May. 29, 2005 - Showdown at the Not-So-Okay corral

I’m an inquisitive person by nature. This is partially due to the fact that I’m a journalist, although my father is also to blame. Dad’s famous saying “try anything once” has gotten me into a lot of interesting situations. Of course my inherent curiosity extends to my riding, where I’m forever picking up a fair share of bumps and bruises. If rough experience is life’s best teacher, then I’m well on my way to becoming valedictorian of the class.

The latest lesson in the school of hard knocks was just learned this afternoon. After a fellow wrangler and I had an argument about the advantages and disadvantages of Monty Roberts’ horse training methods, I decided to try a few for myself. A few days before our conversation, I’d innocently picked up a book by Roberts’ top student, Kelly Marks. In “How to behave so your horse does too,” I found the four steps to achieving Roberts’ method called “Join-up,” the ultimate connection between horse and trainer. I had a horse, halter and lead rope, the only required elements for Join-up, other than common sense. If I looked real hard, I figured I could scrape up a little of that as well.

The wrangler I know was a little concerned with the safety of Roberts’ methods. He figured Roberts could work with dangerous horses and get good results. The question was, could an ordinary rider stand in the middle of a round pen and get a wild horse to behave without getting killed? We both wondered.

My test horse was Honor, a classy chestnut gelding. He’s number three in his five-horse herd’s pecking order and a pretty passive mount. As a prelude to Join-up, horse and trainer are encouraged to work through a series of ground exercises. Other than constant attempts at grazing, Honor warmed up fine. Apparently, his interest in grass was the only problem I was going to have all day. I decided to make that his “bad behavior,” the defining factor that would prevent him from “joining up” and coming to the center of the arena, which was the “safe zone.”

The first step in “Join-up” is to unclip the horse and wait until he moves away from you. Honor only moved his head – right down to the grass – but that was enough to merit sending him out to the rail, which I did. After an initial moment of surprise, he took off in a quick lope, circling the arena while I kept him going by raising my hand. I discovered that I could change his pace by my body language. Backing off caused him to slow to a jog, while a driving walk caused him to lope again. Cutting across the arena caused him to change directions. He also lowered his head with his muzzle only a few inches from the ground, a sign of submission. When he sought “Join-up” of his own accord, I let him come to the center of the arena. As soon as he was in the “safe zone” with me, however, he dropped his muzzle to eat more grass. Show me a horse that wouldn’t. I sent him back out to the rail again. He wanted to come in. I let him. He ate more grass. I sent him out. On the third try, the little light bulb in Honor’s head went off. Obviously, eating grass was getting him sent out to that scary world on the rail. Sticking with me was better, and the closer he stuck, the safer he would be. With no lead rope, vocal cues or any devices other than my body language, I led Honor around the corral through a series of figure eights and tight turns. It was instant “Join-up,” a great bonding experience for both of us. Great! I’ll be teaching clinics in two days! I thought. Right.

Because horses respond in different ways, just like people, I knew it was important to try the same method on another horse. After Honor followed me up to his stall in the barn (off the lead line and completely in sync with my movements), I got Cutter out of his stall. He has a typically stoic personality whenever anyone inexperienced rides him, but when he’s loose in the pasture it’s another story. As “Mister Dominant,” he has a bad attitude about his personal space. In fact, he could make a rabid wolf look friendly!      

Cutter moseyed on down to the arena with his usual indifference; he had a lead rope on, so he knew I was the boss. But the second I closed the gate and unclipped the lead rope, it was The Black Stallion all over again – and I wasn’t on his good side. “How to behave so your horse does too” didn’t exactly explain how I was supposed to act with a horse who was rearing, pinning his ears, and snaking his head from side with vicious intent. There should have been a big warning at the front of the book that said, “Don’t try to achieve join-up with dangerous horses unless you really know what you’re doing” – but, of course, there wasn’t.  

Monty Roberts’ method is famously known as “Horse whispering.” Well, it didn’t take five seconds before my arena was filled with hoarse screaming. That seemed to be the only technique that kept Cutter from running me down and trampling me into the ground. I don’t think Roberts recommended yelling “Get outta here!” while trying to send a horse away, but it was all I could think of doing (other than climbing to the top of the arena rail). From his safe vantage point outside of the arena, my brother made encouraging comments like, “You’re the one who needs a helmet, not me!” and “Don’t you think you should quit while you're still alive?” Cutter made small circles around me, attempting to catch me off guard so he could dive in for the kill. I didn’t need Monty Roberts to tell me that I had to gain control over the wild horse, because if I didn’t I’d never be able to catch him again.

I stopped my screaming and warily lowered the lead rope. Cutter struck out with his forelegs, but I dove for his side. He backed up and cow-kicked, trying to hit me with his hind hooves while snaking his head around to bite me. When his nasty face came my way, I grabbed the halter and gave a mighty jerk, pulling his head back to his shoulder while I clipped the lead rope on. With that corrective jerk, Cutter realized that he was on the lead rope again. His ears shot forward and his face got that “I’m innocent!” look. Immediately, he dropped his head and reached for the grass. Didn’t give me a second glance until I opened the gate to lead him out. Then he followed me with his easygoing amble, head bobbing, a long piece of grass sticking out of his mouth.

My fellow wrangler was glad to know that his opinion of Monty Roberts was pretty well grounded. He gave me one of those “I-told-you-so” lines and wore a self-satisfied smirk for days. I mentioned that I was the one who almost died proving that he was right. He just grinned and asked, “Hey, what do you think of Pat Parelli’s training methods?”