California Riding Magazine • April, 2010

Horsey Humor:
The Master Handler

by Bob Goddard

Men handle horses better than women. It takes a man to show them who is really in control. This isn’t just an opinion. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

The following episode clearly demonstrates this fact. It began when a vet showed up at the boarding barn where we keep our daughters’ horses. He wanted somebody to round up and hold the 15 horses living there so that he could draw blood for the Coggins test. Since I was already occupied in my role of innocent bystander, I couldn’t help him much beyond the two horses we owned. For our horses, I employed the time-honored method of all experienced horse dads: I made my daughters do it. This was only fair. After all, I held them down when they got their shots.

Due to my superior supervisory skills everything went well with our horses. However, this left 13 horses. Since the owner of the barn, Laurel, wasn’t anywhere to be found, the task fell to Stanley, Laurel’s NASCAR-loving gear-head husband. Laurel occasionally trusted Stan to be in charge of the property when she was unable to be there due to things like an emergency appendectomy or a severed limb.

If I was like other horse parents, I would have helped the vet and not bothered Stan. And then I would have complained about it for the rest of the week. Not one to complain, I fetched Stan from his garage. He muttered like Popeye: Laurel was always doing this to him, he had things to do, why can’t the boarders hold their own horses and so on. I think he expected me to do it. But I had my innocent bystanding to do. Besides, I wanted to witness the Master Horse Handler at work.

Stan’s method of handling horses was simple. First, you yell at them. Then, if they don’t do what you want, you yell louder. If they still don’t do what you want, why then, you really make them behave. I was hoping to pick up a pointer or two.

For his first participant, Stan picked Laurel’s pasture pet, Old Abe. Abe was an excellent first choice. He certainly wouldn’t give Stan any trouble.

Stan snatched a halter, ducked under the fence, and marched up to the old Quarter Horse. Abe sniffed Stan’s hat, turned and strolled away leaving Stan with the halter dangling in mid-air. Stan pursued Abe around the paddock, but couldn’t quite get a good angle on him. The faster Stan went, the faster Abe went. Every so often Abe glanced back to see if Stan was still playing.

Finally, Stan caught the horse and put him in a headlock. It wasn’t an intentional headlock; it was just the way it worked out. And it worked out so well that Abe was able to deliver Stan right to the vet. As if to say, “Here, poke this one.”

For the next horse, Stan chose Ginger. Apparently, Stan had a good rapport with the little Appaloosa. It was apparent in the way she allowed him to halter her. It was apparent in the way she let him lead her out of the pasture and into the barn. And it was apparent in the way she permitted him to hold on to the lead rope as she dragged him past the vet’s needle and into her stall.

Stan’s Horse Catching & Holding Clinic stretched on into the afternoon. There was your classic bucking and rearing, supplemented with your traditional kicking and head tossing. Normally docile horses got caught up in the excitement and put on an impressive display of avoidance behaviors. Some ran around in circles, while others preferred the yo-yo pattern: repeatedly advancing toward Stan and then running away. Stan stumbled after one, than another, cursing and throwing the halter. The horses loved this guy.

Using these methods, Stan was able to capture and hold five horses for the vet. The vet must have enjoyed himself because he promised to come back next week to do the other eight. Then he asked for Laurel’s cell phone number.

At that moment Laurel came rumbling up the driveway with a new boarder in tow. “Hey, Stan,” I nodded toward the horse trailer “now you have nine more to go.”

This was probably the wrong thing to say. I think it may have precipitated an unfortunate conversation between the couple. Even though they were on the other side of the barn, we could hear the major highlights of the discussion. It began with Stan’s “Here’s your stinking halter…” and proceeded to Laurel’s “Only five?,” then “Can’t count on you for anything!” and on to “Headlock???” As the exchange went on Laurel’s voice was getting louder and Stan’s softer. Clearly, he was getting the worst of it. But that was no big surprise: men handle horses better than women.