All my life I've heard people talk about horses being able to sense our emotions. I've had it proven to me time and again, even as a child, if I was angry about something, my wonderful mare, Holly, would be uncatchable. If I was sad, she would be there for me with her soft nose in my face, or ruffling my hair. If I was distracted, she would be the same. When I was focused, she was on target and fabulous.
I always thought of these emotions - the ones horses could detect - as being rather black and white, easily grouped and definable; obvious, not rooted in a lot of complexity. And then after my knee fracture last year, nothing has been obvious or black and white, my role with horses has been filled with shades of grey and loads of complexity.
It's not what it might appear on the surface, it's not a fear of horses, because I wasn't hurt by a horse, I was hurt because I made a bad choice. This idea of blaming myself for what happened - well, it's the truth and sometimes the truth just hurts. So, where did that leave me? After a lot of pondering over my situation I realized that I lost a lot of confidence after that fall, not confidence in my riding or training ability, but confidence that I would make the right judgement call in a split second when I have to make an instantaneous decision. And this has potentially frightening repercussions when that decision can have disastrous results. And the loss of confidence wasn't instantaneous, it took a while to sink in, with all of it's complexity.
Of course, it's easy to say no one died, it was only a fracture, surgery, no walking for 3 months, and a big ol' wad of money spent on barn help, doctors bills, rehab... it was a life changing event that I don't want to go through again, as long as I live.
That has left me oddly unsure. Not hesitant to handle my horses but just not confident in my ability to make the right choice in a pinch and I can see that this lack of confidence has bled over into how horses interact with me. I think the ones that know me well have tried to look the other way, because this change isn't what they expect from me.
But Cal, the newest addition to the herd, didn't know me before the accident, so I think he most clearly reflected what he read in my intentions. He was more aware of this than I was for a long time. OK, I guess I was in denial to some degree, aware that I had these concerns but not sure what to do about them, so in a true procrastinator fashion, I hoped if I ignored them, these feelings would just go away.
Then a few weeks ago, I was working with Cal on trailer loading. He had some past issues with loading and clearly if he came off the trailer on his own, he had been backed as punishment. I'm assuming that because once he started backing off, he backed for probably 50 feet before he stopped with a high head and concern in his eyes.
After taking a strictly positive approach using clicker training concepts and his favorite rewards for forward movement, he got the idea that he didn't need to keep backing, coming off the trailer was acceptable.
But he hesitated to come all the way in the trailer until I asked him to follow me into the straight load stall. Now, I'd been avoiding this for several reasons, one being I'm not as agile as I once was and a straight load trailer isn't a huge space for a horse and a human. And with a stiff knee and if he panicked or got an attitude, which he sometimes does, I'd be trapped in a small space with him, and no easy way out. I also ultimately wanted to be able to send him into the trailer, but at that moment, he was telling me that he was unsure and I knew sending him in wasn't likely to happen that day.
The other, and perhaps more important message that I got from Cal was that he needed me to be a confident leader, not to hesitate being in a small space with him, I needed to be able to welcome him into MY space, and share my confidence that this was a safe step for him to take.
It all happened so fast, it's as if I decided that I was safe with him and within moments he decided he was safe with me, and suddenly he was in that trailer stall, next to me, looking pleased with himself and happy as a clam in that confined space. He was focused enough to step forward and back and forward again, when I asked rather than getting stuck in gear like many horses tend to do once they begin backing out of a trailer.
Looking back on this experience, I'm reminded that it's not enough to want or try to project an emotion, because horses aren't fooled by any of that. They can feel what is in our hearts, and they can ferret out any hesitation or glimmer of failed confidence. They are truly our mirror in so many ways. Not necessarily a mirror in our mood, but the feelings beneath our mood, the ones we often try to ignore or deny. I think they show us what we project that we may not want to see or admit or acknowledge, in addition to our strengths.
If we allow them, these fabulous creatures can be our guide in the evolution of the human spirit. The key is that we have to welcome them into our space, literally and figuratively. They offer every day, but do we always accept their offer? (-:
