(“Coaxing, cajoling, threatening. Nothing!”)
It may not take a village, but there are many times that some four legged assistance will win the day when you’re trying to make a point to your horse. Your hot horse is turning his nose up at a bucket of Gatorade after his workout? His whole attitude changes when he observes his stable mate greedily elbowing him aside and plunging his muzzle into the bucket.
I can think of a bunch of performance-related occasions where some help from a friend clarified the behavior we were looking for. Once Susan was trying with limited success to persuade a stubborn little Arab to move off her leg. I was on a much more imposing (and obedient horse) whom I asked to sidle up against the Arab, and as I leg-yielded my horse sideways, he cheerfully bulldozed his companion laterally ahead of him. And after that, little Frosty understood.
Sometimes a horse is smart enough to solve a training problem without the need for human intervention. Ned was a wise and mammoth Percheron—part of a team that gave hayrides in New England. When Hank, his partner, retired Ned was quick to notice that his understudy, a three year old named Jack, was content to stroll along beside him making not the slightest effort to lean into the traces and shoulder his share of the load. Ned, being no fool, didn’t permit that arrangement to last for long. Anytime Jack slacked off, without losing a step Ned would turn his head and deliver the youngster a painful nip on the neck till he did.
I can also recall one of our horses instructing another in a friendlier way. Back in The Day—pre-Dually/gooseneck—we drove our horses around in a van (in what the Brits would have called a horse box). Ours in particular suffered from an unpleasantly steep ramp, the bane of Dino’s existence. He was an oversized Swedish Warmblood—amiable but none too nimble and possessing a deep fear of anything which in his mind required mountain goat-like agility.
One fall afternoon he and his barn mate had competed at a suburban Boston schooling show. For amusement’s sake Susan and I had switched horses for the day. Later, after results were posted, everything was packed up, and Adam had backed into his stall on board, Dino announced that the game was over and nothing would persuade him ever again to climb that ramp. Coaxing, cajoling, threatening. Nothing!
By now darkness was upon us. The show’s management had long since waved goodbye and motored off down the lane way toward cocktails and a warm hearth. And Dino still stood frozen at the base of the ramp with no change of heart in sight.
Finally in disgust I turned, shoving my chest against his muzzle, threw the end of his lead rope on the ground, and shouted, “So all right. Stay here!”
Flinging the heavy ramp up into its channels, slamming the compartment doors shut, we climbed up into the cab, fired up the engine, and trundled across the field towards the road home. From in back Adam called to his absent pal. Dino, sensing that his bluff had been called, ran along beside the truck bellowing in contrition.
After another few hundred feet to be sure he got the message, we rattled to a standstill and dropped the ramp. It had barely hit the turf when Dino barged past us to claim his place, sharing the haynet, and assuming a nonchalant pose to convince us the last 90 minutes had all been a figment of human imagination.