It’s been eight years since I first started working with my horse, Bit. I had no idea what I was doing, back then, and I’m sure Bit knew that. In fact, it may well have been the reason he spooked at everything. I mean it. Everything. Animate objects, inanimate objects, things that couldn’t possibly have hurt him even if they’d tried – worms come to mind, here. Things that didn’t even exist. So when I say that he spooked at everything, I am literally serious. Every. Thing.
I spent the first year training him from the ground because I was, quite frankly, too chicken to get in the saddle. Between training sessions, I’d let him graze a while, standing by, as I did, holding his lead rope while he ran circles around me because the wind had just blown, and that’s terrifying, isn’t it? Between you and I, it’s equally terrifying when a 16-hands tall horse runs circles around you in a way that tells you that you have absolutely no control over him. Once, he took off at such a high rate of speed that it was a case of let go of the lead rope, or let it rip my hand off of my arm. I let go.
I watched as he ran through a neighboring field. There was a road on the other side of that field, and I worried mightily that he would run out into it. At the last minute, though, he veered off to his right, aiming himself at the paddock where his herd stood eating hay. He stopped running once he reached the fence, and stood there taking stock of his surroundings. I knew enough not to run toward him, as that might send him off into the field again. I forced myself to walk calmly to where he was, and curiously, when I was about fifteen feet away, he did this funny little turn and trot toward me, only he trotted no more than a couple of steps, then stopped and waited for me to catch up.
Oh, good, you’re here! Now what do we do? he said.
“We go back out and graze some more, you big meatball!”
As time went by – and we’re talking years, here, not months – I noticed that while he still spooked, he didn’t seem to spook as much. Indeed, the clearest sign of progress was when I noticed a thing he did when he spooked in the cross-ties. Just before he’d start to rear up, I’d see him looking at me, trying to gauge from my demeanor whether the situation that had startled him actually warranted his breaking free from his restraints.
“You’re o.k.,” I’d tell him in a calm voice.
And what do you know? He’d take me at my word!
I don’t suppose he’ll ever be completely free of his spooky nature, and that’s probably a good thing: you never know when a situation will arise in which you are called upon to run like hell. The fact that he’s learned to trust me with this life-or-death, split-second need to assess and act on potential danger, though, is quite something indeed. He still thinks he knows more than I do about everything, and to some extend, he’s probably right. But after eight years, he’s willing to seek my input before he starts running. I can’t tell you how that warms my heart!
I did some groundwork with him today. I took it slow and easy, because he’s getting long in the tooth. Actually, so am I, if I’m honest. As I trotted alongside him, I was as out of breath as he was, and there was a lot of coughing going on – me, as well as him. We’re both coughing up hairballs, these days, and that brief workout taxed me every bit as much as it taxed him. After I gave him his customary carrot treat, I went home and put my feet up. I’m sure Bit did the equine equivalent. We’re working slower, these days. But we’re still working!
