I have been having some thoughts lately about my relationship with Abba, and the ethics of our interactions and the expectations I have of her. My reflections have thus far led me to the grey area of it’s complicated and depends on context and situation and individuals, which is what I increasingly feel about so much of life, but this is not about my views on ethics and metaphysics and what constitutes τὸ ὅσιον, though it is likely to be as aporetic an exercise as the Euthyphro, so … You have been warned. Ramblings below.
Anyway, it began in part with Abba’s persistent lameness at the trot and the fact that I was still riding her, albeit walk only, because there is something very uncomfortable about knowingly riding an unsound horse. What brought it to a head was the process of starting to step up her workload again once her feet were fixed, when, after a ride which had not been the best (and not the worst either), I was talking to her as she ate her grain, and used a phrase with the exact intonation I used to use for my cat. It was jarring, and one of the thoughts that went through my mind at the time was that my cat had never been half as frustrating as Abba. The response came almost as swiftly: that I had never had a fraction of the expectations for my cat that I do for my horse. All of which made me stop and stare at Abba and wonder what the hell I was doing with her.
Because, for my cat, the only expectation she had to meet was that she existed. That was all it took for me to be happy with her. Everything else was an unexpected and delightful bonus, from the duets we would wail at each other in greeting, to the sudden purring and whiskers in my face at night, to the sitting on my book or keyboard because attention was needed here right this instant. (That was not always delightful, I will admit, but it was not aggravating either, just what she did and it was ok.)
But for Abba, the expectations are much higher. I expect her to be catchable most of the time, to lead nicely, without dragging or crowding or lagging, to ground tie and stand whilst I groom her or have a five minute long conversation with my back to her, to never lay her teeth or her hooves on me, to move off in any direction I ask of her from nothing more than the flick of a finger, to let me lift and handle her feet without resistance, to allow me to saddle and bridle her even on days when she is feeling out of sorts, to be ridden, with all its attendant demands and expectations, and now that she is going well, my expectations for her have only increased and intensified, as I am taking her off-property and showing her, and expecting her to deal with the stress and discomfort of boxing and arriving somewhere new and remaining emotionally below threshold despite the bombardment of strange sights and scents and sounds.
So small wonder I was never frustrated with my cat, but with Abba - there are so many things she has to do to please me, and many of them I take for granted. And it was realising this which threw me off balance, because so many of my expectations revolve around me and my interests, not Abba’s. If I left it up to Abba, she’d pick stay in the field with my friends and eat lots most of the time.
But there lies the rub. One of Abba’s field mates foundered, and has been on a drylot since November last year, losing weight. If I left Abba to her own devices, she too would have been laminitic and taken out of the herd and confined to a square of sand, with her diet heavily monitored, so I exercise her for her own good. And while she has days where she resents this deeply and expresses this resentment in many ways, she is also envied by the other mares, who will tag along to the gate and watch hopefully as she is groomed and saddled. Exercise is a form of enrichment and stimulation, and even Abba, if left for three weeks, will be very glad to get out of the field and go do stuff and see things, because she can’t stand being bored, and spending your life in a field is apparently sometimes very boring.
Exercise, particularly exercise of the sort that takes her out of the field, means she needs to lead well in hand, and so some of my expectations are necessary to allow her to be safely exercised in a way that gives her some degree of mental stimulation as well. I suppose mental stimulation could also be provided by, say, clicker training and attempting novel and challenging tasks, but I feel Abba’s life is richer for the variety of environments and locations we visit, particularly the ones we can ride to. But do I have to ride? Could I not just run alongside?
Well, I suppose, yes, I could go everywhere with her Shanks’ pony. It would make me very fit as well, and I should really do it more often anyway. But we would be limited by the speed at which I can run, because I cannot responsibly let her roam free on the farm, if I cannot see whether all the gates into the field are open or shut. Yet Abba really does like to stretch out and go, which brings us back to riding as the only viable option that allows me to keep up with her when travelling at speed, and also apparently solves the dilemma of is this ethical, because if it’s for the greater good of the horse, if it promotes their well-being and happiness, then of course it’s ethical. But I keep wondering if my argument is sound, if it is not perhaps selfish, if I am ignoring other alternatives.
After all, what will I do when Abba is eventually and inevitably unrideable, whether it is from the effects of age or breaking down because she was used too hard too young? If my logic is that riding her keeps her healthy and happy, then when she is unrideable, is she unhealthy and unhappy? Or if riding is not necessary for her well-being when she is old and derelict, why should it be necessary now? Who benefits most from me riding Abba, her or me? (There are days when I am pretty damn sure I am not there because I want to be there or feel good enough to be there and sitting on her back, but that is another matter.)
I don’t think there is any easy answer. It is so odd to think about riding sometimes. I sit on Abba’s back, in her blind spot, where generations of her ancestors were grappled by big cats looking for dinner. I direct her in part by controlling her face, which has some parallels with the way in which wolves and hunting dogs seize onto the faces of prey they have run down to impede it and bring it down. If she tries to avoid me in the field, I walk her down, like the persistence hunter humans evolved to be. It is not a relationship of equals. She may be physically bigger, stronger, faster, but I am the one who controls her. And thinking of it like that is disconcerting - and horrifying.
So often we talk about the fact that we cannot compel a horse to do something it truly does not wish to do. I once saw someone try to flog a horse into a trailer, and the horse was terrified of the whip and terrified of the box, and went nowhere. The horse did not load that day, but several days later, it was forced onto a box with five men, ropes, and coercion. It still did not want to load, and truly did not want to load, and yet there it was, compelled into that frightening dark rattling space, with an unstable floor that jounces and jolts, and taken away from all its friends. How much choice do we actually give them? How much freedom to say No, I don’t want to do this, or I’m sore, or I’m afraid? I like to think that I give Abba the room to express her opinions, but how often do I heed them, how often do I override them, and why do I override them? Is it for her good? Do I define her good relative to what is useful for me? Why do I expect so much more of her than mere existence?
I don’t have any good answers. It’s complicated, and depends on context and situation and the individuals involved. But above all, it depends on Abba. Is she healthy? Is she happy? Are her needs being met? Is she content to engage with me? How much of this does she do willingly, how much under compulsion? How can I make this better for her? I want to meet her halfway: is she a willing partner, can she tell me Yes, it’s great or No, not today, or even I don’t feel like it but I’m open to negotiation? How do we approach this relationship, how can I make sure that the give and take is even-handed, and that she has a voice that she knows will be heard?
I honestly do not know, but this little mare has taught me so much that if I keep listening to her, she will keep showing me the way, and one day we may even meet in the middle.
And, knowing Abba, she will say, “Well, what took you so long?”
