going to be to defend themselves. You do it yourself.”
“I do?”
Her mouth dropped.
“
All
the time.”
“When?”
“Last night when I told you that paragraph in the book was not good. You bitched, and screamed, and got ugly…and then got up this morning and changed it.”
I thought about Schopenhauer’s quote.
“Phase Three,” I said.
We both smiled.
It kills me to find that so many horse owners make decisions based upon what they
think
is best for the horse without really doing the research. Or use human criteria to make the decision, not equine criteria. And the horses suffer as a result.
It began, I suspect, back when man first decided to dominate one of these thousand-pound animals. Working strictly from fear, with no comprehension of the possibilities available when the horse is given choice and a relationship is built, he must have believed that force was the only consideration for domination. And if one doesn’t dominate a beast so large, surely the beast will do the dominating. And hurt you. And ignore your will. This was the lesson taught by the old cowboy from whom we had bought Mariah. And, in days of old, such an attitude was just fine with everyone because that’s what man did. Dominate.
Genetics again.
At the expense of the horse.
A well-known clinician was asked to respond to a question from a woman who wanted to enter jumping competitions with her horse. It seemed that whenever she went to such a competition, her horse refused to jump. She wondered if it could be a negative reaction to being around so many horses or being inside a big, noisy facility. “Please tell me what to do,” she begged. I never saw the clinician’s response, but I hope he told her to begin by evaluating whether or not her horse
liked
to jump. Before being asked to do extreme competition, shouldn’t a horse have some inherent desire to do it?
Like the new Benji. She enjoys performing, reaching, figuring things out. We have other dogs who could care less. And one who would be totally intimidated by the workload. To put that dog through a movie production would not only be a disaster, it would mean massive stress for the dog.
When we were searching for the new Benji in shelters all over the country, I looked for a dog that not only resembled the original Benji, with those famous big brown eyes, but was smart and intuitive, and, most important, loved to work, loved to please his master, loved to take on the kind of long and difficult chores that are always present during the production of a movie.
It’s true that a horse who doesn’t like to jump, or rope, or cut cattle, or run barrels, or race can be made to do it. If the horse is strong and athletic, he can probably be made to do it pretty well. But doesn’t it stand to reason that if the horse really enjoys doing something, he will do it better than if he doesn’t? And he’ll be a happier horse. And he and his human will have a better relationship. And he’ll be without the stress that comes from doing what he hates, or what he is mortally afraid of doing. Which means he’ll live longer.
And if participating in the competition is of his choice because he
likes
doing it, and if he’s been taught well, there will be no need for force. Or cruelty.
What kind of force or cruelty?
When Dr. Matt was out to vet check Kathleen’s new horse, Skeeter, he ran his hand gently across the big palomino’s rib cage. There were thirty or forty small dimples in the coat and skin. On each side. Dimples like you might see in someone’s chin.
“Know what those are?” he asked.
“No idea,” we said.
“Internal scars from spurs.”
Our mouths dropped open. And we choked back tears. Skeeter is a beautiful eighteen-year-old quarter horse, who has done some dressage but was mostly used as a roping horse in competitions.
This is the sweetest horse you could ever want to meet. As willing and well mannered as Cash. Without a mean or ornery bone in his body. Yet
“I do?”
Her mouth dropped.
“
All
the time.”
“When?”
“Last night when I told you that paragraph in the book was not good. You bitched, and screamed, and got ugly…and then got up this morning and changed it.”
I thought about Schopenhauer’s quote.
“Phase Three,” I said.
We both smiled.
It kills me to find that so many horse owners make decisions based upon what they
think
is best for the horse without really doing the research. Or use human criteria to make the decision, not equine criteria. And the horses suffer as a result.
It began, I suspect, back when man first decided to dominate one of these thousand-pound animals. Working strictly from fear, with no comprehension of the possibilities available when the horse is given choice and a relationship is built, he must have believed that force was the only consideration for domination. And if one doesn’t dominate a beast so large, surely the beast will do the dominating. And hurt you. And ignore your will. This was the lesson taught by the old cowboy from whom we had bought Mariah. And, in days of old, such an attitude was just fine with everyone because that’s what man did. Dominate.
Genetics again.
At the expense of the horse.
A well-known clinician was asked to respond to a question from a woman who wanted to enter jumping competitions with her horse. It seemed that whenever she went to such a competition, her horse refused to jump. She wondered if it could be a negative reaction to being around so many horses or being inside a big, noisy facility. “Please tell me what to do,” she begged. I never saw the clinician’s response, but I hope he told her to begin by evaluating whether or not her horse
liked
to jump. Before being asked to do extreme competition, shouldn’t a horse have some inherent desire to do it?
Like the new Benji. She enjoys performing, reaching, figuring things out. We have other dogs who could care less. And one who would be totally intimidated by the workload. To put that dog through a movie production would not only be a disaster, it would mean massive stress for the dog.
When we were searching for the new Benji in shelters all over the country, I looked for a dog that not only resembled the original Benji, with those famous big brown eyes, but was smart and intuitive, and, most important, loved to work, loved to please his master, loved to take on the kind of long and difficult chores that are always present during the production of a movie.
It’s true that a horse who doesn’t like to jump, or rope, or cut cattle, or run barrels, or race can be made to do it. If the horse is strong and athletic, he can probably be made to do it pretty well. But doesn’t it stand to reason that if the horse really enjoys doing something, he will do it better than if he doesn’t? And he’ll be a happier horse. And he and his human will have a better relationship. And he’ll be without the stress that comes from doing what he hates, or what he is mortally afraid of doing. Which means he’ll live longer.
And if participating in the competition is of his choice because he
likes
doing it, and if he’s been taught well, there will be no need for force. Or cruelty.
What kind of force or cruelty?
When Dr. Matt was out to vet check Kathleen’s new horse, Skeeter, he ran his hand gently across the big palomino’s rib cage. There were thirty or forty small dimples in the coat and skin. On each side. Dimples like you might see in someone’s chin.
“Know what those are?” he asked.
“No idea,” we said.
“Internal scars from spurs.”
Our mouths dropped open. And we choked back tears. Skeeter is a beautiful eighteen-year-old quarter horse, who has done some dressage but was mostly used as a roping horse in competitions.
This is the sweetest horse you could ever want to meet. As willing and well mannered as Cash. Without a mean or ornery bone in his body. Yet
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