I learned to ride in the 1990s in western Pennsylvania. The two barns where I spent my childhood were chosen out of convenience: both walking distance from home. My parents weren’t horse people, though my aunt had two backyard trail horses that I fawned over at every visit, prompting my desperate pleas for a horse from an early age. I took lessons from the age of eight or nine, and by the time I was in middle school I was at the barn daily. On my 15th birthday, my parents gifted me my first horse. These animals shaped my youth and defined both who I was then, and who I would become. 

But when I look back at my childhood in the saddle, especially now as the owner of a little riding program and a string of school horses, I’m also ashamed. While the horses I rode those years ago were so very loved (I bought my horse presents on vacation, for example), I cringe at the ways in which we didn’t understand our partners, or didn’t know how to listen. We asked them to do so much, and we rarely took their feelings into consideration. I wouldn’t call them abused, and they weren’t neglected. But we could have treated them better, in so many different ways. 

It feels like equestrian sports have been under increased scrutiny over the past years, especially at the highest levels. And that scrutiny is often escalated when the sport is more accessible to the public eye, like in these past few Olympic Games.

When I try to wrap my head around the idea of horse welfare, and what it truly means to “do right” by our horses, I find it the varied viewpoints and arguments overwhelming. While some things, for me, are very black and white, there’s also a whole lot of gray. 

But what I do believe is that as we equestrians continue to study and learn about horses, from groundbreaking veterinary diagnostics and treatments, to a better understanding of horse physiology, to a greater understanding of equine communication. At least from what I’ve seen in my little corner of Pennsylvania, I’d like to think that most of us are making effort to do what we can to improve the lives of our equine partners. 

At a little schooling show over the summer, I caught up with three childhood friends. One was a barnmate from middle school. Another was a high school friend and co-worker at the local tack shop and the shop owner’s summer camp. We’re all still into horses—all of us actually own riding stables—and it was the third friend whose farm was hosting the show where we each had toted a handful of students and horses. 

At the in-gate, we chatted, recalling competitions of our youths: Remember riding to the shows through the county park? Remember that old, grouchy trainer who chain-smoked and swore under her breath in the warm-up arena, and how terrifying she was? Remember plodding around the grounds all day on our barebacked ponies, ribbons hanging from our bridles? How different things were then … 

But behind that nostalgia, we realized as we chatted, was clear mistreatment of the horses of our past. 

In the county park near my childhood barn was a horse show arena where two local equestrian associations hosted little show circuits every summer. Our barn attended religiously. As a younger teen, I competed on various lesson mounts, then eventually on my own horse, a bombproof, thick-necked gelding who tolerated whatever I asked of him, including sporting a coconut bikini top and horse-sized grass skirt for the costume class. 

The show ring was a few miles from the barn by way of the county park trails, and barnmates and I often rode there rather than hauling over. We were rarely hindered by the weather, competing through torrential downpours or in sweltering heat. On days that we rode to the shows, we didn’t bring along hay nets or buckets for water—the thought never crossed our minds, nor the minds of the adults helping us prep. Our horses were bridled most of the day, led or ridden around the grounds between classes. I don’t remember offering them water until we passed through several streams on the return ride to the barn.

Desperate for all-around points and year-end trophies, and pushed by our trainer, we’d enter every eligible class. We’d switch from English to western tack at the in-gate. My mom, a handy seamstress, sewed strips of Velcro behind the buttons on my show shirts. I’d rip off one shirt and Velcro myself into the other, while my trainer would swap the tack on my horse. We’d be back in the dusty arena in minutes. 

Near the end of the show season, if we were close in points, and if the gaming classes looked small, we’d stay late in the day to canter through barrel and keyhole patterns for an extra point here or there to add to our totals. We asked far too much of our horses on those long, hot summer days. Looking back, I’m embarrassed and ashamed. 

And unfortunately, in retrospect, it wasn’t just horse shows where we could have done better. There were plenty of ways the quality of our horses’ lives could have been improved around the barn as well. 

I was taught that two flakes of hay, morning and night, was enough. I was taught that a few hours of turnout, a few days a week, was plenty. I was taught that stripping a stall weekly—and not touching it in between—was fine horse husbandry. I was told to “kick like you mean it.” I was taught that a few well-timed jerks on the reins behind a judge’s back would remind my gelding where to carry his head. I was taught that when a horse balked at the trailer, it should be pressured forward with a longe whip, and that any hesitation to move forward under saddle should be met with a jab with the heels or a smack with a crop. I was taught that I was the boss, and that my horse should listen, no matter what. And I was taught that if the horse didn’t, then discipline was warranted.

I didn’t know any better, so my parents and I looked to my instructors for guidance and direction. We trusted that what they modeled was right and best. And it’s only in hindsight that I learned—as so many of us have learned—that these old methods were far from correct.

Twenty-plus years later, at that friend’s horse show in-gate, as we offered cool water to our lesson horses who would do no more than one or two low-level divisions before being tied to the trailer in front of a hay net or hand grazed in the shade, we wondered how we learned to do better. 

Was it exposure to more trainers and methods? The improvements in horse veterinary care? Do we now, as an equestrian community, have a stronger understanding of what horses need, physically and mentally, to be more content? Are we better able to diagnose and treat problems? Are we more aware of, and in tune with, the way our horses communicate? Have we become better listeners? Are my friends and I more humble as we’ve aged, less confident that we know it all? Are we more willing to let the horses be the teachers, or at least have a voice in the conversation?

I don’t know enough about the big leagues to know what needs to change there, let alone how to make those changes. But I know that for the little string of horses who live in my backyard and teach our students, I’ve made different choices from my own childhood experience to positively contribute to their welfare. 

Our horses enjoy at least a day off per week, often two, as well as longer breaks between riding sessions. They have free-choice hay, a foreign concept in the barns where I grew up. They enjoy, dependent on the season, long days or nights in the pasture with friends. They are given supplements for hooves and guts and skin and coats. Their stalls have blocks of salt hanging from ropes and fans in the corners to circulate air. Their saddles are adjusted by saddle fitters and their bodies by chiropractors. They get scoped and treated for ulcers, and I wonder how many horses I knew from way-back were affected by that condition we didn’t yet understand. 

As our horses age, we inject hocks and shock-wave tendons and ligaments. We hide NSAIDs and Cushings meds in breakfasts that are a whole lot better for them than the oats or sweet feed staples from decades past. My horses are regularly evaluated by trusted veterinarians to ensure that the job I’m asking of them is fair. And if any of professional I’ve entrusted with my horses’ care suggests their load be lightened, we listen and adjust.

As equestrians, we know so much more now than we did a few decades ago. And as barn owners, or riding instructors, or even an adult in a barn with young riders, we pass this knowledge to the next generation. 

If they want to ride horses—to commune with these animals who let us climb up on their backs even though they could fling us to the ground if they wanted—let’s teach these young riders that it’s their job to learn their horse’s language. Let’s teach them to listen. Let’s teach to understand their horse, and to adjust if it tells them “that tickles” or “that’s scary” or “that was fun!” 

Let’s show them how, during every pre-lesson grooming session, to look for heat or swelling or lumps or bumps that could signal a painful problem for their mount. Let’s teach them to watch body language while they interact with their horse, whether on the ground or in the saddle. Let’s show them to see the world through their horse’s eyes, to predict and analyze and evaluate and problem solve. Let’s teach them to be their horse’s partner instead of their boss.

I don’t know when it started, but sometime between childhood and adulthood, I’ve learned to be a better listener to my horses, and to trust what they’re trying to say. I’ve also learned to lean on professionals, and to seek help when I don’t have answers or want another opinion. 

And for as long as I have horses, I’ll keep learning. And anytime I learn something new, anytime I know better, I’ll do better. And I’ll share that knowledge with the next generation of equestrians. 

And maybe if we all do this, if we all work to continue to learn and grow as equestrians, we can continue to improve the welfare of horses across the board, from grassroots to international championships. Our horses deserve it. 

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Sarah K. Susa is the owner of Black Dog Stables just north of Pittsburgh, where she resides with her husband and young son. She has a B.A. in English and Creative Writing from Allegheny College and an M.Ed. from The University of Pennsylvania. She teaches high school English full-time, teaches riding lessons and facilitates educational programs at Black Dog Stables, and has no idea what you mean by the concept of free time.