undertherugmusings

[undertherugmusings]

Mr Nice Guy

He's a bit of a grumpy bastard, though it's no fault of his own. He had a rough start to life beginning in a remote corner of the mountains, then taken from his family without any warning, left standing with no coat in the snow at an auction before finally being shipped off to the other side of the country. He wasn't the only horse who went through this ordeal, and many of his herd mates arrived at their new homes just like he did: traumatized, untrusting, afraid of the world, and determined to stay as far away from people as they possibly could. I don't blame them.

Although the story of Walter's journey to trust and handling is worthy of it's own post, we only need to take a look at the highlight reel to develop the foundation for this account. We'll stick to the highlights because it was a long and slow process. It began with his impressive (though perhaps inevitable) escape from our clutches the moment he had a tiny breath of freedom. We thought we would be smart and put him in our secure lunge ring so that he could decompress. We thought that after his traumatic ordeal he would be exhausted and find the solitude relaxing. We were wrong. Quite simply, we had no idea how much he hated being in any confined space with people. He helped us to understand his sentiments immediately. The instant the lead was unclipped from his halter he promptly trotted to the fence and jumped out, vanishing from sight within seconds. The squeals in the distance indicated that he had run into the rest of the herd. The rest of the afternoon would be marked with the sound of horse hooves hammering on the ground as they galloped up and down, squealing and generally disapproving of the intruder. Needless to say it was a chaotic afternoon, and it would be months before anyone would share a physical space with Walter on his own volition.

I decided to approach him with the latest research of horse neurobiology and methodologies in mind. I focussed on consent and creating positive encounters. I incorporated mimicry in my training for the first time. The next few weeks and months consisted of a delicate dance between Walter and I, where body language defined all our interactions. If I advanced and he retreated, I would retreat until he advanced toward me. I found that he was very focused on where my feet were pointed (as a miniature horse the world is most probably a forest of legs), so I would gently "herd" him by pointing my feet left or right. In this way he would follow the other horses from the field to the barn at night and eventually into his own stable. He followed the path of least resistance as all the other horses would be in their stables eating, and his door would be left wide open with his food bucket sitting in the doorway. He was under no undue pressure to go inside, and when he was inside I made sure to give him lots of space before coming close enough to close the door. To avoid me he learned to pick up his bucket and move it further away from the entrance of his stable. Honestly his tenacity it was impressive and I found it quite endearing. Over time, with a pattern of patience and consistency, he came to trust me and allowed himself to be haltered and lead. He saw me working with other horses and understood what I wanted. He saw them interact with me and understood he was safe. He was easy to train but also easy to fighten. He needed consistency above all else, and I fondly referred to him as my "autistic" horse who thrived with routines and hated physical contact.

At the barn where he was stabled during his first few months of living with me, I heard many mutterings and saw many eyes being rolled at my approach to training Walter. I overheard the yard owner muttering that it was ridiculous that he wasn't tamed yet, and he's never seen anyone take this long to break a horse in. He was right, too. It was a cowboy style yard where horses were handed with ropes and whips, and I had seen horses "tamed" through vicious treatment the end of a rope as thick as my forearm. Those horses were never the same, and the words "learned helplessness" were painted on them to describe just how well broken they were. You could break a herd of horses in a day using that method. People like me were referred to as being "green" in a derogatory manner. It hurt, but I got the results I wanted in the end. However, looking back, I feel like perhaps I wasn't green enough.

Here is why: Walter is a grumpy bastard and always has been. He didn't join the other foals in their frivolities, or make a lot of friends. He has permanent resting d**k face, which I use fondly to describe the male version of the well known resting b***h face. He is, quite possibly, the founder of this expression. He's never really happy to see you, just slightly less annoyed for a moment or two. This has always been his default mode, until I began training with food. Using food in my training was a big decision for me, in many ways it was the final frontier of letting go of tradition and embracing scientific evidence. I abandoned using stables, feeding unnecessary grains, went for the barefoot trim, ditched unnecessary blanketing, allowed my mares to wean their own foals... but training with food was the hardest decision of them all. Yet it made the world of difference, especially to Walter. For the first time in his life, he became happy to work. He actually goes out of his way to be Mr Nice Guy. He is relaxed during his training and works hard to figure out what I want. His eyes shine, and he pays close attention to every movement I make. For a short while he is a different horse altogether. He's happy and motivated. It's the most beautiful thing in the world and I wish I had found it sooner.

I look back and think that yes, perhaps I could have "tamed" him quicker if I had used this "liberal" form of training. Maybe I didn't do the best job with him, or at least I could have done it better. But I'm doing it better now, and Walter has taught me something invaluable: kindness really is the most powerful force in the world. It's simply always better to be kind, and to create an atmosphere of positivity wherever you can. It's better for you, it's better for the person receiving it, it's better for those who watch from the sidelines and learn from a distance. It's always the way to go. Rewarding the slightest try, saying "yes" to the tiniest bit of good makes the world of difference. It's not just cliche or feel good psychology, it's based in science and Walter is the tangible evidence. If being kind can change a horse from being a paranoid Eeyore to being a genuinely Nice Guy, what else can it do for the world?

[undertherugmusings]

It's perfect, but....

He drools. He only has one testicle. He has a kneecap that gets stuck and he ends up dragging the leg dramatically behind him like he just came out of a war zone. His feet are slightly deformed. He knocked his head a few too many times as a baby and has questionable eyesight. But other than that he's the perfect horse!

Everyone has something that comes to mind when they hear that phrase "it's perfect, but"... For some people it might be their partner or significant other; for some it might be a job, or house, or car. It could be a hobby, or project, or an item of some sorts. For me it's Brandybuck, the highly anticipated foal from two excellent miniature horses who somehow managed to get all the wrong genes and then some. The odds were in his favour and yet he dodged them all. He's wonky, a bit skrawny, and tends to get himself into every scrape imaginable. He drools like a bloodhound, and his second testicle is nowhere to be found. His feet are too upright and his front legs bend out like split hairs trying to go their separate ways. His hind legs take turns locking up and he drags the affected limb behind him doing his best impression of a horse with a broken leg. But somehow he's the perfect miniature horse. Why is that? Well...

Since we stopped riding horses into battle and retired them from ploughing our fields, we have gone a bit crazy with their breeding. The same logic for breeding the pug and the chihuahua created the miniature horses I have roaming around my fields today. In short, they serve no purpose other than to make their humans happy. The sole unique feature they have at their disposal is their ability to slot into the lives of humans in the role of support or therapy animals. Sure they can pull a carriage and do cute tricks, but so can regularly sized horses. That's why, despite breeders most fervent arguments for correct conformation, a miniature horse with perfect form and a bad temper is quite frankly useless. Their true value lies in their remarkable ability to bond with and understand humans the same way that a guide or service dog would. That's the distinguished trait that they bring to the table, and that is why Brandybuck is perfect.

When I arrive in the field he comes galloping as fast as his funky little legs will take him. Every time. Sometimes he spices it up with a neigh of joy and an extra spring in his step. He stops at the last second, but only because he can't leap into my arms. If he could, he would. He walks by my side like a dog with my hand resting on the top of his neck. He follows my every move and is always down for cuddles. Not only does he love receiving cuddles but he'll dish it out too, nibbling whatever part of me is closest or using his lips to fumble with my hair. His loyalty and trust knows no bounds: if I asked him to walk through floods for me he would. I know this because he has crossed a flooded river at my bidding, with ice water reaching over his chest. If there ever was a miniature horse who embodied the spirit of equine companionship it would be him. Are there things I would change if I could? Absolutely! Does his grocery list of defects make him less than perfect? Sort of, but they don't detract from the important qualities that make him fantastic.

We can stop talking about Brandybuck now and look at the bigger picture. "It's perfect, but..." is one of the most common phrases we hear people say. We all have expectations and to be honest we all feel more than a little disappointed most of the time. Are there things we would love to change? Absolutely! Do they make the person, house, job, car, item, situation, etc less than perfect? Only if we let it. We all know intellectually that perfection is impossible, but that doesn't mean we don't feel disappointed when we don't get it. However that doesn't mean that it's ruined, only that it's tailored with a ton of good things and one or two bad things. That's an outfit worth taking, and not just to settle for but actually to take pride in. Who cares if it's not perfect? Love the good thing you've got and work around the rest. It's worth it!

[undertherugmusings]

The unbridled delight of eating a banana

It's not every day that I have a spare banana in my pocket, but I suppose if there is a first time for everything then that includes smuggling fruit in the nooks of a winter jacket. It lay there quietly, completely forgotten, until one of my miniature horses sniffed it out and began to badger me to hand over the goods. He had never eaten a banana before, but he lives by the policy of eating now and asking question later. The look of surprise on his face when he bit into the tough fruit with the mushy interior was bemusing, as his expression changed from shock to delight and finally to the conclusion that the mom human only carries delicious things in her pockets after all. To understand why I had this unassuming fruit in my pocket to begin with I need to rewind three days, to the morning I arrived at the pig pen and found a lone pig lying a pile of leaves with tears rolling down her cheeks.

However, before we get to the smuggling of bananas, I need to take you on a small side quest and discuss animal behaviour for a minute. Animal behaviour is a tricky thing to interpret because as humans we do one of two things: we either see something and assume it has the same origins as with humans (anthropomorphism), or we dismiss it entirely. Both are wrong as we know scientifically that animals are considerably more sentient than we have given them credit for, but also incredibly different from humans in their expressions and their needs. It is important to bear in mind that every animal has species specific needs, and those needs must be acknowledged and honoured in order for us to keep them ethically.

Now on to the bananas.

There had been two little pigs initially. They were small, traumatized from the sudden weaning away from their mother, skittish and untrusting. Although they belonged to the farmer and owner of the property, they became part of our collective reality as everyone on the farm pitched in and donated produce peels and other fresh foods as they were able to. Soon the duo began to come out of their shells and would trot up to the fence eagerly when they heard the sound of familiar human voices. The sad reality was that they were destined to become bacon from the beginning, but before they met that fate they were to be afforded a decent quality of life with good food and decent treatment. All of that changed overnight.

The day one of the little pigs died due to illness, everything was turned upside down. The surviving litter mate grieved the loss deeply, as you would expect from deeply emotional and family orientated creature. That was how I found her on that fateful morning with tears on her cheeks and the look of brokenness in her eyes. Her only friend was gone and she was alone. Loneliness is a death sentence to any social prey animal, especially a juvenile. Her food lay a distance away, untouched. I realised that if her sister had died of illness then she may very well die from the malady too. However it didn't seem right to just leave her in that state because she was destined to die soon. I found a gap in the fencing where I could offer her the only snack I had managed to bring that day: a banana peel.

The smell was enough to tempt her to her feet and she gently took the pieces of banana peel from my hand, eating slowly and deliberately. She searched for more but I was fresh out of banana so I offered a carrot, which she declined and returned to her bed. The next morning I brought one banana peel as well as a whole banana. Arriving at her pen, she got up slowly to greet me and walked over to the fence. I peeled the whole banana I had brought her and passed it to her through the fence. She gently nuzzled the soft fruit and then began to chew on it, seeming to enjoy the sweet taste. The banana peels followed the same path, and she moved around a bit making small grunting noises and touching her nose to my hand every so often. I left her in better spirits, with the hopes that she might just pull through after all.

The third day I bought a banana in my pocket, but realised it was a lost cause. She lay listless on her bed of leaves, her breaths slow and shallow. I spoke to her gently and her ears twitched in recognition, but nothing more. As a social animal it seemed unkind to let her die alone, so I sat with her until she became completely still. The curtain had been drawn and her suffering was over.

I walked to the field where my miniature horses were grazing and sat down on the ground close to them. I contemplated the last three days and the deep pain I had witnessed the little pig go through. You might argue that she wasn't as aware as I make her out to be and she was merely ill, but that doesn't really change the bottom line of the situation: she suffered needlessly for three days before finally passing on. Whether you consider her emotional state or not, allowing her to die naturally over the course of three days when an instant death was always on the table for her, seems unethical and cruel. Benign neglect and disregard for the state of an animal you intend to eat is not okay, in fact it is deeply and fundamentally wrong. This little pig deserved better, and she isn't the only one. There is a powerful call to contemplate and act in the story of her demise.

My thoughts were derailed as a velvety black nose appeared in the dark cloud over me, and snuffled towards my pocket. The shrewd eyes of my miniature gelding shone like a dragon finding a pile of gold as his nose detected the undeniable scent of something that was most certainly edible. I had forgotten about the smuggled banana in my pocket but he was an excellent alarm system! He didn't know for sure that he would like banana, but he was more than willing to give it a try. I took it out and before I could even decide whether to peel it or not, a good chunk of it had vanished into the black hole snuffling around my pockets. The pure delight in his eyes gave me a feeling of comfort and a strange of joy. Sometimes, when things feel really dark and hopeless, it's good to take a step back and enjoy the small, simple things in life. Like sitting in a field with the the sun setting behind you, watching your horse wolf down a banana for the first time in his life. In that moment, despite death being a few minutes away, life is perfect. While the darkness doesn't go away it can become less looming, and we might even be able to find some joy in new beginnings in the face of tragic endings. I'll be taking bananas to my horse every so often from now on!