Horse Logic

Horse Logic The Grass Is Always Greener

by Nicole Birkholzer

Several years ago I co-hosted a two-day writing workshop at our then new property in the hills of Southern Vermont. For part of the day, we connected with my herd — my palomino Quarter Horse, Cutter, in particular — to ground us. The rest of the time we wrote.

The day after the workshop my sister and I took our coffee out on the deck to

relax and watch the horses in the pasture below. The moment I stepped onto the deck, my body contracted. Where were the horses? I had let them out of the smaller fenced-in enclosure into the large pasture just before I had poured my coffee.

I called out to Shana, my Arabian mare. She usually responds to my calling and whistling, but I didn't hear her neigh, nor did she come running. A slight panic set in, and I felt adrenaline running hot through my veins.

The pasture was surrounded by a thicket of woods that was hardly penetrable. I had gotten into the habit of letting the horses graze in the big field with supervision even though we had not yet installed fencing around the perimeter.

“They must have escaped,” I said to my sister. "We’ve got to look for them. I grabbed two halters and yelled to my partner, David, that we had to spread out in the woods and search for the horses.

As we headed toward the woods, a woman arrived on foot in the driveway, calling out that the horses were at our neighbor's house where she was visiting.

Up the quarter-mile driveway we ran. This was scary. The neighbor's property was right off the state highway. I wondered

if the horses had walked up the driveway. Had they traveled along Route 9?

As I came to the end of our driveway and looked around the bend, I saw both Cutter and Shana standing in the neighbor’s front yard, heads down. Phew. They were grazing and not in a panic.

I took a deep breath as I walked toward them, slowing down my pace, and took in the scene. Both horses stood in raised vegetable beds, Cutter among broccoli and zucchini while Shana was near the onions. Both horses were eating the tall, juicy grass growing outside the wooden walls of the raised beds.

I called out, “Cutter, Shana, hi!” The moment Cutter heard my voice, he lifted his head, and his eyes changed from relaxed to concerned. I literally saw the thought plastered on his face: “Hell no!”

He was not going to let me put a halter

Shana, Monarch, Cutter, Nicole, and farm dog Scout.

on him and take him away from this oasis he had just found. He pulled his hooves out of the broccoli and marched over to another vegetable bed, farther away from me and the halter.

Chasing him would create more damage, so I turned my attention to Shana, telling her she was such a good girl and that she needed to help me out. Shana looked at me as I approached her calmly. Her eye was on me, and I could tell she understood my request. But she was also loyal to Cutter, so she headed toward him.

While David and my sister stood near the road to create a barrier, I slowly followed the horses, softly asking them to stop. After about ten feet, Shana did stop. I sidled up next to her, swung the lead rope over her neck, took a deep breath, and placed the halter over her head. “Thank you, thank you,” I said.

Seeing Shana haltered next to me set Cutter off into a panic. His freedom was about to end. He trotted, tail raised, heading closer to the sparse human barrier near the road. I turned Shana toward the field, away from the road, and lured Cutter to follow us.

While my sister guarded the road, David took Shana from me, and I was finally able to halter Cutter as well. Everyone but Cutter exhaled. I fixed up the vegetable beds as much as possible and told the neighbor I'd pay for the damage.

Both horses followed us down the driveway willingly, but when Cutter noticed we had walked them back to their own home, he stopped in his tracks and sighed. Not in relief but more in disappointment, as if to say, “We’re here again? No way!”

Suddenly, I knew what he meant. I noticed that our pasture was plain, and many areas were dusty and rocky, not at all as tasty and nutritious as the vegetable beds and patch of grass next door.

I will never know how Cutter knew that our neighbor had such an abundance of rich, green grass on her small patch of land. But I did understand why Cutter decided to head through the woods to greener pastures that day. His work with each individual workshop participant had depleted Cutter more than I had realized. It had sapped his energy, and he went out to seek nutritious food to rejuvenate.

Walking Cutter back into his enclosure, I promised to add more nourishing things for him to munch on and subsequently added a few special supplements to their diet, including organic barley powder and chelated minerals.

Fast forward to a wintery afternoon earlier this year. I had just given the two geldings, Cutter and Monarch, our semiferal Nokota horse, each a flake of hay and let Shana out into the back yard to clean up some hay that had fallen off a bale.

Shana is often out in the back yard, and I trusted that she would stick around. I leaned the gate against the post giving Sammy, our goat, time to make up her mind — stick with the boys or hang with Shana near the house.

When I was done with my chores, totally forgetting the gate was not latched, I went into the house for an animal communication phone session. An hour later, David walked into my office. Our neighbor had called to say that our horses were once again in her backyard.

I looked out the window; it was already pitch-black outside. Shana and Cutter were loose in the neighborhood, and most likely, Monarch was with them. I knew he would follow his herd to the end of the world.

I apologized to my client, hung up the phone, and grabbed two halters before I once again ran up the driveway, the cold air burning my lungs. David was close behind with a flashlight. When we got up to the neighbor's property, the homeowner greeted us with a flashlight in her hand.

“Where are they?” I gasped, coughing, out of breath.

“They broke through the fence and are in that pasture over there now,” she said. My neighbor pointed toward a field I knew was surrounded by an electric fence

and barbed wire. I imagined all kinds of legs and hooves tangled and cut by wires.

I asked David to hand me the flashlight. I needed to find a gleaming eye to know where they were. I slowly shone the flashlight from the far left to the right across the snow-covered meadow. At 11 o’clock (directionally speaking), I saw a pair of eyes light up, way down the field near the woods.

I called out “Shaaanaaa!” in a singsong voice, then whistled to her.

One breath later, we heard the thundering of hoofs. Three moving shadows emerged from the darkness, galloping across the snowy field, Shana in the lead. As our little group came into sight, Shana transitioned to a gorgeous extended trot. She paraded right past us, knees high, mane and tail flying, the boys in tow.

I called out, “Look at you, gorgeousness, so beautiful!” Hearing my acknowledgment, Shana made a large loop to the left before turning back toward us. I switched to, “Okay, girlfriend, now it’s time to slow down and come over here.”

Meanwhile, Cutter, energy high, passed me, and as he did I held a treat out to him, asking him to come over. He was curious enough to stretch his nose as far as he could to snatch the cookie out of my hand. This was good news. Cutter now knew I had treats. I was sure this knowledge would bring him back to me eventually.

I took a deep breath and looked for Monarch. His gray dappled coat blended perfectly into the night sky and the snowy field, so I only saw a shadow moving around somewhere between Shana and Cutter.

When Shana finished her beautiful circle in the field, she came toward me. I took another deep breath and praised her for coming closer. Within moments she stood, heart pounding, next to me. I reached out to pet her neck and then gently rolled the halter over her nose and ears and clipped the snap. I exhaled a few times and handed Shana over to David just like last time.

Once Shana was haltered, Cutter took only a moment to make up his mind to visit me for another treat. As Cutter munched on treats I haltered him.

Monarch, who has never been haltered in his life, stood right behind Cutter. I told David to take Shana home while I followed with Cutter. My sense was Monarch would follow the herd.

As we approached the side of the state highway, Monarch suddenly moved past Cutter on the right, heading toward the road. For a moment, I held my breath but then realized Monarch had only passed to get in line between Shana and Cutter. It was rather magical to watch Monarch fit himself between Shana’s tail and Cutter’s muzzle like a link in a chain. We safely made it down the road and driveway, and all horses went into the pasture without a hitch.

There are so many lessons in this story. When it comes right down to it, life with horses, prey animals, can be precarious. Often, as in my case, it’s the result of a human’s unintentional failure to notice or do something; other times, it might be an accident.

Here’s what I know: • When the manure hits the fan, the first thing you must do is breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. You and your horse are running on adrenaline, and you need to be more grounded than your horse. • Calling your animals with a sing-song voice is always more appealing than a panicky voice. Call your horse’s name with a light tone, an attractive vibration rather than one of worry. Call your horses as you normally do when feeding or doing something pleasant with them. Some horses like a higher voice and melodic whistle; others respond better to a deeper solid voice and a short whistle. Play with it. Now. Practice it so you have something to rely on whenever the need arises. • Know your horse. I knew that Shana was jazzed up and would be much more responsive coming to me if I first praised her performance. And I also know that Cutter gets worried when people use a

firm or stern voice. When he snatched the cookie out of my hand, I said lightly and gently, “You little bugger, you snatched the cookie and ran off,” knowing he would realize this was not a dramatic situation and he could come back for more.

Take a breath. Know thy horse.Have

a chat to make a connection.y

Nicole Birkholzer professionally and telepathically communicates with animals across the world. In her phone sessions and workshops, she helps you discover the secret to communicating with your animals successfully. Nicole shares the world through your animal’s eyes in her podcast, Let’s Have a Chat! She’s the author of Pet Logic and Horse Logic. To learn more, visit mindful-connections.com.

LET’S HAVE A CHAT! with Nicole Birkholzer

DO YOU WONDER when your companion shows a quirky or unexpected behavior? There is a reason for it. Tune in to “Let's Have A Chat!” as Nicole Birkholzer, animal communication specialist, author, and inspiring speaker explains the world through our animals’ eyes. Listen in and discover the secret to communicating with your animals successfully. mindful-connections.com