Wendy Williams - The Horse: The Epic History of Our Noble Companion

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For all the horses
all over the world
who have carried me along
on their great adventures

And for a very special person,
Diane Davidson,
a great friend to me
and to the ocean

There is no limit to their treasures;

their land is full of horses

Isaiah 2:7

He trots the air;

The earth sings when he touches it.

The basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE , Henry V

I used to have a little half-Morgan palomino whom I most certainly did not deserve. The horse was a gem, although I was too young and too ignorant to know that at the time. I took him for granted. Mornings I saddled my horse and rode him down our Vermont dirt road to the grade school where I taught piano. There my gelding would stand in his halter, trying desperately to grab bites of grass while the kids out for recess annoyed the poor thing, in a loving sort of way, endlessly.

The kids were overjoyed to have a horse in their school field. I dont believe Whisper shared in their pleasure. I suspect that to him the swarm of excited small children was somewhat akin to a plague of large horsefliessomething to be patiently endured. Nevertheless, Whisper was unfailingly tolerant. He was the most polite horse I have ever had.

In the winter, I tied small logs to the pommel of my Western saddle and had him pull them over the snow and through the woods to my house, where they were destined for the woodstove. Having seen such things on television, it seemed to me a romantic thing to do. Whisper, I am certain, did not share my sense of the exotic. I got the BTUs from those logs. He got the hard work. He was much put upon, but never once did he kick me or otherwise complain, although he certainly had a right to. I wish I could live my own life with as much dignified fortitude.

Some people claim that horses, by accepting such behavior in humans, show their lack of intelligence. I dont believe that. Whisper was a persistently pragmatic fellow who, if he couldnt get what he wanted at the front door, would find a way to go around to the back. He was, by necessity, highly skilled at getting his own needs met. He was a mastermind, an equine Einstein, a street genius, and a determined survivor, as are so many horses cared for by humans who, like me, are basically clueless about their horses inner lives.

* * *

In my small Vermont hillside barn I had only two stalls and no running water. I usually carried the water buckets down the hill from the houses outdoor spigot. This involved quite a bit of labor on my part. Once, rather than carry the full buckets all that way, I brought Whisper and his half-Percheron buddy Gray up the hill to drink from a bucket that sat under the outdoor faucet. I thought Id had a brilliant flash of insight.

But allowing Whisper in on the secret of where the water came from would turn out to be a serious mistake. Months later, I was out having way too much fun and returned quite late to feed and water. I felt uneasy about this, but, since I was only twenty-two, not all that uneasy. The horses wouldnt die if their routine were delayed. What was the big deal?

But as any barn hand knows, horses have a different point of view. The stamping and weaving and snorting and stall-chewing will start almost immediately after the appointed feeding time. Then the panic will escalate. Horses get anxious when their expectations are not met.

Some horses resign themselves to a late feeding. Others do something about it.

When I pulled into my driveway that night, a huge puddle filled my yard. I found my houses outdoor spigot on full tilt. This seemed inept, even for me. Perhaps a friend had been by and watered for me. But I found no note. When I checked the barn, the water buckets were empty. The mystery heightened.

After filling the buckets, I walked up from the barn, noting the winter weather. The sky was clear; my consciencenot so much. Callow and inexperienced as I was, I nevertheless realized I had failed to live up to my side of the horse-human partnership.

One day a week later, I rose a little late. The thermometer registered minus ten. So perfect in the summertime, Vermont sure can be cold in the winter, I whined to myself. I needed, I was sure, a hot cup of coffee before I tackled the barn. Maybe even two.

That was my point of view.

Whisper felt differently. I looked out the kitchen window down the hill at the barn. I slowly sipped my coffee. Over the pasture fence came that little golden-coated horse. His knees were tucked up into his chest like a champion athlete taking on a Grand Prix course. It was such a big and perfectly executed jump that I was taken aback. I hadnt known he could jump at all.

A horse of hidden talents, I thought.

Once clear of the fence (his soaring hoofs never touched it), my Morgan adopted a pleasant jog and headed himself straight to the water spigot.

Wham, wham, wham.

The water was on.

Hoofs, I learned that day, have a variety of uses.

Next Whisper stretched his lips out to make a kind of cup. This was also something I had never known a horse could do. He let the water cascade from the spigot into his mouth. Horses, it turns out, have highly sensitive and tactile lips that are much more agile than our own.

Having gotten what he wanted, Whisper strolled back down to the barn and waited for breakfast.

Horses can be quite ingenious when theyre motivated, and when it comes to water, their motivation is intense. But my Morgans cognitive genius was not limited to water witching. Clearly, Whisper could solve many kinds of problemsgetting around an electric fence, for example, or opening his stall door. When he had specific goals in mind, he was a high achiever.

This was all very nice for Whisper, but I didnt necessarily want him meeting his own needs by running all over the countryside. My neighbor with a splendid front lawn of luscious grass had already told me that horses frightened him.

Of course, motivation varies from individual to individual. Some horses are better than others at perfecting basic survival skills. My workhorse, Gray, rarely innovated. After Whisper jumped the fence and drank his fill from my water spigot, I threw on my jacket and made my way down to the barn. Gray was standing stolidly in his stall, waiting for me. Whispers stall door stood wide open. Looking in, I saw the problem: both water buckets were full (I had at least learned that much), but the water was frozen solid. The workhorse had expected me to solve the problem for him. The Morgan had solved it for himself.

Just how clever was my half-ton imp of a horse? I wondered. And how did Whispers inventive mind compare to Grays? I designed an experiment. I left several apples just out of reach while both horses stood in their stalls with the latches fastened. Both could reach their heads over the half doors buttheoreticallywould remain where they were until some human lifted the latch.