This was a writing prompt from Anna Blake and I jumped on it because I’ve had this exact thought knocking around in my brain after an incident a few months ago.

It was one of our first rides at the new place, and our first time in the big arena. I had the idea that I would turn Griffy loose and just let him explore before I got on – it would be the perfect opportunity for me to see what areas of the arena held his interest, so I could be aware of it while riding, and also giving him the freedom to check out our new surroundings without having to drag me along. Win-win!

I have something on my saddle called a rein keeper. It’s a strap with a metal ring on it that attaches to your saddle on one end, and then clips onto your reins on the other end. Its purpose is to keep the reins from sliding down your horse’s neck. In mounted archery competitions there is a rule that your reins must be attached to the saddle somehow, and I’ve found this device really useful when riding in the pasture or anywhere Griffy might want to graze (which is literally everywhere, because haflinger.) The rein keeper does not in any way restrict the horse’s movement – he can put his head all the way down if he wants to. Their only function is to prevent the reins from sliding so far forward I can’t reach them.

This is important in a moment.

I led Griffy into the arena, slipped the reins over his head, and then went to latch the gate. He was eager to explore his new home, and instantly headed off – there were tons of exciting new smells and sights and he was going to explore them all. I turned from the gate to watch him walk away, and the first time he put his head down to sniff something, I realized with horror….I forgot to attach the reins to the rein keeper.

I started walking after him, but he had no interest in waiting for me to catch up – he meant to explore as much as possible. Every single time he put his head down, the reins slipped further down his neck, and I could only watch helplessly and try to get to him.

Finally when he was at the furthest corner of the arena it happened – he put his head down, the reins slipped over his head, he stepped on them, and they got tangled around his leg. He tossed his head up, and I could see the fear in his face as the bridle was suddenly and unexpectedly pulled sideways while he felt his leg restricted.

Best case in this scenario is that he panicss and breaks the reins and the bridle.. Worst case is they don’t break and he gets seriously hurt. To say I was freaking out was an understatement. Running at him would have only scared him, but I was power walking as fast as I possibly could and out of desperation I yelled out “Hang on buddy! I’m coming!”

At the sound of my voice, he turned and looked at me (as much as he could)….and when he saw me hustling over to him I watched his whole body relax. His head went down. I could see him thinking “Ah, my human is coming. She’ll fix it..” And he just waited, all tangled up, for me to get there.

I made sure to let out a big breath when I got up to him to let him know everything was going to be ok. He was concerned, but he stood still. I untangled him, fixed the reins, properly attached them, and then gave him every cookie I had in my pocket while I told him what a good boy he was. He thought I was making too a big a deal over nothing, but I knew better. A lot of horses would have lost their ever loving shit to have their face jerked on while one leg was immobilized. I was awed that when something scary happened, that his instincts surely told him he should run from – all it took was hearing me tell him help was on the way for him to relax and just wait for me to fix it. It wasn’t love that kept him standing there – it was trust.

When we were learning the obstacle course, he was very unsure of the tarp.

We walked as close as he was comfortable with a few times. Let out a breath each time he took a step. Finally he got right up to it. I asked him to walk across. He contemplated it. Then he looked at me. I could almost read his thoughts:

“I don’t know about this….but if you say it’s ok, I trust you.”

He put one foot on it and didn’t fall into a pit of lions. A super enthusiastic good boy, and another foot. His thoughts were clear now: “Oh, THAT’S all that is? Psh.” But those first two steps were humbling, and impressed on me what an honor it is to have earned the trust of this animal whose every instinct says “Don’t do what the predator says.”