Before the gate swung open, I knew that the animal who stood within was anything but calm. The two horse, bumper pulled trailer rocked from side to side. The rocking caused the rear end of the three-quarter ton pickup to balance up and down. I assumed the horse tethered inside must weigh well in access of a thousand pounds. You can imagine my surprise when the owner of the trailer opened the gate and there stood a sweaty, barely eight hundred pound, short in stature, horse, pressed against the front of the trailer.
The owner cautiously placed his foot on the floor of the trailer and lifted his body into the back of the trailer while, in a soothing manner, spoke to the little horse in an attempt to assure him that he meant him no harm. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
The horse stood like a statue, no doubt, hoping to go unnoticed. He never turned his head to acknowledge the human. Again, probably thinking, if I can’t see you, you can’t see me. But it didn’t take a trained eye to notice that while the little horse was laboring to not move, his body deceived him as he shook. The shaking intensified as the intruder continued to move towards the front of the trailer. The moment the owner stepped inside the horse’s three foot bubble of personal space, the little guy lunged forward followed by an aggressive pull backwards. The action repeated itself and the trailer rocked from side to side.
The exit from the trailer went surprisingly smooth but the moment all four hooves were on the ground the horse shot upward and twisted his body so that in one swift move he rotated 180 degrees. In response to the owner’s attempt to rein the horse in and control his movement the little guy pulled back more aggressively and swung his hips from side to side. When he finally relented and moved forward his body shook to the point where an observer might question if an earthquake was occurring.
The round pen that awaited his arrival offered an endless array of threatening stimuli. A creaking gate, a walk through passage, evergreens that whispered notes of caution in varying octaves, cats that claimed the sand as their personal litter box, a chorus from horses that expressed an opinion concerning his presence, cattle dogs that entertained themselves by circling the pen, and not least of all, a stranger who watched his every move intently.
The bay horse found his midsection split in half as he stood firmly planted with his front legs in the round pen and his hind legs outside the pen. Any and all efforts by the owner to coax him in, either by force or trickery, were met with resistance. His ears never stopped moving as he worked feverishly attempting to discern the location and the level of threat associated with every sound. His body shook nearly to the point where he was forced to move his feet in order to reposition himself to maintain his balance. It quickly became obvious that balance was an issue, both physically and emotionally, the horse would need to develop.
Rail by rail, I scaled the six foot high corral panel at a point furthest from the petrified equine. As each foot crunched the sandy surface of the pen and the space slowly narrowed between us, I accentuated the sound of my breathing. Since he heard every other sound I was confident the little guy would hear the air being pushed forth from my body. His head was held high keeping his nose above the owner’s shoulder, his ears remained at full attention, his body continued to shake, and his hooves never moved, but…, there was a blink of his right eye, an ever so slight softening of his demeanor that gave me permission, an invitation, if you will, to take another step forward and to continue to breathe. By the time I reached the owners side, the horse’s nose tilted forward slightly and both eyes were completely focused on me. I asked for the lead rope and invited the owner to step aside slowly and leave the space. Without getting any closer to the horse I turned away from him, and with the least amount of pressure possible, I tightened the tension of the lead rope and then inhaled and exhaled as loudly as possible. I felt the tension of the lead rope lessen and without looking I knew he lowered his head. A second, deep, cleansing breath was followed by a third and a fourth. The rope no longer quivered to the same extent. Without turning to look at him, I offered my voice to him for the first time, I whispered, “Shhh, just relax, we are going to step forward. First your left front leg followed by your right hind…just relax and step with me.”
As I stepped away from the horse I heard his hoof pull from the sand and be pressed back into the coarse texture. Cautiously he moved in unison with me. We moved past the center of the round pen and then I stopped. Again, I inhaled and exhaled loudly and then whispered, “Shhh, you’re just fine.” The sound of horse lips being licked by the tongue informed me that he was relaxing and trusting me. Without turning to face him, I took a half step back and stood astride with his head. Our eyes met and he surveyed every feature of my face. I reached beneath his head, careful not to make contact with his body, and detached the lead rope from his halter. His head bobbed twice testing the bounds of his new found freedom. He had the option to leave, to turn and run, yet he stood still and waited for me to offer up the next option. In that moment, his behavior or as some might conclude, absence of action, spoke volumes. I knew there was “hope” for a horse the owner feared might be beyond “hope”.
My next step forward was as much for the owner as it was for the horse. Remaining consistent, I inhaled and exhaled loudly, whispered, “Shhh, let’s move forward”, and then stepped forth trusting that the horse was in stride with me. We made two laps around the pen and stopped directly in front of the owner and family who stood outside the pen. The words spilled forth from them, “I haven’t seen him do that. You think there is hope for him.” The volume of their words and the movement of their bodies sent the little horse across the round pen leaving me alone to respond.
“I have no doubt that the little guy just needs some time to become a horse again. He needs to trust himself and then he will start to trust humans.”
The question obviously had been on their minds for sometime as it rushed forth, “you think he was beaten?”
The story of a horse’s history is always important, but when it’s not available, trying to speculate what may or may not have happened, can make movement forward difficult. Somehow knowing that the horse might have been beaten prior to their ownership justified the actions they had witnessed for nearly the past year. But that fact alone doesn’t solve the problem. Projecting a past onto the horse can become a block to the present and the future. It’s best to simply listen and watch what the horse is telling you in the moment. Where is he at right now? What is the foundation of his actions, pain, fear, confidence, trust, the reinforcement of bad behavior, etc…
Over the course of the next two days, I watched the bay gelding as he bolted from side to side of the pen, whenever fear gripped him. My observations included trying to determine if there was a pattern to what caused him to panic, what drove his feet to move and his body to shake? The pattern became clear, the answer was, everything! The question before me was, how do I help this horse become less fearful, how do I help him trust himself?.
As we walked across the yard to the arena his head was nearly resting on my shoulder. He pressed against my body making it difficult to walk a straight line. An observer might conclude that the bay gelding was disrespectful and required a boundary adjustment. For just about any other horse, I would have agreed, but with this guy, his actions were not a sign of disrespect but a plea for help. He simply didn’t know how to live within his own body.
Removing the halter and watching him frantically dart about the arena, when I stepped aside, I concluded, yet again, he needed to discover what it meant to be a horse. He needed to learn how to live within himself.
My thoughts raced, “where does one start? What does he need in order to become comfortable with himself? What does he need from me?” My mind was nearly as frantic as the gelding’s actions. It was at that moment that I realized what we both needed. P.A.C.E.
PACE is an acronym I created, many years ago, to explain the work of a delta. A delta in a herd is the horse that creates peace. The horse that quiets the aggressive actions of the alpha and befriends the omega. The delta is one who is confident, mature and comfortable with who they are and who they are becoming. (Being and Becoming) For the sake of others, a delta uses their power, their gifts and talents for the sake of the other, the herd. Their leadership qualities exist and emerge within the moment, at the time of disruption, of chaos, of stress.. What a delta does is they set the PACE. When interacting with another they are Patient, they are Accepting, they are Consistent in their behavior, and they are Empathic. Until that moment, with my foot pressed on the bottom rail of the fence, I had always viewed PACE as something the delta did outside of themselves, in other words, they were patient, accepting, consistent and empathic with others. At that moment, I understood that a delta first practices PACE within their own existence. One is PATIENT with self, one ACCEPTS self, one is CONSISTENT with self, and one is EMPATHIC with self. Only at that point can a delta set the PACE with others.
PACE within oneself is not limited to horses. Basking in the light of an epiphany, I thought about individuals who struggle because they are unable to be patient with self, unable to accept self, their actions are anything but consistent, and any thought or action of empathy is non existent. Being able to offer self grace and forgiveness, being able to challenge self in a meaningful way is overwhelming. It is not only horses that live a life filled with fear and uncontrollable shaking. It is not only horses that race about in the arena of life. It is not only horses whose actions have been labelled unacceptable. It is not only horses who struggle with boundaries. It is not only horses who need PACE from within.
The bay gelding needed to place his head on my shoulder to assure himself that I would protect him as he struggled to discover himself. I would give him the space to fail and still keep challenging him to grow. The little guy needed to discover PACE within himself. I needed to share with him the gift of patience so that he could be patient with himself. I accepted him without condoning undesirable even harmful behaviors so that he could accept himself. I had to be consistent in every thought and every action that he might become consistent in his actions. If I didn’t jump every time he attempted to leap away from himself eventually there would be no need to leap. I needed to stand at his side and feel what he feels and think as he thinks so that I become one with him in this journey to become a whole being.
The work is tiresome, it is demanding, and it is slow, but if a horse deserves such attention doesn’t every human being? It’s time we set the PACE!
Side note, “research (according to the Mayo Clinic) tells us that, yes, there’s a relationship between patience and well-being. Various studies have found that people who are more patient experience less low mood, are more empathetic and feel greater gratitude. Your level of patience may even be related to your level of happiness.” Just think, horses taught me what others learned at the Mayo Clinic!