Today’s essay is not particularly mind-blowing or educational. Thinking about my friend Luke simply got me in a mood to blab on about personal growth and horses.
Luke was a 4-year-old Percheron/Arab gelding that I first saw at an auction in Geelong. The country was suffering through a long drought and he had been trucked many thousands of kilometres from the Northern Territory to Victoria to be sold at auction, along with about 50 other horses.
He had a reserve price of $600, but there were no bidders. So I bought him after the auction for $150. He was wild and hated people. He was one of the few horses I have met in my life that attacked first and asked questions later.
He arrived 3 days after the auction. I gave Luke 2 days to recover from his ordeal before I went out to talk to him. Immediately, he eyed me suspiciously and gave me plenty of hints not to get too close. I walked up to him, stopped about 5 metres away and we stared each other down.
I spoke to Luke something that was later stolen by the writers of the Liam Neeson film, Taken.
I said, “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want ….. What I do have is a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for horses like you.”
Luke continued to stare at me and without blinking he responded slowly and with menace, “Good luck.”
Over the 25 years or so together we evolved to be the best of friends. But it was a rocky start to our relationship.
At some point, our relationship turned a corner from being adversarial to being companionable. I asked a lot of him during our years together. He had to jump a 6ft 3” fence to win a six-bar competition. He had to carry me to escape a bush fire. On a horse trek, he once had to endure 3 days without water. He did what I asked when he was exhausted, when he was afraid, and when he was conflicted. He never disappointed me. He has been gone for many years, but I hope he would say I tried my best for him.
Thinking about Luke prompted me to think about horses in general and how we have the job of trying to convince them of our good intentions and our trust. Horses are not like dogs. A scratch and rub are not enough for a horse to make them a lifelong friend. That comes later - after we have earned it.
I was considering the difference between horse people that are raw beginners and those that are capable, competent, and handy with horses. It seems simple. It’s the number of mistakes a person makes. As a person grows in their horsemanship the mistakes are fewer and the consequences are less damaging. Along this journey, at some point, the ratio of good decisions to bad decisions reaches a tipping point, where a horse changes their view of a person. It gradually transitions from being seen as someone that is a total schmuck who is going to get the horse killed to someone whose intentions are worthy of consideration and a desire to search for a way to get along together.
This is a newspaper cutting. Luke and I were trekking to South Australia and passed through the city of Geelong to replenish a few supplies. You can tell from the length of the beard that I hadn't been to a town for a few weeks.
The tipping point is different for each relationship. But when you are struggling to get along with a horse, it’s the point where you transition from rough seas to smooth waters. On the other side of the tipping point is what brings happiness to the relationship and not just tolerance. It’s where the partnership begins. In this place, the reasons for becoming a better horse person go beyond winning ribbons or creating submission or even staying safe. The reasons become about sharing time and adventures with a friend that is like no other friend you have.
The journey never ends. And as I have written before, there will always be limits to the strength of the friendship and trust we can expect from our horse. Every relationship has its boundaries. But the journey never ends because it’s where we find happiness.