The Soul of a Horse

by Joe Camp

  The herd had encircled him while he was sleeping, protecting their protector. The sentinel was on duty. It’s the same anytime any horse lies down. The herd gathers and guards. The sentinel watches and listens. Horses need REM sleep and cannot get it standing up. But on the ground they are more vulnerable to predators, so most horses will not lie down unless guarded by the herd. One of the many reasons why nature never intended horses to live in isolation.

  It was dark now, and the golden stallion was up and about, fully refreshed. It was time to change locations. Move away from where they were last seen by man. He nudged the mare and she wandered through the herd, nuzzling and growling. Calling the troops to order. Time to move on. And they did.

  The herd would move seven miles to the south before stopping again. A small stand of spruce along the edge of a ridge would provide all the cover they needed for others in the herd to get some sleep. The men, if they did come looking, would not find them, would not even be able to see them until morning, and by then they’d be gone, once more on the move.

  8

  The Wild Horse Model

  Our new natural pasture was ready. Not a pasture in the green grass sense of the word. This one was dirt and rocks and virtually straight up and down. Very steep. But in those ways it actually matched our research on the wild horse model, which, in essence, is an attempt to imitate the way horses live in the wild. And it was the best we could do with the virtually unusable acre and a half behind our house. It was surrounded by an inexpensive electric fence inside a perimeter fence of chain link that was already in place.

  And now it was time to try it.

  We were worried.

  Was it too steep? Would the horses like it? Were there too many rocks and boulders? Would they hurt themselves? Would they all get along in the same pasture?

  Scribbles was first.

  He’s the quiet one. A gorgeous paint, but not long on charisma. He’s the one most likely to be found standing in a corner, seemingly motionless, for hours. Lazy would be a merciful understatement. He has the best whoa of any of our six, because it’s his favorite speed. No reins needed. Just sit back a little, then hold on for the screech of tires. Can we stop now? is his favorite question. He leads like it’s an imposition to ask him to move. Oh, all right, if you insist, but you have no idea how much effort this is.

  Which is why his first venture into the natural pasture left me with my mouth hanging open in astonishment. As the halter fell away, he spun and was gone like a bullet. Racing, kicking the air, tossing his head, having the best time I’d ever seen him have. This was not a horse I had met before. He went on for a good ten minutes, with me just standing there, grinning like an idiot.

  I could imagine that somewhere inside those two brains he was screeching Whoopee! I’m free! I’m free! Finally, he trotted back over and in his own begrudging little way said thank-you. That was the beginning of a new way of life for Scribbles and his five herd mates.

  Horses in the wild, on average, are healthier and more sound and, under decent conditions, live longer than horses in domestic environments, say Dr. Strasser and natural hoof specialist Jaime Jackson, among others. That doesn’t mean we should turn all our horses loose. It means that we should exert every effort to care for them at least as well as they care for themselves in the wild. To pattern their care after the wild horse model rather than after the human or dog model. In effect, to replicate as much of their lifestyle in the wild as is humanly possible.

  As the logic of that research sank in, Kathleen and I often found ourselves looking at each other through astonished eyes. Either our discoveries were truly amazing or we were certifiably nuts. How could so many people be so wrong for so long? It simply didn’t make any sense.

  “But we began the same way,” Kathleen said one day. “We were right there, buying into the same things.”

  She was right. When we began this journey, I’m not even sure we realized that wild horses still existed. We certainly didn’t know that they had been around for fifty-five million years. So, like most people, we had given no thought to how they had survived all that time with no assistance from humans. We had never read Dr. Strasser, so we didn’t know about her research, which concludes that horses in the wild today can live up to twice as long as the average domestic horse. So, of course, it follows that we had no idea why. We simply had no knowledge of any of it, so how could it apply to us? Which, unfortunately, is the case with most of the folks we’ve run into.

  Now, when we start spewing all this information at some unsuspecting horse owner, eyes widen and jaws drop. And some of them rush off to get away from the weirdos.

  But many of them rush off to be pardoned by their horses.

  And that makes it worth the effort.

  These are the easy ones. The open ones. The ones who see the logic of it all.

  The tough ones say, “Oh, that’s so wrong. The domestic horse has been bred and cross-bred so many ways that he’s not even the same species as the wild horse anymore.”

  This is unfortunate because the experts tell us that millions of years of genetics could never be wiped out by a few generations of selective breeding. The reason many of these folks truly believe what they’re saying is because their horse has had some sort of disorder, like lameness, for so long that they are certain he must be genetically unfit. However, the problem most often lies in his metal shoes, or his tiny stall, or his diet, or stress.

  Documented case after case confirms that these unhealthy domestic horses can become healthy again if the source of their ill health is removed, if they’re given the opportunity to live as nature intended.

  The story of Shy Boy answers the question of whether horses can be happier domestically than in the wild. Without debate. We know from study and firsthand experience that humans can have amazing relationships with horses. They can become part of the herd and be chosen as a leader. But a good herd leader cares for his or her herd in the best possible way. The knowledge we’ve gobbled up and the experience we’ve gained overwhelmingly confirms that the best possible way is from the perspective of the horse, not the perspective of the human. Horses want and need to feel safe, to be as healthy as possible, and to live as long and happy a life as they can. And none of that happens when they’re away from the herd, motionless in tiny stalls, eating only a couple of times a day.

  I was out with the horses one night, thinking I could get the feeding and mucking done before the rain started. The rain that wasn’t even supposed to be here in October. But there it was, and wet I was, and cold. The temperature was only in the midfifties, but to me, sopping wet, that was freezing.

  I looked at our horses, heads down, dripping with water, and I just couldn’t stand it. I went for the halters and lead ropes and brought them into their covered stalls. The stalls are open, actually only half-covered, with one solid side facing the usual weather assault, but if we’d had a cozy barn with central heating and warm fuzzy pillows, I’m sure I wouldn’t have hesitated to take them right in.

  It’s difficult for humans, especially when cold and wet, to understand that the horses do not feel like we do.

  I was traveling with my son, who was looking for investment property in northern Idaho. We had been driven out to a gorgeous ranch with a huge log house, fenced pastures…and a spectacular six-stall barn. While my son was kicking tires and asking questions, I was having quite the nice time strolling around this beautiful place, lusting after such a spot, especially the barn. What is it about us humans that makes us want a big barn almost more than we want the horses that would go in it? As I walked down the center aisle, I was struck by how clean it was. Pristine! When the owner happened by, I said, “Do you never use this barn? It’s so clean.”

  “Oh sure,” he said. “We use it for hay storage.”

  “What about the horses?”

  “They like to be outside.”

  “Even in the winter? In the snow?”

  “Yep.”

  We we
re only twelve miles from the Canadian border. Winters are not warm here. I was amazed.

  The owner walked around the barn to show me a lean-to he had built, which was attached to the side of the structure. Just a roof, with divided stalls, to keep the horses separated when eating grain. They had free access to this shed, but never came into it except for their grain. Again, I was amazed. This ran so counter to everything I felt for my horses. We want to think of them as big dogs, and treat them in the same manner.

  They aren’t big dogs.

  Not even close.

  Dogs, like humans, are cave dwellers—predators, who feel comfortable taking care of themselves. They run in packs primarily to gain advantage in the hunt, not for safety. Pat Parelli says humans and dogs are most interested in praise, recognition, and material things. Horses are not interested in any of that. Horses are interested in safety, emotional comfort, play, food, and procreation. Praise, recognition, and material things are of no interest to them. At all.

  Hard to grasp, isn’t it?

  But, come on, what harm can it do to show a bit of TLC by storing them away in a nice comfy stall, with central heat and air, a bit of velvet on the walls, and a soft, cushy floor?

  A lot of harm. Believe me when I tell you: a lot.

  What we humans feel our sweet babies should have is most often exactly the opposite of what they need for health and happiness.

  A horse’s entire physiology has been built over millions of years to:

  Move a minimum of fifteen to twenty miles a day, on bare hooves

  Be with the herd, physically and thus emotionally safe, unstressed

  Spend sixteen to eighteen hours a day eating…from the ground, a variety—continuous uptake in small quantities to suit their small tummies

  Control their own thermoregulatory system, thus controlling their own internal body temperature with no outside assistance, such as heat, blankets, and the like

  Stand and walk on firm, fresh ground, not in the chemical remnants of their own poop and pee…nor be breathing the fumes of those remnants, plus the excessive carbon dioxide that accumulates inside a closed structure

  Get a certain amount of unstressed REM sleep, which usually will only happen when surrounded by a herd with a sentry on guard

  Dr. Strasser compares the complex interaction of the equine organism in its natural surroundings to a key in a very complex lock. Alter anything on either side—grit in the lock, a corner broken off the key—and the entire system is no longer functional.

  Of course, a horse who has been in a controlled temperature environment or who has been wearing a blanket has not been able to grow a winter coat and lacks the stimuli (temperature fluctuations) that trigger and strengthen the activity of the thermoregulatory system. That horse must be introduced to winter gradually. Put him out in the early spring and let his system reac-climate. He’ll then be ready for the following winter.

  The only area where the horse might need a bit of help is under extremely cold conditions when it’s raining. When a horse’s coat gets soaked, and it’s really cold, and he cannot get out of the wind, his systems might become overloaded. I’ve found no hard research on this, so I say better safe than sorry. If there is no natural windbreak in the turnout or pasture, provide, perhaps, a covered windbreak where he can stay clear of rain in extremely cold weather, and he’ll be fine.

  When I was standing out in the cold rain, without a raincoat, feeling sorry for my horses, I didn’t want to hear, “Your horses are fine, Joe. Leave them be.” It was difficult for me to believe, as miserable as I was feeling, that the horses weren’t miserable, too. But the truth is, they weren’t. And the things I’ve been seeing, like the horses on the trip to Idaho, always push me to learn more, to dig, to throw out the marketing-induced guilt of the barn and blanket makers, the “traditional” reasoning, and try to get to the truth. For no other reason than I care for my horses as much as they appear to care for me.

  When we take control of one of these lives, when we say, I will be responsible for this animal, his care and feeding, his health and happiness, we tacitly promise to give him the very best care that we can. To learn everything we can about the horse, and how to give him the longest and very best life possible. Not the life we think he should have because that’s what we’d like, but the life we know is right because we’ve studied it and are certain.

  Yet the majority of domesticated horses in the world are kept in some sort of stall for at least part of the day/night cycle, if not all of it. Often within a closed structure, like a barn. Some stalls are bigger than others, but the vast majority of box stalls in closed structures are approximately twelve by twelve feet. The accumulation of negatives from this lifestyle is devastating to an animal born to be outside, on the move, with the herd, day and night.

  The most frequent argument we’ve heard is, This isn’t a wild mustang, it’s a domesticated horse. As if the declaration “He isn’t running free” would somehow change the millions of years of genetics that have made him what he is. As if such a statement would make the ammonia from poop and pee eating away at his feet disappear; or cause his physical structure, which was built to be on the move constantly, to be suddenly fine with standing still twelve to twenty-four hours a day. As if it would make his respiratory system, which is built to be outside breathing fresh, clean air, suddenly find it healthy to breathe in ammonia and high quantities of carbon dioxide in a closed environment. The average horse breathes 62 liters of air a minute, producing 150 liters of CO2 per hour. And ammonia is so destructive to protein, it is actually being taken off the market in some countries.

  Not being a wild mustang does not compensate for the reduced blood circulation a horse wearing metal shoes suffers while standing still in a stall. Reduced circulation in turn weakens the hoof by reducing the quality and quantity of horn produced by the hoof. And reduced circulation that doesn’t efficiently pump blood back up the legs to the rest of the body adds stress to the heart and affects the immune system.

  And whether mustang or domestic, it isn’t healthy for a horse to eat from a bucket, feeder, or hay net usually hanging at table height when his body is built to eat from hoof level. Nor does being domestic negate the claustrophobia and stress he lives with on some level, caused by feeling trapped, unable to flee, alone, and bored. Never mind how willing he might be to go into the stall either because he has always been forced to or because he knows that is where the food is.

  Is it any wonder that domestic horses, on average, do not have near the life span of horses in the wild?

  The wonder is how so many caring, intelligent, conscientious people have remained so uninformed about what they’re doing to their horses. This information is readily available. In studies. In books. On the Internet. Backed up. In depth. With consensus.

  The wild horse model works. It’s simple to create. And the horses are not only healthier, they’re happier.

  Just ask Scribbles. Or Cash. Or Mariah. Or Pocket. Or Handsome. Or Skeeter.

  9

  Bloodlines

  The golden stallion circled the herd, watching, waiting. It was his job to protect, but he was always keenly interested when one of his loin was to be born. In the center of the herd, the matriarch lay on her side, new birth imminent. Unlike many stallions, the palomino felt attachment. A new foal was noble, and he treated it so. Perhaps the quality of his lineage, and all that his ancestors had been through, had somehow found its way into genetic code. Or maybe it had always been there. The blood of a stallion who had traveled the entire breadth of this great land ran through his veins. And that of one who had saved his herd from shipwreck. His pride was justified. And, once again, he was passing it on.

  THE STORM HAD hit the small fleet the day before at dusk, unexpectedly and with vicious intensity. The ships were immediately scattered and lost contact with each other.

  Swinging helplessly in his harness on the smallest of the five ships, the big stallion expected to be ripped apart at an
y moment by the driving forces of the crashing, breaking waves. He tried to twist around to check on his herd, but each wave came larger and more menacing than the last, smashing over the bow, sending torrential rages of angry sea across the decks. Were his mares still alive? He had no way of knowing.

  Twenty-six humans were belowdecks, crammed into a space barely large enough for ten, and they were all violently ill. If not from the turbulent sea, then from the vomit of those less sturdy. Fifteen horses were swinging like wind chimes from the rigging of the ship. One mare had slammed into the gunwale and fractured a leg. It was miraculous that, so far, hers was the only severe injury. But the palomino stallion knew none of that.

  Another explosive onslaught of foaming seawater drove his feet off the deck and slammed him toward the rail, testing the strength of his harness. He managed to lift his legs and swing clear of the gunwale. He knew he was going to die but not without a fight. He snatched at one of the rigging ropes supporting him. It would be better to be in the sea.

  Across the big ocean, he had often swum in the sea before he was captured. He and his entire herd. It was a sad day when they had been caught off guard. A day just like this one, with no expectation that humans would be about. The beach, with waves crashing and winds blowing, had seemed a safe place. But when the humans appeared, there had only been two options. Swim into a sea as stormy as this one or run for a small canyon and hope for the best. The matriarch had taken her only real choice, but the best didn’t happen.

  The stallion was descended from proud Arabian stock brought to Spain after the Crusades, and his mares were mixed with his blood and that of the Barb. And now, because he had not protected them well, they would all surely die.