The Power of the Herd (14 page)

Collection
is an important term in the equestrian arts. Technically, it means the horse is channeling his strength in an optimal way, not splaying his energy outward in a compulsive, uncoordinated fashion. When his neck is arched and
his rear legs are positioned well under his body, his center of gravity moves toward the hindquarters, rounding and releasing his spine, allowing him to collect his power: to compress it like a metal spring, hold it, gather it, focus it, and release it purposefully. From this position, he can just as easily rear, move sideways, leap forward into a vigorous gallop, or quietly, artfully step backward.

In nature, a stallion wooing a mare will collect his energy to engage in dancelike movements that would be impossible to perform if he let his passion run wild. A well-educated saddle horse further develops this ability, combining increasing control of his own body and emotions with a finely tuned awareness of the rider's intentions, interpreting subtle weight shifts as meaningful communication. Serious equestrians uphold their end of the bargain by developing an “independent seat,” meaning they're able to balance on a moving horse no matter what he does, directing that force toward a specific goal while continually adjusting to unexpected movements — without pulling on the reins, gripping with their legs, or hanging on to the saddle for support. Under the tutelage of a great trainer, each horse is carefully conditioned to increase the
impulsion
needed to realize his full athletic potential — while continuing to remain sound over time. (Rushing the process can cause injury.)

“Impulsion is a power surge
that doesn't have anything to do with speed,” trainer Ron Meredith reveals. “It means the horse is pushing more powerfully with his muscles, not moving them faster so he gives you more strides.” The president of Meredith Manor International Equestrian Centre insists that “impulsion does not have anything to do with excitement, either. You don't use louder, more exciting aids to create excitement in the horse in hopes of getting impulsion. If you raise the horse's excitement level, then what you get is a horse that feels excited rather than one that feels the shape his rider is asking him to take.”

Modulating power, centering and socializing it, is the equestrian's art, one requiring equal parts courage and thoughtfulness. The most talented colt is often the most explosive in the initial stages of training and can easily be mishandled as a result. When he rears or bolts out of fear, it's counterproductive to punish him, let alone try to shame him for misbehavior. The trainer simply shows her four-legged student a more effective alternative, a way to balance and focus his magnificent vitality, sensitivity, and energy. A mature, perceptive rider can tell the difference between her mount's confusion, apprehension, and aggression. In the latter case, correction is swift and appropriate. For instance, if the horse tries to bite his trainer, she might hold up her elbow so that his use of force meets a more pointed, unpleasant force in response. If he tries to bite again, she will up the ante, showing that she's fully capable of setting boundaries and
protecting herself. The key, however, lies in her ability to move forward without resentment. When a defiant horse shows the slightest inclination toward cooperation, she calmly proceeds with the lesson, unruffled by the momentary interruption.

Inexperienced equestrians often mistake a stress response for an attack, needlessly escalating the situation. Violently punishing a frightened or frustrated horse
raises
his blood pressure, accentuating the flight-or-fight response, causing him to act out more dramatically. Immature trainers also tend to hold grudges, treating the horse as innately stupid or arrogant. This hopelessly critical attitude, reinforced by defensive, mistrustful posturing, virtually guarantees that the rider will continue to misinterpret the horse's behavior and overreact to perceived threats, resulting in greater confusion, fear, anger, and resentment — increasing the possibility of panic and injury in both “partners.”

A seasoned trainer, on the other hand, demonstrates physical, mental, and emotional agility. This highly aware, inquisitive, centered form of human collection is simultaneously instructive, contagious, and comforting to the horse.

Calming a frantic youngster becomes an important way to bond with him and establish leadership, to earn his trust and cooperation. Disorganized, over-stimulated horses sense that they're a danger to themselves and others. Even in the wild, they tend to seek out thoughtful, less-reactive individuals for guidance and support.

When someone feels the
need
to dominate, especially through force and intimidation, chances are he's inexperienced in the nuances of more mature forms of leadership. Dominance is a basic, albeit adolescent, claim for power, one that twentieth-century science interpreted as a law of evolution for all species. In the twenty-first century, however, researchers have come to realize that it's not the only law, nor even the most desirable law, of natural social behavior.

In a breakthrough article, “The Secret Life of Stallions,” Kip Mistral interviewed Mary Ann Simonds, a wildlife and range ecologist who studied mustangs for thirty years.
“Young dominator stallions
— the type that most people associate with ‘wild stallions' — might be able to break into and manipulate herds,” she concedes, “but the mares try to escape. Mares want friendly stallions that can provide a sustainable herd environment. No one likes the dominator stallion types. Other stallions don't get along with them, which can be important, since sometimes stallions work together to attack or drive off a stallion
they can't live with or that can't live within the larger community. Dominance doesn't go well in nature.”

If this sounds overidealistic, check out the DVD
Such Is the Real Nature of Horses
by respected equine photographer Robert Vavra. He actually filmed an incident where several feral stallions broke up a fight between two feuding stallions, driving the perceived bully away from the bachelor herd until he agreed to calm down.

In the wild, stud colts rarely, if ever, oust their own fathers. Neither do they immediately find their own mares when they're encouraged to leave the original herd, somewhere between ages two and three. The vast majority of mustang stallions are in their teens before they're capable of attracting and maintaining a band of mares. In the horse world, as in the human world, leadership requires seasoning and experience. The initial urge to challenge authority is the first step in a long journey toward self-control, self-esteem, and self-mastery.

Karen Sussman, president of the International Society for the Protection of Mustangs and Burros, has witnessed bachelor bands temporarily protecting and sometimes cooperatively raising orphan colts and fillies.
“We even have foals here
that go back and forth between herds, and they are welcome everywhere,” she notes. Apparently, the “survival of the fittest” impulse isn't set in stone among these horse communities. Or perhaps more accurately, their human observers are finally noticing that horses who are fit to
thrive
grow beyond the need for genetic and social dominance.

Over the past five thousand years or so, people have been striving to extricate themselves from a long list of oppressive religious, political, and economic systems. One of the most troubling misconceptions in moving toward greater personal empowerment is the idea that previously hidden feelings, opinions, or impulses are suddenly fair game for unbridled expression. Extremists by nature, humans tend to grab hold of the proverbial pendulum when introduced to a more open, candid form of social interaction. But the initial high of mutual freedom can quickly plunge into hurtful exchanges that damage relationships and discourage collaboration, inhibiting the lucid debate of challenging ideas that leads to innovation. A healthy dose of patience and equanimity helps create a fertile middle ground between suppression and expression, where honest, thoughtful communication thrives.

Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary,
eleventh edition, supplies this definition of
patient:
“bearing pains or trials calmly or without complaint” and
“manifesting forbearance under provocation or strain.” Patient people remain “steadfast despite opposition, difficulty or adversity,” the word
steadfast
referring to an ability to stay “firm in belief, determination, or adherence.” This skill is an essential element of
equanimity,
defined as “evenness of mind, esp[ecially] under stress.” In horses and humans alike, equanimity is
the
sign of a mature, well-balanced individual, one who stays centered when others become reactive, who sets reasonable boundaries without ordering everyone else around, whose clarity, composure, and poise are downright contagious.

We often assume that only humans are capable of developing these qualities — and only by transcending their basest animal instincts with great difficulty or self-righteousness. But this same highly evolved behavior exists, sometimes effortlessly, in nature. My horse Shadowfax, named for the wizard's magical mount in
Lord of the Rings,
was one such gifted individual. In 2004, he exhibited an uncannily supernatural level of emotional intelligence in socializing a couple of unruly stud colts.

I met Shadowfax at a breeding and training facility in Michigan. As a guest clinician at TN Farms, I was leading a variety of activities under a massive grove of oaks and maples when my attention was drawn to a nearby pasture. There an agile, well-muscled Appaloosa stallion was grazing and cavorting with his own weanling sons, something that few domesticated horses are allowed to do. (Most intact males are kept isolated for fear they might hurt their children.) Though only five years old, Shadowfax knew how to gently set boundaries with his feisty boys, playfully herd them around the pasture, and affectionately groom them. I was so impressed with his natural combination of power and gentleness that I bought one of his sons, a striking red-and-white yearling named Sage.

Several months later, when Shadowfax was up for sale, I brought him to Arizona. Sage remembered his father, calling out to him as soon as he got off the trailer. The first night, I was moved to see Shadowfax nuzzling his long-lost son over the fence. The next day, however, the younger horse attempted a brutal leadership coup. At that time, Sage and my two-year-old Arabian stud colt, Spirit, were going through the most fretful, inherently dangerous period of male adolescence, challenging their four-legged
and
two-legged elders. Hellbent on intimidating Shadowfax the first time they were turned out with him, they pulled out all the stops — kicking, striking, rushing in to bite.

The wise old man of six years didn't even panic, thoughtfully assessing the situation while staying out of harm's way. Then, as each colt reared over him, he lifted his front legs off the ground just high enough to lean into the youngster's shoulder, effectively knocking the aggressor off balance. Sage and Spirit
ended up on the ground several times before they realized the move was intentional. Shadowfax seemed to be performing a kind of equine aikido, using the challenger's flamboyant yet unstable energy against him. Then he'd stand over the dazed and astonished colt, staring him down, pawing the earth right next to his head, clearly demonstrating his superior power, ingenuity — and restraint. By the end of the day, he was softly licking the face of his son and quietly milling around the corral with Spirit.

Trainer Mark Rashid might say that Shadowfax exhibited the traits of a “passive leader.” Here the word
passive
refers not to inaction but to the fact that such a horse doesn't actively fight his way to dominance or obsessively try to control everyone else's behavior. Instead, as Rashid writes in
Horses Never Lie: The Heart of Passive Leadership,
he or she “leads by example, not force.”
This horse is “extremely dependable and confident
, one that the vast majority of horses will not only willingly choose to follow, but actually seek out.”

Studies of both wild and domesticated herds show that even though aggressive alpha-style leaders win the right to eat and drink first, these horses mostly succeed in alienating others. Their antics may be impressive to thrill-seeking humans, but if you sit down and really watch the rest of the herd, you'll notice most horses following more settled individuals around.
Rashid once watched an alpha horse
named Scooter “single-handedly keep no less than ten horses away from a water tank,” launching full-blown attacks on a couple of horses and holding the rest at bay with menacing glances. The author saw a completely different dynamic unfold with satellite bands that approached the tank after Scooter finished.
“In almost every case,” he writes
, “the passive leader would begin to drink while the others stood quietly nearby. Once the leader had taken several swallows from the tank, the others would slowly move in and they would all drink together. There were no threats, no attacks, and no fearful reactions. When the leader left the tank, the others willingly followed.”

Watching one such mare effortlessly lead
a herd of ten happy devotees, Rashid noted that she was “unfazed by her popularity and appeared to accept the others as if they had been buddies all their lives. The little band that followed her never seemed to get into arguments, living in relative peace whenever they were all together.” In situations that would easily drive less experienced herd members into flight-or-fight mode, this mare truly knew how to “hold her horses.”

Through my own experiences watching the intricacies of herd behavior, I've come to realize that “survival of the fittest” demands more than physical prowess. It involves the ability to conserve energy for true emergencies — or at least recognize and follow those who do.
Most horses, Rashid insists, seek out
a leader “that they know won't cause them unnecessary stress or aggravation,” someone with “quiet confidence, dependability, consistency, and a willingness
not
to use force.”