A few weeks ago I watched a few video clips of the 2022 European Dressage Championships with a feeling of discomfort. This morning I viewed a clip of a horse that was difficult to pick up its feet.
Yesterday I watched a training video by a well-known horsemanship trainer and felt very uncomfortable.
When I read some of the comments that accompanied each of those videos, I was struck by how much my assessment of the training and the performances differed from others. There I was feeling very uncomfortable about what I was watching, yet feeling like I was missing something because of how much rapturous support was being expressed in the comments section.
Then it struck me that what I was looking at and what other people were looking at were not the same elements of the same videos.
People saw the reach of the forelegs in the extended trot of one of the dressage horses and loved it. I saw foam erupting from the horse’s mouth like a volcano indicating tension and worry. I saw a neck with extreme curvature and heavy-handed use of the reins. It bothered me.
In the video of the horse that avoided having its feet picked up, people’s comments ranged from checking for ulcers to back soreness. Yet I saw a horse that was distracted and mentally disconnected from the handler and was wanting to be with its paddock buddies.
In the video showing the horsemanship trainer working a horse, there was a lot of praise for the responsiveness and lightness the horse showed when asked to perform lateral flexions. I saw a horse that was afraid of the reins.
At a horse expo a few years ago I watched the colt starting competition. The official winner of the event was able to ride his horse over tarpaulins, open a gate, and cracked a stock whip while sitting on it. He got a huge applause. But for me, the unofficial winner of the event was a woman who didn’t even try to get her horse to do any of those things. It was not ready. In fact, she didn’t even ride her horse. But over the three days her horse became relaxed, connected with her, and was trying its heart out at everything it was asked. The way she worked with her sensitive mare was first prize in my book.
I want to be clear that I am not yelling at anybody. I want to be clear that I am not saying that my judgment and perception of what is right is where the discussion ends. But I am trying to point out that different people have different ideas of what they believe is good training. I want to point out that some people make their judgments based on what we can teach a horse to do. Other people are more interested in judging the quality of training on what we can teach a horse to feel.
When I see a horse working a cow or performing a half pass or walking into a trailer or grazing in a paddock, it is my inbuilt bias that automatically looks at the inside of a horse. When I see a horse that is crooked or lame or straight or sound, I immediately think, “What is going on inside that horse?” When I see a horse standing to be mounted or approaching a jump, my mind first considers its expression, the direction of its thoughts, and the tension in its body. I do these things long before I consider the quality or correctness of a horse’s movement or the obedience to the aids. I can’t help it. It’s my prejudice. And because it is such a strong prejudice in me that I sometimes find it hard to understand why other people don’t judge horses and training the same way. Why do some people get excited by a huge expressive canter while a horse is displaying deep emotional upset? It’s not that I think they are wrong. It’s just that I don’t get it. I guess this explains why I am not the trainer for everybody, as hard as I might try.
This is my mare, Six showing the sort of relaxation that is worth more to me than any blue ribbon.