Horse Sense for People

Two COMMUNICATION

The body language of horses offers profound lessons for communication between humans.

Communication is key to our success as human beings. Poor communication results in unrest, unhappiness, isolation and much more. The horse communicates through body language. With humans, body language plays an important role in determining what information we receive and how we are receiving it. Surprisingly, words play a relatively insignificant role in our interaction with people. Therefore nonverbal communication sends very strong messages, not only in the world of the equine and most other animal species, but also among humans.

If we feel comfortable around someone, we will naturally want to stay with him. By staying near him, we are likely to become more interested in him, his needs and desires. This is how we influence people.*” Scientific evidence allows us to assume that about 80 percent of communication between humans is body language. When compared with words, body language cues are imprinted more deeply in the human memory bank. Tone of voice is the next most influential part of communication and words make up the rest. This compares favorably with the horse’s communication system. Horses communicate extensively and almost entirely using body language: they do make noises, but in the natural environment, silence is paramount, because no member of the herd wants to alert predators. The horse’s highly developed senses of smell and eyesight play an important part in their communication.

The dictionary definition of communication is an act or instance of transmitting information. But communication is so much more than that. What are we trying to do when we communicate with people? We are looking for physical, emotional and spiritual families. We are looking for like-minded people who will reduce our sense of isolation in an increasingly complex world. The horse knows that, in his world, isolation means certain death. People, by contrast, can often intentionally isolate themselves from other humans. Though they can survive quite well, isolation can have negative consequences. In large cities for example, fear for one’s safety tends to create a desire to isolate oneself using bigger and bigger locks and more and more security, creating an environment of isolation within the mass of humanity. And often people in isolation lose confidence both socially and in the workplace. Stress and loneliness rise and isolation can create a sense of vulnerability.

The badly behaved foal that has been sent out of the herd knows that he cannot survive alone without the protection provided by the group. The isolated horse is at risk. The elderly or infirm horse unable to sustain the pace of the family lags behind and is soon harvested by predators. The horse knows that isolation is an unhealthy state, whereas the human seems to be unaware of the potential dangers of solitary confinement, even when it’s by choice.

Animals use a sophisticated interspecies communication system in order to survive. They assist each other, protect and communicate in a way man has yet to learn. Animals do not form subversive groups that terrorize the neighborhood as humans have learned to do. To be isolated is not to be part of a community, not to belong. Isolation is a revolt against all the things society has to offer. The more people find themselves in situations where isolation is encouraged, accepted and endured, the more anger, shame and fear they will feel. And reactions such as violent crime will surely be a result. We need to improve our communication with the less fortunate of our society and learn to speak the language they understand, as I have with the horse.

When I induce the horse to circle the round pen I am saying, “I am giving you an opportunity to choose for yourself. Flee if that is what you feel is best for you.” I want the horse to be free to choose his own course because in that state of mind learning is encouraged. Through communication, I play out the role of predator and await the gestures appropriate to renegotiation. When the horse exercises his option to come to me rather than go away, I welcome him as strongly as I can in the language of Equus. I reinforce his choice so that we can work together in harmony. It is my hope that we can go forward from that point in the certain knowledge that we mean no harm to one another.

FATHER AND SON

It’s important to realize that we do each other harm in many ways—physical violence is only one form of violence. Harm can be done verbally or by an absence of communication. Communication, and the lack of it, molds our personalities just as the sculptor’s hands mold clay. If we find a way to come together with others, each of us understanding our mutual needs and desires, a bond forms. True communication protects us from misunderstandings that tend to fester into a state of fear and distrust. To acquire trust in a relationship is one of the most enriching aspects of life. But my own life is testament to the fact that communication between humans—even between father and son—is often flawed or lacking altogether.

I was walking down Main Street in our hometown of Salinas one day; I would guess I was about ten at the time. I looked ahead and saw my father walking directly toward me. As he approached, I said, “Hi Dad!” but he looked at me and kept walking. I couldn’t decide if he had seen me or not so I said, “Dad … Hello!” He was only about three feet from me and he looked directly at me. I could tell that he recognized me, that he knew me, but he gave no response at all. He passed me, turned to the left, and crossed the street; again I called out to him, “Dad. Hey!” I shouted loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, but he just kept walking. I returned to school, hurt and puzzled, trying to figure out in my mind what I could have done to upset him and cause him to so deliberately ignore me.

I harbored this hurt for many years. My father’s recognition of me was important, particularly at that age. This incident was yet another deep scar on our relationship. In a sense, it was a small incident, but it reflected a huge coldness, a void between us, which I simply could never come to grips with. I became always eager to please. I did everything he wanted me to. I intensely disliked being involved in his harsh, often brutal if traditional training methods with horses, but in order to please him I gave him any assistance he requested.

We finally reached a silent understanding. During a confrontation years later, I asked him if he remembered that day on the street when he ignored me. He looked at me and said, “I didn’t have anything to say to you.” I let it go, because I guess that was an answer; by then I knew it would achieve nothing to point out that I had not been asking for a conversation that day in Salinas, merely an acknowledgment of my presence.

Greetings take little effort. Children need to know they are important to someone. A parent refusing to acknowledge the presence of his child is like an animal refusing to allow a newborn to drink from its udder. It is a refusal of life itself. I have been strong in my need to communicate with my own children because of such incidents from my childhood. Parents must take responsibility for their children’s emotional welfare; the impressions of humanity they grow up with will mold their lives and affect the lives of the people around them.

For a few critical years in my development I lived with the knowledge that my father had ignored me. The child will almost always ask, Why? In this case the child’s logical conclusion was that he wasn’t worthy of a greeting. A child so treated will often conclude that he or she has been rejected by society, in this first case the microsociety of his immediate family. If a message of rejection is given to a child, we should not be surprised if the child rejects the family and, perhaps, in the end, the larger society. We have already painted the picture; all the child has to do is step into it.

I had not, to the best of my knowledge, done anything to cause my father to ignore me. In my own opinion, I was a hardworking youngster whom any father might have been proud to have raised. The incident, however, caused doubt in me, and it left an indelible mark on my character that has caused me to view relationships with people with a degree of skepticism. But if the adults in my life didn’t seem to make much sense, the horses—even, and especially, wild horses—were starting to make perfect sense.

DISCOVERING THE LANGUAGE OF EQUUS

In 1948 I made my first of many trips to Nevada. There, deep in the heart of Indian and ranching country, I watched the wild mustangs and began to recognize that there was a decipherable vocabulary in their actions and movements. There were quiet times during our trek in which I could observe the mustangs interacting with one another oblivious to our presence. I was driven more by intuition than by a desire to communicate with horses, but this experience opened the door to a process of communication that would help me find common ground between human and horse.

Advance and retreat was one of the first lessons taught to me by horses and I was later to discover that it works well with people, too! This was an exciting time for me as I was discovering the presence of a language that nature probably had had in place for millions of years.

This early knowledge was the foundation of all that I am today as a horseman. A few years later, as a boy of fifteen, I was convinced that it would be possible to get a wild mustang to turn and come back to me of his own volition, so that he would Join-Up with me instead of fleeing. It was a wild undertaking, but out there in the desert in 1951, I caused a mustang colt, about three or four years old, to Join-Up with me in one day.

I started out early one morning and within a couple of hours or so I had a young mustang separated from the herd and was driving him away from the group by using what I now know to be crude gestures in the language of Equus. Even though I had a lot to learn I was able to utilize the principles of advance and retreat to make it uncomfortable for him when he was negative and very comfortable for him when he was positive. Within twenty-four hours, having stopped to feed and water my saddle horses while allowing the mustang to do the same, I had full control over the movements of this wild flight animal. I could square up on him with my saddle horse and run straight at him if he decided to leave me. I would stop abruptly, turning to ride away if he showed me the signs that he wanted to come closer to me. In one full day I could cause him to willingly follow me around. His actions became voluntary. He was relaxed and comfortable. I didn’t take it any further because I was so pleased with the achievement and my time was limited.

I was certain people I knew would embrace my accomplishment; sadly that was not the case. I must have anticipated meeting with some disbelievers, but I never imagined the level of ridicule with which I was met. When the word got back to my father and his friends, I was further put down. My mother was the only one who gave me any credit, but I’m not sure she completely believed me. As I reflect on it today, I can understand how in the early 1950s my claims seemed utterly impossible.

But I went back to work with my horses and made them my life. During my childhood I lived in two distinctly separate worlds, one with horses, the other with people. My world with horses was one of comfort and understanding, but with people I felt isolated and alone.

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It wasn’t until early in 1985 that I attempted to demonstrate to my father the effectiveness of my work. I explained that what I was doing was based on what I learned out there in the desert. Even at that late date he was too set in his ways to give ground. Father and son relationships can be powerful and often inflexible, as ours was. There was never any give in the constant struggle for supremacy. My father tenaciously clung to his beliefs, and I to mine.

In February of 1997, I adopted three mustangs with the intention of repeating my experience of the 1950s. This time I was older and wiser, though somewhat less agile, and determined to record the event on film. Once again I confronted a wild mustang in the wilderness. I knew now that if I could persuade him to trust me I could cause him to accept his first saddle, bridle and rider without force or pain. Just as in 1951, Equus proved to be constant and reliable. It was incredibly tough for me, both physically and mentally, but this experience proved to be one of the most gratifying of my life.

The BBC/PBS television program about the mustang, which I named Shy Boy during that long twenty-four-hour ride through the Cuyama Valley of California when we became acquainted, was shown around the world. The video of that remarkable Join-Up became very popular when I conducted my lectures and demonstrations, and I often fielded remarks and questions about the event. One of the most frequently asked questions was, what did I think the mustang might do if he was taken back to the wild and turned loose? Would he go with the herd or return to me? It took more than a hundred queries of this kind before I realized that I had to accept another challenge.

By this time Shy Boy had been ridden for nearly a year and had been treated well. If I gave him the opportunity to choose between the wild horses and the wilderness or his newfound domestication and me, which would he choose? It was not without trepidation that Shy Boy was released to make his choice.

Come what may, I decided to document his release just as we had documented our first dramatic encounter. After we had tracked down the herd he knew before and released him, the wranglers who accompanied me, and the film crew, watched and waited, scanning the desert hills for any sign of his return. He had rejoined the herd without hesitation; they had welcomed him back before galloping off together. Through the remains of that day, and through the night, I watched him. In the early light of morning, we saw the herd on the crest of a hill. One horse stepped away from the others. I waited. Then Shy Boy came down the hill, galloping through the high grasses. Running directly to me, he put his head to my chest and, in the language of Equus, clearly stated that he was happy to be back with me. He had deliberately chosen to Join-Up with people over returning to his own kind.

I have always asserted that a happy horse that loves his work is better than one that has been forced. This has always been very difficult to demonstrate, but now for me there is no longer any question about it. A mustang, born into the world of absolute flight, chose caring people over his own kind. Shy Boy made his choice because I had gained his trust. Using his own language I had assured him that I was not predatorial and I’d made it clear to him that he could come to and stay with me without fear.

BODY LANGUAGE

Advance and Retreat

When I first encountered the wild mustangs in the Nevada desert as a boy, I also discovered how mustangs could be caught. The Indians from north of Battle Mountain introduced me to principles of advance and retreat. The wild herd is driven away from a trap (a keyhole-shaped structure made up of woven wire and posts, about a quarter of a mile long) for at least a day. You then ride back the other way and the herd tends to follow, leaving some riders to circle behind the herd and so complete the trap. Advance and retreat was one of the first lessons taught to me by horses and I was later to discover that it works well with people, too. For the first time I realized that it was possible to converse with a wild horse. This was thrilling—not only was I discovering the presence of a wondrous language, but I was also discovering my own ability to decode it.

The flight animal’s first reaction to a predator is to flee, using speed to escape from danger. With the attack safely averted, the flight animal will tend to stop, look back and reassess the situation. Survival of the fittest has taught the horse that the more he knows about his predator, the better he will be equipped to survive. In addition, it is critical to conserve energy. It makes little sense to run mindlessly into the jaws of another predator. A horse will often retrace his steps to the area of the attack to determine the nature of the predator, keeping track of its presence and appraising any current threat—somewhat along the lines of “better the devil you know …” This is the phenomenon known as “advance and retreat,” and it is an essential part of the communication process. Humans also act out advance and retreat.

Consider the example of an adolescent boy just starting high school. He has a crush on a girl and follows her persistently. If the girl is not interested, she will ignore his advances. After some time his enthusiasm for this pursuit wanes. He loses interest and starts to look elsewhere. This is the moment when he takes the pressure off. It often does not take long before she misses his constant attention. In animal terms, he has been the predator and she the prey. She will notice he is no longer around and will feel his absence. She may not have had a crush on him, but she enjoyed his attentions. Perhaps she starts to appear where he is, or shows interest in him. Without consciously realizing it, she missed the pressure of his advances, which subconsciously made her aware of how good it felt to be wanted.

The clever salesman uses the principles of advance and retreat to make his commissions. First, he bombards the customer with attention and information and then he retreats, leaving the customer literally to miss the attention. The customer then contacts the salesman of his own volition. The moment that the salesman receives a voluntary approach from his prospective customer, he is metaphorically in the driver’s seat. He can then use subtle tactics to convince his customer of the value of his product.

These concepts were made clear to me by horses over four decades. When the horse decides to approach me of his own volition, he is communicating that I have gone a long way toward selling him on how wonderful it might be to enter into a partnership.

Eyes on Eyes

The first gesture many predators make while stalking is to lock eyes on the eyes of the prey—there is no mistaking this for being anything but predatory. As soon as I release a horse in the round pen and he moves away from me, I lock my eyes on his eyes and take on an aggressive stance, my shoulders and body square to the horse. These actions alert the horse that I could be a predator and cause him to take flight.

A comparable situation occurs when a young man notices a girl he finds attractive and looks directly at her. The desire of one person for another can take on the nuances of a prey/predator scenario. If the female denies eye contact, it is very difficult for the relationship to develop. A relationship is apt to begin when there is eye-to-eye communication.

It is imperative that I am precisely aware of where I am looking at every moment during the process of Join-Up. I can actually slow a horse down by moving my point of vision along the horse’s back toward his tail. The farther I focus away from his head, the slower the pace of the horse. I often show this when demonstrating Join-Up. Conversely, turning one’s attention away is as important in this conversation as is a direct gaze. I always look down and away from the horse’s eyes when I go in close to reward him by rubbing his forehead. By taking my eyes off the horse, I am taking the pressure off. The horse perceives the release of pressure as part of the reward.

Among humans eye contact also signals interest and communicates commitment. It maintains conversation. The lack of eye contact may very well be a natural, healthy and demonstrative part of the communication process. Cessation of that contact takes the pressure off and denotes a change in the flow of communication. The lack of eye contact can be interpreted in many ways. One might feel it demonstrates a lack of self-esteem and/or sincerity and the presence of confusion and/or fear.

Don’t we demand that children should look at us when we are reprimanding them? The child often looks away and adults will generally consider this to show a lack of interest or even a passive defiance. How many times have we seen an angry parent grab a child’s face and yell, “Look at me when I am talking to you!” From my experience with horses I feel that a child who looks away is passive and not dismissive. If a child stands square and drills the adult eye to eye, that child may well be accused of defiant behavior.

Autism

The language of the autistic child is similar to that of the flight animal, and his flight mechanism is far more finely tuned than that of a nonautistic child. The autistic child will almost never make eye-to-eye contact.

Autistic children are also acutely sensitive to body language. In a way similar to that of horses, they rely heavily on it for communication. So it is appropriate to briefly explore autism in this regard.

Autism is a neurological dysfunction that has many different levels of severity and whose cause is not entirely understood. Because the brain is a complex organ, any part or parts of it affected by disease or mutation can cause a wide variety of dysfunctions. What is clear is that the brain becomes overactive in certain areas, which could be a reaction to underdevelopment, or lack of development in other areas.

Autism is not a disease—one is simply born with the condition—and there is no dramatic cure. The word “autism” conveys to many of us a child or person locked into some strange world. Often mute, they seem inaccessible and removed from normality. Autistics are noted for their ability to concentrate deeply on some tiny aspect of their surroundings; they might lock onto a minute detail such as a pencil rolled between the fingers. They seem afraid and often hide from a direct gaze, finding odd corners to crouch in and immersing themselves in repetitive activity. Even less severe autistics can have difficulty relating to other people: they seem unable to read people well or to respond. They are people for whom the jigsaw of life is missing key pieces.

The autistic, like the horse, thinks spatially, or in pictures. Autistic people often find written language a struggle, and they mix up words and symbols for sounds and sometimes cannot even recognize specific sounds. However, autistics have the same range of intelligence as do nonautistic people. In fact, they are often very gifted in some areas while below par in others.

Recently there has been a considerable increase in horseback riding therapy centers where children with a wide range of disabilities can safely, under trained management, ride horses. Reports on the success of these ventures vary, but generally it is noticed that the act of riding is stimulating for autistic children. Riding provides the autistic child who is unable to walk with a freedom of movement over which he or she has some measure of control.

The close proximity of horse and rider also seems to be attractive to autistics and often helps to arrest violent or repetitive behavior. The child with high anxiety or suffering panic attacks almost instantly becomes calm once seated on a horse. The act of riding also helps the children to use muscles that would otherwise not be so actively employed and so their all-around development is enhanced while the sound of trees rustling, the feel of the wind in their faces and the smell of nature as they ride along combine to produce a complete and stimulating environment.

The horse and the autistic child have much in common. Noise, particularly loud and unusual sounds, can be terrifying to both. The horse thrives on routine, and autistics are almost fanatical about routine; one thing out of place and they are likely to throw a tantrum, which makes education very difficult and much communication depends upon body language.