Oh, That Cute Little Spoiled Horse of Yours!

I know you love your horse.  I love my horses, too.  I'm not sure I love YOUR horse, though -- not your cute little spoiled horse, anyway.  I really dislike spoiled horses, and don't find anything cute about them.

Every so often I acquire a spoiled horse, either temporarily (one that comes in for training, for example) or permanently (one that I buy for myself) or semi-permanently (the occasional horse I either rescue, or I buy and rehab before selling).  Right now there are two spoiled horses here:  unmannerly horses that walk on top of the person beside them; race into and out of stalls without regard to someone standing at the gate; slam gates on people who are cleaning the stall beside them; and otherwise show no respect whatsoever for anyone two-legged.  They both get nasty when fed, and shove back when I'm putting feed in their feeder, and they kick at the stall walls when they aren't fed quickly enough.

They came to me together, and they have the same habits.  When I first rode them, neither one knew how to stand; one backed up and the other walked forward.  When I asked them to stand mid-ride, they fussed and fidgeted and moved around wherever they chose.  They both exhibited a little bit of stubbornness.  One humped his back a bit when I pushed him to do as I asked, and the other flat out refused and backed into thorny bushes.  As soon as I growled at them and told them to do what I said, they were fine and willing.  All these things are symptoms of spoiled horses.

Their previous owner loved them; I know that.  Most owners of spoiled horses do.  But like the overly permissive parent, owners of spoiled horses don't take responsibility for the future of their horses once those horses leave their own hand.  It is not a kindness to allow socially-unacceptable habits to develop in either our horses or our children.  Eventually, the animal (and I include those children in this word) pays the price for the lack of parental guidance.

It frustrates me no end when I have to discipline a horse because no one ever told them they shouldn't run their owner over.  It angers me when I have to be the bad-guy because a previous owner allowed the horse to rub its head on their back, or to dance like a leaf in the wind when I'm mounting.  It makes me feel sorry for the horse when I have to tell it, "No, Trixie, we don't smash our owners' hand against the feeder in the morning, and we don't slam gates on their shoulders when they're in the stall next door."  I don't like having to yell at the horse that thinks it gets to stop and eat whatever grows alongside the path I'm leading it by, and I don't like striking the severely (and dangerously) spoiled horse that strikes at me when I want to clip its muzzle or put fly spray on it.

I don't find it cute when I am at a student's barn and they giggle while the horse knocks them over, or when the horse grabs their pocket with its teeth because there might be a treat inside.  It's not amusing when the owner squeals with delight, "Oh, but look how CUTE he is when he does that -- how could you ever get MAD at him?"  Neither do I enjoy riding with them when the entire ride is a litany of, "Well, Zahar doesn't like water," or "Oh, Zahar will only go in front," or "Zahar has to trot out."  We shouldn't make excuses for our horses; we should make good citizens of them.

I know that spoilers of horses love them, and they believe they are being kind.  But now, more than ever, good and healthy horses are being starved, slaughtered, and abandoned because the economy is forcing a culling of sort.  You might not mind your spoiled horse stepping on you or your horseshoer, but you might not be able to keep that horse forever.  The buyer WILL mind, and will pass that cute little spoiled horse by for one that has proper manners.  Your cute little spoiled horse will be headed for mistreatment or slaughter.  (Just because the slaughterhouses in the United States don't kill horses anymore doesn't mean horses aren't shipped to Mexico, where less-humane methods of killing them are employed.  Don't fool yourself.)  That's how I came into the last two cute spoiled horses that are now here:  they wouldn't sell, and their next stop was going to be the slaughterhouse.  They are lovely animals; affectionate and healthy.  They are too nice to slaughter -- and too nice to spoil.

Horses are not poodles.  A 1,200 pound animal is too big to be a lapdog, and shouldn't be treated like one.  Miniature horses aren't particularly useful within the hierarchy of the performance horse world, but one wonderful thing about them is they make great pets that won't kill you when you spoil them.  If you have full-size horses, please instill in them respect for those around them.  It may save a life one day, and the life it saves may be their own.

Why Do You NEED So Many Horses?

I have too many horses.  Yes, I admit it.  There are horses in every stall.  It's exactly what I've always wished for:  beautiful, happy, healthy horses filling the barn, and overflowing into the turnout pens.  Most days, one will greet you from the front round pen when you arrive.  I put the round pen on the hill by the driveway on purpose; I love to show them off.  They whinny when you arrive, and they call out again when you leave -- if you're lucky.

But there are too many of them.  I'm not a hoarder; I don't read on-line ads and make calls and just accidentally happen to see horses I can't resist.  I do breed a mare every now and then -- every two years (sometimes three) a foal arrives.  There are three generations on the property now; a 25-year old mare, her son, and his yearling foal, who is destined to be my next number one riding horse.  There are geldings, mares, a stallion.  A buckskin, some bays, a paint, some sorrels, a true black, and a palomino.  I like variety.

I do love walking friends and guests through the barn and introducing them to the herd.  I like pointing out the different personalities and idiosyncrasies and sharing each horse's life story.  I like showing how I train the horses to lower their heads on command, or step back on cue, or how the very special horses rest their heads gently on my shoulder.  I enjoy letting people meet the horses, sometimes the first time they've ever been so close.  This is what I've always wanted to do:  be surrounded by horses and spend hours every day caring for them, training them, riding them, and yes, cleaning up after them.

But what I don't like is a particular question.  I'm sure I'm not the only one who gets asked this; I'm sure anyone who has horses, in the plural, gets asked the same thing.  I get defensive when I'm asked, and sometimes I'm snappy like a petulant terrier when I answer.  It never bothered me when people would ask, "Why aren't you married yet?"  (I fixed that particular issue over a year ago.  Late bloomer, I guess.)   It never bothered me when they'd ask, "Why don't you have kids?"  But this question -- THE question -- sends me into instant annoyance.

"Why do you NEED so many horses?"

The problem with THE question is that it's so laden with judgment.  It's not a question a horse lover will ask another  horse lover; we just understand.  It's a question the non-horseman asks, and they aren't asking it because they will ever understand.  They're asking it because they want you to know that they don't approve.  The answer is irrelevant.

It's not a question they ask because they're concerned about the condition of the horses.  Anyone can look at these animals and see that they're well fed.  Their hooves are trimmed or shod.  They are wormed regularly.  Each one is turned out over 12 hours a day -- and most of them are turned out at all times.  They have shade.  They have vet checks twice a year, and all of them who are riding age are trained under saddle.  These are not neglected animals.  Each one (other than my husband's horse, and that's because he adamantly refuses to let me do so) is neatly clipped every week.

The stalls are cleaned a few times a day.  Sometimes it's only twice a day, but other times it's a half dozen times.  The horses are fed abundant food, appropriately tailored to their specific needs.  They get exercise.  They have an excellent social life, and they have deep bedding in their stalls.  The youngsters know what youngsters ought to know:  they load, they tie, they pick their feet up politely, they stand to be groomed, and they allow their faces and ears and legs to be clipped.  Fly spray doesn't bother them.  They're good about being wormed, and vaccinated, and trimmed.  The two fillies on site have been ponied.

But there are too many.  A few of them are for sale, but they require either healing or retraining.  I don't want them going to a home where they may be injured or may cause injury.  I don't want them going to Mexico to slaughter.

Some, I'll never sell.  The numbers in my barn are at an all-time high now.  (Since I know you're wondering, suffice it to say there are fewer than a dozen, but more than half a dozen.)  I didn't go looking for them; they just -- well, they just happened.  As I give the tour of the herd, I tell the story of Gus and Shiloh.  They were rescues.  Their owner loved them and provided well for them, but was at wit's end when things crumbled personally.  She couldn't sell them; the market had crashed, and these out-of-shape horses could not compete with the sound, well-conditioned horses flooding the market.  They were too nice to be sent to slaughter.  I stepped in.  One is recovering from lameness so severe she wouldn't even stand the first weekend I brought her home; she just stretched out on her side because her feet hurt so badly.  The other is learning his manners.  He's spoiled, but sweet.  He's getting back in shape and getting lots of miles on the trail.  They're for sale, but until the right home comes along, they have a safe haven here.

There's Holly.  She's the matron, at 25.  She is here for life.  She's always had good care and great owners, and was never treated badly, but she has had eight homes in half as many states.  She's lived in Wisconsin, Indiana, Minnesota, and Arizona.  Even if I didn't love her wholeheartedly, which I do, I would never sell her.  She deserves a forever home -- a stable stable, so to speak.  Recently, after her 25th birthday, I began ranch sorting on her, and she might as well have been a two year old; she loves it, and can't wait to chase the cows.  Holly is a prim and proper mare with a great sense of mischief.

There's Holly's son, Ziggy.  Holly was carrying him when I bought her.  He's the big guy now, the stud horse.  In a fit of madness when I was dealing with a family illness, I sent him to a "trainer" to continue the gentle training under saddle I had started.  The trainer brutalized him.  This kind, gentle, sweet-natured stallion came back a beast.  It has taken two years to get him back to his happy, playful self.  He's mine forever; I won't risk letting someone else torture him out of fear, or machismo, or short-man's syndrome.  He's another keeper.

There are others.  There's my best riding horse, Buck.  He's the horse of my heart; I adore him.  He has the biggest heart of any horse I've ever known, and is as honest as a horse can be.  I trust him completely, and I ride him more than any horse here.  I wouldn't sell him at any price.  When we're young, we horse-crazy girls have a vision of our dream horse.  He's that vision I had:  a big, solid buckskin with kind eyes, so warm and sweet they remind me of melted chocolate.

There's the little bay mare.  Before I got her, she'd been abused.  She's so head shy that even now if you move too quickly, or worm her, or touch her ears, she over-reacts and flies backwards in terror.  She's coming along nicely, and she's got a lightness of expression she never had before.  When she's completely reliable under saddle, and has learned a bit about working cows, she'll be for sale -- but not until the right rider finds her.  She'll stay here until that happens.  It might be next week, or it might be never.  But she's a sweet little girl and doesn't deserve to risk abuse again.

When she was on her way to me, after I'd agreed to buy her from a friend (not the one who'd handled her roughly), I learned she was in foal.  That meant another baby.  That plain-brown-wrapper mare foaled a flashy, black-and-white paint filly.  Meet Bisbee:  sweet, affectionate, but sensitive.  She's quick to move, but takes patience to train.  She's for sale, but you can probably already guess:  not until the right owner comes along.  She's about the prettiest little paint  you ever saw, but she needs just the right hand to train her.  She's not as resilient as some horses, and needs completely gentle handling, or she crumples like a wet tissue.  The right person will make her into a barrel horse, where she can use her speed and agility and endless energy.  Until then?  Yep.  Here she is.


Yes, there are too many.

I quit answering THE question a few months back.  I am blunt about it now; abrupt, even.  I say, "I don't answer that any more.  It's a judgment-filled question."  The neighbor asked it when he ventured over to introduce himself; he doesn't like horses.  Friends with poodles ask it.  Visitors with fifteen cats walking around on their countertops at home ask it.  Horse people?  They just understand.

What I want to say to those who ask is, "Why is it about need?"  The prankster in me is tempted to ask why they needed five children, or a flat-screen TV, or the latest Apple gadget -- after all, their last four iPhones still work fine, and I could have bought a lot of hay with the money they spent.  Do they need a Hummer, or a cabin in the woods?  Do they need a garage filled with vintage Indian motorcycles, or that boat in the driveway?  Here's the thing:  we don't often need what truly makes our heart sing.  Not in the physical sense, anyway.  We can live without the art collection, or the dog at our feet.  We can live without the creative pursuits that awaken us intellectually, or the scented candles that stimulate our senses and evoke a restful place.

No, I don't need this many horses.  I can do without them, and, in all likelihood, they can do without me.  It's not about need, though, is it?  We don't write love songs about the air that we breathe or the water we drink.  Shakespeare's sonnets aren't about the blood that runs through our veins, or the heart that pushes it:  they're about the things that make our blood heat up, and our heart beat faster.  The things that make our life full and rich are the things that we don't need.  The stuff of poetry and art is non-essential to our existence, and oh-so-critical to our fulfillment.

I have a barn full of horses I really don't need.  They're like my dogs:  it's not that I can't live without them; it's that I'd never want to try.

Do I Really NEED This?

(c) 2012 MJ Miller 

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Are You a Great Horseman?

Or a Mediocre Horseman on a Great Horse?

I know a few folks who consider themselves great horsemen, as in the kind who get capital letters:  Great Horsemen.  Some of them truly are great, and deserving of those capitals.  Others -- well, not so much.  They still have their followings, and they're pretty good at capitalizing their own titles, and they make a whole lot more money on the horse business than I ever have or will.  Still, they are only great by virtue of riding great horses -- not making great horses.

I had an experience once with a basic training sergeant who considered himself a great leader.  He prided himself on "culling out" the men and women he didn't feel reached his expectations.  He graduated very small classes of great cops.  The failure ratio of his class was through the roof.  To my mind, that's not a great leader.  If you can take average individuals, or those with certain struggles, and turn them into great cops, or great musicians, or great talents in any area -- well, that's great leadership.  But to simply write off any who aren't great as they go into the game, and to only work with the naturally advantaged, is mediocre leadership.

That's what I've been seeing of a lot of horsemen who see themselves as capital G horsemen.  Sure, part of horsemanship is selecting the best horse you can get, and matching that horse to its natural capabilities.  But part of great horsemanship is taking an average horse, or a horse with some challenges, and turning it into a level-headed, reliable, competent horse with a lot of try.  (We all know that a naturally talented horse with no try is a lousy horse, but an average horse with a whole lot of heart may have the makings of greatness.)  

I had an epiphany in this area a few years back when I was dealing with a green horse that bucked like rough stock.  I brainstormed with a trainer up in Nebraska about it.  He raised and trained some beautifully bred horses, and seemed a good hand.  I asked, "What method do you use with a bucking horse?"   He said, "I don't keep 'em," in a tone that left no wiggle room.  I was surprised; not all bucks are equal, and I don't mind a hop now and then.  "What?" I asked.  "No, I won't have 'em.  They don't stay here.  I won't ride a horse that bucks."  

I've seen that pattern repeat itself plenty of times since then.  A trainer will limit himself to a specific narrow type of horse --  a great horse, if you will.  A horse that we all want to ride:  one that doesn't misbehave, and is mentally tough, and one that is built to do well whatever job is given to him, for starters.  The Great Horseman will take these Great Horses, refuse to take the tough ones, and will turn out a bunch of Great Horses.  But does that make the trainer great?

I've seen some horsemen who've done wonderful things with some horses that have some serious issues.  They take average horses and make them into something.  They'll take the ones that the Great Horseman refuses, because the horse has been abused, or is high-strung, or wasn't started well, and they turn out a darned good horse most of the time, and a great horse some of the time. 

Now those are Darned Good Horsemen, and they are deserving of their capital letters.

An Average Horse.

Will You Throw Him Back,

Or Make Him Great?

(c) 2012 MJ Miller

Tighten Your Girth ... Because Here We Go!

Horse people are an opinionated bunch.  We have strong feelings about our stock, and we love to share them.  We love to share our knowledge, and our experiences, and -- most of all -- our ideas on the right and wrong way to do things.  I wouldn't be writing this if I didn't want to do so, too.  I'd be out on this gorgeous day astride a good horse instead of riding a desk chair if I didn't have that itch to share my own opinions, stories, and some horse sense.

But I'm a writer as well as a rider, and this cyber-column will be a mule of a thing; a hybrid of observations and random thoughts, fact and fiction and flights of fancy, all related somehow to that great companion of ours, the horse.  I've freelanced for decades, writing for a few horse magazines along the way, and I've written a couple of books featuring horses.  These days, I spend much of my time caring for a small herd that has grown too large -- and doing plenty of riding.  My youngest horse is still cooking in the mare's belly, and should arrive on my favorite holiday, April Fool's Day.  The oldest  turned 25 on last April Fool's Day -- and she's the grandmother of the baby-to-be. 

When I'm not riding or writing, I do custom leatherwork.  You'll see posts in coming months about maintaining and repairing your tack and saddles.  I also give horsemanship lessons and I take in an occasional horse for training or retraining; I'll enjoy sharing some of those experiences, as well.  I'm a little bit of a trivia nut, too.  As you probably know from the trivia fans in your own life, we just aren't happy unless we can tell someone else those cool little details we just ran across.  I'm sure those will find their way into plenty of posts.  

I hope you'll come along for the ride.  Bring a lunch and don't forget your hoofpick -- there are miles to go, and sometimes it gets a little rocky.