can't we have a little give-and-take here? If he moves for me, why shouldn't I move for him? Why shouldn't we aspire to an egalitarian relationship characterized by mutuality and cordiality? I don't know from herd dynamics, and frankly I don't care if such relationships don't exist in the horse world - I want to have a relationship where the fact that I give way to you freely today in no way suggests that tomorrow I can be forced to give way. If horses don't know about that kind of arrangement, well they're smart enough - and moral enough - to desire it anyway. Hopefully so am I.
It may be a dog-eat-dog world, but in the Kingdom we're preaching, the lion eats straw like the ox, (poor ox, don't we have anything better to give him for supper?), the baby plays with the viper, and the George can be given an inch (or a few yards), and be trusted to not take a mile.
When George wanted to get past, I could have connected my attention to his, paused, and then invited him to pass in front of me. Why didn't I? Not surprising, as Jen-ska said in her comment to my last post, that he is still wondering about me.
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