(“Stop tooting that horn of self regard.”)

He looks at her sideways out of one heavy lidded eye. Doesn’t have to size her up—he knows her all too well. She, the ultimate provider, wants only the best for him. Wants him to be happy.

His version of happy does not include performing under saddle. In some cases it doesn’t include wanting to move at all, as in “Do you suppose those feet are somehow welded to the ground?” He is a massive, self possessed stallion of Iberian lineage with as much mane as attitude. Are you getting the picture?

The horse has totally flummoxed his owner. He has been examined by every order of veterinarian and alternative therapist. He has a custom saddle which has just been reflocked. His teeth have been examined. The bits have been changed. He has even had a consultation with the horse psychic.

I, self-identifying as less flummoxable, offered a simple solution. Every conceivable base had been covered, so just make the big lunk pay attention and go. Which I did. It took a few minutes and a few good whacks. The first one impressed him not in the least, the second one only slightly more. Perhaps he thought I would give up and leave him to his daydreams.

But I am an adherent to the philosophy that Riggs (Mel Gibson) demonstrated in Lethal Weapon when he handcuffed himself to the jumper on the ledge threatening suicide. “They don’t mess with you if you convince them you’re crazier than they are.”

In short order the stallion was coming off my leg willingly, taking the canter from the walk, and carrying himself forward without having to be pushed.

So far you could just say to yourself, “Stop tooting that horn of self regard, Mr. Woods. A professional is supposed to be able to make a horse do that!” You would be quite right, but that’s not my point.

The true nature of the problem revealed itself when the owner asked me, “Did you use one leg or both legs to make him go?” Were I the impertinent sort (or 20 years younger), I might have responded, “YES, and any other legs I could find lying around someplace!” But the new ever-so-patient me counseled, “Think less; RIDE more!”

This evening over sherry by the fireside is the time to discuss the aids. Remember, correct riding is empirically defined. If it produces the result you want, it’s right. That’s how the aids were “discovered” in the first place, not generated as armchair theory and then applied to the real-world to see if they’d work. And in this instance projecting to the horse “I CARE SO YOU DARN WELL BETTER TOO” is way more important than the technical specifics of exactly how the aids are administered.

You aren’t going to catch me claiming that the quality of the aids doesn’t matter or that you don’t have to be aware of unintended consequences or long term physical and psychological issues. All I’m saying is sometimes—THIS time—getting the message sent is of greater urgency than perfecting its nuances. This horse wasn’t remotely confused. He’d just been allowed to draw the wrong conclusion about his place on the food chain.