Foxglove Sept 9 2009

Possibly he approves the change in lifestyle, and as the one goes with the other, he would do well to soften his attitude, but it will not come yet, not by a long way.

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall" is his motto, and it has suited him very well so far. Now, however, he is up against something far tougher than he is, and he does not like it.

He is up against a very intelligent and "horse-savvy" human being, possibly the first one he has ever come across, who can out-think him and second-guess his tantrums.

This does not sit at all well with him, and he has of course no idea that this petite blonde woman represents his last chance.

I may have been involved in his coming here, and certainly I have known him since he first changed homes, if you could call his previous existence a home.

He was half-starved, with flanks galled red and mites in his legs, an infection in his massive nose and with teeth that had never seen a dentist.

Did you know that horses' teeth need as much attention as our own?

They grow continuously, and if they wear down unevenly, they develop sharp edges, making eating difficult and the acceptance of a bit more difficult still.

His feet were splayed and cracked, and similarly needed expensive farriery to get them right: horses' feet grow continuously too, but not fast, so this had all taken time.

Now he was 'right' physically, there was his mind to deal with, which required a different kind of expert.

Horses are bigger and stronger than we are, with excellent sight, hearing and sense of smell.

Old-fashioned ways tended to use physical force, except from a few enlightened people through the ages, whose views were strikingly similar, though centuries apart.

So what I see now, as I am comfortably seated on a bale of hay with another at my back, is mental power at work.

Horses understand physical strength and readily use it on each other, but they have nothing with which to combat the human mind.

Therefore psychology is hard on a horse, and needs to be used with a butterfly touch.

Less is more, and stopping at the right point is just as important as starting.

Today the piebald horse is learning to respect personal space, something he has always invaded whenever he chose. It is a tough lesson, though there is little to see.

He takes the fight to the handler, and there is nothing to fight; he tries to bully and there is no-one to bully.

He stops and thinks, and is rewarded, so goes to barge in again, but there is nothing to barge into.

Though he has done little in the physical sense, sweat is beginning to run down his flanks: it is time to find a good note and end on it.

He is led in, washed down and set fair.

The whole lesson has lasted maybe twenty minutes, and he will need the rest of the day to absorb it.

Next time he may be better or he may be worse, in a flare-up of bad behaviour that trainers call "extinction".

We do that too: it is what makes us turn the key a second time when the car will not start.

We leave him munching hay, and walk back to the tack-room. The trainer is confident that he will come right in the end and a suitable home found for him.

After a quick coffee, she has another horse to take into the arena and work with, so quietly and subtly that few will see how much is being achieved.

This is not a new way of horsemanship, but a very old one that has been refined to suit the modern rider.

Most of the old horse-copers never put a word to paper, yet their wisdom has survived and been built upon.

This is the piebald's last chance, and he will never know his luck in coming here.

Even though I have spent a lifetime with horses, I have learned a lot today.