FINDING CONNECTION

FINDING CONNECTION

By Tom Gumbrecht

Originally published in Horse Directory, August 2016

My horses are pleasure horses; being in their company gives me pleasure. There was a time when riding was everything, at first casual and then in local competitions. I may not have yet realized it but the picture I was attempting to paint was one of the human-horse relationship; combined training and jumpers were my medium. While I enjoyed the ribbons and still have a few hanging up, the real payoff for me was how completion validated the strength of our partnership and the effectiveness of our communication.

The author with Bella, who was once
considered aloof.

 The partnership was enhanced in the training arena and culminated in the show ring or the cross country field. But it was really created in the stable, in the day-to-day caring for my horses' basic needs and sometimes special needs as well. That's where we, human and horse alike, learned to trust one another and to develop enough faith in that trust to sometimes go against our instincts and rely totally on the other being. I found that a much harder quality to develop than some of the technical skills.

For better or worse, it seemed that the tightest bonds were created when I was caring for a horse that was ill or injured. I was actually able to feel an intense level of trust developing through the heightened level of daily handling involved in their care. It was that soul connection between friends of different species that I had sought; competition had been one means to that end, but it was becoming evident that it was not the only means.

Bella was not my horse, but I was always responsible for her. She belongs to Samantha, who had multiple successful seasons in jumpers with her when she was home in high school. Bella was a very talented horse, but she was a hot blooded Arabian mare who was concerned about everything. Samantha was one of only a few people who could ride her in competition effectively. They were both accepted at a prestigious Midwest horsey college, and Bella never really fit into their program. While the school touted the qualifications of their trainers, the reality was that these big name trainers only worked with the top human and equine athletes. The overwhelming majority was taught by other students, who in this case were well-meaning but  inexperienced in dealing with a horse like Bella. She became confused and seemed to be losing her spirit. I ended up bringing her back home before her fourth semester was finished, with a mysterious lameness that no one seemed to be able to pinpoint.

Bella had been the most aloof of all of our horses, and often resisted human attempts to show

The author learns that Bella's trust
needs to be earned and cannot be
rushed.

affection. I noticed a subtle shift in attitude when I showed up at the college-town stable to bring her home, something hard to describe; a renewed intensity in her eyes perhaps, and a much more vocal greeting when she became aware of my presence. She associated me with home, it seemed, and she wanted to go home.

In the time that has passed since then, Bella retired from jumpers, but shockingly for such a hot blooded mare, became a rock solid trail mount; I could see the attentiveness in her ears and feel her confidence through reins and seat. She has had issues that sometimes affected her soundness, and at those times required a more intensive regimen of care than normal. As I have now grown to expect, during those times we have become noticeably closer. Recently she has had a few different issues which required a good bit of attention from me, and I actually became aware of an increased sense of trust and gratitude radiating from her. Bella actually is a very affectionate horse, but needs to be allowed to express it in her time and on her terms.

Nap time with Bella.

On a recent summer Sunday morning I lingered in the barn aisle after my chores were completed, drinking my coffee and reading the newspaper. I glanced up from my chair and didn't immediately see Bella, so I stood up and then realized that she had lay down in her stall in front of the fan and was taking a nap. I slid open her stall door to check on her and she raised her head up, looking slightly annoyed at the intrusion.

 Curious, I sat down next to her in the stall with my back against the wall and my legs stretched out in front of me. Her head was to my right, and to my left I kept the stall door open in case she decided to get up and I needed to quickly get out of her way. I made a couple of attempts to stroke her neck and each time she pinned her ears slightly and gave a swish of her tail. So I let her be; she was obviously not fully comfortable with the situation. I just sat there and watched her ears come forward slowly and her eyes lose some of their intensity. I sat still for five, then ten, and ultimately almost thirty minutes when she let out a low groan that might have been concerning had it not been accompanied by the lowering of her head onto my chest and her breathing her breath into mine. Before I was even able to process what had just happened, she let out a nicker that shocked me not only by its volume in my ear or the reverberation in my chest, but also by being totally unexpected.  Bella did not often nicker.

Bella enjoys helping us with our farm chores.

This horse had wanted to connect as much as I did; I needed to find the patience to let it be her idea, to earn her trust and not attempt to force it. My patience was rewarded with a clearer understanding of what it is that I seek from my relationship with our horses. I seek to connect at the heart, and once in a while if I'm ready to receive it, the gift is bestowed upon me.

Ciao, Bella!

Ciao, Bella!    

                                                                                                                     

Originally published in Horse Directory,  August 2012

By Tom Gumbrecht

 I have, it seems, been blessed with a love for all horses.  Some, however, have at times been difficult to get along with.  For me, Bella had fallen into that category. Like many strained relationships, it was born of a lack of communication. Although in my barn, on and off, for quite a few years, I really didn’t know her.

Bella was Samantha’s second horse, purchased after her first horse, Magic, passed away as a senior.  She came from a farm in northern Connecticut, the fruit of Samantha’s exhaustive internet searches. She was as beautiful as she was young, only three years old when we met her.  Sam was 15 then, but we had both put in seven years with packers and schoolmasters, so with the help of a trainer, I believed her to be up to the challenge.

Bella, a buckskin pinto half-Arabian, half-Saddlebred mare, turned heads wherever she went. She proved a bit difficult to handle, but her speed and Sam’s keen eye and unshakable demeanor allowed her to do quite well in the local jumper shows.  At college, however, the instructors there were not as amused by Bella’s antics as we were, resulting in switching disciplines, and ultimately ending up in her not being used as much as we had hoped.  At one point, she sustained an unexplained lower forelimb injury and she ultimately came back home to recuperate.

She was given time off to heal, and during that time Sam had begun training with my Paint gelding, DannyBoy, who had just come off of a two year layup from his own injury.  During that time, I had been working with my recently rehabbed OTTB mare Lola, and our horse calendars were pretty much full.  Where Bella was concerned, the picture I had in my mind when I thought of her was with her ears perpetually pinned flat back, and teeth frequently bared.  She was a cranky mare.  I had a soft spot for her, but I never felt that my feelings were reciprocated.

Out of necessity, I had gained some experience in the years previous, rehabilitating orthopedic injuries in my horses.  The time had come to begin that with Bella.  In my back yard for seven years, save the four semesters at college in Ohio, I had nonetheless never ridden her.  I got on her in our ring and she seemed fine and offered no surprises.  So, I loaded her on the trailer and we drove to Blydenburgh Park in Smithtown for some light walk-therapy.

With a tiny bit of trepidation, I mounted up and we hit the trail.  She was a natural, blazing through overgrowth with ears forward and alert, cupping backward in acknowledgement of the slightest of aids.  She was reluctant to get her feet wet or muddy, so at first the puddles proved a challenge.  But she was otherwise brave, willing and interested.  Not wanting to overdo things on the first day, we headed back to the trailer after about a half hour of walking.  And then a crazy thing happened…

I untacked her and gave her a cool bath with a sponge and a bucket, scraping the excess water off so the remaining moisture could evaporate.  I noticed that unlike most horses, she seemed to want her face washed and actively encouraged it.  As is my routine, I brought out my little picnic lunch and let her graze peacefully as I enjoyed it.  She came over to investigate and gave me a look with such love in her eyes that was so intense and so unexpected that it gave me shivers.  She licked the side of my face and went back to grazing.  I didn’t see her ears pinned once during our excursion.  In subsequent days, the increased attention she paid me was at first curious, then disarming.  I was used to her being one way, and now she was acting another.

In one afternoon, a new friendship was formed.  We had only needed some one-on-one time to forge it.  The love had always been there; it was the “like” that we needed to work on.  That can be hard when someone seems to not like you.

 Sometimes, a little adversity forces us to work together.  And we discover something brand new, that has been there all along..