Hoof Blogs

Communicating with Horses

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to animal communication and have realized Flossie is highly intuitive: More so than any other horse, or animal, for that matter, that I have ever had the privilege of knowing.

Here is why I believe this: When I first started working Flossie, she had only been trained for the track; to pace and to pull a gig. She never had anyone on her back before, not even a saddle, and had never been asked to do anything but walk and pace. The first time I ever asked for a trot, she knew what it was. She instantly picked up the gait as if she understood the word. The same goes for the canter. I asked for her to pick up a canter, via voice and body language, and she picked it up without hesitation. Now how could a horse who had never
been ridden before, never been asked to trot or to canter before, know exactly what to do?

Also, when I first started working with the mare, I never used verbal communication because Pat Parelli says act like a horse with your horse. Horses don't talk, so neither should you. However, Flossie didn't appreciate my silence. I sensed that. She listens for verbal instruction and praise. When I realized that, I forgot all about what Parelli says.

That’s not all. There have been a couple of times when I’ve been riding her when she was not focused on me and what I was wanting from her. I was trying to get her to pick up a canter. To get her attention, I spoke to her while I was picturing what I wanted her to do in my mind. I said, “Listen to my body.” That’s all I said, and she went right into a beautiful canter for me.

There are other things, too. Like when she bucked with me one day. I reached back with my crop and gave her a tap on her hind end. I would swear to God she said, with relief, “Thank you; I was hoping you
wouldn’t let me get away with that!” Does this even make sense? Probably not, but I would swear she was thinking or feeling that very thing.

There is another thing, too, that happens every week. Whenever I handle her saddle pad, especially as soon as I get home and it’s still heavy with her sweat, I get sensations like I’m holding Flossie or as if she were trying to tell me something or I don’t know . . . it’s just a sensation. I’m never looking for it. In fact, I forget about it until the following week when I pull it out of the car after spending a couple hours or so with her. I just wrote something in my diary about this experience last night as a matter-of-fact because it was fresh on my
mind.

The mare, Bambi, that Flossie is turned out with, strikes me as a very wise, very worldly type mare just by the way she acts; for one thing, she recovers from spooking quickly and with wisdom. At least that’s how I see it. She also has a sage look about her too. Maybe I’m crazy, but I get vibes from her too to a certain extent.

I am including a short story about animal communication I wrote to share with my friends recently. It’s rather funny (well, to me it is,
anyway). I hope you enjoy it. It's called Melissa and Taffy.


MELISSA AND TAFFY
May 7, 2006

Melissa stepped quietly into the living room trying not to disturb Taffy, her cream-and-white tabby cat, who lay peacefully on the sofa in a tight ball. Melissa had just read an article on communicating thoughts to animals by using mental pictures and feelings as well as words, and decided this would be a good time to try it out on Taffy.

She knelt down on the floor next to the couch and stared intently at the caterpillar form of
the feline reposing comfortably before her. Melissa constructed a visual image of the cat stretching its paw towards her and touching her on the cheek. She went to great lengths not to miss any details since she didn’t want to throw the cat off in any way. Then she projected this image in the cat’s direction the best she could.

Seemingly unaware of the girl’s efforts, Taffy snoozed on.

Melissa tried again. She pictured the tabby slowly opening her eyes.

The cat still didn’t stir.

Melissa tried again, this time she added some sentences by thinking to herself; “Taffy!
Open your eyes now and stretch out your paw. Touch me on the cheek!”

The cat, seemingly intent on sleeping for at least the next forty days and forty nights, didn’t so much as twitch an ear.

Melissa tried again. This time she raised her silent voice and shouted her thoughts: “Wake up! Reach your paw out to me and touch me on the cheek!”

The cat remained motionless. Melissa inched her way closer to the couch and stretched forward until her face was only an inch away from Taffy’s furry cheeks.

“I said,” she projected her thoughts to the cat once again, “touch me on the cheek!” She pictured what she considered to be a perfect image in her mind of the cat reaching out with her paw. “NOW!” She shouted.

Suddenly Melissa felt a whack across her face and when she turned to see who the culprit was, she came face to face with Lionel, her old tom cat, who was sitting on the coffee table, staring at her.

“There! Are you satisfied?” He asked. “Now please shut up! You’re giving me a headache!”