PrintMy dad is cantering along next to me. He’s riding a big grumpy gelding, Salvador, and I'm riding Amadeus, a Lipizzaner pony, who is struggling to keep up. The track is easily wide enough for both of us, and the footing is excellent; the rainy days are still ahead. My dad looks at me, and I know he’s going to say something inane. It's his eyes—bright and curious—that give away his enthusiasm. And he is always is asking the most obvious questions when he is enthused. It drives me crazy.
“If you can't work for Ian Millar, do you want to stay here over the winter?”
I spur Amadeus on, trying to keep up. “I think I want to get away. I talked to a guy on the phone today who said I could come down and apprentice for him.” Why would I want to stay north for the winter?
“Why don't you go to England and work for an eventer? Didn't you have a job offer from William Fox-Pitt?”
I look at my dad. He’s standing lightly in the stirrups, letting the horse roll along smoothly below him. He knows I just finished working for an eventer, two of them actually: David and Karen O'Connor. And I did meet William. We sat down at the Kentucky Rolex Three-Day Event and discussed a chance for me to come over. His stable in Dorset, a county made famous as the setting for novels by Thomas Hardy, sounded nice. It sounded, dash-it-all, marvellous.
“You remember, Dad. I decided to go to Ian Millar instead. England did sound pretty good though, especially since he said we might go foxhunting. But he's already hired someone else.”
“You know Tik, if you are serious about three-day eventing, you really should go to England. Badminton and Burghley, the most famous events in the world, are there!”
“But the job isn't available anymore! And besides, I want to learn to ride Western and learn some more natural horsemanship.” I've told him all this already.
“How many horses do you think he has?”
“Fox-Pitt? About 20 probably. But he already has a rider now.” We’re galloping now, I'm leaning over the withers and urging Ammo on. The footfalls of the horses combine to make a steady drum roll beneath us.
“You know,” my dad yells, “All good horse people use the principles from natural horsemanship. You don't need to specialize in this in order to use body language with horses.”
He's right. Natural horsemanship reminds me of advertisements I see promoting wholesome food. At what point did we start to advertise things that should simply be expected? Natural horsemanship should be known as horsemanship—a way to communicate what the rider wants in a way the horse understands. Natural horsemanship is for some an end in itself, but for others it’s a means to an end: a way to get a horse to jump into water or teach a stubborn horse to leg yield.
The reason natural horsemanship isn’t more popular with English riders is that so few top competitors use it and pitch it as a valuable tool. But that’s all going to change. In the future, horsemen are going to be learning from all different disciplines. Already Anky van Grunsven is improving her dressage by applying lessons she learned while reining.
“Come on Dad, I want to get away, see the world. I want to do something different.” Do I have to spell it out?
My dad slows his horse to a trot. “You could always try a show jumper in the states. What about Anne Kursinski?”
