The Tears Flowed

There are many stories I could tell about Braveheart and me, some good, some not so good, some downright awful. But I want to share this story that is, for now in our life together, near on to perfect.

Several days ago, or weeks, (one thing you learn about working with horses in a natural way is that time means nothing; it happens, it doesn't happen, it worked, it didn't work, maybe tomorrow, not today, Oh my goodness, he's got it!) I was watching a trainer, who is helping me with Braveheart, introduce him to new stuff. Wait, though, before I get to this, I should give you some background. See, Braveheart was almost five years old when we began to start him. Starting a colt usually begins when they are weaned (haltered and lead) and then again as two year olds, so Braveheart was getting a painfully late start. Imagine having a child who for five years could do what they wanted, when they wanted, with whom they wanted and then you try to introduce them to manners and rules. OK, so you get the picture.

So Braveheart is being introduced to some new stuff. We had him where we could halter him, lead him, and get him to work on the lead to go in a general direction by asking and rewarding. We were working on this, with me holding the lead, when the trainer asked to take Braveheart for a minute to show me some fine tuning. Well, one thing lead to another and Braveheart allowed the trainer to drape the lead over his back, use the lead as a psuedo-girth strap and even gently flip the lead around his front and rear legs (up to this day, he freaked when his legs were touched). The trainer just kept asking of him and he kept giving. She wrapped the lead around his front foot and asked, by gently pulling, for a step. HE GAVE IT, and another and another. She switched to his other front leg and he gave and gave.

The trainer had her back to me as she faced Braveheart. They had paused in the training. She took the lead and proceeded to head toward me as if to hand him off to me. I had tried to contain my tears of joy. A few had leaked out but I could pass those off as having come from my irritated eyes (arena dust and contact lenses don't always mix). But when I saw the tears streaming down the face of the trainer, the look of pride in my horse's eyes, well, I lost it. Fifty-one year old college professor, wanna-be cowboy, sobbing uncontrolably with pride because his horse had just done well, . . .No, I am not ashamed. I was proud. Proud like when your child takes her first steps, plays in their first music recital, walks down the aisle at their wedding.

Braveheart had given so much because we had made it comfortable for him to give. One of the things about natural horsemanship is to make the right thing easy and the wrong thing difficult. By making the arena a safe place for him, he knew we were not there to prey on him but to be with him, to support him, to ask and not force him. The right thing was easy.

Since that day, we have had other ups and downs, just like everyone does. But I revel in the good things we do now and quickly leave the not-so-good behind because I know that, more often than not, the not-so-good was a result of what I did wrong or he responded to a rudeness I exhibited to him. Horses simply react to what they are presented with. If I show respect, he will, too.