My Horse Won't Cuddle

                                                by Laura Crum

            I have an acquaintance (a friend of a friend) who bought a reliable older gelding. She paid a fair price for him. She’s owned him a year and he is sound and reliable, just as she’d been told. She’s gone on many pleasant trail rides with no problems. But she’s not happy with her horse. She says she’s thinking of selling him.

            Why? Well, she says the horse doesn’t like her and that they haven’t formed a “bond.” (Let us understand right now that this is a young woman who has only owned one previous horse—and that one for only a year when she was a teenager.) I asked why she felt this horse didn’t like her, and she said that the horse didn’t want her to pet him. The horse didn’t seem to enjoy grooming. The horse only engaged with her when she fed him. Otherwise he gave clear indications that he didn’t want her to fuss with him.

            I asked if he pinned his ears or mock nipped at her—and she said no, nothing like that. He was well-behaved both under saddle and on the leadrope. He just didn’t show any interest in being affectionate with her.

            I have to admit I stared at this gal in mild consternation. THIS was a problem?

            Uhmm, I told her—you are basically describing my son’s horse, Henry. He behaves exactly like this. And I think Henry is a wonderful horse. We all love him to bits. He’s cheerful, reliable, and honest as the day is long. It makes me smile just to see his bright-eyed face nickering at me at feeding time.

            But no, Henry does not like to be petted. Not by any of us, or anybody else that I have ever seen. He clearly does not enjoy being groomed. He obviously wishes that people would not fuss with him. He doesn’t pin his ears or act disagreeable. But he ignores all “fussing” with a disgruntled expression on his face, and moves away from it if he can. He tolerates being saddled and ridden with good grace, but the only thing he shows true enthusiasm for is food. Whether treats, or meals, or being turned out to graze—Henry LOVES to eat.

            My son has noticed that Henry doesn’t care for affection. My boy’s previous pony, Toby, did like being petted and enjoyed hanging out with people. Henry could give a damn about hanging out with people. He just wants people to feed him. But both my kid and I have come to understand and be amused by Henry. And to love him for what he does so well.

            As my son says, “I like hanging out with Gunner and Plumber (who both like attention and petting) but Henry is my good riding horse.”

            The thing is, I’ve been in the horse biz a LONG time and I’ve known many good horses very like Henry. My beloved Flanigan was this way. Yes, it’s gratifying to the ego to own a horse that wants to cuddle with you, but I had a hard time not saying to this gal, “Get your ego out of the way and recognize what a good horse you’ve got. Not all horses like to be petted and fussed with. Your horse is sound and reliably does the job that you bought him to do. Can’t you love him for that? Must he also want to cuddle with you?”

            So I thought about this for a while and decided to put it out there to the rest of you. Is a horse who doesn’t care for petting and fussing a deal breaker for you if he is a good horse otherwise? Trust me, there are many horses that honestly don’t like this sort of attention and you won’t train them to like it, though you may train them to tolerate it. But being “tolerated” is not what people like the gal who talked to me are looking for. They want the horse to “like” them. They want the horse to cuddle with them to show them that he likes them. I don’t think I can explain to her in a way she would understand that her horse may very well like her. He just doesn’t show it the way she wants him to. Sort of like a man who brings you tea in the morning and makes you a cocktail in the evening and cooks dinner—but never whispers sweet nothings in your ear or buys you flowery cards. It’s just a different way of showing affection, but none the less sincere.

            How do I know that Henry likes us? Well, when we came to see the old guy after colic surgery, he was in a stall and looked a bit shaky, but bright eyed. He saw us walk into the barn and went immediately to the door of his stall and nickered at us, just as he does every morning at feeding time. He stuck his head in the halter when I opened the stall door. He still didn’t want to be petted—but he wanted to go with us wherever we were going. We were his family and he knew it. He stepped out eagerly beside my son, a little wobbly, but game to stay with his boy. That’s good enough for me.

            So what did I actually tell this gal? I just said that lots of horses don’t care for being petted and fussed with and that I personally wouldn’t be at all bothered by this, if the horse was a good horse otherwise. She looked singularly unimpressed. I don’t doubt that she is going to sell her gelding and buy something that she thinks she can “bond” with. And I am sorry, but I have a niggling, not-very-nice impulse to wish that she will end up with a horse that just LOVES to be petted—but routinely dumps her and is resistant when she rides it. Because yes, indeed, they do come this way, too. And I’ve known quite a few of them. Loved to be petted, very affectionate on the ground, completely adversarial under saddle and willing to be violent.

            So tell me…which horse would you rather have? And yes, some horses are fond of petting and good riding horses, too. My son’s Toby, my Plumber, and Wally’s Twister all fall in this category. And then there are horses like my Sunny who like to test you, and are only affectionate after you’ve won the latest round in the dominance game. In other words, you beat them up a little and they just LOVE you. Sounds really dysfunctional, I know, but that’s just the way some of them work.

            And yes, I love Sunny, too. I don’t mind walloping him when he demands it, and I very much appreciate his many good points. So I guess I’m OK with different personality styles in horses. My bottom line tends to be whether they come through for me—and I’m willing to give them a lot of space to be who they are, if so.

            Anybody else have a thought on this subject?

            

The Perfect Horse

                                                           by Laura Crum

            Sometimes I hear people (in real life and on the internet) talk about finding the right horse. It’s a great and appropriate topic. The trouble is that these folks often seem to me to be looking for something that is virtually unattainable—some sort of “perfect” horse. A horse that never does anything wrong, is never lame, is talented at the event the person wishes to pursue, is pretty, is young…etc. This horse does not exist. Like people, all horses have strengths and weaknesses; the trick (as in friends and husbands) is to find the one you can live with.

            I have had five “forever” horses in my life. They all were good horses. None of them ever dumped me or hurt me in any way. I truly loved all five of them. Two are dead and they are buried here. Three are still with me. Did/do they have their faults? Yes, of course.

            So today I’m going to describe (briefly) my five good geldings and let you see their faults. I’m hoping that this will help some potential horse owners who are trying to sort out what might be the right horse for their needs.

The first horse I owned who really became “my horse” was Burt, a bright bay QH gelding that I bought as a five-year-old with thirty days on him. Burt was a kind, willing animal, not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but also not inclined to bucking or being spooky. Burt did, however, have the constant impulse to jig. I never cured him of it, and many rides were executed in his prancing walk. Burt was my ranch horse and he never quit me, never dumped me, and had tons of heart. He was always completely under control—nonetheless, much as I loved Burt, his jigging drove me nuts, and I vowed I would only own horses in the future who could proceed at the flat-footed walk.

            My next steady mount was Gunner, a well bred cowhorse that I bought as a three-year-old with thirty days on him. Gunner had no inclination to jig. Or to buck. Gunner was a spook. He did not bolt or do more than make one jump, but the jumps were amazing—absolutely sudden, twenty foot sideways leaps with no warning at all. One either grabbed the saddle horn or was left sitting on air. I got good at grabbing the horn. I was in my twenties and early thirties when I rode Gunner, and he never dropped me. He did, however, find something worth spooking at on virtually every ride. His spooking was a pain in the butt, but it didn’t threaten me at that time. I’ll be the first to say that I couldn’t ride a horse like that today. But Gunner was in every other way a good-hearted, reliable horse that I won on at reined cowhorse, cutting, and team roping, as well as a mount that carried me on many gathers, pack trips and trail rides. I was very happy with him.

            When I retired Gunner, I began riding Flanigan. Flanigan was a seven-year-old broke team roping horse when I first got on him. He was neither inclined to prance nor particularly spooky. He inclined toward being lazy. But…Flanigan was cinchy, and if a certain careful protocol was not followed in his saddling and warm-up, he would buck. I owned Flanigan in partnership with my friend and team roping partner, Wally, and Flanigan bucked Wally off numerous times. Being a cautious sort, I was always careful with Flanigan’s warm-up, and though the horse bucked with me occasionally, he never bucked me off. Flanigan was a superficially grouchy, aloof critter, prone to pinning his ears and acting hard to catch. Underneath this unpreposessing surface, however, the horse had a heart of gold. I competed on him successfully for many years at ropings, and crossed the Sierra Nevada Mts on him numerous times on pack trips. I took my baby for his first ride on Flanigan. There never was a better horse.

            When Flanigan died at the age of 21 (and I still miss him), Plumber became my main mount. I had known Plumber since he was a foal; I bought him as an unbroken three year old and broke him and trained him myself. When I started using him as my main riding horse he was about eight years old. I’d trained him to be a decent team roping horse and trail horse, and I enjoyed riding him. Plumber had no huge holes, other than the fact that he wasn’t very athletic. He was also more of a puppy dog than your average horse, nickering whenever he saw me. He was willing to do anything I asked, but he was also a big baby. He didn’t spook like Gunner (he wasn’t athletic enough) or jig constantly like Burt, but he was frequently a little spooky and jiggy. He got anxious easily, and needed a lot of patience and reassurance. Nevertheless he was a reliable horse. For several years I rode everywhere with my toddler in front of me in the saddle and Plumber took very good care of us.

            Plumber is now twenty four years old and retired. He’s still sound, if a little stiff. My mount for the last six years has been Sunny, the little palomino gelding shown in the sidebar. Sunny was a middle-aged horse when I got him and settled in his ways. Of all my horses, he most resembles Flanigan. But there are differences. Sunny is no puppy dog, but he is much more overtly interested in me and my doings than Flanigan ever was. Sunny also has not much inclination to pin his ears. He is not the least bit cinchy. But, like Flanigan, he is more inclined to laziness than other vices. Sunny is neither jiggy nor spooky. He doesn’t buck…a small crowhop is the extent of it. Sunny’s big deal is testing in small ways for dominance. He assays a gesture at a nip or a kick, or tries to crowd my space or balks as if he will refuse to go…etc. I have no trouble straightening him out, and I find this quirk more amusing than annoying, but I quite understand that I will not train it out of him. Sunny will always test me. As long as I remain dominant (and I intend to), Sunny and I will get along fine. On the trails, that is. I bought Sunny because he was a good trail horse, and he is a real delight to ride outside, steady, solid, reliable, tough. You can go anywhere in perfect confidence on this horse. The arena is a different story. You can darn sure walk, trot and lope around, and/or chase or rope a cow, but Sunny is too clunky and lazy to be much fun in the arena, and he is much more resistant there than on the trail. Sunny dislikes arena work and lets that be known.

            So, what do my five main lifetime mounts have in common? Not much. They’re all horses, but they sure are different. I enjoyed and enjoy every single one of them (and I kept or am keeping all five until the end of their days); I would have a hard time picking a favorite. I guess I just don’t run to one type, because I liked each of these horses for their own unique traits. I will say that I’m very happy to be on steady little Sunny these days, as my chief goal is pleasant trail rides, either by myself or with my son.

            In the end, I think my main point here is that you have to be able to tolerate some faults in a horse or you will never truly be happy with your equine partner (same applies to human partners). Anybody else have any thoughts on this?

           

Horse Personalities--Part 2

By Laura Crum

Jami posted about horse personalities and it got me thinking about the horses I have known and ridden and how different they are/were from one another. When a novice asks a question about what horses are “like”, I’m always stumped. Because horses are as individual as humans, and its pretty hard to generalize about their abilities and quirks. After reading Jami’s post, I was going to comment about the horses who have been my main mounts over the years and their very different personalities, and it got to be too long for a comment, so here it is as a post.

The first horse I owned who really became “my horse” was Burt, a bright bay QH gelding that I bought as a five-year-old with thirty days on him. Burt was a kind, willing animal, not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but also not inclined to bucking or being spooky. Burt did, however, have the constant impulse to jig. I never cured him of it, and many rides were executed in his prancing walk. He was always completely under control—nonetheless, much as I loved Burt, this trait drove me nuts, and I vowed I would only own horses in the future who could proceed at the flat-footed walk.

My next steady mount was Gunner, a well bred cowhorse that I bought as a three-year-old with thirty days on him. Gunner had no inclination to jig. Or to buck. Gunner was a spook. He did not bolt or do more than make one jump, but the jumps were amazing—absolutely sudden, twenty foot sideways leaps with no warning at all. One either grabbed the saddle horn or was left sitting on air. I got good at grabbing the horn. I was in my twenties and early thirties when I rode Gunner, and he never dropped me. He did, however, find something worth spooking at on virtually every ride. His spooking was a pain in the butt, but it didn’t threaten me at that time. I’ll be the first to say that I couldn’t ride a horse like that today. But Gunner was in every other way a good-hearted, reliable horse that I won on at reined cowhorse, cutting, and team roping, as well as a mount that carried me on many gathers, pack trips and trail rides. I was very happy with him.

When I retired Gunner, I began riding Flanigan. Flanigan was a seven-year-old broke team roping horse when I first got on him. He was neither inclined to prance nor particularly spooky. He inclined toward being lazy. But…Flanigan was cinchy, and if a certain careful protocol was not followed in his saddling and warm-up, he would buck. I owned Flanigan in partnership with my friend and team roping partner, Wally, and Flanigan bucked Wally off numerous times. Being a cautious sort, I was always careful with Flanigan’s warm-up, and though the horse bucked with me occasionally, he never bucked me off. Flanigan was a superficially grouchy, aloof critter, prone to pinning his ears and acting hard to catch. Underneath this unpreposessing surface, however, the horse had a heart of gold. I competed on him successfully for many years at ropings, and crossed the Sierra Nevada Mts on him numerous times on pack trips. I took my baby for his first ride on Flanigan. There never was a better horse.

When Flanigan died at the age of 21 (and I still miss him), Plumber became my main mount. I had known Plumber since he was a foal; I bought him as an unbroken three year old and broke him myself. When I started using him regularly he was about eight years old. I’d trained him to be a decent team roping horse and trail horse, and I enjoyed riding him. Plumber had no huge holes, other than the fact that he wasn’t very athletic. He was also more of a puppy dog than your average horse, nickering whenever he saw me. He was willing to do anything I asked, but he was also a big baby. He didn’t spook like Gunner (he wasn’t athletic enough) or jig constantly like Burt, but he was frequently a little spooky and jiggy. He got anxious easily, and needed a lot of patience and reassurance. Nevertheless he was a reliable horse. For several years I rode everywhere with my toddler in front of me in the saddle and Plumber took very good care of us.

Plumber is now twenty years old and semi-retired. He’s still sound, if a little stiff, and I ride him lightly one or two days a week. My main mount for the last two years has been Sunny, the little palomino gelding shown in the sidebar. Sunny was a middle-aged horse when I got him and settled in his ways. Of all my horses, he most resembles Flanigan. But there are differences. Sunny is no puppy dog, but he is much more overtly interested in me and my doings than Flanigan ever was. Sunny also has not much inclination to pin his ears. He is not the least bit cinchy. But, like Flanigan, he is more inclined to lazieness than other vices. Sunny is neither jiggy or spooky. He doesn’t buck…a small crowhop is the extent of it. Sunny’s big deal is testing in small ways for dominance. He assays a gesture at a nip or a kick, or tries to crowd my space or balks as if he will refuse to go…etc. I have no trouble straightening him out, and I find this quirk more amusing than annoying, but I quite understand that I will not train it out of him. Sunny will always test me. As long as I remain dominant (and I intend to), Sunny and I will get along fine. On the trails, that is. I bought Sunny because he was a good trail horse, and he is a real delight to ride outside, steady, solid, reliable, tough. You can go anywhere in perfect confidence on this horse. The arena is a different story. You can darn sure walk, trot and lope around, and/or chase or rope a cow, but Sunny is too clunky and lazy to be much fun in the arena. I try to use Plumber on my arena days.

So, what do my five main lifetime mounts have in common? Not much. They’re all horses, but they sure are different. I enjoyed and enjoy every single one of them (and I kept or am keeping all five until the end of their days); I would have a hard time picking a favorite. I guess I just don’t run to one type, because I liked each of these horses for their own unique traits. I also rode many other horses during the last thirty-five years, and each of them was as uniquely different as the five I've written about here. I will say that I’m very happy to be on steady little Sunny these days, as my chief goal is pleasant trail rides, either by myself or with my son.
Any one else have any stories to share about the different personality-types of their favorite horses? I know I enjoyed this topic. Thanks, Jami.