Hoof Beats: Horses that spook, part two
Last month I talked about horse breeds — which ones are known for shying, and which ones aren’t — how horses’ individual personalities vary even within a breed, and how a horse’s age and experience with humans affect his tendency to shy. But as the old song goes, it takes two to tango. Who you are is just as important — your individual personality, age, experience, and the circumstances leading up to your horse’s latest panic attack.
According to my mother, I am a “nervous woman.” According to a friend, I’m impatient. According to my husband, I have just the right amount of sass — meaning, I tend to disagree with authority, but when I’m wrong, I admit it. Conventional wisdom — that excitability should be balanced by calm — would pair me with a draft horse. Instead, I prefer horses who remind me of myself — and most of them have been mares.
When I was younger, I loved the “challenge” of a hot-blooded horse. Even now I like them with more go than whoa — in other words, some things don’t change. They just wear down, the way old bones do. I used to have a temper. I still do, but less often (at least I’ve stopped throwing things), and never directed at my horses.
I have more patience than I used to. I’m much more careful around people these days, which means I listen to them and (sometimes) agree with them or praise them, even if we’re not BFF. When I’m with friends, I’m even more careful. I know a great deal more than I used to — which is in some ways is a double-edged sword. As my German grandfather used to say, “Too soon old, too late smart.” And I’m definitely more fearful of physically injuring myself than I used to be.
I’ve been lucky when it comes to horses. As a kid, I spent nearly all day Saturday hanging around Romance Ranch. Everybody there rode Western, and I rode many different horses in a big field. I only got hurt once, and it wasn’t because my horse shied. I was playing cowboys (my friend) and Indians (me). In Western movies, the Indians leaned to one side so their horse’s neck was between them and the cowboys. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. The saddle had slipped — somebody hadn’t tightened the cinch enough.
As a teenager, I rode my neighbor’s horse. Playboy took care of me for over three years without shying. When I graduated from high school, I took a job at a summer camp in Pennsylvania teaching horseback riding. All the counselors were hanging out together one afternoon when the horses arrived. There were over half a dozen of them, we wanted to try them out. The horses wore Western saddles and bridles. I wore shorts and no shoes. I chose a gray mare who looked feisty but turned out to be responsive and kind. All the horses were kind. Not a single shying incident with our city-dwelling kids that summer — or with any of us.
What does make a horse jump off his feet? Anything out of the ordinary. One horse spooked when I sneezed. Another shied at a mule. One shied the first time he saw a cow. Prim spooked when she caught sight of her own shadow — which now included me. She spooked at a hiker carrying a walking stick.
One of the funniest videos I’ve ever seen featured two horses and a cottontail. There was an open gate behind the rabbit that the horses wanted to go through, but when they saw the bunny, they stopped and stared. One horse took a few tentative steps forward, then shied, spun around, and hid behind the other horse. The second horse took a few steps forward and then also spooked and doubled back to hide behind the first horse. This went on for several minutes. Had these horses never seen a bunny before? Or were they baffled because this bunny seemed frozen in place — as rabbits do sometimes when threatened — and was blocking their access to the gate? Only the horses could have told us, but they weren’t talking.
Joan Fry is a lifelong horse lover and the author of “Backyard Horsekeeping: The Only Guide You’ll Ever Need” (The Lyons Press, Revised Edition, 2007). She can be reached via email at joan@joanfry.com.
This article originally appeared on The Pueblo Chieftain: Horses that spook, part two
