Download Full PDF - Digital Publishing

It’s my job to teach
my horse the rules.
12 M ARCH 2013 THE AMERICAN QUARTER HORSE JOURNAL
≤
U P A N D O V E R
Explaining the
Ground Rules
By Pamela Britton-Baer
why is it just when things are looking
up, someone jerks the horse blanket out from
under your feet? This is the story of my life.
The 2013 show season? A total bust. My
horse tore his suspensory. Two months of stall
rest, maybe more. He could walk-trot in
three months, maybe ride in five. Maybe.
I am a firm believer that things happen for
a reason. I had a new show prospect sitting
in the barn. Maybe this was God’s way of
forcing me to ride him. Too bad the idea
filled me with terror.
My new horse is the equine equivalent of
a 1,200-pound spoiled child, complete with
temper tantrums, meltdowns and bouts of
extreme stubbornness – all directed at me. I
now know the reason why he was a bargainbasement
price, and it had nothing to do
with being a carrier of strangles.
My trials and tribulations with my stomping
and rearing, snaked-headed horse was
fodder for many a Facebook post. I think his
breeder took pity. As a Christmas present,
she bought me a one-hour session with a
world-renowned animal communicator.
Then I began to fret. What would my
horse “tell” her? What if he told her about
the day I clothes-lined myself with the
cross-ties? Or if he asked that I stop using
his stall as a restroom? Or that my
husband likes to slap my bottom?
Fortunately, my horse kept that
information to himself. Indeed, the
only thing he liked talking about
was himself. He has a huge ego.
Huge. That made sense in a weird
kind of way. I was given some
instructions on how to cope with
his, ahem, unique personality. I
was also told to take heart, that my
new horse loved me and that he
would never do anything to harm
me. Given that he’d just tried bite
my head off while mucking his
stall, this was news to me.
I remained skeptical.
But fate had other ideas. Less than a week
after my psychic encounter, I was grounded.
Abscess and seedy toe. Riding my new horse
was out of the question.
Have you ever seen cartoon characters
jump up and down in frustration, steam
coming out of their ears? That was me.
But I grimly trudged onward. If I couldn’t
ride, I would do showmanship.
You must understand this was akin to
leashing a sabertooth. My horse subscribes to
the theory that if a human stops walking, it’s
OK to keep going and drag said human
along. He also believes humans are chewtoys
and that equines the world over should
never, ever have to do what they’re told.
Ever. It was my job to show him the error of
his ways.
I will never forget the first day I used a
stud chain on him. In his customary bid for
dominance, he decided to bolt past me,
bucking. With one tug of the chain I made
him stop like an inductee into the National
Reining Horse Association Hall of Fame.
As he turned to face me I could practically
see him thinking, “What the – ?”
I gave him a look right back that said, “I
am a woman with a stud chain … and I am
not afraid to use it.”
He would strike out with his legs. I
would strike back, usually with my own
legs. He would try to bite. I would bite him
back, much to his utter disbelief. He would
try to mow me down. I would ram him
back with every ounce of strength in my
5-foot-nothing frame.
And a funny thing happened. There came
a day when our working together resulted in
a miracle. It had been days since he’d pinned
his ears, weeks since a temper tantrum,
months since he’d tried to strike at me. I was
so emboldened by his behavior that I did
what would have been unthinkable months
before – I hopped on him bareback, with
only a halter.
As we trotted and cantered, I realized that
things truly had happened for a reason. He
had learned respect. I had learned to trust …
and that he really does love me.
Pamela Britton-Baer is a special contributor to
The American Quarter Horse Journal. To
comment, write to aqhajrnl@aqha.org.