It’s minus 25 and blowing a gale when I take hay out to my cold furry herd one February morning.  Most of my horses accept a hug and a pat from me as they get down to the serious business of breakfast.  But as I near Star she flattens her ears back against her head and turns around to aim a kick, before running away.  Getting used to (and a little tired of) this morning routine I keep out of kicking range, all the while fighting down the frustrated voice in my head which keeps telling me she needs to be given an ‘attitude adjustment’ and shown who’s the boss around here.  Why won’t she appreciate that I’ve sacrificed my warm cosy bed to come out in this cold to feed her!

Instead, taking a deep breath and listening to my heart, I move around the edges talking to her reassuringly in a quiet voice, telling her I am here for her, when she is ready to be with me.  I know the words make no sense to her but trust that she hears my love in the tone of my voice.  By the end of feeding time I go to her and she lowers her head to me; scratching her gently behind her ears I wonder how I could have wanted to give this gentle hurting soul an ‘attitude adjustment’ just a few short moments ago.

Star found her way to Healing Hooves late last year.  She was introduced to us as an aggressive horse with a bad attitude and behavioural problems.  We were warned repeatedly not to walk behind her.  The trainer I consulted with told me she needed a ‘real firm hand’.  He advised that Star be shown who was boss; if she tried to kick me when I was feeding her then I simply shouldn’t feed her that time.  He recommended I keep her in a small pen so that I could catch her, and to carry a whip with me whenever I went in the pen.  He assured me that this approach had worked well with horses far worse than Star.  I listened, but in my heart it just didn’t feel right.

A month after Star arrived, I met Annie, a 13 year old who had also been told that she had a bad attitude and behavioural problems.  Annie refused to talk to the last three counselors her parents sent her to; she called the psychologist, who diagnosed her with Oppositional Defiant Disorder, “Dr. Poopyhead;” and she hit the family’s in home support worker (who is focusing on behaviour modification) again last week.  She awols regularly and her parents no longer know any of the friends she hangs out with.  Her parents tell me they have tried every consequence out there, but now they have nothing left to take away.  Whatever they do Annie just doesn’t seem to care anymore, and she used to be such a loving sensitive little girl.  The only positive they can tell me about Annie now is her devotion to Domino, her 12 year old lab cross, who her parents describe as “the only member of the family Annie has a civil word for nowadays”.

Annie is drawn to Star and asks why she moves away when we approach.   We talk a while about Star’s past including the many trainers at her last home who tried to ‘fix’ her behaviour.  Annie asks what the trainers had done.  I explain what the last one had recommended I do.  A look of horror crosses Annie’s face as she asks me if I’d done this, and relief as I said definitely not.  I ask “What do you think may have happened if I had done what the trainer said?”  “She’d want to kick you even worse.  Maybe in a tiny pen she might have done what you said, but only cos she had to.  As soon as she got her freedom back she’d kick your head in and be long gone.  And I wouldn’t blame her!”

“She can’t help what she does, she doesn’t mean to hurt you” Annie later tells me as she gently scratches Star behind her ears, “she’s just so scared.”   “So what do you think needs to happen next?”  I ask.  “She needs to know she can trust you, that you are going to stick by her even when she kicks.  You need to be patient because the more you push her, the more attitude you’re going to get – she just can’t help it.”

To Annie it is all so obvious; to her parents, watching over the fence, the parallels and full implications are just starting to sink in.  Star has just taught them where my words alone had previously failed.

Over the next couple of months I help Annie show Star the love and acceptance she needs.  In time Star’s aggression simply melts away and we discover a gentle intuitive horse who loves hugs – especially from Annie.  At the same time I watch Annie’s parents change their approach with their daughter and she too starts to melt, then flourish.  They simply see her in a different way and that has changed everything.

Copyright Sue McIntosh 2008

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