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Understanding Fear
It's been a challenging few weeks at our farm, partly due to the usual
busy-ness of spring, but largely because one of our two year old
geldings, Wallenda, had an emotional crisis of sorts that I've been
trying to understand and deal with.
Wallenda has always been on the "sensitive" side--not the most laid
back of our Waldheer offspring, and far more apt than others to need
to look at new things closely, stop and stare, and give a snort or
two. He's lived a trauma-free, non-demanding existence, asked only to
lead and stand quietly, allow shots and worming, and get his feet
trimmed. He has not been a classic Haflinger pocket pony, begging for
attention, but he's never turned away from our attention either.
One day, about a month ago, his world turned upside down. During the
day while we were at work, he had managed, in an effort to reach green
grass, to wiggle his way under a 12 foot pipe gate in his paddock,
getting it partially off its hinges, but still barring the opening
enough that his brother and sister opted not to follow him. I came
home from work to find him grazing peacefully in the orchard, near the
paddock, without a halter on of course. When I tried to approach him
with his halter to catch him and bring him in, he reacted fearfully,
running madly up and down the fence line, looking very much as if he
might jump the tape and wire, just to get away from me. I solved his
panic (and my concern) by bringing his brother around on a lead and
Wallenda followed him back into the barn and into a stall.
But nothing seemed the same for him. This young horse who formerly
would always come up to us in the stall when we opened the door to
feed him or put on his halter would bolt for a corner if we
approached, literally climbing the walls to get away from us. He
wouldn't take food offered from our hands, and wouldn't even approach
his grain until we moved away from the stall. He was petrified, eyes
wide and white, muscles trembling and tense.
We were completely baffled. No one else works or handles the horses
here except my husband and I, and no one was at home when Wallenda got
out. We wondered if he had, in fact, somehow gotten out to the road
and been frightened there by someone trying to shoo him home, but it
seemed so unlikely that he would leave lots of grass and his buddies
to venture out that far. Clearly there had been a major emotional
trauma over the course of the day, as he didn't have a mark on him
anywhere to indicate he'd been harmed or hurt.
If both of us went into his stall together, we could approach him
slowly from either side and he would stand for haltering, but if only
one of us went in the stall, he'd immediately turn his butt to us, and
swing his front end away, very effectively keeping out of reach, and
threatening us with his hind legs and once, when Dan was trying to
halter him alone, landed a painful kick on Dan's ribs. It was clear
to us that he was reacting out of fear, not aggression, but that
realization didn't make him any safer to interact with.
We tried to keep his routine the same as best we could. He was
haltered, with us approaching him in the stall together, and he would
lead fine out to his paddock. However, once in the paddock, there was
no way he'd allow himself to be caught to come in at night and the
paddock was too large for us to be able to position him to be caught.
When we tried once, he ran for the 5 foot board fence, jumped, landed
on this belly on the top cracking the top rail and landing in the
paddock unhurt on the other side. We were incredulous.
He spent several lonely nights alone in the outdoor paddock because he
absolutely would not be caught--not with grass, not with grain,
nothing. He would snort and toss his head repeatedly, telling us
emphatically not to touch him. I even delayed his meals, thinking a
hungry stomach would bring him close as I held out hay to him, but it
did not help. It was so un-Haflinger-like that I started to wonder if
he had some brain injury causing this aberrant behavior--could he have
had a concussion? a tumor? or do horses sometimes go psychotic?
We've had a breakthrough over the past week. We started to allow the
horses some pasture time, building it up gradually, and he has been
out with his siblings in a big field, free to run and eat. At night,
they come to the gate to be led in one at a time, and though he would
hang back, he would follow the others in to the barn. Each day, I
could tell he knew the destination was the pasture and that was where
he wanted to be. So it took less and less time to position him for
safe haltering in the morning in the stall. He accepted grain from my
hand. Two mornings ago, I walked into the stall, he turned and faced
me, and ate grain from my hand and then allowed me to halter him,
without ever turning his butt to me once. This morning, he came right
to the stall door, just like old times, and dove his nose right into
the halter without hesitation. I feel like my horse has come back
from whatever hell he was in for 4 weeks. His eyes are softer again,
and he doesn't toss his head at me when I look him in the eye and talk
to him.
Whatever happened? All I know is that he lost all trust for us,
through no action of ours that we can define, and we had to slowly
patiently gain it back. It was tempting to get angry with him and his
behavior, and react with punishment, but clearly that would be exactly
the wrong thing to do as it would only affirm his fear. What he
needed was consistency, reassurance, predictability and calmness. And
it has worked. I certainly won't assume that his fear is gone forever
but I have a relationship to build from again.
Fear is a powerful emotion that we all know well. It is disabling to
the point of causing us to harm others and ourselves in our effort to
flee.
I thought about Wallenda yesterday when a young depressed college
student I've been working with for several weeks in my clinic suddenly
cancelled an upcoming follow up appointment and did not reschedule.
It gave me a bad feeling that she was "turning her back" and not
wanting to be approached, just as Wallenda had done. I could have
just put on my coat and headed home at the end of a long Friday but
decided to call my patient and see what was going on with her. She
didn't answer her phone. I looked up her apartment address and headed
over there. I could hear her moving around in her apartment, but she
didn't respond to my knocks or my voice. I decided to stay right
there, talking to her through the door, letting her know I wasn't
leaving until she opened up the door, and eventually, tears streaming
down her face, she did. She had been drinking heavily, with the
intent to overdose herself on aspirin and vodka, and I was the last
person she expected to see at her door. Her fear of life was such
that she wanted to "flee" so badly that it didn't matter to her if she
died in the process.
She agreed to come with me to the hospital and be admitted for
stabilization and when I went this morning to visit her, her eyes were
brighter and more hopeful and she greeted me with a hug and thanked me
for not giving up on her when she had given up on herself. She never
expected anyone to care enough to come looking for her, and to stand
firm when she was rejecting all approaches. She was astounded and
grateful, and frankly, so was I.
Our horses teach us so many lessons of life, sometimes painful and
sad, and at other times, rewarding and hopeful. Wallenda showed me
this week that kindness and caring do matter and can change behavior.
It was easy for me to translate that to my role as doctor and it made
a difference for one young woman, even though her fear is not gone and
there are many obstacles for her to overcome. For the little bit of
insight it gave me into the nature of fear responses, I thank my young
horse, who has worried me so much and made the last few weeks of horse
handling such a challenge.
May we always be listening for what our horses are trying to tell us
and remember that there is often a lesson to be learned.
Emily
http://www.briarcroft.com/emily.htm
May 15, 2004