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.
