So often in everything that people do, the doing becomes more important than the being — and the case is no different in equine therapy.

As numerous exercises are developed and routines followed, frequently, the essence of just being with the horse is lost. So much so, that the fact that horses are, after all, horses and not tasks, objects or people is overlooked. When this happens, the very lessons horses can teach are lost on us. Therefore, in order to really absorb what horses have to offer, sometimes it is just best to observe them in the unaltered environment — that is in their herd. For this reason, this blog is both an entrance into the nature of the herd, and an excerpt from my book, ON THE BACK OF A HORSE: Harnessing the Healing Power of the Human-Equine Bond.

“Did you tell them he’s a weaver?” Sandi slammed the brakes on the golf cart and it skidded to a stop.

Lowering my weight into the saddle, I closed my hands on the reins, bringing the young three year old I’d been hacking to a halt. “He’s not.”

She stood and placed her hands on her hips, “Oh yes he is, come see.”

If there was one thing I had learned about Sandi in the three months I’d been riding for her, it was not to question her. There was no need to, she’d been right about everything so far, even when I was absolutely sure she was wrong. I should’ve known better, Sandi had spent a lifetime around horses.

Growing up on the east coast, she had her start in horses like so many kids do, through the local pony club. Only there was one problem, she had no pony. Struggling financially themselves, there was just no way her parents could afford her passion. “See if someone will lend you a horse,” was their response. Sandi did find someone willing to barter the privilege of riding their pony in exchange for feeding and mucking out the pony’s corral twice a day. Even though she had to bike five miles to and from their house twice a day, and get up at five am to be at school in time, Sandi thought she had struck gold. That is, until she tried to ride the pony.

What the family hadn’t told her was that the only reason the pony was being lent out in the first place, was because their daughter refused to ride him. He had bucked, bolted, and attempted to dislodge her by aiming for low hanging branches at a full gallop. When he tried the same routine with Sandi, she quickly realized that the “sweet little pony,” she’d been caring for was a demon in disguise. But she refused to give up. The only way she was going to have a pony to ride, was to learn how to ride this one. And for Sandi, giving up was not an option. That’s what made her such a great rider.

Graduating from the ranks of pony club, and moving to a larger hunter-jumper barn, Sandi’s name soon became associated with an uncanny ability to ride anything with four legs. Especially ponies. Because she was young and still quite small, ponies that had outsmarted their naive young riders were sent to her, as the adult trainers were typically too heavy for them. A typical problem with kids and ponies, and much of the reason ponies have a reputation for being malicious, this situation is also  what makes a fearless kid rider invaluable.

But it wasn’t just fearlessness that led to Sandi’s success. Due much more to necessity than anything else, she learned how to read the horses. Subtle movements often missed by other riders’ became second nature to her. Before long, she could almost predict what each horse was going to do, before he did it. And she knew how to respond to them too. Where other riders would leap off in fear, or resort to whips and spurs in anger, Sandi would sit quiet, and do nothing. At least that is what it looked like. Yet, she was communicating, imperceptibly, with each horse. Sometimes she’d move quickly and forcefully with the horse, but never against him, and never in anger.

When she decided to move to California and start her own training business, after years fluctuating between the hunter jumper circuit and the racetrack on the east coast, she soon found herself with more horses than she could take on. At the time, not many other trainers would take on the projects she would, and none were quite as effective. Adding to her talent was the fact that she specialized in sales, and knew most of the trainers on the east coast. A horse that had developed a bad reputation in California, could get a fresh start at a barn across the country. In effect, with Sandi’s talent and connections, he could be taken from a horse that “no one wants” to a valuable asset.

“You weren’t kidding,” I hopped down from the young mare and ran my stirrups up. Sure enough, the horse I had brought in for Sandi’s buyers to see was swaying back and forth in what seemed like a half conscious state. Eyes glazed over in a fixed stare at nothing in particular, he looked like a zombie.

“You didn’t tell them?” Sandi rested her hand on my horse’s gate and shifted her weight as she looked at me incredulously. If there was one thing Sandi would never sacrifice to make a sale, it was the truth.

I shook myself from the hypnotic state I was in, and shifted my eyes back to Sandi, “I didn’t know. I didn’t even know what weaving was.”

Sandi, turned her head back toward my horse, “You’ve never seen a weaver before?”

“No. How does a horse get like that?” I asked taking in a behavior that I had only seen before in autistic children.

“It’s a man-made condition,” she turned back toward the golf cart and sat down.

“You mean, it doesn’t happen in the wild?” I turned loosening the girth on the young mare.

She sat back against the seat and put her hand on the steering wheel, “It doesn’t happen until we create it.”

I looked back at my horse, still bobbing slowly side-to-side. “Why not?”

“Hop in,” she patted the seat of golf cart and I sat next to her, pulling the mare along side. She sped down the barn aisle as the mare trotted beside us, “You met Junior?”

I handed the mare off to Arturo, her groom, “No, who’s that?” I asked turning back toward her.

“You’ll see.” She turned the cart toward the back pastures that stretched out down the hill behind the huge unfenced arena. Typically used to raise the young and rest the old, the back pastures were also a place for the horses Sandi didn’t want her buyers to see. Sliding the cart to a stop again, she reached behind her seat and pulled a halter out of the tangled pile that created a mound on the back shelf of the golf cart. Watching her as she upended the mound, a movement to my left caught my eye. A solid black horse, nose against the fence, was bobbing and weaving rhythmically in the catch pen that stood in the corner of the pasture. Sandi used catch pens for horses that had learned to evade people and turned catching them into a chore. A horse that became evasive with people in a pasture, would go running the moment he saw the halter. And once he learns this method of escaping, it could be almost impossible to halter him. However horses only learn to run from the halter, when there is a reason to.

“That him?” I nodded toward the shiny black gelding.

Sandi nodded back, “Not bad looking, huh?”

I turned back toward Junior, his rhythmic sidestepping creating a flume of dust on each side, “No, but what happened to him?”

She pulled her gloves on and started toward angled corner of the wooden catch pen, “He came from a dressage barn at LAEC, and the owner refused to turn him out because she was worried he’d hurt himself.” She paused at his gate, the dust cloud billowing up behind her, “so from the time he was imported at three, he was boxed up, and only saw the light of day when the trainer rode him. But because they didn’t turn him out, he go to play, and scare the trainer who’d then just crank on him more and put him in draw reins.”

The LAEC stood for the Los Angeles Equestrian Center, but actually, I might as well have stood for a zoo. Sitting in the heart of the city, the ambiance is complimented by freeways, smog and loud noises. And like Los Angeles, it’s overcrowded. Like people, horses that live there have been known to become neurotic. Especially when they are imported from Europe where the farms are typically pastoral and quiet, horses are completely unprepared for the mayhem they find themselves in. Draw reins are a way to run a separate rein from either between the horses front legs, or attached to the girth of the saddle under the rider’s stirrups, like a pulley system that forces the horse’s head into a correct position. While this can give the trainer added control, it also forces the head into an unnatural position, and many horses soon come to resent them. “So not only did he only see the light of day when being ridden, but even then, he had to stare at the dirt.”

Sandi shook her head. She hated lack of understanding leading to abuse, even if it came in the sophisticated version. “It’s a shame-could’ve been a nice horse,” she opened the gate.

I hadn’t stopped watching him weaving-he seemed completely unaware that we were there, “So how long has he been like that?”

She approached slowly, swinging the rope lightly in his direction, “About a year — they tried everything from stall toys to music — he hasn’t responded to anything.”

“That’s why he’s in here?”

Junior hadn’t responded to the Sandi, and she reached up to scratch his neck, “Yeah, I was worried he’d run straight into the fence, he seemed so out of it.”

I watched her slide the rope slowly over his neck and pull him toward her, “So what are you going to do with him?”

She moved to his left side and slid the halter over his nose, “I’m going to put him with the mares.”

Sandi’s broodmares were like the school board members that liked to believe that they really ran the school. They had been here the longest, and seemed to think they’d earned the right. A bossy set of old thoroughbreds, warmbloods, and a few quarter horses  Sandi frequently used them to reprimand the young geldings when they got out of line. She’d put an unruly youngster in with them and he would come out a polite, penitent animal, ready to work. I followed her as she made her way down the hill toward their pasture.

As we approached their pasture, the mares came running up to the fence. Junior still looking dazed, and didn’t seem to notice. Pausing at the gate, Sandi turned back toward me. In my haze I had forgotten to step inside the pasture and drive the mares back away from the gate so she could enter. “Sorry,” I grabbed a rope off the back of the cart and hustled through the gate. Driving the mares back, I turned to check that Sandi had let Junior loose, and slid through the fence out of the pasture.

Junior stood facing us where Sandi had left him. Right as the mares rushed him, suddenly, another movement on my right side caught my eye. Tucker, Sandi’s German Shepard was racing toward us. Known for his proclivity for chasing horses, Sandi usually separated him from them. Only two years old, any moving object from a tennis ball to a visitor’s car meant a potential hunt. Becoming fixated, he’d go into a frenzy until Sandi called him off. Turning back toward her, I touched her arm and pointed, “There’s Tucker.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the horses.

I stood back as Tucker flew past us in a whir. Ducking through the gate, he headed toward the group of horses that had encircled Junior. They all wheeled around and took off. Except for Junior. He seemed oblivious to the fact that the mares had bolted toward the other side of the pasture. Expecting him to run, Tucker had missed it too. In mid stride, he caught a glance of Junior, halted, and spun back toward him. Reaching Junior in three strides, he pounced at him, both front feet hitting the ground almost underneath the massive black body. Lunging from side to side, he barked nervously pounding the ground with his feet. But Junior stood still, seemingly unresponsive to Tucker’s flurry of barks and pounces. Eyes glazed over, he looked like a deer in headlights. Becoming crazed, Tucker crouched lower as he aimed and snapped at Junior’s heels. Lunging forward and backward, each thrust came dangerously closer to contact. Yet Junior was frozen in place.

I looked over at Sandi. She too, was motionless, her eyes locked on the commotion.

A neigh from the back of the pasture caught my attention. The mares, who had been watching the commotion, all stood facing Junior. Ears pricked forward, and heads raised, they were as focused on Junior and Tucker as Sandi was. Looking toward each other and then back toward Junior, they began to rustle. One of them gave another neigh, stepped forward, and paused, looking back at the herd. Then another mare stepped forward and reached out, touching her nose to her companion’s flank. Another neigh, and a different mare moved from the herd also reaching out to the first with her nose. Taking another few steps forward, the mare in front neighed again. It was Divine, Sandi’s best mare, and also the most dominant. With each step forward she paused, hesitantly, and the two mares flanked her just a step behind. The rest of the herd stood back, a tight bunch collected in the corner of the pasture.

Stepping and pausing, Divine began to pick up speed. She trotted a few steps and paused again, lowering her head and snorting. The two mares hung back. Then suddenly, she galloped forward, lowered her head, and flattened her ears completely back. Aiming right at Tucker, she hit him at full speed. He went flying to the side and landed skidding sideways. He immediately came racing back at her. She spun and wheeled her hind end at him sending a flurry of kicks in his direction. He dodged her kicks and went right for Junior. Divine cut him off, bumping right into Junior’s side with her chest. The stunned gelding lurched sideways, and struggled for balance. Unfazed by Divine, Tucker leapt at him again. Lunging in front of the now furious dog, Divine sent Junior staggering to the side again. As he tried to steady himself, Divine nipped, hitting him first on the rump, and then the shoulder. Tucker went for Junior again, and again Divine bumped him forward, determinedly driving her teeth into the black hide. He lurched a few steps forward. Divine kept her body between the unsteady black mass and Tucker, nipping him forward while kicking at Tucker.

Junior lurched forward again. She nipped again, sending him forward a few more steps. She was driving him toward the two mares that had flanked her, and with each nip he steadied more, and picked up speed. Finally he broke into a trot. As Junior approached them, they circled around beside him and nudged him forward. Divine then spun toward Tucker and caught him on the shoulder with her teeth, sending him flying again. Turning back toward Junior, she rushed up behind him and drove him into the herd. They all gathered around, sniffing the shiny black coat from head to toe. Junior began to sniff back tentatively. Fifteen noses sniffed and nuzzled back. Standing encircled by them, he took a step toward Divine. She greeted him with a soft nuzzle, then moved away. He took another step toward a different mare, and she reached out with her nose, touching him along the neck. Then another mare, and another — slowly, he was beginning to wake up. Tucker, on the other hand, had finally retreated, and was standing next to the golf cart, panting.

“That answer your question?” Sandi turned toward me.

Still mesmerized, I kept my eyes on the herd, “About weaving?”

She reached up shielding her eyes from the sun, “About why it doesn’t happen until we create it.”

“You mean because Tucker went after Junior?” I turned toward her.

“Why do you think he went after him?”

I looked over at Tucker, now lying beside the golf cart, “Because he was an easy target?”

“Well,” she put her hands on her hips, “what made him an easy target?”

I glanced back over at Junior,  “He was out of it.”

` “Exactly,” she answered as if that solved the mystery.

“So wait,” I looked back at Sandi, “weaving doesn’t happen in the wild because it makes the horse vulnerable to prey?”

She nodded toward the group of mares gathered around Junior, “Not just the horse, the herd.”

“What do you mean?”

She turned back toward them, “Did you notice what Divine did?”

“Yeah, she came over and defended Junior.”

“Which she wouldn’t have had to do, if he wasn’t out of it.”

I looked back at the herd, still standing close to junior, nuzzling him, “So because he was out of it, the safety of the entire herd was jeopardized?”

“Exactly.”

So altered states in humans jeopardize the safety of the individual, but altered states in horses jeopardize the safety of the herd. No wonder they don’t happen, I thought to myself, because the herd won’t allow it. Unlike people who run from an individual who doesn’t trust his environment, horses run to a horse who doesn’t trust his environment. Where people are afraid of one who is out for it, horses are afraid for them.

Thinking back, I had witnessed this before. However, what I had seen my horses do had prevented the state Junior was in. In the times I had had a nervous young horse, or even a mare who’d just been weaned from her foal, all of the other horses would become exceptionally interested in this horse. Keeper, my rogue thoroughbred off the track, had had that effect on the herd. From the time he arrived, a nervous ball of energy, he created a stir. Often riding him alongside the three pastures that sat behind the house, the horses inside, young or old, would all come running. It was as if Keeper held more interest for them than any other horse. And the effect was the same at the horse shows.

Keeper and I would enter the warm-up ring and before long, all of the horses warming up would be just as wound up as he was. But it was always the mares, the maternal figures of the herd, that attended to him the most. Any time he’d have a fit while being worked, they’d all come running. And yet they wouldn’t necessarily do this with the other young horses who could be just as playful. With Keeper it was different, his playfulness seemed to signal something beyond a simple curiosity in them. Keeper had an intensity that the mares noticed. An intensity that, unless attended to, would render him unsafe.

So the horses did what herd animals do — when Keeper’s nervousness escalated, they matched it, becoming equally concerned for him. His tenseness would be responded to with a flurry of concerned neighs. In this way, the herd never allowed Keeper’s nervousness to move him to a separate emotional plane, and become disconnected from them the way schizophrenics or autistics can from people. And because of this, Keeper, although at times very angry or fitful, never felt misunderstood as psychiatric patients often do. So, instead of beginning to mistrust the horses around him, my rogue thoroughbred continued to turn to them for reassurance. Because they had responded to his reactions in a way that matched them and offered concern, he had no reason not to trust them. However, had my group of horses turned from him as people might have, he most likely would have resorted to an alternative form of coping, such as weaving. But for Keeper, unlike for Junior, was had been artificially separated from the horses around him, the herd had stepped in and prevented it.

Maybe the horses were, for Junior, like the rescue I had provided my client.

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From Psych Central's website:
PsychCentral (August 19, 2011)

Delicious Flavour (August 19, 2011)

From Psych Central's website:
PsychCentral (August 19, 2011)

Milhealth (August 19, 2011)

    Last reviewed: 19 Aug 2011