It's Just How You Look At Things

Sway the Limit isn't the easiest horse in the world to own. Today was another day in handling his strangely-wired brain.

It was time to get his and Ginger's toes trimmed, and I brought the pair up from their new four-acre pasture they were awarded after a couple of other pasture mates tried to turn them into hamburger. We love the new spot, but it's not the easiest place to reach, especially during California winter rains. So, rather than have the farrier haul all her supplies the long road to their paddock, I led Sway and Ginger up to a round pen to await their manicure.

Sway was unnerved when the horses in the adjacent pasture raced to greet them - well, to greet Ginger, who welcomed their attention. Sway was furious, so I put him in a pipe stall next to the round pen, and while I left Ginger in the round pen, I tied her near to Sway.

Sway seemed to calm down after that, and behaved as usual when I cleaned their feet in preparation for the trim. But when the farrier arrived, Sway began to melt down. He wouldn't hold still. He tried to rear. He tried to sit down. He resisted everything, and we were about to leave his feet alone - except he's been dealing with a quarter-crack, and really needed my repairs examined, and the hooves reshaped and beveled.

The last time he reacted this badly was 2002, when I was trying to redirect his behavior after he attacked me. But we've come a long way since then, and I could tell by one of his actions that he meant me no harm.

I asked the farrier to give me a few minutes alone. She wisely backed off. Another boarder came by, and I told her, "Now's not a good time," and returned my focus to Sway. He needed quiet, without interruption.

And, I could tell he wanted help in regaining his composure - he dropped his nose to the ground periodically.

Getting him to lower his head was our first breakthrough on the long road to giving him a veneer of normalcy. Some days, early on, the only good thing he would do was to drop his head on command. A technique I learned from Bill Dorrence's book, it makes sense. A horse throws his head up when he's nervous, and lowers it when he's calm.

But Sway was nowhere near calm - in fact, he was on the verge of one of his increasingly-rare breakdowns, when he loses any contact he may have with reality. Lowering his head was his cry for help.

So, I got everything and everyone stopped. And Sway and I talked. We walked a bit, then stopped. He finally began breathing normally, and his heart, pounding so wildly I could feel his pulse on every inch of his body, finally started to slow. I got him to focus on me.

And, finally, he stood calmly, and the farrier could finish her job. He let me pick up his feet - even handed them to me - and once I knew he would tolerate it, I would let the farrier hold the hoof so she could continue her work. She even liked how his quarter-crack hoof was healing, and told me to continue the cotton ball and glue treatment that has prevented the crack from spreading and allowed his hoof to heal. "Keep up the good work," she said.

Ginger's trim was nowhere near exciting, even when she flinched because of arthritis in her 30-ear-old back legs.

I paid their bill, praised the farrier for her patience, and got an atta-girl from her for handling Sway so well. And I led the horses back to their four-acre spot, and they behaved as if nothing untoward had happened at all.

I know not everyone would be able to see today's adventure as a success story. And it certainly could have ended badly. But then, not everyone would understand what this fractious horse was saying when he lowered his head.

Fortunately, my precious Sway and I have learned to see eye-to-eye.