Talking ears

     I missed a teaching moment.  One of my very young students mentioned that horses could not talk, and I quietly corrected her by explaining that horses use body language to communicate.  I stressed that learning horsepersonship was a form of learning a new language.  She was fascinated.  I was pleased with my response until I realized, much later, that I had neglected to mention an important component of equine communication.  That was the horse's ears.

    Horse's ears are remarkable.  They move. 

    The next lesson I corrected my omission, but it didn't have quite the same impact.  Too bad, because a horse's ears are a major part of their method of talking.

    Horse ears truly are extraordinary.  They swivel, flick and rotate; apparently, up to 180 degrees, using 10 - 16 muscles.  I am still not sure why the number varies, although AI insists it has something to do with how deep the muscle is located.  I know a few people who can wiggle their ears, and it is a charming party trick, but my own ears remain firmly fixed to the sides of my head.  Horses, meanwhile, carry theirs like little satellite dishes perched on top of their skulls, constantly scanning the world with enviable agility.

    They also hear better than humans, especially higher pitches.  Perhaps that was why old Skeeter loved opera.  You would think she would prefer sopranos, but she had a fondness for tenors.  Their voices soothed her, especially during fireworks season, when she needed all the comfort she could get.

     Like me, horses can lose some hearing as they age.  Sigh.  They probably don't lose as much as humans, but it is always sad when any creature is diminished in any way.

    I have noticed that most sale photographs of horses feature ears pricked sharply forward.  This appeals to humans.  It looks alert, eager, engaged.  In reality, forward ears simply mean the horse is paying strict attention to something in front of them.  Achieving that look often requires the photographer's assistant to perform ridiculous antics - waving objects, making odd noises, or otherwise bewildering the poor horse into focusing on chaos. 

                                             

                                                High alert

    The neutral position is far more common: ears relaxed, slightly floppy, soft.  It is a peaceful look, and it puts me at ease, too. 

                                               

                                                  Neutral Ears

    What fascinates me most, though, is when a horse multitasks with its hearing.  It is a prey-animal trait, but it is also a teaching advantage.  I tell my students that when a horse's ears are turned back toward them, the mount is listening to its rider.  But usually my schooling horses have one ear on the rider and the other aimed at me.  My authority tends to take precedence, but I am always impressed by how cleverly the horse anticipates instruction from more than one direction.  In the pasture, they do the same - ears twitching and swiveling, gathering information from multiple sources.  They pay attention to each other, too, so any situation of concern is quickly transferred through the herd.  

                                                  Multitasking

    Horse ears are certainly a form of sign language.

    When I mention that horses put their ears back when they are angry, some students get nervous.  I have to explain that listening ears are different from rage ears.  An angry horse pins its ears flat against its neck until they almost disappear.  I call it the "snake" look because the head seems to become an extension of the long neck.  I have rarely seen the position, and when I have, it is usually directed at another horse or a dog.  (Most horses are suspicious of dogs.)  The pinned ears are often accompanied by a squeal of displeasure.  Beware the horse with no visible ears. 

    Many horses are sensitive around their ears.  Our gentle Rain required us to take apart a bridle rather then squish her ears to put it on.  Someone in her past had been rough with her, and we respected her concern. 

    My husband's Dolly was the opposite.  She adored an ear massage.  She would sidle up to a human, drop her massive head, and present her ears like a queen offering her hand for a kiss.  She luxuriated in deep rubs, fingers inside her ears, pulling and kneading for her blissful abandon. 

    A horse's ears are important.  They have things to say.  And if we are willing to listen, really listen, we discover that horses have been talking all along.  Their language is not built from words, but from motion, intention, and quiet honesty.  The ears are simply the part of the conversation most humans overlook.

    We may not have the talent to swivel our own ears, but we do have the ability to pay attention.  And when we do, horses reward us with a dialogue richer than anything spoken aloud. 

Invitation to Play

     Play is important to health.  Children know this instinctively.  Foals know it even more instinctively.  As we age, we tend to play less, as if frolicking is something we should have outgrown along with braces and questionable hairstyles.  But the truth is: frolicking remains essential.  Even if our knees disagree.

    When our farm was breeding Quarter Horses and Miniature Horses, we had front-row seats to the daily circus of young equines discovering the world.  Foals raced simply because moving fast was a spiritual calling.  They bounced off each other like furry pin-balls.  They pulled tails with the same gleeful commitment human toddlers reserve for pulling hair.  They chased equine-sized balls with the enthusiasm of golden retrievers who have just discovered the joy of fetch.  And Splash (my beloved Splash) was notorious for romping off with hammers and tools whenever my husband  tried to repair fencing.  Nothing says 'I love you' like stealing your partner's equipment and galloping away with it.  

    Young horses are imps.  Professional grade imps.

    As our herd aged, their enthusiasm for play diminished.  They still occasionally chase each other for the sheer joy of motion, but mostly they behave with the sedate dignity of retired archivists.  Play, apparently, is beneath them - unless they think no one is watching.

    Bay, for example, has a long-standing hobby of scattering grooming tools.  She flips through the grooming caddy like a young child rummaging for a favorite toy.  Except, Bay is actually searching for dropped horse treats.  Still the enthusiasm with which she flings hoof picks and curry combs across the arena suggest she is having fun.  Or redecorating.

    Shilo delighted in dislodging hats.  He grabbed them off human heads and tossed them with the flair of a magician revealing a dove.  His two-legged partner would yell and chase after their headwear, which only encouraged him.  Horses absolutely understand hilarity.  They are connoisseurs of slapstick.

    Rain, in her late teens, would nose at a horse ball when she thought no one was looking.  She was the equine equivalent of a grandmother secretly playing video games at midnight.

    Play is important.  Maybe it becomes more important as we age, especially if we want to avoid becoming the kind of person who complains about teenagers or weather patterns.

    I use play when I teach riding.  Both horses and children get bored plodding around the arena like they are stuck in a never ending parade.  Games evolved out of necessity, and possibly desperation.

    The favorite game involves tennis balls and a basketball hoop meant for very young children.  The tennis balls are placed on slender PVC poles held by orange highway cones.  A few balls may be balanced directly on the cone if a small pony is involved, or if the human rider is flexible enough to bend down without tumbling off the horse.

    The mounted student must retrieve the ball and toss it into the hoop.  Sometimes the toss point is close.  Sometimes it is halfway across the arena.  Sometimes, if the lesson is a double or triple, the students pass balls in the air to each other like a mounted version of dodgeball, except with more shrieking.

    Over the years, I've had to ensure my horses are accustomed to objects flying over their heads.  Occasionally they endure a blip on their head or rump when a human misses a catch.  The equines are remarkably forgiving.  More forgiving than most humans, honestly. 

    Some horses don't just tolerate the game.  They join it!

    Snickers is especially fond of foiling her rider.  If she can approach from the front of the pole, she will knock the ball off before her partner can grab it.  Sometimes she uses her teeth and grabs a cone off the ground, shakes it like a terrier with a sock, and tosses it triumphantly.

    Her behavior always gets a reaction.  Usually laughter.  Horses adore laughter.  It's their version of applause.  Once, when Snickers' rider grumbled about her knocking over the ball, I informed the student, "Don't complain.  You taught her to do that when you laughed."  Snickers is a quick study.  And a menace.

    Now we have Summer.  Calm, stoic Summer.  When she first arrived, I assumed she would be the sensible one; the horse who ignored chaos and maintained her dignity.  I was wrong.

    Early with her introduction to the game, she investigated the cones.  Then she licked them.  Then she learned to knock them over with the precision of a bowling champion.  Any object in the arena is a target.  There is no point in getting annoyed.  She is simply participating.  Enthusiastically.

                                       

 

    We invited the horses to play.  They accepted the invitation.  Complaining about their involvement is like complaining that your dinner guest showed up hungry.

    Play is good for horse and human.  And if we're honest, it's good for anyone who has forgotten how to frolic.