A reader from Illinois recently called and posed this question: How could anyone think a horse was stupid? They may be aggravating, annoying and trying, but they sure aren’t stupid. In fact, I think, the reason they can be so frustrating is simply because they’re smart enough to pull it off.

To show his point that horses are anything but stupid, our reader used the example of the number of commands that include pulling back on the reins: slow down, stop, back-up, change coming up. Of course we all know that additional aids go into the full cue—and that the reins are the lightest part of that signal—but the fact remains that we pull back on the reins and the horse understands. If you think about it, the differences in our seat and legs are subtle, too. I highly doubt that I could tell the difference as quickly as a horse when the rider begins to sit taller in the saddle. Should I half halt, get ready to halt, back up, piaffe . . .

We all know horses who anticipate commands, especially if you’re locked into the walk-trot-canter-reverse thing.  But have you seen a horse who seems to truly know what the announcer said? Red, a $100 rangy chestnut gelding, used to win command classes when we were kids because he responded faster than his rider. 

Horses know how to use natural instincts intelligently. My mare was quietly standing for a trim over the weekend, listening with us to the constant buzz of a chainsaw being used by one of our way-too-close neighbors. When we heard a loud crack, she tensed, waiting to determine where the tree would fall, her natural flight response ready to react. We never really heard the crash (must have been a branch), and she quickly relaxed. If that’s not smart, I don’t know what is. (She also learned to bow, using the carrot trick, faster than any other horse I’ve ever had. All I have to do is reach behind her front legs and down she goes.)

Horses know who does what, too. My sister’s horse nickers when she sees me approach in the field.  I’m the treat lady, after all. I’ve seen her spy my husband and loudly whinny to let him know the flies are getting too much to endure and she needs a refresher of fly spray. She doesn’t do this to just anyone who walks by. That mare knows who does what.

My husband loves to tell the story about a broodmare he took care of in Kentucky. She produced several racing champions and was one of the most valuable mares in the country at that time. But she was high strung and difficult. Strong headed. She caused more than one handler to curse at her, which was a big mistake. If she was in the field and heard you swear (probably reacting to the tone of the handler trying to catch her, of course), you weren’t going to get a hold of her again for hours, unless you had a lot of help and could corner her.

Although riding a being with a mind of its own is one of the reasons riding is considered a risky sport, it also has its advantages.  If we take a misstep or run into treacherous footing, I appreciate knowing that my horse is thinking about the safest route out of the mess.  Sure, some horses are smarter than others, but it’s reassuring to me that they all use that brain of theirs—even when it doesn’t seem to be to our advantage.

A friend recently told me about a horse that was humanely destroyed because of EPM. The owner of the horse apparently took his veterinarian’s word that there was nothing that could be done to help the horse and didn’t get a second opinion. My friend was aghast because she knew that most EPM horses can improve with proper treatment.

This scenario took me back—over three decades ago—when one of our horses, Coffee, was diagnosed with navicular disease and put to sleep.  Back then, navicular was considered hopeless. And, if the horse was consistently lame, euthanasia was believed to be the only sensible decision.

Coffee was a big grulla Quarter Horse with a heart of gold. Anyone could ride him, and he’d do whatever was asked—games, jump, trail ride, show. He wasn’t much to look at, but he was as trustable a horse as you could hope to find (what I wouldn’t give to find a horse like him again today). 

He was smart, too. I vividly remember my sister falling off of him on a trail ride. Something went terribly wrong as they crossed a stream—one we’d crossed dozens of times before. We’re not sure what happened, but Coffee reared up, causing my sister to fall. We’d never seen him rear or buck or anything like that before.  It was shocking. He was coming down right onto her, but visibly shifted his body to avoid landing on her. I saw it with my own eyes, and I will never forget it! He then walked out of the stream and quietly stood there and waited for her to get up and remount.  What a horse!

Although I wish Coffee had been lucky enough to live into old age, at least I’m comforted by the fact that my parents exhausted every option before making the final decision. I remember them talking to several veterinarians and trailering him to two different large veterinary clinics for separate evaluations. A costly endeavor, I’m sure. Today, of course, the current medical and therapeutic treatments would give him more years . . .  just as they can with EPM.

We owe it to our horses to explore every reasonable alternative. We need to check facts and double-check opinions. I’m sure the person with the EPM horse had faith in his veterinarian. And, of course, it’s possible that the vet was right, as I don’t have the whole story. However, this could also be a case of misplaced loyalty. No qualified professional will be angry if you say you want a second opinion. In fact, if they’re truly compassionate, they’ll do some extra homework and consult their peers as well.

The more I learn, the more I realize how much I don’t know. This makes me less trusting of an individual’s advice and more likely to double-check anything I’m told. I question people. Just ask my own vet, who last year told me that he didn’t believe joint nutraceuticals work. Really, I said. Then how do you explain Horse Journal’s field trials with these products? We’ve used many, many different brands with a variety of results, I told him. Most results were positive. Uh, well, he stammered, I suppose they do have their place, but they won’t replace bute. True, but he shouldn’t just broadly dismiss them with no real basis for his comment.

It just seems to me that, with today’s overload of readily available information and ads that masquerade as scientific data, it makes sense to learn everything you can, stay up-to-date with changes and find out which sources you can trust and which you can’t. Horses like Coffee deserve the best we can give them.

Like most folks, I have a love-hate relationship with the Internet.  I love what it’s done for shopping, probably because with a few clicks of a button, I can compare prices (and shipping, of course) and be done.

Crowded stores—even busy tack stores—don’t appeal to me. I shop for what I can’t order, like urgent needs, groceries and grain (can’t imagine the shipping costs on 50 lbs. of oats!).  Plus, Internet hours are great. Stores around here don’t open early enough. With horses, you’re up early in the morning, and by the time the stores open at 10 a.m., you’re deeply involved in the day’s project and can’t drop everything to go shopping. The Internet is perfect for that.

But I hate websites that don’t list a phone number under contacts. They want my money, but they don’t want to talk with me?  What’s wrong with a little human contact? I’m supposed to e-mail a simple question, like are those breeches very form-fitting or are they flattering to real-woman body types, and then wait 24 hours or so for a reply? Nope. Not me. I’ll move along to another site.

I’m awfully picky when it comes to my horses, dogs and cats. I’m wary of the many product evaluations posted on sites by customers, manufacturers and whoever else wants to do so.  I read them, but with a skeptical eye. For instance, take the comment, “It’s the best girth I’ve ever used!” Great, I think. But would you tell me why? And how many other girths have you used before? Are you comparing it to 10 other girths or is this the first girth you ever used? Is your horse a ticklish Thoroughbred or a tough-skinned draft cross? I’ve also noticed that many negative comments often disappear.  (I’m sure you don’t need to ask why.)

That’s one of my biggest problems with the Internet. Sure, we all know now that it’s full of bad advice. And it’s great to get “free information.”  But how do you know what’s right or wrong and which sites you can trust? Perhaps someone claiming to be a journeyman-level farrier is telling you that Brand L is the best thrush medicine on earth. Sounds good. But maybe he’s simply a distributor of this product, trying to pad his own pocket. Maybe he’s not even a farrier at all.

If you want deworming information, you’re going to be inundated with a variety of options—most contradicting one another. Who do you believe? And who is standing behind this advice? It’s incredible to me the number of places still recommending dewormers that have proven histories of parasite resistance. And, of course, the manufacturers of these products aren’t going to tell you that. No wonder we’ve got such a battle on our hands with small strongyles.

Maybe I’m more aware of all of this because of Horse Journal. I know how hard it is to find reliable, educated, experienced testers. Comparing 20 different hoof supplements or 25 thrush remedies is an enlightening experience to say the least, especially when they’re used in everyday barns like yours and mine. Of course, Horse Journal’s information isn’t free, like the evaluations on the Internet, but we stand behind them. Isn’t that a rare (and apparently old-fashioned) value you’d like to see more often?

Going out for a long trail ride and not returning for hours is but a distant memory for us. There’s no open land left. The financial experts think the housing industry has slumped? Wrong! Come visit us.

Our new neighbors have well-manicured lots with houses on all four sides of their property, but, gee, at least they don’t live in the city anymore. We were told the tone of the selling points of this new development (the second of three in our immediate area) is that it overlooks a horse farm. Lucky us.

But the loss of riding trails isn’t all we’re experiencing. Thanks to all the new residents, the wildlife inhabiting our farm has grown incredibly in the last two years. And there’s little we can do about it, unless we kill these critters, which we don’t want to do. It’s not their fault, since they have nowhere else to go, but it is impacting our farm.

For instance, we can no longer let our barn cats run loose. That’s because we don’t want the coyotes to eat them. (Before they lost all their land, the coyotes stayed away from our property.)

We do have really fat barn mice, though. Or, at least we did. We learned that peppermint oil placed on cotton balls will deter the little guys. We placed one right on top of the grain barrel, where they had been quite obviously feasting, and we’ve seen no evidence of their return. And the feed room smells great.

Groundhog holes are a thing of the past. They’ve been replaced by fox and coyote dens.  At least these dens are fewer in number (so fewer to fill each spring and fall) and easier for our horses to see in the field than hidden gopher holes.

We’ve dealt with folks coming over to feed the “pretty horses.” They have no clue that horses can and do sometimes nip or kick. In fairness to them, even the nut-job mare looks sweet and serene while grazing in the field. We’ve politely gotten control of this problem (and added “no trespassing” signs), but people still come right up to the fence to admire the horses.

Of course, I can now ride to loud music. I always wanted to do that; I just thought I’d have a choice in what I listened to—and what time of day I heard it. So much for a peaceful setting. My spooky mare really enjoyed last week’s fireworks displays!

We’ve had uninvited guests.  Two women invaded our property to aggressively accuse us of abandoning our cats. The three cats had been left at a vet clinic, so we adopted them, saving them from euthanasia. They now live in the farm house that is our office building. 

Apparently, these women decided that because no one actually lives in the house, these fat, spoiled cats were living on their own. The ladies told us they had visited the cats previously, looking in windows and even entering through the back door to look around (I used to leave this unlocked as I did errands between that house and our own house, which is next door). They wouldn’t leave and, ultimately, we were forced to call the police.  That was a first-time experience for me, too.

It’s a new age in horse-farm management. We now have to lock all our doors when we leave a building, keep our vehicles locked, and we have padlocks on all the gates. It’s not a friendly way to live, but in this litigious society there’s no choice. We can’t constantly patrol the place.

I miss the old days, I guess . . . days when those of us with animals lived next to other people with livestock, and wildlife had an abundance of wooded areas in which to live and eat. We’re trying to adapt, though. We decided to let the rabbits and chipmunks continue to share our vegetable garden. The horses seem to think they’re cute.