LIVING IN TRIPLICATE

I need to clone myself. I'm thinking three, of me, would be about right.

The wife/mother me: This one would be attentive and always available to the three precious persons who share my immediate space in life. Quality and quantity time would be in abundance along with time for the necessary evils of said job--cooking, cleaning, laundry. This model would never say things like, "Be quiet; just give me a minute," while typing a scene for a work in progress (with her thumb) in the notebook app of a Blackberry while spending time with family at the lake.

The writer me: Though having poor hygiene and social skills (with real people), this model would never lose those amazing bits of inspiration that fly into the brain at the most inconvenient times. During a sermon, for instance (is it a sin to write fiction on a church bulletin?), or while cutting a child's birthday cake. She would tweet, Facebook, and blog regularly to maintain a "viral presence" (is it just me or does that sound very wrong?). She would churn out books every six months and be on the edge of marketing techniques and changes in the publishing industry.

The horsewoman me: This model would never feel guilty about trail riding or telling the lie of "I'll only be gone an hour or so" as she loads horses in a trailer and speeds down the road. Her horses would be in shape and regularly schooled. She would not have a dirty barn, tack, or fence lines loaded with approximately 100 pounds of blackberry vines, thus shorting it out. Her horses would not have tangles in their manes.

It can be exhausting to marry the elements that make up a human being. I think the term would be "balance" and I know I'm still merrily pursuing that state. Some days it comes close to being in reach. Yesterday, for instance. Wrote 1,000 new words on a nearly finished WIP (How can something so vaguely measured in value feel so good?); cut above mentioned blackberries off electric fence lines (and have the scratches, and blackberry cobbler, to prove it) AND rode Eli (over an hour); and spent time cooking with my kids, reciting meaningless yet hysterical movie lines, watching an old movie, and cuddling in bed. It was a good day.

I've been thinking of things that come in threes since going to an insightful workshop using horses in July. One of the many things I learned, and since ponder, is the three part nature that is a human being. Created in the image of a God who is, mysteriously, three persons in one, a human being is three parts--mind, body, spirit-- searching for balance. Even our brains are in threes: cortex, limbic system (amygdala), and the primitive brain stem that controls basic instincts and body functions. This I learned from my new friends at the HEAL center--Human Equine Alliances for Learning--in Chehalis, Washington (stay tuned for a creative literary project between the four of us in 2011).

Our three part nature craves balance and our three part brains need to be healthy to enable an individual to reach their potential. Maslow's hierachy of needs comes to mind. A person struggling to fulfill the most basic demands for food and security may never get to fully develop the cortex--thinking--side. Conversely, a person who lives in their cortex and ignores the amygdala (center for emotions) will fail in relationships. Since we are created for relationship, this part of the brain is critical for mental health and stability.

Interestingly horses also have a three part brain, though not as advanced in the cortex and limbic system as human beings. Chance is an example of a horse with a seriously underdeveloped cortex. Man, that horse lives in his amygdala and it short circuits him to his primitive, fight or flight, brain ALL the time. Forget a "window of tolerance" for stress, this horse has a peep hole. But clicker training seems to be developing his cortex a bit so he can learn to think, not simply react. That is my hope anyway. Only time will tell if if it is effective long term.

Enough of Writer Me. Time to get those other models operational this morning.

IF I WERE FIVE FEET TALL

One of the gifts of age is finally, blessedly, accepting the body you were born in. I have two teenagers who regularly lament things like hair/eye color, body size, and the strange idiosyncrasies unique to that body. A typical mother, I say things like, “Be grateful you aren’t handicapped/have enough to eat/are loved/have arms and legs,” you get the picture. I enjoy pointing them to people like this. The truth is, I so get it. I’ve been there, too, and while I’ve accepted my body for the most part it doesn’t take much to flash back to the days of cursing genetics and wish, wish, wishing I had other physical features as I perused People Magazine and Cosmopolitan. Perhaps I can best explain my battle with body image by an encounter at a local grocery store two days ago.

There I was, hunting for a snack in the healthy foods aisle while said teenagers were loading groceries in my truck and driving it around to pick me up (having a chauffeur is a major perk of adolescent children). As I compared the ingredients of several bulk trail mixes I felt someone checking me out. Nodding politely at a man old enough to be my father, I started scooping “energy” trail mix into a baggie. He continues to stare. What is his problem? Wearing a barn outfit of dirty vest/jeans combo—complete with stray stalks of hay, my riding shoes, and no make-up I’m pretty sure he’s not impressed with my appearance. Did I pick the wrong trail mix? What? When I look at him again he smiles and says, “You’re tall.”

Stop the presses. I’ve just been informed of amazing new information about myself. In 38 years I’ve only heard this inane statement from complete strangers about, oh, a million times! I’m never quite sure how to respond to this… “Congratulations for noting the obvious?” I answered with my usual, genius comeback, “yep.”

I’ve always found it interesting when people tell me I’m lucky for being tall. By the age of 13 I’d reached my full height of 5’11. This did not feel lucky, it felt like genetic punishment. Most of my friends were short and petite. And in the eighth grade this included the guys. There was one boy in junior high as tall as me and he wasn’t one of the cute ones. Guess who I had for a partner for square dancing every year? My first “boyfriend,” Sean, came up to about my shoulder. We had a meaningful relationship for several months after I circled “Yes” on the note he sent asking if I wanted to be his girlfriend.

The battle for self acceptance continued through highschool. Blessedly many of the guys began to grow, but I still wished and dreamed of being small and cute with a curvy cheerleaderish shape. Instead, I got “Olive Oil.”

Perhaps I’d have felt differently about my size if it included amazing athletic skill. I could have tried out for WNBA and felt secure in my height every time I made a bank deposit. Then I’d have nodded enthusiastically when I got asked, over and over, “Do you play basketball?” But, no. In lieu of athleticism, God made me a painful introvert who hated sticking out in a crowd. Who says He doesn’t have a sense of humor? Thankfully I had horses. They were the one thing that made me feel graceful and at all talented in the athletic department. Without my horses I’m not sure how I’d have made it through the teen years.

It would make sense to pair my extra height with a big beefy warmblood or, at the very least, a leggy Thoroughbred. Alas, like my first boyfriend Sean, I’m a fan of the shorter members of the equine world. Tall for my very favorite breed—the Arabian—Eli is a solid 15’2. Not huge but on the bigger side of average. Borrowing his energy, drive, and grace under saddle is an absolute thrill and the experience does what riding has always done for me—make me more comfortable in my own body.

While I’ve finally accepted my height with a measure of gratitude, I still look at some of the little breeds with envy. What fun I could have if I were small. I’d gallop away on a wild looking Kiger Mustang, an adorable Pony of the Americas, or, perhaps my very favorite small horse, a Welsh Pony. Check out Northforks Cardi, a simply stunning Welsh stallion.

Oh, the horses I’d ride if I were only five feet tall…

CONVERSATIONS

“Are you gonna let me talk?”

During sixteen years of marriage this question has been posed by my husband more then once. In temperament he may be more of a talker, but this hasn’t stopped me from interrupting him, taking over the conversation, or assuming what his thoughts/opinions are from time to time. This is usually where he simply decides to stop talking. And calmly poses the above question.

In the last weeks of clicker training Eli I cannot say he is becoming a genius or more finished in his under saddle work. He can target on things and is responding to spoken words, but I can’t point to anything super concrete, training-wise, that positive reinforcement has done for him. What I do know is that this introverted stallion has become much more verbal. It is delightful to watch.

I wanted Eli for his eyes. Period. Romantic and ridiculous as it may sound, I have never seen such a beautiful spirit reflected in the eyes of a horse. That said, Eli firmly resisted a relationship with me in the beginning. He didn’t want to be touched, he had nothing to say, he refused even to take food from my hand or tolerate me standing beside him while he ate. When I got discouraged with his indifference I would look in those eyes and think, “That is who he is. I simply need to be patient and he will come out one day.”

It took about three months before Eli nickered at feeding times. The noises he made were really not discernible at all but more a fluttering of the nostrils. Outside of screaming if a new horse came on the property (I call it the Elephant Bellow) he was completely silent. I have heard that stallions bond strongly on one person and after several months of handling and riding I began to feel Eli finally giving me his trust and affection. Mostly. He is supremely sensitive to intent and is well aware when manipulated or set up. He tolerates domination with amazing dignity and grace. But I wanted him to blossom and communicate. I wanted to be his friend, not assault him with a one-sided conversation all the time. Hence a strange little device and pocketful of treats. The experiment was on.

I put Eli in his stall the first time I worked with him and the clicker. This was a mistake. He spent most of the time with ears pinned and a worried look in his eyes, seemingly suspicious and slightly resentful at being trapped in his place of sanctuary where “training” would commence. Eli is often waiting for the other (horse) shoe to drop: “What are you really after?”

After that I simply locked Eli’s pasture buddy in the stall and let him decide to play with me and the silly clicker. Or not. He learned to target and to notice the word “touch” as well as “come” when I waved my hand. This he did without losing a shred of his dignity and autonomy. He didn’t want me to touch him at first and made a point to walk away, over and over, before approaching again on his terms and working for the treat. It was clear he wanted to make the choice and was testing whether I would truly allow him to do so. I made sure to be cautious, partly because of his gender, and carefully take note of attitude. I didn’t want to have to discipline him. This whole exercise was about choice, relationship, and willingness. No coercion allowed. This he tested once by coming to me on cue and suddenly turning and galloping back to hide behind the barn. When I didn’t come and get him, he poked his head around the side and trotted over without further issue.

After maybe four fairly pleasant clicker sessions Eli “spoke” to me for the first time when I entered the pasture. It wasn’t just a nicker but a horsey sort of sentence, complete with differing tone and inflection. He seemed happy to see me. For the first time I felt him truly engage in two-way communication rather then simply respond to pressure and release, knowing he has no other option. These little sentences have become the norm and it seems they are directly related to the clicker work.

Those who have horses hold certain equine experiences in a special place that is revisited privately and remains a source of joy and, often, intense emotion. These are experiences where you have shared something amazing with an incredible animal and know in your heart that it is real even while acknowledging others might think it silly or wild anthropomorphizing. One of those experiences came not long ago and I have tucked it away in that special place. I stood on my front steps, contemplating outdoor chores and tasks as I looked into the back pasture. Eli came around the corner of the barn and saw me. It was not even close to feeding time. This did not stop him from beginning the most amazing communication with me to date. He began to string together whinnies and nickers, and strange little noises that sounded altogether like another language. It was more then a sentence, it was a paragraph of words. The introvert has found his voice and I am delighted.

My favorite Bible stories involve the authentic conversations God had with his friends. I love Jonah’s complaining and David’s passion; love Abrahams bargaining, Jobs pressing questions—“why?” and Jacob refusing to let go of God until he received a blessing. I even love the ones that went astray—Balaam, for instance, who enjoyed real communion with the Almighty but wouldn’t listen until God spoke through a donkey. God values relationship, not coercion. He wishes us to come out into the open, blossom into the person He can see clearly inside. And sometimes I think He tires of the one-way conversations, the stale religious laundry lists of “I want/bless this/fix that.”

“Are you gonna let me talk?”

FIFTY FIRST CLICKS

In the movie Fifty First Dates Drew Barrymore plays a charming sort of airhead with memory issues. Every day is a brand new day as Barrymore wakes up and can remember nothing from the day before. The movie is funny and quite touching. Especially at the end when her boyfriend turned husband, Adam Sandler, makes a video of her life to that point and has it ready in the DVD player each morning so she can watch it and remember who she is and what she's done.

Reminds me of a certain horse…minus the DVD player and compassionate, understanding partner. I did find it funny, in a completely exasperating way, that my post last week used trailer loading as the example of negative reinforcement. I finished that post and walked outside to load horses for a ride with my daughter and discovered life wanted to imitate art. Again. 40 minutes after working Chance into a sweat using (highly) negative reinforcement to get him to load into my new aluminum trailer, I called it quits. Forget it. Forget these annoying beasts who call me to rise to a new level of patience and skill. I loaded up (my new favorite) Cowboy and drove off in a cloud of dust. While Eli would load easily, he’s been testing me recently and I knew I had no patience left to deal with that in the right manner. Instead, I watched my daughter ride and contemplated getting a motorcycle.

Okay, not really. But I did have time to think about the scenario with Chance and how to approach it when I had gathered together any remaining shreds of patience. Good opportunity to try out the clicker and see if positive reinforcement could help him remember he did know how to load and had, in fact, been loaded multiple times in more then one trailer. Did I mention I’ve already spent hours on trailer loading this horse? Yes, nearly all of his experience includes trailers with ramps, but that’s no excuse. We had ended the last attempt to load with one foot in—for approximately two seconds—and Chance hanging his head inside the trailer in total defeat, his eyes broadcasting the fact that he had completely checked out and would be (re)learning nothing else that day. At least that way.

Its important to know that this horse is highly reactive. No cougar would have a chance to eat this Chance in the wild. Trust me. He continually scans his environment for details—no matter how small—that have changed in his tiny comfort circle. Grass growing, for instance. We call him our guard horse. Though he knows his leads, is very light in the face, bends and counter bends, sidepasses, backs, stops on a dime, etc. etc. this is all useless when he gets anxious and something triggers his flight response. Cue Fifty First Dates. This horse is a perfect example of why emotional stability is so important in ones mount. You can get away with a lot of things on a horse with low flight drive or one that is dull/lazy. A reactive horse, on the other hand, broadcasts all the weaknesses in ones horsemanship in blinking neon letters. I’ve decided I will never knowingly purchase a reactive horse. That said, I foolishly enjoy a challenge and like to experiment. Seems I have a horse that provides endless opportunity for both.

I approached the trailer, clicker and treats in pocket, with Chance later that same day. His panic about the new trailer seems to be the fact that it is a step up and the floor moves more then the old one when loading and unloading—environment change alert. At that point Chance had had maybe five sessions with the clicker. He was interesting to work with for two reasons: he took longer then the other horses to connect the sound with the treat and he never went through the pushy stage to get at the treats. Because he disengages easily, he frequently lost focus during the sessions, staring off into space and entering that place in his mind that remains locked. The “key” I’ve used in training is negative reinforcement to get him to accept new things. While this has worked to teach cues and maneuvers, I cannot say it has helped at all in rewiring the crazy emotional circuits.

Once Chance discovered the correlation between the click and a reward he seemed very pleased with himself. We worked on target training and the head down cue. My goal is to get him to lower his head on cue and keep it there for extended periods of time. This lowers adrenalin and seems a multi-useful cue. Alexandra Kurland makes an insightful statement in her book: You are never training only one thing. Just as one behavior problem is multiplied in other areas of the horse’s life, good training in one area multiplies into other, seemingly unrelated, areas.

As for the trailer, it took two days to get Chance standing inside with all four feet. He isn’t completely comfortable yet, but he hasn’t shut down (and neither have I, for that matter). I feel encouraged. My hypothesis (fingers crossed) is that positive reinforcement will be a stronger motivator for this particular horse. The click and new language between us appears to help him stay in the thinking side of his brain rather then the reactionary one.

If this doesn’t work I’m outfitting a DVD player in his stall…



PS. The above picture is of Cowboy (this weeks favorite horse) frisking an empty bag of grain. I haven’t introduced him to clicker training—if it ain’t broke don’t fix it—but I’m sure he’d be an enthusiastic student. This horse would sell his soul (and yours) for food of any kind. Donuts, sandwiches, Cheezits, salt and vinegar chips…Cowboy enjoys buffet style dining.

THOUGHTS ON MOTIVATION

Though more complex in thought and emotion, human beings share a surprising number of traits with horses and other mammals. We may not have head to toe body hair (with the exception of that guy at the pool…eeewww, tramatized forever) but we are highly motivated by some of the same things: comfort, security, and social and basic needs such as food/water/shelter. Behavior is shaped by the drive to acquire those things and can become incredibly ingrained in the individual.

There are three ways behavior is shaped in human beings and horses: positive reinforcement, negative reinforcement, and punishment. Positive reinforcment in relation to this blog would go something like this: Post in a timely manner and Bill Gates will call and offer to share his fortune. Negative reinforcement: Write a posting OR be forced to keep track of all the friends who have won a chicken, or pirate booty on Facebook games. Punishment: If you don’t post now—and send it to ten friends for luck—a large meteor will fall on the house (thereby destroying the computer and access to Facebook…certain descent into social obscurity).

Though not writing much the last month ( I’ve become one heck of a painter and floor sander, however), I have been reading. One of the books I bought is about clicker training horses and the concepts of positive/negative reinforcement and punishment as training tools. Written by Alexander Kurland, it is fascinating.

I discovered clicker training a few years ago when a friend from Wyoming visited and taught me the basics with my gelding, Tango. Clicker training is exclusively positive reinforcement and uses a marker sound—the click of a small device—followed by food reward to create and shape behavior. It has been used extensively to train dogs, dolphins, and even zoo animals like bull elephants. I used it previously to get Tango to accept deworming and, just for fun, to retrieve. It seemed a useful method for tricks and such but, frankly, I didn’t see much practical application beyond that.

For training horses, negative reinforcement is a very effective method to shape behavior and is probably used most by good horsemen and women. The horse gets to choose its behavior though, admittedly, it is often the “lesser of two evils” if the animal could express itself that way. For instance: “Load into the trailer and stand or move your feet A LOT outside.” The horse would rather avoid both of those scenarios if it had its way.

Punishment, as Kurland points out, is addictive behavior on the part of the motivator, often escalates, and gets inconsistent results at best. It is definitely used to train horses but in my experience rarely successful and, if it is, the positive results are short lived and actually invite worse behavior. I use punishment sparingly and almost exclusively to deal with overt aggressiveness such as biting and striking.

I’m not sure why I have regarded positive reinforcement (using a treat, specifically) as an inferior training method. That darn horse should just do what I want, when I want it, right? A long trail ride and collected work in the arena surely beats lounging in the shade with a flake of hay.

I picked up Kurland’s book because I enjoy experimenting and have been looking for ways to draw Eli out of his shell and invite expression. Though he tests me sometimes with naughtiness, he is overwhelmingly willing to please and has a good work ethic once I get him on task. But I get the feeling that there is just more available in my relationship with him. I don’t know why. Because positive reinforcement is exclusively about the individuals free choice and desire, I decided to try it with him and see what happens. Tune into the next posting and I’ll share the interesting initial results of clicker training sessions with both Eli and Chance. That is, of course, unless Bill Gates calls. In that case I may be gone (to the Bahamas) for another month.


PS. Clicker training horses has enjoyed renewed interest and respect because of the experience of Karen Murdock and her Thoroughbred horse, Lukas. Check out this link.

PPS. The above photo is of 3 yo Tucker, the stud colt I started over the months of May/June. He's gone home now but since he inspired a prior posting I thought he deserved an appearance. Is he a cutie patootie or what? Love that little guy...

ME, MYSELF, AND OPINION

I’m frustrated. Had a great picture to go with this post but, alas, my fancy new HP printer does not want to recognize my geriatric computer and share photos. There is no doubt a simple fix for this problem but, if so, I wouldn’t know. Despite the valiant efforts of my 16-year-old son, I remain a techtard.

It’s pathetic to admit that I am, oh, about ten years behind technology. I’m still happy with the simple cell phones that had only one function—contacting people. I’m overwhelmed with the apps offered by Blackberry (which sounds deceivingly old fashioned) and Droid (too Star Trekky). After badgering me for about a year, my husband finally gave me his old Blackberry when he traded up. It felt like betrayal when I relinquished my dated cell phone to my eleven year old daughter. After all, it still worked! Forget being awed by a phone that can GPS somebody’s house or read the bar code off a can of beans, I’m blissfully satisfied and amazed by digital cameras that download the photo you just took onto a computer screen in a matter of seconds. Well, I used to be blissfully satisfied. If only I could get my computer and printer to make amends…Seems, once again, you’re stuck with a picture-less story (that I best get on with).

A few months ago I had one of those overly introspective weeks. My husband was busy reading beside me in bed one morning when I suddenly engaged him in conversation: “Am I a prideful person?”

“No,” he answered immediately. Before I could breathe a sigh of relief he hesitated and added, “Except for maybe with your horses.”

I was first indignant, then embarrassed. “Really?”

“A little,” my wonderful man smiled and leaned over to kiss me. Even when I don’t like what he says, it is still a relief to be married to a best friend that is completely honest. This is a necessity in life.

While I heard what he said, I mulled it over quickly and dumped it in a mental round file. After all, I’ve spent a lifetime with horses and worked really hard for what knowledge I have. It isn’t really pride that I might have, its more like experience.

I’ve noticed that there is a direct correlation to the amount of experience one has and their hearing sensitivity. Maybe its just me but when I feel I have a handle on a topic I can be a pretty poor listener. Yes I know God gave us two ears and one mouth, but I still sense invisible cotton stuffing itself down my ears when someone shares something I feel confident I already understand. One could call it pride, I suppose, and horse talk brings it out in me in the worst way. My husband’s observation was proven true just two weeks ago.

I downloaded my email one day and stared at an unfamiliar address. It took a few minutes of reading the rather lengthy message to remember anything about the stranger who had sent it.

Seems the owner of a horse I looked at once—a year ago—wanted to get a thing or three off her chest. I remembered the horse: small, older mare with a dynamite personality. I forget people, names, dates, directions, you name it, but horse personalities, how they made me feel, obscure names in their pedigrees, etc. stick in my brain like flies on tacky paper. I can see myself when I’m old and senile…won’t remember my own name—or my husband’s, for that matter—but I’ll remember that the grandsire of my child’s bus driver’s horse was Peppy San Badger. Don’t ask me why this is so.

The horse in question, while sweet as the day is long, had a way of going I found odd at the time. It niggled at me during the test ride and I immediately decided there was something wrong, or about to go wrong, with the horse. If I’ve learned one thing about horses it is that when things seem “off,” they usually are. Best to listen to one’s intuition. I knew the horse’s owners were hopeful I’d be writing a check. They seemed nice and I felt bad when they inquired why I didn’t pursue the sale. Since they asked, I decided to spell out (rather nicely, I felt) the reasons I passed on their animal.

I honestly enjoy picking apart a horse in a buying/selling situation. There is not a mean shallow reason behind this, it simply gives me the opportunity to air years of experience and discuss my favorite topic in detail, ad nauseum. I have a couple friends who also enjoy this pastime and we are probably the most annoying people on earth. For the horse in question, I chose a couple of what I felt were major faults and shared them via email. Seven months later, the owner responded. They told me I was wrong, dead wrong, with my observations; the horse was the best thing since cell phones. The various and sundry reasons I was wrong went on for several paragraphs. Further more, they wanted me to know they’d sold the beast to someone obviously smarter then I (or this was the insinuation). Bummer for me. As I stared at the email I heard cotton fibers marching down inside my ears. My brain immediately began humming with the cryptic response it wanted to create—by God, I'm a writer! I would blast the senders of the message with my words, my knowledge. I felt pity for them, stuck as they were, in their ignorance.

I’m not sure what first made me pause. Probably God pulling the cotton balls out of my ears. In a sudden flash of memory (definitely God), I remembered a few things about strangers who owned a very sweet mare; some sadder details that necessitated the sale of an animal they loved. The more I thought of it, the more I could see that not only could I have been wrong, the comments I’d made stung at a time when they were probably extra sensitive. It wasn’t about whether a sale should have happened or not, it was about the way my comments had come across at the time. Without a veterinarian’s exam I couldn’t prove anything at all was wrong with the animal which left me simply with…my own opinions. Rather then blast out an email, it seemed the right thing to do was acknowledge my ignorance and apologize for what had offended. I’d talked when I should have been listening.

Now, if anyone wants to help with my picture downloading issues know I am ever so humble. Seriously, I’m all ears…

A FOUR LETTER WORD

I want to invent a bumper sticker slogan. Something short and snappy like Just Do It, No Fear, or the ever enduring Shit Happens. I am a fan of concise declarations of truth. Once I saw a bumper sticker that said Fear God. For many people, that thought goes over like a lead balloon. More emotionally comfortable is something like God Happens (Hey, I like that).

The Bible, as it turns out, is a fan of four letter words. Love and Fear turn up everywhere. Besides, God is love (politically correct), The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom (politically incorrect) is firmly declared in scripture. What’s up with that?

When I think of my relationship with God it doesn’t resemble the “fear” some might have in mind. Fear, say, of dark alleys in big cities, or bungy jumping, or giving birth without pain killer. That’s real fear. I come to God without fear when I’m troubled, confused, sad, happy, or whining (His favorite, I’m sure). I sense His reciprocating grace, love, acceptance and even sense of humor. I fear God in the sense that I am afraid of being without Him and experience awesome humility when I consider my abilities and thoughts next to the Creator of the Universe. This considering of fear, respect, and love and how it all interacts has been on my mind as I work with my newest horse project, a very cute 3 year old colt named Tucker.

Tucker belongs to a friend of mine. I needed a little cash and Tucker needed to discover his usefulness to the human race so we did an exchange. Every time I work with a young horse I consider my own mortality and shocking lack of short term memory. Sorta like deciding to have a second child. How quickly I forgot the pain and exhaustion of child birth and signed up for it a second time! Starting a young horse isn’t exactly the same but it is also full of risk, uncertainty, and potential. Being part of the end result—a trusting and trained horse—is also incredibly satisfying.

Horses seem to pass through two stages before they arrive at the partnership/friend stage: the stage where there is a foundation of training and relationship and, ultimately, reward for both horse and handler. The most danger to both parties lies in navigating the first necessary stages--fear and testing.

Tucker arrived on my property in the obvious first stage of fear. He has had fair treatment his entire life, just not a lot of it. He reacts quickly to the smallest stimuli and is wary and jumpy. This fear isn’t all bad in the sense that it motivates him to respect a safe physical boundary between us. Because he is a stud colt, I appreciated his initial fear of me even more. The last thing I need is a youngster, jumped up on hormones, to shadow me like a bad rash: Fear of the trainer is the beginning of wisdom, young stallion. That said, I don’t want Tucker to remain in fear, but come eventually to see me as a trusted friend and leader.

My first time handling Tucker involved lots of reassurance: I petted and scratched him a lot, spoke softly, and assured him I liked him and thought he was a clever boy. Then I began desensitizing him by throwing ropes around his body and legs. Quickly Tucker decided I was okay, even pleasant, in his world. The first day I left him halterless in the field I was surprised and pleased when he trotted up to me willingly when it was time to be captured. We had the first whispers of friendship. Or so it might seem.Tucker is my sixth horse to start from scratch so I knew better then to trust our budding relationship too quickly.

A few mornings after I entered Tucker’s pen to let him out for the day. I opened the door to find him happy and eager to see me. Not to mention close. I spoke to him and backed him away, out of my personal space. Tucker complied but I noted the look in his eye. It said something like this, I'm not afraid anymore; maybe I don't need to listen to you at all. I have seen this look before. When I tried to halter him, Tucker was antsy and resistant. He did a subtle dance of body language and positioning, testing dominance and refusing to allow me to approach his sides. Not okay. So I made him uncomfortable, pushing him into movement around the pen this way and that. Tucker’s underlying attitude immediately erupted. He bucked and kicked out, aiming blatantly in my direction. I ignored the temper tantrum and reminded him of the invisible bumper sticker on his round pen panels: Shit happens to horses. When he stood respectfully I haltered him without further incidence. Tucker and I will have many more of these “conversations” as he figures out the difference between fear and healthy respect. For a horse there is no relationship without leadership based on respect. This grows into a beautiful friendship, not oppressive domination.

Love and fear are both four letter words with positive and negative attributes. Love, with no truth or boundaries, can be dangerous and manipulative. Fear that isolates and dominates will paralyze an individual. I know of many horse owners who ended up in the hospital because they “loved” their horses inappropriately. Conversely, fear—when it matures into respect—protects both horse and rider. The most dangerous (and future-less) horses are those with No Fear.