Tammy and Hugsy

The Beginning of the Journey

One day several years ago, my husband, Larry, made what I am sure he thinks was the worst mistake of his life. He arranged for me to take riding lessons. The gift came with one condition: under no circumstances was I to buy a horse. This condition was not unreasonable, but it was unrealistic, considering my history of bringing home stray animals such as dogs, cats, and the occasional orphaned skunk that needed to be loved.

After I promised, with my fingers crossed behind my back, not to buy a horse, Larry gave me the number to call. The woman described the lesson horses I could choose to ride. I could choose to ride the horse that had lots of energy and would do anything you asked or—and here I honestly zoned out until I heard "stubborn and a challenge." I chose the one she said was stubborn and a challenge, nicknamed Witchy Poo. I'm not sure why I chose this horse. Maybe it was because I like working with difficult students in my biology classroom and know I can make a difference in their lives. This horse was a natural fit for me.

I was so excited that I arrived for my first lesson a half hour early. I hadn't ridden since I was a young girl, and the smell of the barn and the horses was heaven. The horses were enjoying some time in the pasture, flies buzzing around. I enjoyed watching the worker fill water tubs and empty the poop cart. Women were chatting happily as they groomed their horses before a ride. I was home.

The horse I had picked to ride turned out to be a huge palomino quarter horse mare with pinned-back ears. People called her Barn Witch and Bonehead, among other names. Her real name was Hugsy. I don't know why, but I fell in love with her instantly. Maybe I saw a need in her eyes to be loved and understood. Maybe I felt a connection because we were very similar in some ways. Maybe it was because I love a challenge.

The only thing I really knew about horses at this point was that I loved them. As a kid I would visit my uncle every chance I had, just so I could pet his horses and feed them treats. If he had enough time, he would saddle one up and let me ride around the field. I never got to ride the horses as often as I wanted. To remedy this situation, my sister and I taught one his cows to lie down on command. We made a halter out of rope, climbed up on the cow, and rode around—not a good thing to let Mother see us doing. When we weren't playing with cows and horses at my uncle's place, we were stealing rope wherever we could to make a harness for our great dane. We actually taught him to pull our sled back up the hill in the winter. I was destined to be involved with horses.

As an adult, I showed up early to my weekly lesson, so I could hang around the barn to listen and learn. I spent six months learning how to deal with this very difficult mare that fate had found for me. I was told, "If you can handle this horse, you can handle anything."

Sometimes Hugsy could be sweet, and there was nothing more pleasurable than riding her around the field on a warm summer day. Sometimes she had a major attitude, and I couldn't wait to get her back to the barn. When she got too strong, the trainer recommended a stronger bit. At first the result was more control, but then she would get stronger, stick her nose in the air, and pin her ears back. If she wouldn't move forward, we got out the whip, and I was told to dig my heels into her sides. The result was variable. Sometimes she would take the bit in her teeth and charge. If she picked up the wrong lead, I used a variety of strategies, including making her hold still and kicking her with my outside leg.

One time I was told I was being too easy on her and should "give it to her good," so she would learn which lead I wanted. I didn't understand how making her stand still and kicking her in the side would make her learn the correct lead, but I did as I was told. If she spooked at something, I was to make her face the direction of whatever spooked her and make her go toward it. If she balked, I was supposed to use the crop and kick her sides as encouragement. If she did move forward but acted spooky, I was supposed to hold her and make her stand still.

If she wouldn't get on the trailer, we would use the butt rope trick in conjunction with the whip. I remember one time when someone broke a crop over her rump because she wouldn't get on the trailer. If she had truly been a "mean horse," she could have hurt a lot of people during these displays of attitude. If only I had known then what I know now.

Hugsy's owner decided to sell her; the mare was just too much to handle. I'd ridden other lesson horses that were easygoing, well mannered, and fun to ride. I could continue riding these other horses, but I felt a connection with this horse. I was heartbroken. Hugsy was mean and ornery on a good day, but when she looked at me there was tenderness in her eye, and she nickered when she saw me coming. I'm not exactly sure why I felt the way I did about this miserable animal, or why she showed me affection. I just knew I couldn't say good-bye.

I talked the owner into leasing Hugsy to me. I would not have ownership but would assume all financial responsibility, including board and vet and farrier bills. I could treat her as if she were mine. I think Hugsy's owner agreed to lease her to me because saying good-bye really wasn't an option for her yet either. I really believe that Hugsy's owner loved her and saw her potential as I did but didn't know how to fix the attitude. The worst part of the deal was that I had to go home and tell Larry.

"Honey, do you remember when you said I couldn't buy a horse?"

"What did you do?"

"Technically, I didn't buy the horse. I'm leasing her."

I've blocked out the rest of that conversation. I do remember I was in trouble for a very long time.

Soon after I started leasing Hugsy, my first trainer decided that it was time for me to switch trainers and go to the next level. I learned many great things with my first trainer, such as the importance of grooming, hoof care, anatomy of the horse, care of my tack, and basic horsemanship skills.

The trainer who was recommended had a good reputation and experience dealing with Hugsy. I thought perhaps the new trainer could help me turn my horse around, and I could have a pleasant, calm horse to enjoy. This trainer's solution to my difficult-to-deal-with horse was to use a stronger bit and tighten the curb chain on her high-port long-shanked curb bit. I was told to keep constant contact with her mouth and ride with a tight rein. I was told not to relax on this horse, not even for a second, because if I did, she would run away with me. Hugsy's temper tantrums could include refusing to move forward, taking the bit in her teeth and charging, refusing to do what I asked, and taking off in whatever direction she chose to go. I became stronger with my hands and my legs, and Hugsy got harder and harder to control. Her tantrums started to include bucking and rearing. I don't know why, but I decided to take Hugsy to a show. We were in the warm-up ring on the far end. She had been really good, then all of a sudden her head went down and her hind feet up. And she practiced this move all the way down the long side of the arena. I stayed with her and have to admit it was scary and fun all at the same time. When we got down to the other end, my husband and a friend had jumped the fence, apparently to rescue me. I do vaguely remember my husband saying, "Get down now." I didn't show—we went home.

I took a couple of hard falls—hard enough to land me in the local hospital's emergency room. My falls added to Hugsy's reputation as an outlaw horse. I clearly remember the fall that happened while my sister was visiting. I was riding in the indoor arena. Again, everything seemed fine—until her head went down, and her feet went up. Of course I was going to try and stay with her; after all, I was now a seasoned bronc rider. Well, she had other ideas and added a twist, a rear or two between bucks. She got me off, and I landed on my hip, screaming in pain. My sister ran to the barn for help, and an ambulance was called. I just landed on my sciatic—I was fine after a week. But I also had a husband who wasn't very happy.

Hugsy's owner decided enough was enough and to put her up for sale. When I was told the asking price, I made a counteroffer—without thinking. At that point, I would have paid whatever it took to make Hugsy mine, but at least I could tell Larry that I had bargained the price down. My offer was accepted, and I was allowed to make payments. This arrangement isn't typical, but the owner knew Hugsy was going to a good home with plenty of love. I even took a part-time job to pay for her. I had thought the leasing negotiation was difficult, but the conversation with Larry was even more difficult!

"What do you mean, you own a horse!? Tell me you didn't buy Hugsy."

"I had to. She is my horse. We have a connection. It would break my heart if she didn't stay with me."

Larry started to say something, and I interrupted with a finger pointed at him. "Don't you dare start telling me her bad qualities, or I will start listing yours."

"Um, okay. But we can't afford to buy a horse."

"Not a problem. I'm making payments, and I already got a part-time job."

"This really isn't up for discussion, is it?"

"No. And by the way, I'm going to need a horse trailer." To keep the peace at home, I had to let Larry buy a boat. I made out pretty good on this deal! Now I just needed to figure out how to teach Hugsy to water-ski.

I continued to work with the new trainer, but I felt that something just was not right. Hugsy had the reputation of being an outlaw, yet I could get her to do things that no one else would dream of trying. I could lead her around blindfolded. I didn't think twice about jumping on her bareback, with only her halter and a lead rope. I would dress her up at Halloween. One year I made her a jousting-horse outfit and myself a knight outfit, complete with a lance.

I could trust her to be gentle with my nieces and nephews. They came to visit, ride, and feed her carrots. She always has been as gentle as a lamb with kids. She patiently stood while my sister, whose leg was in a cast at the time, struggled to get on and off (apparently neither of us inherited any common sense). I knew Hugsy was not the outlaw people thought she was.

Even though I had learned a lot, I decided to switch trainers. My second trainer had been knowledgeable and patient with me, and I did learn a new seat and developed a desire to someday enter the world of hunters and jumpers. Hugsy, with all her faults, is very versatile, and I rode both English and Western with my new trainer. I didn't see any progress in Hugsy, though. So, in search of the something that was missing and someone who could set things right, I went to a third trainer.

This third trainer had a good reputation and a successful career in the horse world. I was sure this trainer could help me. The first thing we did to "correct the problem" was put the horse in draw reins and put spurs on my heels. The draw reins were attached to the rings of the cinch, through the bit ring, and into my hands. This dramatically increases the leverage and, used on a curb bit, applies the leverage incorrectly and is dangerous to the horse. Same philosophy of force that the other trainers used, slightly different method, same results; it just was not working for me or my horse. I could not figure out why I was working so hard with knowledgeable people and making no progress.

This trainer left the area. I learned about grooming for a horse show, improved my form over jumps, and learned about the different types of English saddles. I decided to go it alone for awhile. It didn't work out. We weren't making any progress together. Hugsy didn't want to work. Her attitude wasn't getting any better, and I didn't know what to do. I was seriously considering retiring her, turning her out with the neighbor's cows, and buying a horse more suited to my abilities. Down deep in me, though, selling her never has been and never will be an option.

Fair, Firm, and Friendly

My stable owner recommended that I try working with Jon Mallory. I hadn't really heard much about him and didn't know what his training methods were, but I thought, Why not? One last chance.

I don't know what I was expecting, but I certainly didn't expect an honest-to-God real cowboy to step out of the truck. Cowboy hat, clean jeans, big belt buckle, western shirt, boots, a cigarette, and an Australian cattle dog at his side. And none of it was a fashion statement. Thirty seconds talking to him, and you knew he was the real deal.

"Jon, I've tried everything: all kinds of bits, I wear spurs, I ride with a crop, I've tried draw reins. My husband wants me to get rid of her, and nobody wants to help me."

"Well, what seems to be the main issue with this horse?"

"She can be really good, but when she decides to have an attitude—watch out!"

"Well, get on and let me see what kind of problem we are dealing with here."

"Okay, but don't be afraid to tell me what I need to go buy. I'll do anything."

Our first lesson could be categorized as a disaster. I choose to call it a turning point. I could not get Hugsy to walk forward for more than ten steps at a time. When I asked her to trot, she would at first refuse. Then take off like a shot. Then stop dead and put her head down to eat, almost pulling me out of the saddle. At the canter she would take the bit in her teeth, stick her nose in the air, and charge, drop her head, and buck. She pulled every trick in the book. It was the worst ride I ever had.

"Well, Tammy, I don't see anything wrong with your horse."

I said, "Oh," while thinking, Are you blind?

"Your horse has no reason to cooperate with you. You are not listening to your horse. She is soured on life. Fair, Firm, and Friendly." He said that last part as if it were a law of the universe, like gravity. I have to say I agreed with him. As a teacher of high school students, that's how I deal with the kids in my classroom; why didn't I think about doing that with my horse? Nothing I had been taught to do was in the least bit friendly. I certainly wasn't being fair. I was not firm—I was downright harsh. During my first lesson, Jon tried to tell me that I had to approach my horse with a different attitude. I kept asking what training aid and what bit he thought I needed to go buy. Jon had his work cut out for him.

This was a trainer who wasn't going to fix my problem horse; he was going to fix my approach and philosophy, and the horse would follow suit. Hope springs eternal.

The first thing I had to understand was that might does not make right, especially when a 120-pound girl is going up against a 1,200-pound animal. Good point: I lose automatically. Hugsy was trying to tell me this in her own way—her temper tantrums. The bits, spurs, draw reins, and crops were all tools of "might makes right." I had to learn to stop relying on those. This went hand in hand with step one: I had to lighten up and relax.

I had learned to be tense and ready for anything and to keep constant contact with her mouth

"Tammy, what would you do if your husband took you out dancing?"

"I would faint."

"Quit interrupting. I am trying to make a point."

"Sorry."

"What if you two went dancing, and he pushed you roughly around the dance floor, spoke to you in a disrespectful manner, wasn't concerned about your comfort level or if you were having a good time. What would you do?"

"We certainly wouldn't go dancing again."

"What if you went dancing and Larry gently guided you around the dance floor, was respectful and attentive, and made sure you were having fun?"

"I would want to do it again."

"Well, riding is a lot like dancing. Horses are sensitive creatures and can be gently guided. If they can feel a fly land on their body, they can also feel the gentle pressure of the leg or the subtle shifting of their rider's weight. When you learn the language that your horse uses and actually listen to what she is telling you, the communication starts. Communication works only if all parties are truly listening. If you expect the horse to listen to you, then you have to listen to the horse. When you learn to communicate to your horse that you will always be fair, firm, and friendly, you will get a horse that is willing to be your partner."