Conversations With Taj: Voices

One of the farm cats has taken to sitting on top of the fence posts from which I hang the hay bags for the horses. He waits to see exactly which post I am going to choose, and runs to it, sits squarely on top of it, making the job of crossing the straps over and around it inordinately difficult. At 11:00 pm, I do not find this a particularly fun game. Neither does Taj. The cat was sitting there as she started eating from the bag below, twitching his tail, watching to see where I might go next, and Taj, behind him, started pinning her ears at him as if to say, “Get out of my space.” The cat completely ignored her, so she proceeded to lunge at him, biting at the air behind him in a menacing threat. I think the cat would have sat there assuming he could call her bluff, but my own reaction was to move away, drawing the cat with me to pull him from harm’s way.

I tried calling Taj’s bluff a few years ago. It wasn’t a bluff. I have the x-rays of a crushed fingertip to show for it. Taj’s ear pinning, teeth gnashing and foot stomping at anyone she believes will interrupt her or make her do something she doesn’t want to do is a habit. It is not a physical habit that means nothing, it is a habit of over-reacting to a perceived threat. No matter what another’s intentions are, if we perceive what they are doing as a threat, we are going to want to defend ourselves.

A few days ago, I had an opportunity to work with trainer Bruce Anderson, who was in town for the Maryland stop on the Equus Film Festival. Bruce has helped countless horses with challenging behavioral “problems,” though, as he says, the behavior is a problem for the horse only because it is a problem for humans. Most frequently, these “problems” were created by humans to begin with. We have this in common with horses: we are triggered by the perceived threat of painful or uncomfortable consequences we experienced in our past. In order to avoid or defend against these unwanted situations, we develop habitual ways of defending ourselves.

One of my habits is to overreact to perceived dominance or control by others, particularly when someone raises his or her voice, talks over me, and generally makes me feel as if my own voice is being taken away. I can trace this back through my life to childhood, as I was raised in a “children should be seen and not heard” environment, and many adults rarely listened, assuming what I had to say was insignificant. The origin of the habit is not as important as what I do with the awareness of its existence now. Is it serving me to expend energy getting defensive?

Bruce’s approach was to apply whatever amount of pressure was required by the horse to identify and work through the unwanted behavior. Stipulating that the things which trigger a horse’s “problems” are created by pressure from the past, he aims to apply only enough pressure for the horse to be able to recognize and work through his or her own reactivity and begin to create a new experience. Though he had a rope as a tool, most of the pressure Bruce put on the horse was from volume and tone of voice and body language, asking her to move in one direction or another at a certain speed, and increasing the pressure when she did not comply. He used this same strategy to let her know that pinning her ears or gnashing her teeth was not an acceptable response to any request, including the introduction of a saddle.

My initial reaction was: But this is only training the horse not to pin her ears – it is taking away her voice, the only voice she has being her body language.

Not only that, his loud voice, the constant barrage of questions he aimed at me which had specific answers I didn’t know nor understand, and his talking over me triggered that awful, desperate feeling of having no voice for myself as well. At first, I fought. Just like Taj, I responded with the human equivalent of ear-pinning, raising my own voice and refusing to comply. I was defensive, I did not trust him, I felt the overwhelming discomfort of everything I ever experienced with people who are domineering and controlling.  I felt a lot like Taj must feel when she gets defensive. That realization made me want to change, made me want to find the possibility in the experience for both of us.

I watched Taj quickly stop her conditioned reaction of ear pinning, and stay engaged in all kinds of requests from Bruce, including the request to follow him blindfolded. Was it fear operating in her or was it trust? My aim is to build trust and enjoyment for Taj in her life, not to scare her into submission…

My former husband, Kevin, helped me look at this question in a new light. He said, “Don’t think of it as fear. Think of it as exhaustion. She is tired of making her own boundaries. She is tired of feeling like she has to be in charge.”

I tried this on myself for size. Is there a part of me, when I react to those loud, controlling voices in my life, that is tired of feeling like I have to take the control back? I asked myself, what does it matter if someone is taking over the conversation, needing to be heard more, needing to be right? Does that really hurt me? Does it actually take away my voice? Or is it a perceived threat, created by the pressure from the past?

Perhaps, just perhaps, learning to accept and even to comply with dominant, dictatorial voices will actually be liberating. I will not have to fight for my voice if I know no one can really take it from me. There are, after all, so many people I know and meet who care, share and listen. If that possibility exists for me, and if I can be made aware that I am wasting energy on a habit of overreacting and I can change it, then I am optimistic that Taj can, too. Perhaps, as Bruce said, it is not a matter of Taj trusting him, it is a matter of her trusting herself.

I created a video of a session with Taj in which there are moments of intense pressure and moments of lovely ease and flow. I am still not comfortable watching the parts where I am rising up with a loud voice and dominant energetic pressure to get her to stop focusing on her habitual reaction to the saddle. Deep down, or maybe not even so far from the surface, I am someone who wants to be kind and gentle all the time. I want to be nice. It seems so hard to believe that a horse would suddenly be happier when I am “not nice.”

When push comes to shove, and we are forced to face the pressure of things we would rather avoid, the feeling we get when we “survive” the incident is everything from relieved to empowered. In many cases, it wasn’t nearly as bad as we thought it would be when we started getting defensive and reactive. And there is the additional value in surrendering, in giving up control and trusting one’s self to survive the situation. I may even be able to trust that the cat can take care of himself.



Personal Note: This is one of the hardest posts I’ve ever made. I’ve intentionally set the thumbnail for the video on one of the hardest moments we had. I’m realizing how deeply difficult it is to really face Taj’s demons and my own. This is a work in progress, as life always is.






Conversations With Taj: Soul Health


In the midst of a “cyclone bomb,” as meteorologists deemed it, contrary to what I expected in such harsh conditions, Taj’s ill health improved. Winds were gusting between 20-30mph and daytime highs were in the teens, which, with that wind chill, felt like less than zero, and at night, your nose hairs would instantly freeze. I was feeding the horses six times a day and always put hay in slow-feed nets around 10:00-11:00pm. I thanked my lucky stars that I had a water heating device in the water trough, which had been moved to the top of the pasture closest to my house so I could plug it in. This weather was the worst of the Maryland winter so far.

This tough, California paint mare had grown a thick, soft winter coat, and only the delicate skin around her eyes seemed slightly frostbitten. For more than a month she had been miserable with chronic runny gut problems. She had taken to glowering at me with her deep brown eyes, as she stood cribbing on the water trough, presumably bored and lashing out a bit at me about her discomfort, her unhappiness with the lack of grass and the lack of interesting things to do.


At this same time, when no one on the whole east coast wanted to be outside, I decided to try taking the Equine Guided experience online, and started with inviting a small group of friends to send questions for which I could ask the horses’ insight. At first, Taj hesitated to get fully involved. But with the second inquiry, she demonstrated that she was very interested and wanted to engage in the process of finding new perspective and giving advice.

In the 48 hours that I brought those questions to the field, Taj’s extreme frustrated attitude and digestive issues both improved dramatically. Having tried a lower protein feed, a hind gut medicinal powder, and an anti-parasitic over the last few weeks, all to no significant avail, I also began giving her an herbal supplement I’d used to help her gut in the past. It had ceased having any helpful effect, but perhaps reintroducing that was an additional, physical boost to her gut health. However, I am certain that addressing her physical issues alone would not have been sufficient. Despite the harsh winter conditions, this horse began to heal and thrive again when her entire health was addressed: body, mind and spirit.

It is for the sake of improving overall well being, for humans and for horses, that I do equine guided work. There is an unmistakable “magic” about gaining insight from a horse. Even the fact that the horses show interest in us and our inquiries sends signals to the human heart that result in feelings of hope and joy. When I pull out a slip of paper inscribed with the words of someone’s heartfelt question, they are drawn in. The horses listen as I read the words, evaluating the energy of the inquiry I’ve brought to them. One or more of them then step up to help me explore possible ways to approach the challenge.


I do my best to step into the shoes of the person inquiring, and to experience the horse’s responses as if the question were my own. Undoubtedly, there is some part of the question or the struggle that is familiar to me; the human experience is rich and varied, but the essence of our challenges and our quests for more joy in life tends to be woven with unbreakable, common threads.

My mare, Taj, who had been shut down and averse to doing almost anything but eating and cribbing for several weeks, opened up and wanted to engage again. Witnessing this shift in her re-introduced the magic of this work to me.

I call it “work,” for lack of a better term. I call it “magic” for lack of a better term. In fact, there’s not much about what I do with horses that can be described easily in words. I’ve often felt that people have to take a leap of faith and just try it to understand it for themselves. It is my hope that the online “Advice from the Field” forum will provide more people with an easily accessible window into the potential for self-discovery, possibility and change that horses can offer. In the process, horses like Taj who have struggled through multiple owners, trainers, competitive demands and injuries, both physical and emotional, find something they can enjoy in a life where enjoyment has seemed so hard to come by.

I’ve had people see how “easy” my horses’ lives seem, and make comments like: “How could they possibly have stress?” or “What on earth could they have to complain about?” It strikes the same chord in me when people assess other people’s lives as “easy,” and therefore make judgments about the difficulty or validity of their problems. None of us knows what kind of challenges or pain anyone else may be grappling with at any given moment. Many people, and horses, put on a brave face and a tough exterior, not wanting to appear vulnerable. Yet it is precisely the willingness to be vulnerable that opens up pathways for compassion, empathy, connection and trust.


In my current conversations with Taj, I am searching for ways to earn her trust in situations where she is particularly triggered and defensive, such as putting on a saddle or asking her to stop cribbing. It usually boils down to acceptance and patience. I need to show up, meet her wherever she is, and continue to gently make suggestions. There is not a lot of room for an agenda in this scenario. There is a need to make for room for outcomes different from what we originally envisioned – to let ourselves be surprised by what can be created in the space we open with our efforts.

There is also room for goals and for dreams. In my view, the goals I set are the specific changes I want to make or activities I want to be able to do together. The dreams are the heart-and-soul-felt visions and desires I have for our experiences and broad accomplishments together. In the most recent inquiry I took to the horses, Taj jumped at the opportunity to help. At its core, the question was about how to stay true to one’s dreams. Life throws at us a barrage of distractions, derailments and stumbling blocks. How do we stay the course, through it all?

As I stood with Taj in the round pen, my hand lightly near her heart, I realized that she embodies my dream of reaching thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of people and horses around the world, engaging them in a new way of seeing and being with horses… and a new way of seeing and being with each other. Horses are a gateway to the soul. The health of one’s spirit is an essential piece of the quest for feeling good. So how do we stay the course? First, we must be sure to identify our dreams, our true heartfelt longings and callings. Second, we must cultivate confidence in believing we can live those dreams – the confidence that we are strong enough, smart enough, good enough to live into what we long for and what we are called to do.

And then, we keep showing up for our lives, meeting each moment wherever we are, continuing to gently make suggestions.

Here is the video for the “How to be true to your dreams” session in Advice from the Field:

If you are interested in joining the “Advice from the Field” group online to try the virtual equine guided experience, please click the Visit Group button on this page:


Conversations with Taj: Moods Swing

Listening to my horse these days frequently results in hearing, “I’m not in the mood.” Two of my three horses are actually quite consistent with their curious moods, and yet I find myself hell-bent on “figuring out” the one horse with the intense mood swings, much of the time swinging on the unhappy, shut down end of the spectrum. A sizable percentage of my closest relationships have been with people who are prone to mood swings. I have spent a significant portion of my life adapting to the predictably unpredictable moods that accompany addiction, borderline personality and bipolar disorder. So it was no enormous surprise when I found myself frustrated at the prospect of feeling beholden to the moods of a horse.

I went into this winter project with Taj a month ago, thinking that in two or three months, surely I would have some significant insights about what truly makes her happy and whether or not she could break free of her negative associations with saddling and mounting to actually enjoy riding. Even when I find some successes, some moments of enjoyment from Taj, there is no consistency, no telling whether she will dread something today that she seemed to enjoy yesterday. In the Freedom Based Training process, we must learn to work with the mood of the horse, whatever that may be, because learning and healing can’t happen when stress and tension are too high. Turns out that the first month was just enough time to show me that I needed to slow down, back up and rethink my process.

When I look out at this beautiful paint mare, still stunning in her older age at twenty-three, I see a proud and determined being. She is not one to hold back her feelings, and if someone doesn’t “hear” her first warning that she doesn’t like something, she will most definitely reiterate her feelings and opinions with a sense of urgency. On the one hand, she makes it easy to understand her signals. On the other hand, because she responds with disapproval and discomfort to so many things, she makes it hard to believe that she’s not over-reacting.

Is over-reacting a trait that even exists in the horse world? The “over” part of the equation seems to be in the eye of the human beholder. I have been accused of over-reacting in my life, and, I must admit, it makes me feel even more reactive. To be called a “Drama Queen” feels like one of the worst insults someone could hurl at me. Especially now, in my forties, after years of studying emotion, energy and reaction versus response… it feels like an undermining of all the “work on myself” I’ve done. I have a friend who tells me, when I get triggered by something, “You still have energy on it, Honey.” Even that throws me into a tailspin – I don’t want to have that energy or those feelings.

It does not work to simply reject feelings. Not one’s own nor anyone else’s.

One day this week, I found that Taj would not even let me stand on her left side. She was triggered by my approach on the left any time I moved forward of her hindquarters. She had been standing and cribbing on the water trough for most of the morning – a common occurrence now that the shreds of dead grass left in the pasture are frosted over for most hours of the day and night. If she can’t be eating, Taj is usually cribbing.

It rips at my heart the same way it did to see someone addicted to cocaine go back and get high and lose yet another job, or to see someone repeatedly drinking so much that he can no longer carry on a new or coherent conversation after 5:00pm. Cribbing is a somewhat elusive habit, in that humans can’t quite figure out if it is internal pain causing the activity, or if it is a “vice” the horse picked up in response to old stress and it now causes internal pain. A horse who cribs will place her front teeth over a hard surface, such as a fence board, stall door, or the edge of a water trough, and pull back, arching her neck and gulping air. Somewhere along the line, the horse figured out that in doing this, she releases a flood of endorphins which makes everything feel better for the moment. But then the horse wants to feel better every moment. In Taj’s case, she will now elect to crib almost any time she is not eating, sleeping or being engaged in an activity. I’ve seen her habit lessen when she is feeling good and when there is plentiful grazing available, but I have not seen it disappear completely.

The problem, other than the destruction of fence boards as well as the complete erosion of her front teeth, is that this gulping of air may be having an adverse effect on her gut. There is a higher incidence of colic and ulcers in horses who crib vs. those who don’t. Taj’s recent intestinal distress has made me wonder even more about how cribbing affects her gut. When I see Taj standing and cribbing while the other horses are snoozing, foraging or generally ambling about the pasture, I feel the pang of sorrow and longing that comes with seeing someone who appears to be stuck in a rut of her own pain. The next thing I feel is my habitual urge to want to make it better for her. Haven’t I learned this lesson enough times in my human relationships?

Any time I approach her while she’s cribbing, she will pin her ears and even throw a teeth gnash in my direction if she feels that I am going to try to make her stop. The effort I am making now is to let go of the emotional attachment I have to wishing she would stop, because I realized that underneath of it is a judgment. As surely as she can feel my hand on her chest, she can feel the energy of judgment, and she has a reaction to it. I might as well just be shouting, “You Drama Queen!” at her.

I’ve begun to actively meet her exactly where she is. If she’s cribbing on the water trough, I’ll pull on the side of the tub, trying to stretch my spine and create a sense of release or relief. I’ll reiterate my acceptance of her in that moment, regardless of her mood. And I’ll do away with the agenda I might have lurking in my mind; it may be an agenda with the best of intentions to make her feel better, but ultimately, she is not going to abandon her habits until she chooses from within for herself.

In this video clip, the powerful impact that intention plays in the gesture of an arm affirms for me that I need to hone my energetic clarity when asking her for anything. I want to better balance joining her in the things she chooses with asking her to join me in what I choose. And last but not least, here’s an opportunity for me to shift from a place of feeling beholden to her mood into a place of identifying with her mood until it shifts.

It might be a mistake to think that we are ever NOT beholden to the moods of others – unless we don’t mind bulldozing our way through conversations, invitations, negotiations and anything else involved in a relationship. When we choose how to interact with anyone at any time, we are also choosing whether to and how to account for the other’s mood or emotional state. If we can show others acceptance of whatever feelings are present for them, that is one step towards decreasing stress and tension, paving the way for a new possible mood to emerge.


Interested in reading more about Freedom Based Training and working with a horse’s moods? Elsa Sinclair discusses this topic in detail here:










Conversations with Taj: Two Steps, Forward and Back

Two steps forward, one step back. Apparently, this saying originated from a story about a frog trying to climb out of a well, making his progress slow and torturous. The effort to bring more enjoyment into Taj’s life can feel a lot like trying to crawl out of a well.

For more than a week, she has been stricken with this unique and particularly unseemly form of intestinal distress. Without embellishing in graphic detail, the mess this gastric problem creates has been too awful for me not to wash her up every day. Any other time of year, this would not be an issue. This past week, we had freezing and sub-freezing temperatures here in Maryland, creating a less-than-pleasant bathing experience. I called a friend, lamenting that I didn’t think I could clean the mess in that weather, and that her tail had become a heavy, brown icicle. My friend consoled me, saying “We can only do the best we can do.” Little did she know that she was actually giving me motivation to see what the best I could do would be.

My hot and cold wash stall is a hose connected to a laundry sink, run up through the basement to a tree in the back yard. But when daytime highs were around 20 degrees with winds at about 20 miles per hour, I elected to go for a sponge bath and a hair dryer running from an outlet in the garage. Imagine the look on Taj’s face when I backed her up to the garage door and did a full blow out of her tail. Conditioner included. Accompanied by a bucket of hay.

What I am learning about Taj is that she can enjoy new things. That is, if they are interesting enough to her or involve food. If I can provide opportunities to do things that hold her interest, and give her a chance to eat, I am ahead of the curve. If she thinks I am going to take her away from her food, or away from her familiar comforts to do something mundane and uninteresting, I can pretty much forget about my plan. Read: no tacking up and practicing walk-trot-canter circles.

I continue to wonder: Can I make riding interesting for her – so interesting that she shifts out of having a mounting block trigger old pain, stress or fear? This question encompasses more than just riding. My goal is to help Taj enjoy life more in general. I figure I need to make it interesting for her. I am currently taking her on walks, much like one would take a dog on a walk. In fact, I have been walking Taj and my dog at the same time. At first, she pinned her ears and was downright disapproving of this unruly pup, but she seems to be warming up as long as he doesn’t get too close. Currently, when we are walking through a grassy field, her drive to eat is much stronger than her interest to “explore the possibly interesting” on a walk. When we are on a trail devoid of grass, however, she is a pleasant, contented walking companion.

This week, with the help of some flax seed meal, a lower protein feed and some hind gut ulcer supplements, her gastric distress has begun to subside. With that discomfort decreasing, her capacity to be open and interested in taking walks has increased. Taj has always been very reactive to physical discomfort. A former owner told me that she knew better than to try and ride her at all when she was in season – a “time of month” for her that predictably brings on severe cramps and irritability. I, too, learned this quickly about her. Taj’s aversion to the saddle has always increased dramatically when she is in season.

That said, her aversion to the prospect of riding seems to be present, sometimes to a large degree, even when there is no evidence of physical pain, leading me to believe that she assumes there will be discomfort or there is still “emotional baggage.” The challenge is to determine where her physical discomfort ends and her emotional discomfort, or fear of discomfort, begins… and then, how to work with it to make life better.

Taking this one step further, practicing Freedom Based Training with her has shown me that she demonstrates an aversion to almost any interruption and request to move, unless I spend a significant amount of time easing her into the prospect, gaining her trust and earning her curiosity, or unless I use dominance, which can be as simple as bringing out a halter and lead. If I enter her pasture with a halter, put it on her, and ask her to stop what she’s doing, back up, move her front end and move her hind end in both directions, her resistance might be barely discernible, nothing more than the absence of any enthusiasm or real connection. She is a horse who has been trained thoroughly, and she understands cues on the ground and in the saddle. And she has little to no intrinsic interest in doing any of what she’s been trained.

If I enter her pasture and just ask her to stop what she’s doing and take any backwards or lateral steps, she typically pins her ears and walks away, or begrudgingly moves with a foot stomp and disapproving tail swish. If I enter her pasture and use some finesse, moving around her, scanning the environment, scratching her neck or the top of her tail now and then, she starts to warm up to the idea of doing something together. She starts to feel that interacting with me could be an experience at least as pleasant as standing around foraging in the dead grass. This approach, one of building on natural curiosity and intrinsic motivation, is an underpinning of Freedom Based Training. Without tools, without any dominance or consequences for saying “no,” what a horse chooses to do with you when you ask directly corresponds to the amount of enjoyment they believe they will get out of it.


From a more traditional perspective, one might believe that this horse is just stubborn, ornery, or “misbehaving because she gets away with it.” Could I use dominance and force her to lunge and ride for the sake of at least keeping her physically fit? Yes, and I’ve tried that. What doesn’t change with that approach is her emotional fitness, and I am a firm believer that she and all the rest of us need both. I am using this freedom based work as a foundation for our relationship, as well as a way to expand her capacity for enjoyment. The more time she can spend enjoying different things, the less time she spends in any form of worry, fear, or stress. What I am learning is how to work with the moods, with the fear and with the stress. If I look at these things as information about what choices to make around and with the horse, I feel like they are helping me make progress towards enjoyment.

Whereas the frog in the well would make two steps forward and one step back, or in the worst of times, one step forward and two steps back, I am focusing on the two steps. In my elementary study of aikido, I learned a fundamental practice called “Two-Step.” Essentially, a person takes two steps forward and two steps back, arriving back at the start. The elegance of it is, each step is in a semi-circle, so the person is turning, seeing and feeling all around, and gaining from the rounded-out perspective.

In creating this short video of a walk with Taj, I realized how much more like a Two-Step this journey towards enjoyment with Taj actually is.

A Walk in the Woods with Taj  (click to see video)


Conversations with Taj: Should I Stop or Should I Go (For It)?

Ten days ago, I began a dedicated conversation with Taj about whether or not she could enjoy riding again. The sight of a saddle, the act of stepping up on a mounting block next to her – these things trigger a response in her that, at its most extreme appears to be fear and loathing, and at best, is an expression of discomfort.

For six years, I have tried various approaches to saddling and mounting, as well as varied and “fun” trail and other riding experiences in an effort to give her a new and acceptable, if not enjoyable, experience around riding. There are better days and worse days, and to date, I have not been able to consistently change her negative opinion about the prospect of a rider getting on. Once a rider is on, she does not communicate that she is in pain or distress; she seems to be perfectly fine, as long as I do not ask her to do flat work in an arena. She also balks at the transition from a trot to a canter, likely due to a lack of strength and balance in her hind end.


My approach now is to slowly, regularly be with her on the mounting block in the paddock, in the field, in the barnyard – sometimes getting on bareback, sometimes just standing in meditation there with her, sometimes while she is eating her mash, sometimes while grooming her. Taj tends to be focused on herself and her immediate desires – and she does not appreciate interruption. What she really dislikes, is the threat of being interrupted and forced to do something other than what she’s chosen to do. I can relate. I’m pretty sure my former husband can attest to that.

Part of my process is to learn how to change her focus away from herself in a way that promotes curiosity, so that she enjoys the transition to looking at something in the environment or to engaging with me. It reminds me of trying to “get myself out of a funk.” It is when I am self-focused and dwelling on anticipated pain or hardship that I am the least accessible, the least open to a new idea and the most miserable.


The better she is feeling overall, but especially physically, on any given day, the easier this effort is to change her focus to something new. For the past week, she has been stricken with a bout of intestinal distress, causing intermittent liquid discharge from her bowels. After an initial three days of willingness to engage, ease in mounting, and much reduced ear pinning, the last seven days have been riddled with displays of aggravation and aversion to me just carrying the mounting block over to her. I have chosen not to get on, sensing her physical discomfort.


I decided to add the practice of free lunging, as I’d seen her trotting and cantering in the field when I threw hay to the horses, so I figured her tummy trouble couldn’t be too bad. Taj has historically been averse to lunging on a line, and more open, at least on occasion, to free lunging with a flag. In order to build strength and endurance, I have found some success in free lunging with Taj in an arena. Some days, and I imagine these are days when she is feeling ill or sore, she is very difficult to start. Such was the case yesterday.


I was initially surprised at Taj’s refusal to stop grazing and move. Just the previous day, I had asked her to trot around the area and introduced a ground pole. She actually moved into a more extended trot and seemed interested in going over the ground pole. Knowing that she had once loved jumping, I wanted to give her the opportunity to try it out. My plan was to continue to build her fitness through free lunging, hiking together, and trail riding, if she proved willing, and I wanted to start with a tiny six-inch jump to see whether she was interested and inclined.  She seemed absolutely inclined, and moved over it twice with ease. I did not want to do too much too soon, so although she seemed eager to go around again, I brought the exercise to a close.


Yesterday, when I asked her to stop grazing and move around me in the arena, it took several minutes to get her to even walk forward. She refused repeatedly, would take a few steps forward when I insisted, and then stop and graze again. I forced the issue, by waving the flag vigorously in front of her nose to block the grazing, and then toward her hind end to propel her forward. When she broke into a trot, it was stiff, awkward, and short-stepped. She looked like she was sore and uncomfortable and as she rounded the turn toward the 6-inch jump, I lowered the flag and thought, “oh no, don’t jump that,” to which she responded by slowing to a walk, stepping over the rail, and then picking up her trot again afterwards.


This horse seemed to know what was okay for her to do. I wanted her to keep moving, to see if once she was warmed up, her trot would become easier and smoother. She went around again with very little insistence from me, and once again, walked over the rail, and began trotting again afterwards. The trot did improve as she loosened up, but not to the point where either of us felt it was safe to jump. She had used some muscles the previous day that she hadn’t used in quite a long time, and needed some time to let them adjust. It’s not much different at all from how sore a person feels after riding, even for a short time, after months or years of not riding.


Free lunging with Taj is a lot like riding with her, in that she may be really resistant to getting started, but once she gets going, she seems to be willing and at ease, except if something in particular is bothering her, physically or emotionally. If she feels her hind end is weak or sore, she will often refuse to transition to a canter. If she feels insecure about leaving the other horses’ sight, she will balk and often stop.


I believe that the more I listen to her and acknowledge that she has feelings about what we are doing, the more she will trust me and be willing to shift focus and, eventually, her assumed feelings and habitual reactions. The difficulty arises when I have to push her beyond her comfort zone in order to progress. Push too little, and nothing changes. Push too much, and she can react with hostility, making me feel like I might be eroding trust rather than building it. There also feels like a fine line between her taking a stand against something because she doesn’t want to be bothered or interrupted or because she is truly concerned or afraid of some form of pain. It is in this space that the conversation becomes more layered and requires more listening skill and more intuition.


Yesterday, when I stepped on the mounting block placed next to her bowl of mash, she pinned her ears and clarified she did not want to be bothered. Today, she was completely at ease with me stepping up on the mounting block placed next to her mash. She was so comfortable, in fact, that I went ahead and got on. Finding that she was still perfectly comfortable and slurping away at the mash, I lay down and breathed deeply for a few moments. Perhaps the intestinal distress is diminishing. Perhaps my timing and her mood were both better today. What I knew in those moments was, there was more in the column of indicators to keep going for it than in the column of signs to stop trying.

Conversations With Taj: To Ride or Not To Ride?

“Horses don’t have words, they have movement.” One of my favorite statements from Elsa Sinclair, creator of Freedom Based Training for horses, is also the basis of my own Equine Guided work with horses and the inspiration for my mission to determine “to ride or not to ride?” with Taj this winter. Horses operate and communicate on an energetic and sensate level, responding to the world with as little as the twitch of one, isolated muscle, or as much as the hurtle of a thousand pounds of coordinated muscle in any given direction. Human beings operate from that energetic and sensate plane as well, but all too often, we employ the ability to override intuition, instinct and our own authenticity according to the mandates of things like social conditioning, ulterior motives and ego.

When we ask a horse to help us solve or resolve something in our lives, bringing that question forward from the fibers of our being and with open curiosity, the horse replies with movements. It is up to us to feel into and interpret those movements in a way that resonates with us and makes sense to our brains. We can rely on the fact that horses never operate from a hidden agenda nor from a place of judgment, so what we receive is an unadulterated bodily response to the energy generated by our inquiry. If I want to know more about what is blocking me from a romantic relationship, I can go ask my horse, and she will tell me. Therefore, I steer clear of that topic and safely discuss business with her.

Taj is a 23-year-old paint mare whose stunning appearance and athletic potential landed her in the demanding, high-pressured environment of competitive show jumping and eventing at an early age. Though people may refer to show barns and the equestrians who frequent them as the “horse world,” the hours of rigorous training, trailering and competing as well as even more hours spent living in a box stall surrounded by the pent up stress and emotion of others, is most definitely a construct of and for the human world. When the humans surrounding these horses are not willing to listen to and accommodate the horses’ physical and emotional needs, the horses are left with finding their own ways to cope. Often that means developing what humans call “bad habits,” and in some cases, they will shut down.

This was the case with Taj. She learned that she had to pin her ears, stomp her feet, bare her teeth and resort to actually biting and kicking in order to get humans to listen. She learned not to trust easily because not only were humans terrible listeners, but they were unreliable and tended to abandon her. By the time I met Taj, she was 18 years old and had had six owners and many more riders training on her. Instead of learning to accept multiple riders she did not know, she feared them and their lack of listening skills, and had become a master at shutting down.

It is no wonder why she immediately took to Equine Guided work with people: this work is all about humans listening to horses. I see a contented, proud being when Taj is engaged in working with people – a far cry from the angry, withdrawn mare she learned to be in order to defend herself against things like painful, ill-fitting saddles and people brandishing pitchforks and riding crops at her in her stall.

Taj had one owner for six years who did listen. She loved her and learned from her as she overcame past fears of her own. It was this woman who tracked Taj to me a few months after I adopted her. The happy, confident horse I see doing coaching work is the horse this woman saw jumping. “If you let Taj loose in an arena with a jumps course, she would take herself over the jumps,” she told me. “She hated dressage, but would tolerate it for 20 minutes if she knew we could go jump as her reward!” But a career-ending break in her left hind has kept her from jumping since she was 14.

The horse that I met hated the prospect of riding so much that she bit and crushed the tip of my finger as I was trying to saddle her. One might think I ought to have taken that as a clear “no, I do not want to ride ever again.” But I look back at my hastiness in saddling, my assumptions that her ear pinning was an idle threat, and my not-so-finely tuned listening skills in general, and I believe I did not offer riding in a way that she was able to accept and try again. I did not realize the extent of her emotional block against the prospect of being ridden, particularly because once I made it on, she seemed to be fine – at least with trail riding. The arena is another story.

I do understand that horses always have a reason for the things they say, for the movements they make. For six years, I have diligently paid attention to her physical health – from digestive health to musculoskeletal restriction and alignment. She has had visits from chiropractors, nutritionists, massage therapists, cranial sacral practitioners, acupuncturists, osteopaths, reiki practitioners and animal communicators. Oh, and traditional veterinary care, dentistry and hoof trimming. No one has ever come up with a physical reason (or a psychic reading) indicating that she should not be ridden.

Knowing that riding is a great way to keep a horse fit, and knowing that she did, at one point, demonstrate enjoyment around some form of riding, it is my mission to offer Taj the option to ride again, and to find out if there are aspects of it that she might enjoy. I have begun conversations with Taj through movement, and I do my best to listen more than I speak.


I am sharing two videos here, the first from April when I started these conversations about riding in a Freedom Based Training context, and the second from yesterday in November, 2017. I had tried to understand whether I could get Taj to accept saddling and mounting in various ways in the past, but was not able to have the kind of conversations that we are getting to in Freedom Based Training. To learn more about this unique method of training and deepening your bond with horses, visit: where you can read about the original documentary film, Taming Wild, and Elsa Sinclair’s development of this approach.

Since last winter, I have been studying Freedom Based Training with Elsa, and blending these concepts with my Equine Guided work. In this way, I have been able to make more progress with Taj on her defensive habits and her shutting down in one year than in all the other five I’ve been with her. I’ll be documenting our efforts and sharing it here as we progress and discuss the question together, “To ride or not to ride?”

Post session selfie with hay.




Humanity, Horses and a Grief that Touches Us All

My friend is suffering. She has been suffering for several months, as she watched her horse slowly deteriorate, with no way to reverse the process. She suffered in silence because she hoped it wasn’t true, and to put the words out there, to tell the story of what she was witnessing would make it more real. 

This horse was not just any horse. No horse is. And this horse started a new chapter in her life. He was found, half starved and abandoned six years ago in Castro Valley, CA, wandering, searching for sustenance, licking the ground until there were holes in his tongue. My friend saw through the emaciated frame and into him, seeing his potential and her own. She began a horse rescue, one that would blend saving horses and giving those horses the opportunity to serve people in a new way, through Equine Guided Education. 

For six years, my friend learned everything she could about the rehabilitation, care and maintenance, and the arduous process of rehoming horses. She learned how to run a non-profit organization, how to train volunteers, how to put on fundraising events, speak to audiences, and put on her own programs for individuals and groups in the community who were eager to develop new awareness and new life skills by working with horses.

Through it all, she continued to search for the best possible life for her first rescued horse. She had discovered that he was a former racehorse, in fact a great great grandson of Secretariat. Though she was able to track down the people formerly associated with his racing career, they were not interested in helping him or donating to his cause. This pained her deeply, yet drove her to learn more, offer more.

You see my friend is motivated by humanity, by a love and reverence for horses, and a commitment to raising the bar for the treatment of and appreciation for these gracious creatures who have more to offer humans than many people realize. 

She had experienced trainers work with the horse and help in his rehabilitation. She tried entering him in a separate rehoming program that promised the best possible chance for him to find a “forever home” with someone. Through it all, the horse remained her inspiration, her guide in navigating this incredibly challenging journey. Eventually, or perhaps inevitably, she brought him back to her organization, realizing that his best chance for a happy and healthy life was going to be with her, helping humans learn new ways of seeing and new ways of being in the face of all of life’s challenges.

This horse had sustained physical damage during his racing career and in the aftermath of neglect that was unfortunately going to continue to get worse instead of better. The best thing she could do for him was to keep him comfortable, well fed, and engaged in connecting with others for as long as possible.

Yesterday turned out to be as long as possible. When she saw him crumple to the ground while trying to stand, she knew his quality of life was no longer good enough. She had learned, though the most difficult of repeated experiences, that sometimes the best gift we can give a horse is the freedom from suffering. So yesterday, she loaded him into the trailer and took him to the hospital. She did this alone. She did not want to ruin anyone’s Independence Day celebration. 

She wrapped her arms around his beautiful body as he gently departed. 

He is no longer suffering. But she is. The grief is monumental. If we, as a community with humanity, could do anything to alleviate such suffering, I believe we would. I’d like to acknowledge the tremendous courage, strength and determination my friend has shown these past six years, and especially yesterday. I know she drove an empty trailer home, feeling an emptiness in her heart. I know she is questioning whether she can go on, whether she can continue this enormous undertaking of her organization, her mission to facilitate how horses heal hearts.

My friend is Melissa Austin, and the horse she said good bye to yesterday was Spirit. Anyone who had the pleasure of interacting with him can attest to the fact that he had a huge heart and will be sorely missed. Anyone who has the great pleasure of knowing Melissa – I am sure can attest to the fact that her heart is as big as they come. Her passion is contagious, her impact on horses and human beings tremendous. I only wish there was a way to heal her heart right now. 


To find out more about Melissa’s organization, Horses Healing Hearts, please visit


Embodied Dominance

The older mare is tense as I approach her in the pasture to practice some basic groundwork at liberty. She is grazing, and I notice as I get closer that she is ripping the grass up in fierce bites, while eyeing me with wariness. I pause, still several feet from her. When I take another step I see her ears flatten against her head for a quick and severe warning. “Don’t you dare bother me right now,” she seems to be saying, as she carries on furiously grazing. To a casual observer, it might seem that she is ignoring me, but after six years together, I can feel the signals she is sending me loud and clear. Even before the more overt signal of ear-pinning, I can feel the dominant power she is embodying so clearly that I start to feel my own body want to go into flight mode. My challenge is to find a way to engage in this moment, so that she trusts me and opens up instead of shutting down or threatening to lash out.

In the horse world, as in the human world, there are horses who embody dominance, and there are horses who just utilize dominant actions as a way of trying to make themselves feel better. Dominance is usually perceived as a strength in a group of horses, since they can push other horses around, or eat whichever pile of hay they want when they want it. However, these horses are often craving safety and would love a break from being hyper-vigilant and trying to be “in charge of everything.” I have a feeling it is the same way for people who are hardwired to be dominant.

When people are embodying dominance, if it is healthily integrated, it can be a trait that is cultivated into their overall confidence, and they are able to actively and productively engage and negotiate with others. However, there are times when people are embodying dominance in a habitual and defensive a way, just as my horse does. The characteristics I observe in people who embody dominance are: a rigidity in the body – their posture seems tense, often the tension comes through the eyes which are very “hard,” and/or the jaw is firmly set. They have a way of emitting an energy that makes them feel unapproachable, very much like my mare Taj can be. They will often take actions that make themselves physically unapproachable – they will walk away, not answer their phone/email/text, cut others off from contact for long periods of time. Another thing I have observed is, if forced into a conversation confronting something, they tend to say the opposite of what they are emitting that they feel. Common statements might be “It doesn’t matter,” or “I’m the victim.” If pushed further, they may very well become explosive in their words and interaction.


When I have encountered a person habitually embodying dominance in a position of significant influence over me (teacher, landlord, employer, senior family member) I often become triggered by the perceived threat of ostracism, eviction, termination or more generally, disconnection / abandonment. In response to embodied dominance, when I am not able to assert or express myself, I have experienced various forms of somatic illness, lack of sleep, dissociation when a confrontation does “blow up” and become hostile, and the overwhelming longer term suffering of anxiety from the lack of clarity or closure that this person will allow, even as I try to work through the “issues.”


Right after wishing I could run away or dive into the core of the earth, my conditioned tendency is to react to the embodied dominance by freezing / appeasing. I joke, deflect, and avoid confrontation by trying to smooth everything over in the moment. Then, however, if I seek dialogue or discussion with them later, they are the ones who avoid me. In these instances, I have not been able to build trust.


If I fall into this habit of placation with Taj, she simply continues the dominant behaviors, sometimes escalating them, and by no means exhibiting trust in me nor my authority. If I follow the often historically recommended path of becoming more dominant, exerting my will upon her through the threat of force with tools and tack, she submits temporarily, but does not appear to be relieved of her stress, and reverts to the same behavior the next time. What I am learning and practicing now is the art of passive leadership with horses in order to build trust and depth of relationship. This is the art of knowing where to be, when to be there, how to be when you’re there in order to hold one’s own decisive presence and authority. Slowly, choosing new responses to my defensive, dominant mare is creating more and more space in which she can relax.

What does it mean to be a passive leader around other people? Certainly there is an element of “leading by example,” and that means we must be very aware of what it is we are embodying ourselves and how it impacts others and affects the relationship. There is also an essential element which I believe is the compassionate desire to relate to others, and to alleviate discomfort for all involved. As I look back on my life, it seems there has always been at least one person, in a role that is significant in my daily life, who impacts me in this extremely stressful way. I can trace it all the way back to my great-grandmother, a true matriarch who ruled with a white but iron glove. If I did anything to evoke her disapproval, she needed only to give me a look, and I would feel desperately ashamed.


But beyond her opinion of right and wrong and what length my hair should have been, was a world full of possibilities for where to be, when to be there, and how to be while I was there that would lead me to become the being who I truly wanted to be… the being who can embody confidence and commitment, compassion and enthusiasm. We don’t embody only one thing, and neither does my mare.

I walk towards her in the pasture to determine what would be the best activity for both of us this afternoon. She is grazing, and she is taking measured mouthfuls of the short, spring grass. I pause, a few feet from her, and I see her eye on me, watching with a sentiment between wariness and wonder. I take a few steps closer and she lifts her nose toward me, ears forward. I move in closer, scratching the underside of her head. She rests her head on my shoulder and exhales as I scan the woods behind her for what other creatures are out enjoying today.


When Fear Becomes Fascinating

Monday morning was calm and sunny and as beautiful as a winter morning gets. I was walking two of my horses from the field to the barn, one on either side of me, as I had done hundreds of times. Suddenly, Zorro, on my left, was gripped by surprise and panic, which rippled through his body and mine and Daisy’s, the lead ropes acting as power lines, conducting this energy through the three of us in an instant. Within a fraction of a second, all three of us had lost our footing and were on the ground. Daisy regained her ground first, and my brain had not even processed the danger before my own body found its way safely distanced from Zorro’s thrashing hooves and I was upright once again. Struggling with the slippery earth and with the fear flooding his body, Zorro finally hoisted himself up and regained balance – at least physically.

Emotionally, he was still charged with fear and I could feel my mind racing to solve the mystery of its origin. I scanned the area for any sign of something new or someone approaching. I could not detect a cause and, as any reasonable person might do, I chalked it up to a ghost.

As we continued into the barn, with distinctly deeper conscious breathing on my part, Daisy was on high alert, and Zorro was through the roof with worry – the routine of entering the stall and eating his grain mash became a challenge of epic proportion. He actually burst back out of his stall and out the barn door as soon as I unsnapped the lead rope. When he returned from his apparent and fruitless search for the ghost outside, he still carried with him tremendous anxiety, puffing through his nose, cowering at the back of the stall, and finally eating his mash but not finishing it.

He was able to relax at least somewhat that day, eating and drinking as usual later on, but his body carried signs of muscle tension and his reactivity was heightened to every small request or change in the environment. As the days progressed, he let go of that elevated tension and anxiety, but after six days, he is still looking warily around him and tensing up every time we pass the site of the incident. Daisy, on the other hand, never had another worried moment after about twenty minutes, licking her bowl clean, and being returned calmly to a pasture. I find myself still working to more fully relax my entire body upon approaching that location with Zorro, to breathe more deeply, and to provide the comfort and support he desperately wants.

Zorro has been taking me through the paces of what happens to me in my own life when something or someone frightens, worries or triggers me in some way. I find myself wishing I had someone to lead me through my fears, to help me settle myself when something or someone triggers me and I know am letting anxiety get the better of me but I can’t seem to stop it. As much as I will always crave someone to be there to do this for me, I know that when it comes right down to it, I need to get better at doing it for myself.


For whatever reason, there is an instinctive desire in me, and I believe in most people, to help a horse settle and get comfortable when something has unraveled him. The beauty of this is, every time I help a horse through a fearful moment or experience, I am practicing that skill in myself and for myself.

Does this mean I no longer have fear? No. Do I think there will come a day when I no longer have anything trigger my anxiety? No. But can I look at my ability to cope with fear, anxiety, stress and discomfort and recognize that I’ve come a long way since I started working on it with horses? Yes. Absolutely.


The first marked difference in me is that now I am fascinated by fear as opposed to just being “afraid of fear itself.” I focus on observing what a fear reaction does to my own body: how quickly my heart starts racing, my breathing gets shallow, my gut feels queasy. How amazing that a person’s words, spoken or written, can transform my calm and healthily functioning body into an alarmed and not-so-functional basket case! Is this that far off from an apparent ghost unhinging a horse?

A critical step to working through fear has been to be able to step outside of myself and observe the process of how fear takes hold and what happens to me. Observing its behavior, where it is manifesting in the body, and experimenting with what actions make fear subside are very much akin to working with horses. It is a process that takes patience and persistence. If I can get past the initial grip which seems to shut down all creative ability, I can work with myself just like I would with a frightened or worried horse.


This evening, for the first time, Zorro asked to be led out to the big field first, all by himself. He shied away ever-so-slightly from some new ice blocks on the ground, recently removed from frozen water buckets, but he didn’t flinch in the trigger zone. What we can do for horses, we can do for ourselves, of that I am convinced.

Getting Productive With Horses

It’s a Sunday. It’s a Sunday after a long holiday weekend and I am predictably launching myself into a day of what is intended to be productive enough to atone for all that I did not accomplish over the course of the last three days. I’ve spent the early morning hours replying to Friday’s business emails, scrubbing the toilet, reorganizing a drawer, addressing invitations and ultimately growing older rapidly while on hold with an internet service company. Now it’s time to get productive with the horses.


After tidying the tack room, filling water buckets and feeding the barn cat, I bring the horses into the barn for their grain and supplements. They don’t seem particularly remarkable in mood, not straying from their typical behavior in any way. The two mares get a bit pushy on the way through the barn door and wind up changing the typical order of things, but then they all eat and drink merrily as usual. I set about grooming and practicing the fine art of tick removal, about which the horses are quite pleased, since that is accompanied by a thorough, customized neck scratching, unparalleled by anything they can find to rub up against in the barn or field.


Nearly methodically, I gather all three horses from their stalls and walk them around to the flat, sunny pasture behind the barn. I find myself forcing my mind to stay present with them, and not allow it to wander back to how frustrated I am with the internet service company who failed to send me a sim card last week, and who clearly has not hired enough customer service representatives to answer the phones.


The horses safely in the pasture, happily greeting the goats in the neighboring paddock, I pause only to warm my face in the sun while reviewing my mental checklist of chores. I glance at the time and it’s nearing 1:00 pm, but I imagine I can still make it to town to return an ill-fitting horse blanket and purchase a sorely-needed drill so I can check yet more tasks off of the list. First I grab the pitchfork and muck bucket to squeeze in a quick clean up in the area near the gate where manure accumulates with ever-amazing alacrity.


No sooner do I step inside the gate, mucking tools in hand, than my younger mare, Daisy, steps toward me and promptly lies down at my feet, literally blocking my way. It has been nearly twelve weeks since we left Petaluma, California and journeyed east together to make our home in Maryland. It was common practice for the horses and me to lie down together in our arena out west, but this was the first time I had the opportunity to lie down with a horse here.



Or was it? What had I been overlooking? For Daisy to make such a definitive and emphatic invitation, I realized that perhaps she recognized the need for an intervention. The muck bucket and pitchfork are immediately cast aside and I get down and lay with her in the midday sun of late autumn. Zorro is standing watch over the two of us while Taj stands watch over the goats, one of whom is also lying down.


I let my breath begin to synchronize with Daisy’s. She is breathing heavily, deeply, slowly. I start to feel the earth and the tufts of soft, dying grass beneath me. A vulture floats by overhead, teetering ever so slightly side to side. What have I been overlooking? Exactly this opportunity.


With the transcontinental trip, the search for a home together, the adjustments we are all making to this climate and community, I had neglected my work and my practice with the horses as I fell into the rut of organizing my time by checklists, of working on my business through planning and restructuring, by prioritizing everything from light bulbs to life insurance in order to try to get settled. Here, now, is my smart and sensitive horse, reminding me of the fundamental premise in my own life’s work: to stay present to what is here, now, and find spirit and well-being in connection to it.


Taj soon decides to join us on the welcoming ground, both goats napping in the adjacent paddock now, and Zorro alternating between casually patrolling the perimeter and standing guard, half dozing. The simplicity of animals at peace with each other and their surroundings washes over me like a salve for the endless busyness that creeps into life in the guise of “things that need to be done.”


I’ll get to those. Eventually.

For now, now is much more necessary.