by Laura Crum
So
the other day I had a revelation. Or a possible revelation. It was my birthday,
actually. And my one wish for my birthday was to have my husband and son and
our friend/boarder, Wally, help me clean out my barn. The barn was a total
mess, crowded with twenty years accumulation of old, broken, useless horse
junk. I am not a neat horse housekeeper. The idea of cleaning the barn up had
become very daunting to me (there was so much old, moldy junk), but the mess
bothered me every single day. So when I was asked what I wanted for my
birthday, I quickly scanned through the notions of outings, meals, presents…etc
and came up with the one thing that really resonated for me. I wanted a clean
barn. So that’s what we did.
I
am sure glad I had help, because I never would have made it through the process
alone. You would not believe how many rats and mice were hiding in the rotten
old bits of tack and the feed bags I forgot to throw out. Not to mention the
rusting, broken feeders…etc. There were plenty of black widow spiders, too. But
my intrepid helpers were not afraid, and all the junk got cleaned up and hauled
away.
My
barn is just a pole barn—it was built to store feed and shelter a vehicle—there
is a shed in the back that I can turn into a box stall when I need one. All
useful tack resides in the horse trailer, because this barn is no place for
tack—everything gets dusty in the summer and moldy in the winter. My goal was
to get the junk removed and to be able to park the truck inside once more. And
this goal was accomplished—as you see below.
The
barn cleaning was very satisfying to me, but it didn’t produce the revelation.
I already knew that a reasonably tidy barn would feel very good. No, the
revelation happened afterward. Because after the barn was nice and tidy (by my
admittedly not-very-high standards, anyway), I sat down in my chair in the
barnyard, in the shade of an oak tree, and just contemplated things for an
hour.
I
had already fed the horses lunch and they were puttering around, as horses do.
We’d been down there all day working, but not paying much attention to them, so
they were resigned to the notion that I wasn’t going to get them out. Thus they
ignored me, sitting there quietly in my chair, and I just watched them doing
their own things.
This
was, when I came to think about it, unusual. My horses tend to notice the
moment I approach the barnyard and come to their gates, nickering plaintively.
“Me, get me.” The message is plain.
Usually
when I go down there I am either feeding, or I get a horse out to turn him
loose to graze, or brush him, or ride him. At times, in fact, I avoid going
near the barn because I don’t have time (or inclination) to interact with the
horses and I feel guilty ignoring their pleas to be got out. So sitting quietly
in my chair watching them while they appeared unaware of me—I think they had
pretty much forgotten I was even there—was kind of a novelty.
I
keep my horses in big corrals (they average 40 feet by 150 feet)—one horse to a
corral. They have pasture sheds they can go in and out of at their
choosing—there is room for them to run and buck and play—and they do. Every
horse has at least one horse that he can touch and play with through the
fence—and they all can see each other. I feed them three times a day—a mixed
grass/alfalfa—which gives them something to pick at most of the time. And
here’s the thing. I often wonder if they are happy.
I think we horse owners have all
wondered if our horses are happy. I used to think my horses would be happiest
turned out in a big pasture—and then for almost twenty years I did keep horses
this way, and I spent a lot of time with them. To my surprise they often looked
just as bored as horses in corrals. They grazed when they wanted, yes, but this
worked out to be about three main sessions a day, just the way I feed my horses
in their corrals. The rest of the time they stood around idly swishing at flies
and looking, well, bored.
But
on this day, watching my horses stand companionably with their buddies,
switching their tails, one hind leg cocked, I saw it differently. Because here
I sat in my chair, idly doing nothing, and I’m sure that if anyone was there to
see me (which there wasn’t) I might have looked bored. But I wasn’t. I was
absolutely content. And thus it finally dawned on me that maybe my horses were
perfectly content, too.
Horses
sleep on average only two hours a day. So perhaps these long hours of idling,
pleasantly relaxed, are what they need, what they crave. Maybe the boredom I’d
projected onto them had been only a manifestation of my own restless spirit. I
somehow thought they needed to be grazing, or running around, or interacting
with each other, or they didn’t “look happy.” But maybe I was wrong about that.
If
I was happy, sitting quietly in my chair, doing nothing, maybe they were happy,
too. Maybe horse happiness doesn’t look like what I supposed. Maybe a full
belly, water to drink, space to move around and run if you want, soft ground to
lie on and roll on, and other horses for company is really enough. My horses
like attention, and so they lobby for me to get them out when they see me. But
in this moment, when they weren’t thinking about me, they looked pretty darn
content.
So
I’m chewing on this awhile. I’m sure that some of you have contemplated this
subject as well…wondering if your horse seemed happy. Any thoughts?
