The Soul of a Horse

by Joe Camp

  That same stress, according to Dr. Katherine Houpt, a leading animal behaviorist at Cornell University, in an interview in the same magazine, is responsible for virtually all of the so-called stall vices. Pawing, weaving, head bobbing, stall kicking, cribbing, wind sucking, wood chewing, and tongue lolling are all a direct result of the horse’s not being out with the herd, moving around, munching most of the time, with lots of roughage in his diet. Getting the horse out of the stall is all it takes. According to Dr. Houpt, these “vices” have never been observed in horses who live as mother nature intended. Considering the number of products being advertised to “solve” these problems, one has to offer kudos to Horse & Rider for having the courage to even publish such an article.

  Humans trim their horses’ coats in winter to keep them looking good for the show ring. This undermines the horse’s ability to protect himself from the cold. Wearing blankets does the same thing. As does living in an enclosed barn, especially a climate-controlled barn. Yet this is the lifestyle of the majority of horses in the United States. Such accommodations, usually a small stall, also remove the horse’s ability to fulfill his need to move, which affects his feet, circulation, immune system, and general health, as mentioned earlier. And it takes him away from the herd, which causes more stress. And makes him unhappy. And, as you’ve also read before, often leaves him standing in his own urine and poop, which also adversely affects his feet, circulation, immune system, and general health.

  And so it goes.

  Humans have the most extraordinary ability in the world to rationalize.

  When Dr. Matt came by to do the vet check on Skeeter, he was wielding a huge oval-shaped stone, much larger than a softball. It looked like a rock out of our pasture…but it was out of a horse. A horse who had been fed a diet of 100 percent alfalfa. Alfalfa is not grass hay; it is a legume, and alfalfa grown in the southwestern part of the United States is very high in magnesium and calcium, the building blocks of stones. Per pound, there is actually four times the amount of calcium in our alfalfa than the average horse needs. An epidemiology study at the University of California, Davis concluded that 95 percent of horses referred for enterolith (stone) surgery ate a diet made up of more than 50 percent alfalfa. Yet Dr. Matt estimates that a majority of horse owners in our area feed 100 percent alfalfa. He does surgery regularly to remove these stones, and several times a year he has to put horses down because they’re too far gone—the stones too big, like the one he was holding in his hand.

  Why do they do it? With all the information available about equine nutrition, why would anyone in this part of the country feed straight alfalfa?

  “We work our horses hard. We’re riding three or four times a week. We need them to perform. Go fast. Alfalfa keeps them hot.”

  Is there another way to keep a horse’s energy level up without ingesting so much calcium and magnesium? Of course there is. But it might cost a bit more. Or take a bit more effort.

  Eighteen-year-old Skeeter was on straight alfalfa when he came to us. We tapered him down to 20 percent alfalfa and 80 percent coastal Bermuda, plus a scoop of Purina Strategy pellets morning and night. He lost a bit of weight, apparently accustomed to the energy and protein in alfalfa. So we studied a bit, spoke with Dr. Matt, swapped the Strategy for Purina Senior, and added some soaked beet pulp. A bit more trouble, maybe a tad more expensive. But his weight is fine, he’s a happy camper, and he’s not getting those excessively high doses of calcium and magnesium that can cause huge life-threatening stones.

  Living in the wild, horses eat a varied diet that usually includes legumes like alfalfa, but the majority of the diet will be of the grass family. Dr. Strasser reports that horses have an instinct for what medicinal properties certain plants have, and they know when there is a need for such natural medicine. In the wild, for example, they’ll go for thistle when their liver is irritated. Before it becomes a problem.

  In conventional boarding, horses are usually fed two or three large meals a day, leaving lengthy periods with no ingestion. A horse’s stomach is very small in relation to his size, perfectly suited for virtual continuous ingestion of small amounts of vegetation; and he needs to be continually processing roughage for his digestive organs to be in good health. When there are hours between feedings, which often consist of grain or pellets, without roughage, his body cannot function as it was designed to function. It makes him crazy, contributing to the stress of being confined, and helping to create those so-called stall vices.

  The horse has taken care of himself for millions of years. It only requires a bit of research, effort, and imagination for us to figure out how to help him replicate as much of that life in the wild as possible that will cause him to be happier, healthier, and live longer.

  Why would we not?

  16

  Love Is the Gift of Oneself

  The young Powhatan sat on a boulder watching the golden stallion play with one of his foals in the herd. The boy had grown tall, and lean, and muscular, and was no longer a boy. His ability to run, and hunt, and think had endeared him to the Shoshone chief and he had become a special adviser to the great leader of the tribe.

  It was his twelfth time to return to this spot where he had given his blessing and prayers to the stallion and encouraged him to follow his calling and join the herd. It had been a sad day for both of them, but the young man had well understood the great stallion’s wish for fulfillment, for he, too, was a man now.

  When they had first encountered the herd, the young man could sense the stallion’s emotions and knew what he wanted. He talked to him, his head buried in the stallion’s mane, and prayed to the great spirit to take care of him. Then, finally, he stood back and told him he was free to go. The horse stood for a long moment looking deeply into the eyes of the human with whom he had shared so much. Then he wheeled and raced away down the hill.

  The reigning stallion of the herd was actually glad to see him, for he was old. There was no fight for supremacy, no confrontation, just a passing of the torch, and the old gentleman was allowed to remain with the herd.

  Since that day, the Powhatan always returned on the first day of snow and when the spring flowers began to bloom. And the herd was always there.

  The matriarch began to move her charges into a stand of trees, but the stallion remained. He turned toward the hill and his friend sitting on the boulder. Then he came, just as he had done each of the times before, trotting up the rise, only stopping when he was nose to nose with the young man. They nuzzled for a bit, then talked about things. Although neither probably fully understood what the other had said, the moment, the history, and the bond were well understood. The Powhatan was glad that his adopted tribe wasn’t around to see the tear drop from his cheek, because he had no desire to hold it back. He loved this horse more than he had ever loved anything. Which is why there had been no choice but to release him.

  17

  Horses Aren’t Us

  For three hours I sat on a big, hard rock watching four of our horses investigate their new world. Our natural pasture was, at this time, unfinished, but we thought it wise to put it to the test before locking down the final touches. The horses paraded from the north end to the south, frolicked and played and moved each other around. They ran up and down the hill, nibbled on stray weeds, and otherwise had a fine time being out in the wild, so to speak. Everything went very well.

  Until we left the pasture.

  Kathleen and I decided to allow them to make the short walk back to their smaller turnouts untethered. These horses mind really well and the property is fenced, so they couldn’t wander off. We felt it would be a happy extension of their new freedom.

  You guys just come on along. Follow us.

  Three of them did.

  I was walking out front and didn’t notice that Cash had paused to nibble a weed. When I discovered that he wasn’t with us, I walked back and called out to him. He looked up, realized he was all alone, and, as Pat Parelli says, went totally right
brained. He leaped from a dead standstill to a full gallop, racing right past Kathleen and me, to catch up with the other horses. None of that would’ve been a problem were it not for a small section of concrete driveway that must be traversed on the way home.

  A small section that makes a tight U-turn.

  Going downhill.

  When Cash hit the concrete at full stride, trying to make the turn, his feet flew out from under him and he landed with a loud kerwhomp on his left side, leaving hair and bloody skid marks as he slid.

  I was frozen in place, horrified.

  Cash is the most athletic horse we have. The smartest. The most well mannered. The most loving. And the most accident prone.

  He’s been kicked in the head and bitten, has sprained a foreleg ligament, and today, as I write this, he has a sprained right rear fetlock in a soft cast. It’s not unlike a twisted ankle, probably from stepping on a loose rock or in a gopher hole in the new natural pasture. Shortly after he arrived at our place, I watched him go straight up a rock face, petrified that he was going to wind up skiing all the way back down, maybe on his back. He managed through that one without even a scratch. The fall on the concrete left him scraped and bloody in several places, but nothing was broken or seriously injured. We were lucky.

  There’s a piece of me that wants to lock him up in a padded cell and never let him venture outside. I know that if anything serious ever happens to him, in some way it’ll be my fault. I wasn’t a good leader when I let him get to that rock face, or when I allowed him to come back from the pasture on his own without a lead rope, or when I let him be in the same stall with the horse who kicked him. And, apparently, just letting him be in that steep, rocky, natural pasture leaves him open to injury.

  But would I take that away from him?

  Should I take that away from him?

  There lies the toughest part of entering the world of what is truly best for the horse.

  Us.

  We aren’t horses; and if that’s true, it stands to reason that horses aren’t us. So we mustn’t treat them as if they were. We must be able to rise to the occasion and accept the facts: What is freezing to us isn’t to them.

  What is safe and comfortable to us isn’t to them.

  What is warm and cozy to us isn’t to them.

  What breeds trust and respect for us is different for them.

  There are folks who believe that the best care for the horse is the safest care, no matter how miserable the horse’s days might be, no matter how many years are being cut off his life because of a sedentary, stress-filled lifestyle—in short, no matter what.

  Cash hates—I mean hates—being cooped up. I think the second-happiest day in his life was when he was turned loose in that natural pasture. The happiest was the day his shoes came off. Until that day, I had never actually seen a horse smile.

  What’s best for the horse is almost never what we humans think is best for the horse. As much as we’d like to believe that horses are like us, they aren’t. We must always ask ourselves, Is this what I want or what my horse wants? Is this truly best for my horse?

  To ask those questions might involve embracing change. The awful C word. But it’s a lot easier to accomplish what’s best for the horse than most people think.

  Our natural pastures, for example, were relatively simple and inexpensive to put together. We have three: two small ones and one larger, which is about an acre and a half. They’re all dirt, rocks, and steep hills.

  Oh my, shouldn’t a horse pasture be flat, without any dangerous obstacles?

  You mean boring?

  Well, on steep rocky hills a horse might get hurt.

  Tell me about it!

  So it is dangerous.

  The horses prefer to call it interesting.

  Oh my.

  Actually, the steep hills and rocks are good for the horses’ bare feet and teach them to pay attention to where they’re stepping, which translates well to the trail. The level of exercise is better, thus circulation and muscle tone are better, and stamina is improved.

  The large pasture, where all six of our horses now spend most of their time, is enclosed with an inexpensive electric fence. In the morning each horse receives a bit of Purina Strategy, about half a scoop as a supplement, a small bit of alfalfa, and approximately six pounds of Bermuda grass hay, a total of approximately thirty-six pounds for the herd scattered in fifty to sixty small piles all around the pasture in a big circle. That keeps them on the move most of the day, checking first this pile, then that one. Night feeding is the same. The smaller pastures are odd shaped, approximately fifty by sixty feet, and would work very well even if that was all the space we had.

  Our horses are out 24/7 with a single exception. If the temperature drops below 42 degrees and it’s also raining we’ll bring them into those cute little open stalls mentioned in chapter 2, which are half covered, with one closed side facing the usual weather. This allows the herd to stay dry if they so choose. According to most advice on this subject, neither rain nor freezing temperatures matter much to a horse unless they both occur at the same time. When the coat is soaking wet, it might not be able to protect against extreme cold, so we take Dr. Matt’s advice of better safe than sorry, and give the horses a choice of whether to stay under cover or not. We have a couple who never seek shelter. Go figure.

  The pasture is very close to these horses’ natural habitat. It certainly costs less than building a big barn and can often be set up in about the same amount of space, depending upon the number of horses who will occupy. For boarders, more and more natural pastures are popping up all over the United States. There’s even a racing and hunt club in the United Kingdom that requires all club members’ horses to be barefoot and live in the pasture with the herd. The name of the club is Horses First, and its horses are winning races all over the country.

  As mentioned earlier, I sometimes want to put Cash in a padded room to keep him from hurting himself. Wrap him up in a thick, fuzzy blanket. Feed him warm tea and hot chocolate. But watching him pace in his stall awakens me from this human delusion. Until his fetlock ligament heals, he’ll have to remain confined. But I haven’t forgotten how happy he was when he was first turned loose in the big natural pasture. The smile on his face. The prancing. The racing. The kicking. He was eleven hundred pounds of pure frolic.

  I have no choice but to let him go back as soon as he’s well.

  Because I love him.

  18

  The Bond

  The young Powhatan knew his horse.

  Inside and out.

  They had spent years together as each other’s only friend. They spoke the same language. They understood each other’s touch. The Powhatan knew, intuitively, what the stallion needed when it came time to release him. And the great stallion knew that it was okay to leave. It was the right thing. The strength of the bond between these two is rarely even dreamed of in the domestic horse world. And that’s very much a shame because it’s truly amazing how little time it has taken Kathleen and me to nurture such a bond with our horses. And how consequential that bond has been to everything else that we have done.

  There are those who believe it’s not possible to bond with a horse. Dogs, yes. Cats, maybe. But not horses. Yet I experience this bond with every member of our herd on a regular basis. And sometimes the things they do to confirm it can make my day, or my entire week.

  Dr. Marty Becker says in his wonderful book The Healing Power of Pets, “We should recognize the bond for what it is—living proof of the powerful connectedness between mankind and the rest of the animal kingdom. And the element of this powerful relationship that has always impressed me the most was the importance of nurturing another creature.”

  I wonder if those who don’t believe that you can bond with a horse also dismiss Dr. Becker’s statement about the importance of nurturing another creature.

  Just last week I was hauling my tripod and video camera down our very steep pasture, struggling a bit because o
f sore ribs, a remnant from my fall off a ladder. I was moaning to myself about it as I set up the camera to videotape herd movement. Five of our six horses would soon begin their meandering climb back up the steep grade toward where the camera was set up. Only Mariah had remained at the top.

  After a moment, I heard her shuffling up behind me. She paused at my back, lip-nibbled my shirtsleeve, and then the most amazing thing happened. She nudged her nose between my arm and my ribs and pressed her warm muzzle softly against my rib cage. Precisely where it was hurting. She didn’t move for minutes, until I had to shift position to start taping. It was a moment I didn’t want to end.

  How did she know?

  Moreover, why did she care?

  This is the horse whose relationship with humans was a blank stare when Kathleen and I first met her.

  This is the bond.

  Kathleen and I spend regular time in the pasture, without agenda, to foster this bond. And to learn about our horses. The relationship, generated with Join-Up, which gave the horses the choice of whether or not to be with us, continues to mature because of our time in the pasture. And we become better communicators. Everything about the relationship gets better.

  Time in the saddle, in the arena, and on the trail are important. But I believe the most important time is in the pasture. Just hanging out. It has done wonders for us and our horses.

  It continually strengthens the bond and our relationship.

  It teaches us about the horse, his habits, his language, his individual personality, and his genetics. How to read and understand what makes him tick.

  It strengthens our leadership and the horse’s respect.

  It dispels fear, both ours and theirs.

  And it breeds confidence.

  None of that can be injected, like a flu shot. It doesn’t come as a flash when we wake up one morning, no matter how much we wish that it would. And even though books and DVDs have certainly crammed us full of insight and knowledge, they cannot replace the benefits of experience that come with being there, doing it, absorbing, learning firsthand.