(This blog was
originally posted on May 11, 2016)
 |
| Photo by Sara Fogan |
One of the most important qualities of a good relationship is the amount
of mutual trust shared between the partners. I believe this is especially true
of the relationship people share with our equine partners, as well. I am
grateful that I have twice been blessed to share this kind of bond with two
equines. My first horse, Geeves, was a big Thoroughbred
gelding and retired schooling master. He passed away in 2010, and I still feel
his loss every day. Galahad, an Arabian/Lipizzan gelding pictured above, is one of
my greatest joys and a true embodiment of the knight in shining armor. He has
really lived up to his name on many occasions.
A former trainer often reminded me that the Arabian horse is
historically a “people” horse. Many people have first-hand experience of how
well this breed takes care of the humans in their lives. They love and are
great with little kids: put a child on an Arabian or part-Arabian horse’s back
and you can trust that the animal will do its best to keep the little one safe
during the ride. I still remember my first ride on a little Arabian gelding
when I got back into the sport in 2003. Even though I was a grown-up, Vinnie
knew that I needed extra support and even some TLC the first time I got back in
the saddle after a 19-years’ hiatus. When I lost my balance—which I did a
couple times during that first ride—the gelding adjusted his body under me and
even stopped so I could find my seat again.
Galahad does that for me, too—and not just when he is under saddle. At
our first barn, when I would go out to catch him in the paddock where he was
turned out with the other geldings, my horse often turned his body sideways as
if to block his herd-mates’ access to me. It was as if he knew and understood
that, as a human, I was fragile and more vulnerable to injury from the rough
play that he enjoyed with his buddies. No matter where we were in the paddock,
my horse immediately changed his posture as if to shield me when another horse
approached us. Was this action a gesture of true protection or jealous
territoriality? For the first few months after I bought Galahad, whenever I had
him on the wash rack to rinse him after a ride, he often moved his body to
block my visibility to cars passing by on the street. He actually did this a
few times before I realized what was going on, because he usually stood quiet
and still to get rinsed off. But before I
could detect the sound of an engine, my horse took those few steps to position
his body closer to the street.
People scoff at my interpretation of these behaviors—alternately
chastising me for anthropomorphizing Galahad’s actions and warning me about the
inherent danger of handling and riding horses. Nonetheless, I know what I
believe. When I work with equestrians in hypnotherapy, one of the first things
I ask is for them to rate their level of trust they have in their equine partner
and whether/how much their horse trusts them. Without trust, how can we explain
or understand the various things horses allow us to do while we are on their
backs? Without trust, how do we feel confident and secure to do those things without being frozen
with fear that the horse will run away with us or dump us into the dirt the
first chance they get?
I experienced the most significant example of my horse’s apparent
concern about my well-being a couple years ago. Once a week or so I would take
Galahad for a walk around the neighborhood to give him a change of scene and
relax after spending so much concentrated time training in the arena. He got to
do all of this work just in his halter, not bridled and under saddle. Even
though I didn’t ride him on these excursions, we were still “training” as we
practiced serpentine figures, lateral movements and even backing up the street.
We practiced staying calm and being brave when the next-door neighbor’s donkey would
brays and trot up the fence-line or another neighbor’s dogs barked as we walk
past.
One day, about 10 minutes into our walk I became so weak that I could
barely finish walking up the street back to the barn. It took fifteen minutes
for us to travel about fifty feet, but my horse never put a hoof wrong. Every
few yards I needed to stop to catch my breath; every time, Galahad just stood
quietly and even cocked a hind hoof as I leaned against him for support. He was
like a rock—my rock. Of course, I told him what was going on—that I felt ill
and I just needed to rest for a minute before we started off again. I have no
doubt that if I actually needed to stretch out on the side of the road he would
have been a sentinel for me then, too. (Fortunately, I never needed to do
that.) At one point, we stopped very close to where the donkey comes out to
greet us. Even though Galahad was used to the sound of the little equine’s bray
he still sometimes did a double-take or took a side step if he wasn’t expecting
to see the animal. That day, however, my horse never flinched or even look
anywhere except over his shoulder at me or straight ahead as we forged our way
slowly back to the barn.
Looking back, I can only express
how grateful I was and am to have such a loyal and, yes, protective horse in my
life. I was truly vulnerable that day: if he had spooked at a car or a loose
dog, who knows what would have happened. I doubt that I could have been able to
hold onto the lead line and keep Galahad calm in that situation. What still amazes
me is that I never even worried about it, at the time,. I had complete faith
and trust in my horse to help get me safely back to the barn the way I have
always done for him in the past. Galahad was described as “a knight in shining
armor” on the promotional DVD I saw before I bought him. On that day—and every day—he truly lives up to his name
and that description.
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