Bear with me, please. I miss my dogs, one in particular. I’m in Dunedin, and he’s 12,620 km away. It sounds even farther in Newzealandish, doesn’t it? It’s National Pet Day back home, I know he is keeping an eye on the door. The Dude Rancher takes good and kind care of the dogs while I’m away working, but no matter how hard he tries, he doesn’t have that certain something Preacher sees in me. If I tell the truth, there is a look Preacher Man gets that I don’t see in the Dude Rancher either. Probably for the best.

Preacher shows up in my writing; he’s been with me for about five and a half years now. It was always him and me, no one else matters. What do you think, Sandy? Was he a couple of years old when you sent him here, give or take? It’s a guess with rescue dogs and he barked across Texas before he came here. He’s a mid-life member of the long-low-barky-herding club now. He used to move around a lot, but time has passed, we’ve mourned four good dogs in those years. Too many of us have become strays, so Preacher needs to keep a special eye on me. Sure, the Dude Rancher lets him talk to me on the phone, but it isn’t the same.

I’m a horse trainer who always talks about Calming Signals in my clinics. I think it’s simply the biggest leap forward we’ve ever had in building better relationships with horses but the concept named by Turid Rugaas, a dog trainer. Once you start speaking the language of calming signals, it feels like dogs, horses, and every other species use some version of this same language. Preacher is an impresario, with seven octaves of toenails, barkyodels, and calming signals. I listen to all of them.

Lots of dogs bark a bit. No harm. Preach over-barked his welcome in a few places before coming here. It’s how you get a name like his, from loudly pontificating and enjoying the sound of your own voice a bit too much. The trouble is I don’t think he liked it at all. It’s more of a bark compulsion for him. Barkitis. He hates it when he barks but he can’t stop. I promised I wouldn’t mention the trickle-down events that result from a barksalot reality; it’s too much information and it puts him in a bad light. His anxiety makes him do things that he regrets even before they happen. Then he barks to relieve his anxiety which gets set off more guiltbarking. It’s like chasing his tail but it’s all in his head, which is both confusing and crazy-making, so he barks a while longer.

Preacher tries too hard, on guard and proactive toward possible lurking evil, but humans call it being reactive. One more misunderstanding.

When he first came, Preacher ran circles on my lap, excited to be so close, popping buttons off my shirt and barking too hard to, barkbark, breathe, barkbark. When the joy was too much, in 5-8 seconds, he had to leap down, spin a few times and try to jump back up, while mumblebarking on each exhale because if he’s breathing, he’s barking, and that’s the rule. Mumblebarking almost like not barking if you don’t look right at him. And the washer is running, they’re grating the road, and your hearing aids are off.

Preacher Man has recently become a mystery media star. I make videos for my online training group, demonstrating techniques with horses and in each one, he’s just off camera, a master thespian capable of an eloquent range of emotion, all expressed by interpretive barking. It’s not just while filming, the background music of my life is a yapping barkdog, reminding me he’ll relentlessly protect me from all real or imagined harm, except for bark poisoning.

While working, I try to help people understand what their horses are communicating about stress so they can answer with kind affirmative signals. Some of the horses are young or have had privileged lives, and the conversations are full of curiosity, soft eyes, and relaxed necks. Others are rescues with half-closed eyes, stiff backs, and emotional baggage that make them look as tired as their exhausted feelings. Time is the magic ingredient. Some will eventually find a way back, healing themselves with the relief brought by forgiving themselves, as much as us.

Others lose their way forever, no matter how much we love them. I wonder sometimes if our ever-needful desire to heal them only confirms to them how damaged and broken they are. Do they see themselves through our eyes, an affirmation of their flaws? Do they shut down to our pity? Could our love burn too hot for healing?

For a while, I dreamed that Preacher would sleep deeply and awaken soft and relaxed. That the sight of the broom wouldn’t make him cower. That he could enjoy his dinner in small bites without defense. That he would be able to cock his head sideways and give me a goofy smile. But I gave that up. It felt like I was asking him to become a lounge singer or an electrical engineer or space alien. I let go of needing him to be anything and just listened to his barksong, with a cooling acceptance of him exactly as he is.

It’s been those same five and a half years since I’ve gone to the bathroom by myself. No one with a dog goes to the bathroom alone. But now Preacher doesn’t have to stare out the door, keeping everyone at a distance with a bark at that could chip porcelain. Instead, he follows me into the bathroom like an old man in a stained tee-shirt, punching a time clock at a job he’s no longer enjoys but it’s his duty of habit. Dozing off with his head in the corner, a grouchbark not quite under his breath.

…

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

Join us at The Barn, our online training group at annablake.com

Email ambfarm@gmail.com for clinic hosting details or to be added to the email list.

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Published on April 12, 2019 06:20

April 7, 2019

Photo & Poem: Horse Trailer Conversation

Horse Trailer Conversation

She takes me from the herd, pulling me to the box.

Her hand is thick, there is no air in her feet. I want to run,

fast and far, instead dragging my hooves, looking away.

No, stand and fight, she says with dread in her spine.

Standing next to the box makes her dark and stiff.

There are no horses near, the air is filled with bad.

She must feel its danger, her shallow breath.

This box she does not like, I cannot trust.

The predator repeats louder, her word turning to stone.

Does she not know me? Not remember I must run?

I am alone from my herd, isolated with her, and

her driving worry grates the air. Trapped and wrong, I

tell her again, I am no threat, only prey. I will not hurt you.

…

Repetition of the thing we dread does not make

the task easier, it makes dread more common.

…

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

Join us at The Barn, our online training group at annablake.com

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Published on April 07, 2019 12:37

April 5, 2019

Behavioral Euthanasia of Horses

“Anna, do you have any articles that touch on behavioral euthanasia?”

It’s from a question about a rescue horse in trouble. Initially, things went well enough but now there is unusual pasture activity, unprovoked aggression toward other horses, and the issues continue to escalate. A horrible fit of extreme bucking resulted in the rider not being hurt too badly, this time, but seemed to leave the horse strangely shaken. There have been dental checks, a chiropractor, and repeated vet visits. No expense has been spared, all ideas exhausted, and the horse continues to struggle. Two vets support the idea of behavioral euthanasia.

Euthanizing for reasons of behavior is more commonly talked about in the dog world (here is a good blog on it) and I’ve written about a hard decision I made on a two-year-old Corgi rescue. Heartbreaking but maybe more understandable for dogs? It’s a question that comes up for our horse rescue organization from time to time and it requires serious consideration for each horse, each time. It’s always the last resort.

Is behavioral even the right word? Is the horse doing something that can be untrained? Keep in mind that the only way a horse has to tell us he’s in pain is with his behavior. Normal horses don’t exhibit extreme behaviors for no reason. It’s always pain of some kind. Add on top that this is a rescue horse with an unknown history.

Most rescue horses work out just fine, given up for innocent reasons; their owner died or couldn’t afford them. No harm. Some come to rescue with bad habits that good trainers straighten out and the horses go on to be valued in new homes. Most rescue placements are positive for both sides.

But the extreme minority may show issues that can’t seem to be righted. Perhaps a horse has a degenerative condition that hasn’t been diagnosed but has progressed now. Neglect can damage organs and bad training can cause mental unstability. Or maybe there is a perfect storm of issues that add up to a mess impossible to separate. I still can’t feel good about calling it behavioral if pain is the motivating factor for the horse. No blame on vets, I’ve lost count of the horses brought to me for training that I was certain were having pain or ongoing lameness, only to have the vet say, “Nothing that I can find.” It’s a careful sentence, saying exactly what’s intended. It doesn’t mean the horse is sound or pain-free. Then the owner has a choice, to go further with other vets and more testing, or try to manage as long as possible.

Can a horse have a mental disorder? Perhaps a chemical imbalance, or could a horse have a mental disability? How much do we not know about these questions?

Then, can we talk about the unspeakable? How much money is too much? May I be the unromantic voice of reason? Some of us will spend as much on a lameness issue as others of us make in a year. Do you have a small herd? Can you risk their ongoing welfare on one horse? I will never say that a competition horse is worth more than a rescue, but it’s never the responsibility of the owner to go into profound debt, no matter the horse. You don’t need to apologize, you took a horse in and you probably will again. When it’s time to make a decision based partly on finances, there is no shame. Because all the money in the world can’t heal what has gone beyond our knowledge.

It’s about now that a railbird lets you know you are a quitter. It’s a friend who tells you she would never give up, never euthanize, that it’s always the wrong answer. This person is not your friend. For the depths you have gone to for this horse, let this superficial twit who knows everything float away on her own chatter. Railbirds exist to challenge our integrity, at the expense of their own. No one knows what you know; no one can do more for your horse than you, as much as you wish it. Walk away.

Can you rehome the horse? Please don’t. You got lucky so far, you haven’t been hurt badly. Your dog is still alive. Knowing how hard it is for a horse to go to a new home, are you certain that it won’t make him worse? That it hasn’t happened to your horse a couple of times already.

What if he falls into the wrong hands; what if he must prove himself “not right” again and again? But the next time, what if he hurts himself badly? Can you live with yourself if he hurts another person? Maybe that place won’t have the meager money you have for vet bills and he might be left to fend for himself, maybe a grinding death through painful and slow starvation. Considering that, would he be lucky to land on a truck to Mexico? What if all the possibilities are dark and sad and his pain is the only bright-hot moan in the night?

There are so many things are worse than death, if horses even think about it. They live in the moment so there’s little equine philosophizing. It’s always our issue, and wrong to let our perceptions get in the way of a horse’s reality. What do we know? If this horse was in the wild, it’s possible that predators would have resolved this question long ago, with his understanding.

For domestically-owned horses, we have to become the kind predator. Amid the loud jangling din of all sides, the endless worry and the wish for a better solution, in some quiet corner of your mind, you know. At a still time of the day, the sunset may remind you that the circle of life can appear to die but circle around back again, unbroken. You don’t have to stop loving him to stop his suffering.

It takes no special skill to love a horse, but to do it well will eventually break your heart. And make you stronger for your next horse because that’s what it means to not quit.

…

Anna Blake at Infinity Farm

Join us at The Barn, our online training group at annablake.com

Email ambfarm@gmail.com for clinic hosting details or to be added to the email list.

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Published on April 05, 2019 02:41

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