(“I hardly ever think I’m riding into that Valley of Death.”)

What goes on in this horse’s head? He (she)’s not the same horse I rode yesterday. All that calm self-assurance has evaporated. He’s scared of the same rock he’s walked by every day for the past six years. The leg that made so much sense to him in our last session hasn’t the least effect on him today.

Who hasn’t had these or similar thoughts somewhere along the way in their riding lives? So what should we make of it all?

First off, unless you’ve acquired one of those mechanical versions of a horse, (Please say you didn’t!) there’s no particularly good reason to expect your horse to behave the same way all the time. Does your mate? Your child? Your dog? Your co-worker? I wouldn’t go so far as to call you “naïve,” but how about “unrealistic”?

This is not to say that you shouldn’t take note of a reaction or a feeling from your horse which is out of the ordinary. If he’s sluggish when he’s usually peppy, if he’s rigid to one side where he’s normally pliable, if he suddenly begins to disunite or not want to pick up a certain lead, it would be a glaring omission not to look for a physical cause.

Did you over-stress him the day before? Did he slip in the pasture? Was he just re-shod? You need to check out all the obvious possibilities before you get too crazy: Were you in a hurry and didn’t pick out his feet? Is the saddle pad bunched up? Are you sure he doesn’t have a rub somewhere behind his elbow that you hadn’t quite noticed? Are his tendon boots on correctly?

I know if you’re reading this, you’re not a knucklehead (Bill, the Optimist), but I’ve met people struggling with their horse only to discover that he’s had three springtime inoculations in his neck the day before the lesson. And they’re wondering why he might be stiff?
There are also more insidious problems which develop gradually—he never used to shy and now he does, for instance. Has anybody checked his vision? He’s fussy and angry. Has anyone checked his teeth or made sure that the bit isn’t rubbing or pinching the corners of his mouth? This all seems like simple and obvious stuff—until you discover you’re the one who forgot to check. And if you’re the instructor, not the rider, why would you expect a novice amateur to know to check on her own?

And then there are emotional causes: some as obvious as the horse’s former stable mate departing, some as esoteric as a change in the barometric pressure as a cold front moves in. That doesn’t even begin to speak to feelings that the horse reads from your behavior. Years ago, I owned an especially sensitive, erratic off the track Thoroughbred who seemed to zero in on every emotion that I felt. I could be walking on a loose rein and if I began to daydream about some unpleasant topic, I could feel the reaction in his gait.

So, why today did the horse whom I ride once or twice a week for a friend—a horse who three days ago in a lesson with her had tried every despicable, unwarranted, dastardly evasion he could think to pull on her—come out to his arena and right from the start, undertake his work with the most soft-eyed, cooperative attitude you could imagine? Heck, ya got me!

But I’m an empiricist, not a theoretician. “Hit’em where they ain’t” [Wee Willie Keeler], “Eat what you’re served and stop complaining,” [my Mother], “Ours is not to reason why.” [Tennyson].

On the bright side, there’s always a way to at least partially unlock him. He is a fascinating puzzle—I’m just glad I’m not married to him. And on days when I must endure his antics, I hardly ever think I’m riding into that Valley of Death.

I can always think of 600 who were having a worse day than me.