March 2008 • VOLUME 31 • © HORSES For LIFE™ Magazine

Riding By Torchlight March 2008

Just the other day, to ease the burden of laundry duty, I turned on the TV just in time to catch the gruesome and yet awe inspiring chariot race of the old movie, Ben Hur. As I tuned in, Charlton Heston was congratulating his 4 lovely white steeds on a good pre-race workout, speaking to each individual horse with great affection, addressing their strengths and weaknesses. It was a convincing performance, and each horse was distinct and charming in his personality. They were congratulated on their heart and courage, their stamina and speed. One horse was the rock, on whom Ben Hur depended to bring it all together. He accepted the caresses and instructions with a stoic stance, eyes far off. Another, fussy and intense, needed reminding that the race was won in the last go-round, not the first. The third had to butt in on the conversation and gain attention, and I smiled, thinking of Torchlight. Always needing to be in the spotlight, always busying himself with everyone else’s business. But mostly, it was nice to see man's relationship with horses portrayed so personably.

Race day arrived and it was thrilling even as I ached for the hardships that surely were to follow. The horses reared and pawed, fighting in the harnesses, eager for the mad dash they knew was about to commence. Teams of gleaming bay, black, white, gray and chestnut filled the stadium, all exquisite in their own right. I worked hard at attaining the ‘ignorance is bliss’ state of grace, hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as some of the old westerns where it seemed horses tumbled and fell, never to walk again. Like many horse lovers, I’ve never held my breath for the rider, but one horse tumbles and I’m a blubbering mess. Perhaps it’s their innocence, their lack of choice in taking that life and limb threatening tumble.

Yet I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen or reach for the off button, mesmerized as I was by this little window into the past lives of our horses’ ancestors. Not just the movie horses, but the horses that actually lived such a life as the one portrayed on the screen, many MANY moons ago. (As they say in the movies).

Sure enough, chariots turned over, wrenching the harnesses, bringing horses tumbling and stumbling to the ground, scrambling to their feet. All seemed to walk off in one piece. It made me wonder about the animal protection laws in place at the time. These days they are strict and enforced, animal rights agents attending any scene in which an animal performs.

Now here were these vulnerable yet somehow fierce creatures, taking part in this possibly murderous scene, not just for the sport and pride of man, but for his entertainment. The entertainment of generations to come who could watch them again and again, as they run for the laurel wreath but even more so, and seemingly very much for real, for their very lives. Who spoke for them then? Perhaps only the innate love and regard mankind as a whole - and with few exceptions - holds for the equine species, with a little moral musing and general conscience thrown in.

Laundry seemed to take forever (perhaps pausing frequently to catch up on the movie had something to do with it) and Ben Hur was followed by another great classic, Lawrence of Arabia. Soon scores of flashy and fiery headtossing arabs burned their tracks across the screen, inspiring awe and wonder that such spindly legs and slim bodies could carry their riders through the deep sands, up and down heavy dunes, without injury, without the wretched sound of snapping bones. And mostly completely inverted, a ‘dressage queen's’ worst nightmare. How do they survive, never mind thrive? And what on earth do they feed horses out there in the desert? As adaptable as horses are, surely even they cannot glean nourishment from sand and thornbushes?

Glowing in the sun and adorned in fine regalia, they buzzed like glittering hummingbirds among the more sedate camels. And although camels strike an impressive pose of ungainly majesty as they stride out over the desert, they pale in comparison to the beauty and splendor of a spirited horse. Even at a standstill, a horse draws the eye like few other creatures on earth. Is it that their spirit is so close to the surface, so near in their eyes? In contrast to the camels, I was reminded of the unique nature of horses – where spirit, pride and passion meet, without animosity, the desire to please and willingness to perform. Camels, on the other hand, seem to be of service, if not service minded, their tenure accompanied by grunts, groans and moans, bellowing and spittle. The spittle did me in. I do believe I’ll stick to horses.

As in Lawrence of Arabia, where wars were fought from the backs of horses and sheiks valued their Arabian steeds as revered family members, in ancient times, and up to just 100 years ago, horses were warriors on a par with their human partners. They were irreplaceable, valued by their owners as their own flesh and blood, and often considered as a beloved friend. They were buried with honors, and their memory enhanced by bards and storytellers embellishing their finest moments with impossible feats of bravery. Loved and revered as they were, they were trained to be in the direct path of harm, and were as dispensable as they were irreplaceable. Only in death would they be spoken for, and then only to raise up in glory their feats of bravura.

As one looks down the tiers of the ages, we find horses being fiercely loved and tragically destroyed, all in one breath, all at the hand of one master. Today we see this pattern still, racehorses breaking a leg in mid-race, jumpers injured beyond repair, dressage horses worn down by the very training that should preserve them. Yet they are nearly all revered and adored by the people that surround them. Still, despite the genetic memories that science now finds may well exist -- memories that, however faint and subconscious, surely include cruelty, sacrifice, suffering and terror -- still they continue to willingly serve us, to seek us out and to live and die at our hands. Only now it is for sport and for pleasure, a hobby, a passion, a holiday excursion, amusement, show and ego gratification.

It begs the question – how often do we, as a whole, balance the scale of those negative experiences with positive ones? Enough to leave them happy to be back for more? I like to think on the whole we do, on the whole we’re not a bad lot. I like to think there are more horses leading happy lives than not.

Or do they serve a much greater purpose in which that scale is not of vital importance? The paths they forge through our personal wilderness have been and continue to be documented and told, in books and in videos, in movies and in articles, in prisons, at self-help seminars and personal growth workshops involving horses as sounding boards. More than ever, they have a voice of their own, more than ever they are heard as more than a useful hunk of powerful flesh, as they act as catalysts for personal discovery and epiphanies, helping us heal and evolve, one person at a time.

But what about on a larger scale - what about the global effect of the equine species and spirit? Do they have a voice and are they heard? Will anyone speak for them today? And what do they show us, what global epiphanies can be experienced by the horse community, in part or as a whole?

Today, on a much larger scale than the individual relationship, we find horses teaching us very real and very serious lessons – about power, prestige, money and politics - and the integrity of humanity as a whole. They do this with the mental dexterity and elegance of an enlightened guru – with placid eyes and mute faces they cause us to question ourselves. Then we raise the question with our friends, next within the community, and before we know it, they have easily proven the Law of Physics that “Every Action will have an equal and opposite Reaction.” As will every opinion. And questions breed opinions like mice.

In the dressage world this is easily and fascinatingly if painfully exemplified by the current state of affairs at the top levels. With the increasingly widespread and accepted use of the horrific technique known as Rollkur, or Hyperflexion of the neck, the sport of dressage has hit a low point since its baby steps as an ‘everyman's’ sport in the early 20th century.

Furthermore, ‘Relaxation’ has mysteriously disappeared from the Training Pyramid in the latest FEI Rule Book, removing not only one of the main building blocks but perhaps more importantly, one of the built-in mechanisms of thoughtful training philosophy that protect the horse from overly ambitious and fast-paced training.

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