(“. . . a lot of talk about the sacred bond between horse and human . . .”)

I encounter blogs (on Facebook and elsewhere) with a distinctly anti-utilitarian approach to dressage. They express revulsion that you might want to have your horse achieve some goal which you have set, or worse yet that you might actually make your horse do something. These are the people—and I don’t mean to denigrate their intentions—who put all their eggs in the harmony basket. There’s a lot of talk about the sacred bond between horse and human (which apparently can be severed in a nanosecond by us pushy “modern” riders). One of these writers goes so far as to self referentially describe “the centaur effect” which is the nexus of his True Dressage.

Here I am not quibbling with goals. I am more interested in methodology. In short, is it possible to begin with a hypothetical essence (which normal riders by definition cannot know) and work outwards from there? Or is it more logical as a rider’s toolkit and awareness builds over time to use this knowledge to peel away layer after layer of artifice to get to that essence.

One of the problems with the former approach is that since most of its practitioners don’t compete, they have no external standard against which to measure what they’re doing. Consequently, there are lots of helpless, goofy riders breathing through their appendages and imagining “the bright white light” while not very much of interest is going on with their horses.

I write this having just paused (in mid-blog) for an hour to help a rider preparing for her first Intermediaire 2 at a recognize show next weekend. Because she is not a cutthroat competitor (although last year her horse was USDF adult amateur Prix St. George Horse of the Year—not exactly chopped liver), we don’t employ the de-purifying, intimidation-based training methods that “classical” people rail against. Harmony is, in fact, one of the overarching ideas in our work. How to achieve it in the context of putting all the movements together for an upper-level test is like playing with all the pieces of a puzzle or like concocting a very fine meal. A little more of this… a touch of that… how to explain to him… how to keep him cheerful… how to keep him from anticipating. It’s fun! The horse doesn’t mind. He doesn’t act put upon.” It’s his life, his job, maybe even his reason for being (beyond what Major Lindgren called being “a simple grass eating mammal”). I, his rider, and the horse are immersed in this pleasant experience together. He is not made less by our participation. Perhaps we are made more by what we can all achieve together. In these moments I can’t for the life of me relate to what the detractors of showing are talking about.

There is indeed a beauty in serenity and repose. But the beauty of “my” dressage is a harmony expressed in power and movement. This is what a living, breathing trained horse can offer. To see one in motion, or better yet to ride him, is all the justification you need.