As far as the scabs and the chestnuts, there are probably more infections, and some pretty hefty-kneed horses wobbling around out there.
Grooming a horse can be a true joy. It makes you feel close to your horse; to rub it, inspect it, tidy it. It's part of the whole horse-loving experience; and although I often feel like I envy the pictures of the rider coming in from her evening hack who just tosses the reins to her stable boy, I know I'd miss the satisfaction of putting my horse to bed for the night. Of personally rubbing him down, and watching him enjoy a well-deserved dinner.
Being able to climb on his back in order to trot aimlessly around big pastures and circular trails isn't the only reason we love horses. Seeing that they're the best they can be: healthy, shiny, alert and happy is as much a goal, and probably more so, than any riding challenge or skill.
CHAPTER FOUR
Horses Are People Too
Horses are not as smart as Trigger.
In truth, horses are not as smart as some pasture rocks. This all came as a big surprise to me. My perception of the horse was based on the Saturday morning television shows "My Friend Flicka" and "Fury" as well as Trigger and Velvet's mighty King; all perfectly capable of going for the sheriff when the ranch began to burn. So what happened?
The horses I knew had some polished tricks, true. They responded to riding commands and were fairly adept at being ridden--something I assumed horses did fairly naturally from all the Westerns I'd watched as a kid.
When brought in from the pasture, they knew which stalls were theirs.
Not exactly horse calculus.
They knew that a bucket hanging on a hook or even left forlornly on the ground inevitably meant that they were to stick their noses into it in anticipation of food. They will usually not run away from you if you approach them in the pasture waving a carrot. All confirmed skills in The Horse Bag-Of-Tricks.
But desperate news for someone who expected, if not to be saved from a rock slide now and then by her horse, at least that the creature would have equal the intelligence of her pet Cockatiel. The more time I spent around horses, the more respect I began to have for the cleverness my friends' pet dogs and cats.
"My God! Look at your dog! He's fetching his leash!!"
"He always does that when he wants to be walked."
"But that's incredible! It's like he's communicating with you!"
"Stick around, you can watch him sniff a tree."
In comparison to horses, even my pet Cockatiel--a bird who is literally a pea-brain--began to show heightened intelligence. Although it's true a horse wasn't terribly blessed in the brains department (his brain, in relation to this body, is about the size of a grape), he does have a pretty good memory and very highly developed senses.
He can see behind him and in the dark, has incredible hearing, can supposedly smell when you're uptight or tense and has a pretty sensitive hide, enabling him to feel, (if not respond) to the slightest touch.
In addition, a horse will quite often have heaps of personality. Which is another important lesson horses have helped us learn about life in general: just because you have trouble remembering all the mechanics involved in chewing, (which, I must say, is a problem a horse never has,) doesn't mean you're not a fascinating character. Stupid is not always dull.
This doesn't mean that there are not dull horses. There are stupid, dull horses. But even with dull horses there is one thing you can count on, and that is that they are unpredictable. Even horses that are sweet, gentle, dormant, comatose, and sedated are always capable of surprising you.
The horse is a prey species. It is used to being picked on, chased, eaten and generally harassed. As a result, the horse has always been a little edgy. Since prehistoric days, the horse has run even before he knows why he's afraid. This initial paranoia is probably why the horse is became a herd animal. Horses assemble not for companionship, but because several sets of ears are always better than one.
In the 1983 movie Ghandi, there is a scene where a crowd of people are confronted with an army of charging soldiers on horseback. A resourceful leader in the crowd instructs the people to lie down and when they do, they discover that the horses will not step on them.
A horse will go to great lengths to avoid stepping on anything except terra extremely firma. This goes for water, leaves, snow, mud, sticks and even some grass, as well as people's bodies. It's all due to an innate protection plan: long ago, the primordial horse must have figured out that if anything happened to hurt one of his feet, he'd be defenseless. Lunch on the hoof, so to speak, for some marauding saber-tooth. This natural equine aversion can be quite a pain when you're toodling along a trail with all the natural debris one finds on a trail, not to mention all the unnatural debris one finds from Man's contribution.
Of all the studies done on equine behavior, it's been established that horses live within a pecking order (or, more accurately, a kicking order) in the herd. The top horse, called Alpha Horse by animal psychologists, more or less lords it over the rest of the flock, going out the gate first, eating first, pinning his ears back at the least provocation and generally acting like a real swine. Then, there's his lieutenant or Beta Horse and so on down the line until every horse has a rank and a place in the herd.
When Alpha is out being ridden or otherwise indisposed, Beta takes over, much like the vice-president in the democracy of horse-government; he hones his nipping and ear-pinning skills, and generally makes himself unpopular with the other horses. This equine hierarchy will seem particularly cruel to you if your horse, Stardust (alias Omega) displays permanently embedded hoof and tooth prints in his hide every time you come out to ride him.
It's common to say that horses are much like people. I'm not sure they're much like people, but they do tend to have some moods and characteristics like people. In the little pasture herd at the boarding farm in Georgia where my friends kept their horses, it would be accurate to say there's a representative microcosm of horse relationships and behavior.
Shadow, a ten-year old black Anglo-Arab with a white star, stands around 15 hands, (a "hand" is a unit of equine measurement that is, quite literally, the height of a man's hand. So, stacking 15 man-size hands on top of each other, would give you the height of Shadow.) He had a tendency toward chubbiness, and although a very handsome horse, he was one requiring an experienced and patient rider, Shadow was, unlike most horses, gelded late in his career. This was generally looked upon as the reason why, in a pasture of mares and geldings, he's the undoubted Alpha horse.
It's hard to separate Shadow's aggressive personality from his sexuality by suggesting that if he'd been gelded earlier, he'd be easier to manage and more docile. To look at him, tossing his glossy head, or flattening his ears menacingly, it would be hard to imagine him as anything but forceful and irritable with the other horses.
Little Dancer, on the other hand, is a 14'2 hand chestnut pony with sweet doe eyes and the lovely face of a thoroughbred. As Shadow's owner also owns Dancer, the two are always brought in from the pasture together, ridden together, fed together and released together.
As a result, they have become good friends. They are inseparable in the pasture which allows the little pony to enjoy special pasture privileges he would otherwise be denied. He may not be Beta, exactly, but none of the other horses will bother him. Interestingly, after a few years in this favored position, Dancer began to become more aggressive toward some of the other horses--as if realizing his invulnerability and capitalizing on it. One of the horses he decided to wage a one-horse war against happened to be Beta himself. In fact, there is some debate as to whether Dancer didn't eventually knock Beta from his hierarchical slot.
Beta Horse. Called Lightning by his human acquaintances, the (perhaps) erstwhile Beta horse is an eight-year old registered Appaloosa, about 15'2 hands and a fine specimen of some of the most incredibly ugly horseflesh on the hoof. Lightning features pale, distended lips and pink, wrinkled eyelids that protect watery, red eyes. His whole look
rather resembles a red-headed albino in the process of a gynecological exam.
This horse does, however, come the closest to having a human-like personality. Unlike the other horses, his relationship with people comes nearer to the fantasy than the reality. He's capable of devising and participating in games with his owner, from tag to hide and seek (although admittedly, Lightning doesn't hide very quietly), to grabbing up a crop in his teeth and conducting imaginary orchestras. He also tends to be a more involved riding companion; nudging the rider gently, inquisitively on the shoulder if she dismounts for any reason, as if to say: "Hey, what's the story here?"
Further down the line of the Equine Who's Who and Who's A Pasture-Patty is Traveler, a fourteen-year old, half quarter horse, half Arabian chestnut. 15 Hands with a grass belly not unlike that of a portly old gent, Traveler has four white socks and a white face with very intelligent eyes.
Traveler is sweet, slow, lazy and passive. A definite Omega in the hierarchy of pasture horses. He hangs out with an old outcast hunter-jumper named appropriately enough: "Old Guy".
These two huddle closely together--missing each other whenever they're parted and usually keep well away from the rest of the herd. When I first knew Traveler, he was pretty much left to himself by his owner, a fourteen year old girl who was often on restriction or otherwise prohibited from coming out to ride and care for the animal. It seemed a shame that Traveler would be penalized too whenever the girl's grades would dip, but such is often the logic of a non-horse parent.
As a result, pretty Traveler was often covered with bots (tiny fly eggs that gather on the lower extremities of a horse in late summer), his hair matted, missing shoes, hobbling around on too-long feet and otherwise a mess. The general barn consensus is that he'd even foundered at least once.
Foundering, or laminitis, is a curious disease and vets don't know a whole lot about it. They do know that it can come about by running a horse on too-hard surfaces, by over feeding or by allowing him to drink large quantities of cold water after a hard workout. The laminae tissue on the foot, and it's usually the front ones, becomes inflamed and the horse goes lame and is very uncomfortable as a result. Traveler was getting a good deal of love from his young owner, but not the care he needed to stay sound.
The horses as a herd (or gang, as they often appear to the newcomer) have a fascinating corporate personality. They'd almost always rather be together with their horse buddies than anywhere else. Oh, they'll come along peacefully enough for the most part when you traipse out, carrot and halter in hand, to bring them in for a ride and dinner. But if they could dispense with you and just go straight to the dinner so they could return to their horsy chums, they would, gladly.
This understanding of herd dynamics is even utilized by some course builders for show jumping events. Often, the course designers will take advantage of the horse's natural interest in staying with the group by beginning the jumping course with a couple of easy jumps and putting the more monstrous ones in a position where the horse is jumping toward the collecting ring with his friends in it.
All in all, horses are fascinating creatures. Personable, good-natured (for the most part), curious and, if not loving, certainly lovable. With less brains than a good-sized begonia.
On the other hand, if you own a horse (and this doesn't normally apply to rent-a-horse-type horses since it's anybody's guess where their loyalties lie) and spend any sort of time with it (keeping in mind that horses become annoyingly recidivistic if left to their own devices long enough), you'll probably begin to find it showing evidence of actually looking forward to your visits. Your horse is your companion--complete with mood swings, bad days, frisky moments and a sense of humor--and he will repay your hard work and care.
Such a magnificent animal is the horse that he is also, if not to be preferred over dogs (also a magnificent animal, I believe) possibly to be preferred over some people and many cats. I've discovered that, in many cases--although probably not all--the people who spend a lot of time with horses, working with them, riding them, training them, even loving them, are sometimes not terribly nice people.
These people can usually keep those heels down, boy, and sit a horse in a way that would make Princess Anne swoon. Often, they are good mothers and daughters. (Although wives is another matter.) But a horse person's people skills are often not the strongest part of her usually sparkling personality.
As you'll no doubt discover.
Chapter Five
Horse People
I've always believed that simply owning a horse shouldn't automatically make you a bitch. Like any group of people, there are some nice horse people. And with any luck, as a newcomer, you'll meet them. But, because there is a certain level of skill involved in riding or training horses, you will find people who think themselves quite wonderful.
They will think they are more wonderful than other horse people and their measure of wonderfulness quite disappears off the graph when viewed in relation to non-horse people.
This feeling of superiority to non-horse people is not as fulfilling to those who have it, however, as the sensation of making at least one other horse person feel stupid or cheap or unskilled. This is the easiest, most satisfying way of making the superior horse person feel smart and talented.
Since so many horse people indulge in this disdain, there is actually very little damage done. They pick on each other as happily as two mutually committed buzzards. And horse people are a durable, hardy breed. Even, some might say, insensitive.
Dish it out, they do, and take it, they can.
Some of the best breeding grounds for horse person-contempt are tack shops. These are great because they're an obvious meeting place for all kinds of horse people (although western riders have their own tack shops, usually, so at least that particular friction is not manifested. English-style horse people tend to rank western riders somewhere below non-horse people who've been convicted of a misdemeanor.)
Perhaps it's the combination of spending money and being surrounded with horsy accouterments that make horse people in tack shops so churlish. Here is where arguments over tack capability can be heard at its shrillest. And while tack shop personnel might not be the most solicitous sales help you've ever encountered, they've a right to be a little peevish now and then considering the character of their typical customer.
For example, in three days of loitering about two different tack shops, I overheard the following conversations--usually when the salesperson was about to make a sale.
A portly, middle-aged woman with wide hips wearing full seated breeches (immediately informing one that the woman obviously did not own a full-length mirror) surveyed a wall of sparkling bits and chains and then spoke quite comfortably to the entire store.
"Why, there must be one hundred different bits here and only two are ever necessary. No matter what you're doing or what kind of horse you have, you only ever really need the loose-ring snaffle or the full-cheek twisted snaffle. The rest is rubbish." (Horse people often prefer English terms to coarse Yank ones, like "garbage" or "no good".)
The same and incredibly pervasive school of thought that says all you need is a loose-ring snaffle usually goes on to point out that if you use anything stronger, you're ruining the horse out of laziness, meanness, ignorance and all-around insufficiency as a human being.
A heavyset young woman, her chubby arms crossed in front of her chest, advising a young woman and her daughter intent on buying the girl's first saddle while the saleswoman looks on.
"Never buy a deep seat saddle. Never. There never is a need for one. Ever. See all these deep seat saddles in this showroom? Useless. Just waiting for someone to throw their money away."
To the brand-new rider, who doesn't own a horse but wanted to start taking lessons, a large, red-faced man, in full hunting pinks, wagged his crop at an incomprehensible tangle of leather straps and buckles on a table and huffed, "Before you buy anything else, you need to pick up a set of side reins. Before your hard hat
, before your boots. Side reins. Absolutely imperative if you're to start riding correctly. And then, of course, the lunge line must be your next purchase."
A woman in her early forties, with pinched face and blood-red lips, explained to her companion--who, by her attire and athletic body, looked as if she'd done a considerable amount of riding herself,
"If you go out to the pasture, my dear, and you want to catch your horse, you should bring him a carrot."
The woman looked at her companion with emphasis and then continued. "And if you do this on a regular basis, he will soon get used to the idea of your coming out there to give him this carrot," she paused to see if this was all sinking in, "and will, in time, allow himself to be caught by you."
The evident self-satisfaction with which this statement was uttered is a classic example of the extreme pleasure that horse people receive for their jewels of equestrian wisdom.
A horse person will always have an answer with no hems, haws, hedgings, or maybes.
"If his shoulder slopes, forget it. You'll never get a decent canter and you can't jump him."
"I saw your horse, Bitsy, and he was covered in snow."
"I hope you didn't brush it off, it'll help insulate him and keep him warm."
"Gosh, no, I'd never do anything so dumb. But I did put Furozone on a little cut he had so he wouldn't attract sharks."
"There's not a horse living I can't train, ride, break, or teach to use a knife and fork."
"It's common knowledge that horses hate baths. Forget that they're hot and sweaty after a twelve-mile trail ride in 90° heat. Turning that tepid or cool hose on them will be most unwelcome. Will literally, in some cases, make their skin crawl."
Horse Crazy Page 4
