One evening before a clinic, I sat around the dinner table with a few friends, catching up on news and talking about horses and the upcoming clinics. One friend asked me which of her horses I thought she should bring to the clinic. I replied that it didn’t matter to me because clinics are not about training her horses, but giving the information that would help her train her horses at home. I would always find something to work on, whether she brought along her brilliant horse, her deeply troubled horse, or something in between. I then asked her what she wanted most help with? She listed a long litany of projects that could fill a book.
My friend was conflicted because she realized that we only had 4 days to tick all the items off her list, and every time she thought she would focus on one particular aspect of her horsemanship, another item of equal importance came into her head and then another. She was having trouble figuring out which issues were going to be the most helpful to her and her horses over the coming year, until I returned in 12 months, when we could tick off more items.
I asked her, “Imagine we were at a dinner party and sitting across the table from each other. Even crazier, imagine you thought I might be an interesting person and wanted to know something about me. How would you go about finding out my life story?”
Another friend at the table piped in with, “You’d ask a question.”
He was right – you’d ask a question. And my response to the question would determine what might be my friend’s next question. Each response I gave would reveal something about myself that would lead to the next question. And so our conversation would unfold, both information about me, and an impression of me, that would form the basis of our relationship (good or bad).
For me, working with people or working with horses requires the same approach.
When I first sit on a horse or walk into the pen, I begin by asking the horse a question. I don’t have preconceived ideas about what I will do, how I will do it, and how much of it I will do. I just ask a question. The question could be anything, but it is usually something simple, such as ”can you look at me,” or “are you able to soften to the reins,” or “can you stand still?” It doesn’t matter what question I ask. What does matter, though, is that I listen to the answer.
Now, here is the important part. We need to learn to be a really good listener because most of the time the important information is not in the obvious answer but in the subtext of the answer. For example, if I ask a horse, “Can you walk forward?” Getting a “yes” or “no” answer is usually less informative than the information that the answer is shrouded in.
Let me be more specific. If the horse says, “yep, I can walk forward,” and does so, often times the important information is not that it does walk forward but how it walks forward. Does it walk out straight? Did the rider need to apply a lot of leg or just have the thought to walk forward? Did the horse walk off relaxed or with worry? Was there a rush or was it slovenly? Did the head come up or stay low? Did the horse brace itself with a shudder through its body when it felt the rider’s leg? Did it push into the reins? Did it lean on one rein or both? Did it start with a push from the hind end or a drag from the front end? Did the tail and/or mouth become busy? Did its breathing or eye blink reflex change, and how? And so much more.
You get the picture. There are a zillion bytes of information that can be gathered by the response a horse gives to asking just one simple question. All of them have a meaning. So, when a person asks how you can know what a horse is thinking, it makes me wonder if they are very good listeners.
It is no different for me when I am teaching people. If I don’t know much about a person or where they need help, I begin by asking them a question. Sometimes this is a question that requires a verbal answer, and other times it requires them to do something with their horse, so I can see how they interact. It usually involves some basic skills, like leading their horse.
My next response is entirely dependent on how they respond to my question. Little by little, each question and each answer contribute to building a picture that tells me what area of horsemanship they need help understanding and practicing.
Even when I know a horse or a person or know what I want to work on with them, I never begin by trying to put my plan immediately into action. I have no idea what or how I might go about activating my plan to teach them something. I always begin by asking them the first question. For example, at a recent clinic, I wanted to help a horse be more forward. But rather than begin by asking it to have more energy to go forward, I instead asked if it could look at me and relax. It couldn’t. So I worked on getting a change in that before I even thought of addressing the forward issue.
So my friend’s dilemma about which horse she should bring to the clinic is not really a dilemma. It doesn’t matter because we won’t have a plan until we see what the response is to the first question. She finally decided to bring the horse with the least amount of mud on it on the day, so she didn’t have to devote too much time to brushing.
Video: I begin with a question. Can he walk in time to my rhythm. The response tells me a lot about his focus and the quality of conversation we have.