Mark Rashid - Whole Heart, Whole Horse: Building Trust Between Horse and Rider

When we do something with our horse that has an undesirable outcome, is it a mistake or an opportunity for growth?

I was pretty tired. We were getting to the end of four long months of clinicing, and the last rider of the last clinic of the tour had just come into the arena. The woman brought with her a 15-hand bay Quarter Horse gelding with a crooked white stripe right down the middle of his face and a white stocking on each of his hind feet. He also had a spot on the top of his neck about five or six inches long where his mane had been rubbed nearly clean off. There were just a few short, thin hairs sticking straight up in that area... indicative of a horse that had spent some time sticking his head between the rails of a fence to get at some grass on the other side.

The woman brought the horse into the arena already saddled, but she had not yet mounted up. I began my conversation with the woman just like I do with pretty much every rider who comes to one of our clinics.

Hi there. I took off my sunglasses so I could wipe off the light film of dust that had accumulated over the last couple hours with the handkerchief from my back pocket.

Whats your name?

Hi, she said nervously as the gelding nudged her back with his nose. Im Jackie, and this is Arrow.

The horse nudged her harder, pushing her sideways about two steps.

He can be a little pushy sometimes, she said sheepishly.

Okay, I smiled, trying to relieve at least a little of her anxiety. What else can you tell me about him?

I slid my glasses back on and then stuffed the handkerchief back in my pocket as the gelding nudged her again.

Well, she started, halfheartedly trying to move the gelding back a step with the lead rope. Hes seven years old, and Ive had him since he was five. I found him in a feedlot with eight or ten other horses, and they were all really skinny and full of ticks.

The gelding pushed her again, and again she tried unsuccessfully to move him back away from her.

I learned from a neighbor that all these horses were getting ready to go to slaughter, and I felt sorry for them, she continued. So I went over a few days later to see if there might be one in the bunch I could rescue. I had never owned a horse before, but had always wanted one....

I dont think it was so much what she was saying but rather how she was saying it that gave her story a strange familiarity... as if I had heard it before.

I went over to the pens with my neighbor one day, and the owner said we could go in and take a look if we wanted...

Im not sure if it was the fatigue from the long trip we were just finishing up, or simply the story itself that she was relating, but something a little unusual began happening. Slowly but surely, as she spoke, my mind began to wander.

So we went into the pens and started looking at the horses... most of them... sick or injured... saw Arrow... the only one that came up to me... kind eye ... followed me around ... fell in love with him ...

I really believe hearing and understanding the stories that people tell us about their horses is an extremely important part of helping them and their horses come to an understanding when unwanted behavior is present. So, in this case it was a little unsettling for me not only to not be able to concentrate on what she was saying but also to find that as she spoke, my mind kept flashing back many years before to a time and situation that seemed completely unrelated to anything she was saying!

Thought about it overnight... went back the next day... worked out a deal to buy him...

Her words faded to a point where I couldnt really hear them anymore. In their place came the full picture of the flashback that was trying to push its way from my subconscious to my conscious. Suddenly, there I was, in my sophomore year of high school, standing next to my locker and trying hard to overhear a conversation between two girls just two lockers down.

Sharon Kingstone was a girl Id had a little crush on for a couple years, but I had never done anything about it. There was a dance coming up at the end of the week, and I was thinking of calling her on the phone and asking her to go with me.

At the time, at least for me, asking a girl to go out with me while standing in the hallway at school was simply out of the question. You see, in my way of thinking, if I asked a girl out in person and she said no, everybody in the school would know it within a matter of minutesnot a good thing for a painfully shy sixteen-year-old. On the other hand, if I called her on the phone and she said no, nobody but me and her would ever know. Of course I never gave any thought to the fact that if I called and she said no, she might just tell all her friends the next morning in homeroom, in which case the whole school was going to know anyway. But I guess at sixteen, I just wasnt thinking that far ahead.

At any rate, in doing a little phone book reconnaissance several times over the last several months, I had come to the grim reality that Sharons family had an unlisted phone number, so asking her out was proving to be next to impossible. Lucky for me, our lockers were set up in alphabetical order, which put Sharons friend Julie Rushs locker just two away from mine. Lo and behold, just when I was thinking about giving up on ever getting a date with her, there was Sharon, two lockers down, talking to Julie about going to a movie that very evening. My hope was that Julie didnt have Sharons phone number either, and if I waited long enough, Sharon would give it to her, and Id be in the right place at the right time to sort of accidentally overhear it.

I stood there calmly searching the dark recesses of my locker for ... well... nothing in particular, trying very hard to look as though I wasnt listening. As it turned out, most of the conversation they were having was of little interest and absolutely no help as far as getting any insight as to Sharons phone number. I was just about to give up and head for my next class, which was social studies and current events with Mr. Kocos (a former army colonel who ran his class accordingly, and being late was not a very good idea), when suddenly the piece of information I was waiting for rolled gently off Sharons tongue.

So why dont you give me a call around six? she said as she flipped her nearly waist-long hair effortlessly over her left shoulder. Do you have my number?

No, Julie said. Let me get a pen.

Its real easy to remember, Sharon smiled.

Good, I thought, because I couldnt find a pen either.

We lived in a small town, and everybody in it and the next town over had the same prefix to their phone number, so at least I didnt have to worry about trying to remember that, although she gave it to Julie anyway. Sharon spoke slowly and clearly, and when the last four digits came out of her mouththe ones I really needed to rememberI was tickled to death.

0-3-1-1, she said, just as the bell for the next class rang.

I couldnt believe my good luck! Three-eleven were the numbers of our old street address and ones I had memorized since I was about five years old. Piece of cake , I thought.

I was about thirty seconds late getting to Mr. Kocos class, which cost me two demerits and some extra credit to get them expunged so I wouldnt eventually need to stay after school and work them off by cleaning blackboards, sweeping the floor, or washing windows. Small price to pay, I thought, as I heard the snickers of my classmates while Mr. Kocos doled out the punishment. They were undoubtedly just happy it wasnt them.