All I Ever Needed to Know I Learned from a Horse

Horses are my jam. The vision of them. The idea of them. Cowboys ride them, and hello…gotta love cowboys! If I were to put a bumper sticker on my car, it would read: I Brake for Running Horses. (I do, at the first safe opportunity, camera in hand). My earliest experience with horses was at age 14 when my dad purchased a quarter horse. He actually bought a horse (not the “going to talk to a man about a horse” adult excuse when a kid doesn’t need to know details of what they’re up to, only I fell for it every time and wondered why all the talking, and who was this man, anyway?). My dad was such an awesomely entertaining and amazing dad. Ask any of my old school chums.

Cherokee Pride was a crotchety fellow and had a dreadful case of barn sour. When I’d attempt to discourage him from his ritual swiveling around and aiming for the barn every 10 feet, he’d bounce up on his hind legs as if to say, “I’ll roll your butt right on outta this saddle, girl, don’t be messin’ with me!” I was shy. Timid. Agreeable. Uh, okay, back to the barn we go!

However, Dad didn’t fall for that nonsense. He’d take belligerent Pride around the lake by our mountain home and work that barn sour right out of him. Until one day Pride was in an especially cantankerous mood. He reared up for real, hooves pawing the air in graceful, no-nonsense form, so high and straight. Big sigh…Dad looked just like Roy Rogers on Trigger. Until that silly horse kept on going backwards. I still remember it in torturous slow-motion, my dad clinging to the saddle, Pride poised to smash to the ground right on top of him. It all happened so quick. I screamed, dashed into the house, crying my eyes out, terrified Dad had been mortally injured. Dad was fine. He’d jumped from the saddle with only a few bruises to show for it. Pride was okay, too, except for maybe, well, his pride. I wasn’t allowed to ride him after that (not that I wanted to, mind you). Not long after he was sold to an Army soldier and I sure hope he had better luck with him.

I didn’t have any up-close experience with horses for years after that, except for occasional fun but sluggish horseback rides at commercial barns. Then my oldest daughter, Lexie, decided she wanted a horse for her birthday, for Christmas, for Easter, 4^th of July. Didn’t matter. She begged and begged and begged. We lived on three acres at the time. I knew a lady from church who had horses. Hm. I’d ask her what she thought. The rest is history…

That lady from church, Cathleen, turned into my BFF. She is absolutely the most amazing horsewoman in the world, and at the time was starting up a therapeutic riding center. Not only did Lexie end up with a retired therapy horse for her very own, but the entire family volunteered at Cathleen’s riding center for many years to come. As it turned out, Lexie lost interest in horses, and Mr. Stan (the first of three horses) became mine. Then came Sammy, a retired and cocky racehorse, and then Rudy, a sweet palomino Peruvian Paso. Did you know Peruvians are gaited and provide the smoothest ride ever? Rudy was my baby, my trail horse, the boy I rode in parades and on the drill team. Rudy was most like me in that he was skittish, shy, unsure of himself, and needed understanding and love. Rudy and I leaned on one another a lot.  

And so…what exactly did horses teach me, you may ask?

~Belief~ In myself, in my heart, in my abilities. No matter how shy or hesitant I was, a horse taught me to trust, to step up, to make my voice heard. A horse taught me not to simply agree without asking questions. A horse taught me to be strong, strengthen my core, to stand my ground, not to accept bullying and being pushed into things because I’m unsure. A horse taught me to be sure.

~Breathe~ It’s the force of life. We all need to breathe to live. But what’s the first thing we do when scared, startled, or faced with a sudden challenge? We hold our breath. Suck it in. Hold onto that baby ‘cause we may never get another! We essentially stop breathing, our lungs becoming meaty fists gripping gobs of air and refusing to let go until the threat goes away. Our bodies tense up. And you know what? Horses are intuitive. They feel our emotions, the subtleties when we hold our breath, the rigid, unnatural posture of a nervous human on their back. Huh? Why she’s so scared? Is there a terrifying rock or bush that I should be concerned with? Holy crap, I’d better trot faster and get away from it!! No, better yet I’ll gallop. Ain’t no scary bush gonna jump at me. Oh, wait! She took a breath. She’s breathing now. All is well. She’s not scared so I’m not either. Ahhh, slowing down. Nothing to be afraid of here. Someday I’m going to get a “Breathe” tattoo. Maybe on my inner wrist, so I can glance at it in a stressful or unsure situation and imagine myself on the back of a horse.

~Courage & Confidence~ A human controlling a 1000+ animal is fairly miraculous. It’s not about control, though. It’s about understanding, encouragement, partnership, and patience. It’s about being aware of our surroundings and having the courage and confidence to face the challenges life throws at us. It’s about pushing ourselves. Having the audacity to learn, to acknowledge when we’re wrong, and recognize when we’re right, and to persevere.

A relationship with a horse taught me it’s okay to be me. My thoughts, desires, opinions, and feelings matter. I am worthwhile. Above all, I am strong. I may not be 1000+ pounds strong (thank goodness), but I’m still plenty powerful.

Until next time, lovelies…take care and remember to breathe.  xo