Listening is Acknowledgment: A Gray Mare’s Message

I pulled down the drive to a farm for a Calming Signal intensive. Meeting new horses and people who care about them is always special and honing our listening skills is the best gift we can give horses. I parked my trailer near a pen with three horses close to the barn. One of the horses was a gray mare who was quite thin, visibly lame, and showed pain in her body. This is a part of my job that I don’t talk about much.

Sometimes I get to a clinic stop and the trainer will let me know that someone in the clinic has a horse that should be considering retirement. Sometimes I see it for myself and mention it as kindly as I can, knowing that I have new eyes. Besides, it’s on the owner’s mind already. It can be easier to talk about hard topics, even death, with someone you don’t know.

The owner came over and we greeted each other and exchanged a few words. I don’t know the mare’s situation but she’s right there, so I ask if she is older. The owner related the horse’s history and her present condition with concern. She told me I couldn’t see the worst of it. The mare had a large tumor on her far side and had been set to be euthanized the week before but the vet told her that the horse was not in pain. I tell her the mare looks pretty uncomfortable to me or maybe exhausted. In a bittersweet way, our conversation was almost good news to the farm owner who said she didn’t agree with the vet, but she loves this mare. It was an intense “Hello, let’s talk about horrible things” conversation, but horses are a shared passion and even this sad topic ended up aligning us more than separating us.

We started early the next day with my Calming Signals PowerPoint presentation complete with photos and videos, so we would know what we were seeing later with the horses. Having a clinician visit is like a good news/bad news joke. I acknowledge everything that’s going well but also listen to the horses and give any suggestions. Clinics are a vulnerable time but we breathe.

Then we went outside where we all took turns haltering the horses for the rest of the day. If that sounds boring and slow, perhaps it isn’t too late to take up bowling.

Haltering is how we greet horses, our first interchange. Every time a halter goes on it means that the horse surrenders to us, so we’re polite and start by listening. To be clear, everyone, horses and humans, were totally capable of haltering. Think of the halter as a conversation starter. It isn’t about getting it done so much as letting the horse tell us something about themselves. Haltering can be a lesson for us. We have always been told to listen, but do you know what we’re supposed to be listening to?

The first horse was a snow-white mini who showed some nibbling muzzle anxiety. We talked about ways to alleviate his stress and the participant changed her position slightly, which is a big statement to a horse. The mini inhaled and stretched tall, nearly transforming into a Percheron. We continued on, each horse and participant having thoughtful exchanges. There were complicated elders and young draft horses who seemed to share one (eighth-grade boy’s) brain. Some horses tried too hard and some said “no, thank you,” with profound kindness. Some horses needed time to speak up. Horses use Calming Signals when two conflicting thoughts or feelings happen at the same time so we wait, letting them sort it out. A considered response from a horse is always the goal. Sometimes we don’t get the answer we want and instead, we get something better.

The last horse of the afternoon was that gray mare. Everyone in the group knew what was going on with her; they’d loved her for a long time and knew her care was impeccable. The mare walked along the front fence line of her pen, passing in front of the group, showing her tumor visible on one hip. She moved slowly, her body stiff, her stride uneven. It isn’t that she was unbalanced on one hoof, it seemed like all four. Her eyes are small and half-closed. Slowly she came to a stop in front of us and dropped her head lower, gave a couple of small licks, and exhaled loudly. These are signals of self-soothing, a release of stress and that’s good theoretically, but it isn’t going to get her out of the condition she’s in. The mare continued after a moment, moving along the fence line through a corner, and stopped, facing up the hill, looking away from the group.

The participant who was going to halter the mare walked through the gate and to the center of her pen. The idea is to begin the conversation away from the gate, and show the horse you’re listening. Give them space and then play the children’s game Mother, may I? Take a cue from the mare, halting when her calming signals showed more anxiety, coming closer when the mare gave a release signal. The participant changes her position patiently a couple of times but the mare shows no sign of acknowledgment at all. She’s frozen and that’s unusual.

When something isn’t normal, we go even slower and listen even closer. If we are too focused on the task, we might miss the message.

I asked the participant to forget about haltering the mare and instead move to her shoulder, facing the mare’s rump. Then I asked her to put her left hand between the mare’s front legs on the mare’s chest and breathe. I didn’t want to explain more, we’re busy with the horse. The participant does a wonderful job of doing less. Behind her back, the mare relaxed, her eyes got larger and softer. Then I asked the participant to step far away. At that moment, the mare turned and walked back along the front of the pen in front of all of us but now her walk is lighter with more rhythm and a little more swing. Her body had softened.

No, the mare was not healed, nothing mystical happened, and I’m not going to call this magic in any way. There is no cure for this pain that’s not an illness or injury. But there is relief in being listened to and the participant felt the shift in the mare, as we saw it visibly. If we feel pressure to save her, it just adds more anxiety to the mare. What horses want from us often is simple acknowledgment. “Yes, we hear that you’re in pain.” The mare showed relief immediately. She was crystal clear. When a horse gets what they ask for, they stop asking and release us. There couldn’t have been a more eloquent closing message to our clinic.

This beautiful and decrepit gray mare was just a horse. I’ve had several similar sad conversations about euthanizing recently, but rarely such a visual affirmation of the power of simple breath. We listen to the horse’s feelings by standing and breathing, with a hand on them or at a distance, as they choose. We’ve been taught less is more. Define less as listening and understand that the value is more.

Some people approach horses like a hell-and-brimstone preacher trying to save a nonbeliever. Wait, let horses express their feelings. There is no finer gift than acknowledging horses just as they are. We aren’t here to cure them of being horses. We’re here to listen to nuance.

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Anna Blake, Relaxed & Forward

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