You can learn things just by being around horses. For example, I recently heard that when given the opportunity, a goat will eat a horse’s tail. Beyond what this says about the safety awareness of goats, the image it evokes makes me sympathetic to the horse. Think of the nobility and patience of an animal who would allow another creature to gnaw on a body part without repercussion. That’s a sign of a good team player.

The source of this information was my daughter, Jamie. Her motivation for telling me was to justify her getting another horse. Her Thoroughbred, Chilli, was in need of a pasture mate and she had been thinking about getting a goat for the job. But with this little tidbit, the goat became a poor candidate.
The role of pasture mate fell to a sturdy little Arab named Philbert, affectionately shortened to Bert. In a weak moment, I agreed to help Jamie pick up Bert and transport him to her place. This was a mistake. While I liked Bert, he wasn’t exactly cooperative about loading into the trailer.
Jamie tried every loading trick she knew. She talked to him nicely, and then firmly, and then nicely again. Then real firm. She irritated him from behind with a lunge whip, shook a can of grain in front of his face and jiggled the lead rope. But to Bert, the trailer was nothing but an enclosed metal death trap and we were just a pair of absurdly optimistic bipeds.
Meanwhile, I did what I do best: nothing. I learned this technique over countless horse loading episodes. Any opinion I’ve ever offered on what should be done to load a resistant horse has only added to the tension and frustration of those who were serious about completing the task. And at that particular moment, I could only come up with three good ideas: (one) levitation, (two) form a prayer circle or (three) just give up.
After 45 minutes of watching Jamie struggle, I finally stepped in and insisted on solution number three. Bert had gotten so worked up that not even Gai WaNi PoNy BoY could have persuaded the little Arab to follow him closely into the trailer. Besides, the assistant to Bert’s current owner, a seasoned horsewoman named Lori, was due to show up within an hour. We all took a break and waited for her guidance.
When Lori arrived, she assigned me to a special duty:
“Bob,” she turned to me as she and Jamie led Bert back toward the metal death trap. “Picture in your mind Jamie’s barn at home.”
Lori recently attended an expo seminar on equine psychology and she wanted to try out a technique she had seen demonstrated there. In essence, by envisioning Jamie’s barn at home, I was telling Bert where he was going and thus making him more willing to go.
Standing around thinking is the sort of job I like. I imagined Bert in front of Jamie’s barn, frolicking in the paddock with his new friend, Chilli. And me, standing there – no, sitting in a lawn chair – sipping on a cold beer. It would have to be bottled beer, of course. Then I imagined pouring the beer – a nice summer wheat ale, perhaps – into a frosted glass. But where would the beer come from? Would Jamie allow me to pick up some on the way home? Did I have time to grab a six pack from a local store before we left?
As I was busy doing my job, Lori and Jamie managed to get Bert in the trailer. They latched the rear bar and all we had to do was raise the ramp. I had succeeded.
Then something happened that I’ve never seen before. Bert began to stomp his feet. The trailer shook and rocked. The racket was awful. Then … he got out. Bert slipped under the butt bar backwards and stumbled down the ramp to freedom. Hey, I thought, Jamie’s new horse can limbo.
I thought for sure that we were in for a round of “Chase the Wild Pony.” But instead of bolting, Bert simply trotted in a little semi-circle and then sauntered up to me. He looked right at me, wondering where his beer was, no doubt.
There was no way anyone was going to get Bert back into that trailer that night. Horses do not easily forget broken promises. I felt responsible, of course.
The next day while I was away at work, Jamie and Lori loaded Bert in 20 minutes. I wonder if what they were visualizing had anything to do with goats.

Equine humorist Bob Goddard hails from Ravenna, MI. His hilarious new book, Horse Crazy! A Tongue-in-Cheek Guide for Parents of Horse-Addicted Girls ($9.95 from Dog Town Press) is now available at www.horsecrazy.net. To contact him, send an e-mail to bobgoddard@verizon.net.