BENNY'S STORY

One day Cindy, the owner of my local feed store, asked if I would help train a horse that she had gotten for her 8-year-old daughter. “Sure”, I said, confidently. “What’s his story?”  Little did I know that that one innocent question would lead me on the journey of mental illness in horses. 

Cindy had rescued a beautiful Palomino Paint gelding, Benny, from the Humane Society seven months prior, when he was on his way to be euthanized. Benny hadn’t done well with the first trainer Cindy hired, so she moved him to a new farm, this one with a pasture. Since my specialty is problem horses, she thought I could be of help in getting Benny trained for her daughter to ride in 4-H. Thinking that Benny’s was a simple case of neglect, I decided he probably just needed herd leadership, which I could certainly teach Cindy and her daughter.

On the day we were to begin training, Cindy called me, obviously tired and frustrated. “Would you just take him? He’s too much. I’m spread too thin, what with selling my business. I simply don’t have time to deal with him.” 

Cindy really loved and cared about Benny’s welfare and wanted him to have a good home, especially because of his past. She explained in detail Benny’s history, which was more than a classic case of neglect. Currently he had Stringhalt, in addition to weight loss from being moved to a new location and pasture. But still I was thinking “How bad can it be? He was rescued over seven months ago?” I agreed to take him. However, nothing could have prepared me for my first meeting with this long neglected horse.

The next day we were to drive together to pick up Benny. As we started to leave the feed store, one of Cindy’s employees came running out with some treats, asking if Cindy wanted them to catch Benny. When Cindy responded, “No, Missy, the horse whisperer, will catch him,” I cringed. Now the pressure was on, especially since the prior trainer was going to be there, too. 

Once in the car, Cindy handed me a well organized notebook with loose photos, Benny’s registration, and a transfer report dated April 1, 2004. She continued the details of Benny’s rescue. This poor horse had been locked in a stall for two years while the owners were dealing with a family crisis. Benny was rescued by the Humane Society along with a few other horses. The people who owned him were instructed to dismantle their barn to avoid prosecution.

Cindy pulled out one of the photos from the notebook that showed Benny covered in fecal matter. It was appalling. She explained that Benny had had to shed out his coat since the fecal matter was stuck to his skin and any attempt to clean it off resulted in raw open sores. Not only that, but when Benny was pulled out of his stall, his left front hoof had to be hack-sawed off because it had grown out to the point of curling. Now his front left hoof was still a club and he had to be tranquilized for the farrier each visit due to the Stringhalt. 

I was no longer thinking—at this point I was just numb with shock. Cindy warned me that because of the Stringhalt Benny would pull his back legs up involuntarily and slam them down, making it difficult for him to stand especially when he was excited. “Oh, by the way,” she continued, “Benny’s in a three-acre pasture and stopped eating in the last few days ever since his pasture pal was sold and taken away.” I assured her that I still wanted him.

We pulled into the driveway of a lovely home surrounded by forest and pasture. In sharp contrast to the beauty of the place was Benny, his gigantic head—like the bobble head on a toy—bobbling on a rack of bones, his fur barely clinging to his skin. He was running up and down the fence line crying and whaling to the other horses across the fence. 

I took my halter and lead rope and headed out to the three-acre parcel. The owner of the property, the uncle of the prior trainer, offered, “I’ve got a shot gun if you want it.” I flinched in disgust and assured him I wouldn’t need it. Benny turned to look at me and then resumed his crying and pacing. I began my “W”Holistic Joining, moving him off by twirling the lead rope and pointing in the direction I wanted him to go and then releasing my pressure by turning my back when he moved.

I continued moving him from here to there as a lead horse will do until he finally turned and looked at me. I immediately turned my back and said, “Good boy.”  I slowly walked up to him with my hand outstretched and my eyes lowered with one shoulder towards him. He allowed me to touch his face and then he started to run off, so I made it look like my idea and acted as if to run him off. Each time Benny allowed me to approach he gained confidence, little by little, as I rubbed him with the halter on his face and then on his neck. 

In half an hour I had the halter on Benny. I started walking him to the gate when suddenly his back feet started kicking at his chest, springing upwards as his back-end muscles quivered. Cindy cried out, “That’s the Stringhalt. Keep moving forward so he doesn’t fall down.” I quickly walked him through the gate to the trailer, and he stepped inside without hesitation. 

“Phew.” I quickly took off his halter and slammed the door. We immediately began driving, as all the while Benny’s feet slammed on the trailer floor, one after the other, his fear and excitement escalating. With each stop for traffic, I knew Benny was struggling to keep himself upright while his legs continued to fail him—his feet kicking his chest uncontrollably. My heart ached for his suffering.

I got Benny unloaded and put him out in a small pasture, with a loafing shed, adjacent to a larger pasture where my mare and gelding lived together. The ground was soft from days of rain. Benny soon wore a muddy trench along the fence line, wanting to be with the other two horses. Every day he would pace, crying and sweating, making it difficult to get him to eat, let alone get any weight on him. 

I finally broke down after a few days and decided to put him in with my other two horses. This proved to be a huge mistake. Immediately, poor Benny was ruthlessly chased by my gelding, Paco. I intervened within moments, screaming at Paco to stop, but to no avail. Benny saw me at the gate which separated the pastures and thankfully he came running up to me, the terror filled eyes pleading for my help. I opened the gate and he ran in with Paco close behind, but I slammed the gate shut just in time, locking out Paco.

Benny was shaking like a leaf as I cried over him apologizing profusely for allowing him to get hurt. He had several large patches of flesh missing where Paco’s teeth had torn it away. I believe Paco would have chased him down and stomped him to death if he had had the chance. 

That experience was a huge revelation for me about Paco and herd behavior.  Benny smelled bad, looked bad, limped and appeared to be a threat to the herd, so Paco was only acting out of instinct to protect his herd mate. I had made a terrible mistake and Benny had paid a painful price. In order to help Benny with his herd bound loneliness, I rotated my mare between the geldings. This helped tremendously.

I started working with Benny on foot handling and basic ground manners, but he would rear and try to bite me. He would completely flip out when I tried to take him in hand for a little stroll down the road. One day a curious neighbor stopped to chat. He had noticed Benny’s strange gait, due to the Stringhalt, as I walked Benny along the road. 

As we stood there chatting, Benny had a melt down. He tried to run over me, then reared and struck, trying to bite. My neighbor was very concerned for my safety, but for some reason I wasn’t scared. I just knew that Benny was going to be a challenge and needed time to heal. 

When my farrier first saw Benny, he started to laugh. “Missy, you bought yourself a four footed foundered horse.”  I told him that I hadn’t paid anything for Benny, but that I knew if anyone could help with his founder, it was my farrier.   

That day I discovered Benny had four rotated coffin bones and one sinking coffin bone, along with contracted flexor tendons and, of course, the Stringhalt. A sinking coffin bone usually means death for most horses, but my farrier was positive and willing to partner with me in Benny’s recovery. The back feet were horrible to trim; with his Stringhalt flaring, Benny was unable to stand still. And with contracted flexor tendons, he didn’t have much flexibility in lifting and holding his foot up. My farrier was patient and kind all along, gently balancing each foot on the toe of his boot for just a moment before the next Stringhalt flare. We all made it through that first trim, but not without skinned knuckles and a few bruises from flailing hooves.

I continued working with Benny on ground manners. Progress was slow. Benny learned to lead more safely, but struggled with boundaries, wanting to be near me and in my space without permission. He had difficulty backing up due to his contracted flexor tendons and Stringhalt, so he would rear just slightly while shaking his head at me as if in frustration.

Benny always tried to nip me, especially when flexing–sometimes I’d actually hear his teeth snapping in the air at me. Whenever I reprimanded him for his dangerous behaviors, he didn’t seek the comfort of appropriate behavior as a normal horse would. This was so puzzling to me.

From my trainer’s point of view, horses are fairly predictable and quickly learn within the first couple of sessions that dangerous behavior doesn’t pan out, so they are willing to learn appropriate behavior to get along with me as their herd leader. It is simple herd leadership. But Benny could not grasp the language or understand herd communication. I tried every method I knew. I explored, researched and applied other methods, along with seeking the opinions of fellow trainers, but nothing worked.

Most of the other trainers I consulted advised me to hit him or have him euthanized. Euthanized!  Because he doesn’t conform to the ideals we expect? Maybe my expectations were not correct for Benny. But I was not going to give up. I felt challenged to communicate with Benny in a way that would make him a safer horse, thereby allowing me to give him the quality of life he deserved.

By the third month I had my vet out to float Benny’s teeth, thinking to eliminate pain as a reason for biting me. In my work I have often found biters to be simply suffering from mouth pain from lack of dental attention. I needed to rule that out. I was sure Benny had not had any dental attention in a long time, if ever. 

At this point, Benny’s Stringhalt had subsided considerably, so when my vet visited he was very encouraging. However, he could not speak to the damage of Benny’s mind and emotions. Benny was tranquilized and teeth floated without too much fuss.

Within six days of the teeth float, Benny was near death with colic. I had been gone all that day. When I came out to the barn that evening, Benny was spinning around, lying down, and getting up again. He was sweating profusely, obviously in a lot of pain.

An hour later the vet arrived to find me at Benny’s side as he lie in the stall groaning. Benny’s heart rate was 90 with a zero capillary refill; he was in shock and near death. We struggled successfully to get Benny on his feet so the vet could administer something for pain relief and perform an examination. During the intestinal exam, a huge “explosion” shook the entire barn. My husband and I were stunned. A minute later there was another. It was then we noticed our vet, up to his shoulder examining Benny’s intestines, his face turned sideways grimacing from the gas. Luckily the bowel was not twisted or impacted, so doc tubed him and told me to give him Banamine for his pain, gently cautioning me that Benny might not make it through the night. 

I was up all night with Benny taking his pulse every 45 minutes, managing his pain and making sure he didn’t try to roll.  By 2:00 a.m. he was wide awake, hollering at his herd mates and pacing his stall wanting outside. It was an amazing recovery. I had had one other horse at my barn colic after a tooth float, so after Benny’s, I treated any horse that had a tooth float or tranquilizer as a post-surgery patient. (This entails bran mash and soaked hay to assist the peristalsis action since many horses reduce eating after a dental procedure because of a painful mouth. In addition, tranquilizers slow the gut, so I turn my horses out in our larger pasture to promote broader movement, thus assisting with gut and peristaltic action as well.)      

Six months later Benny had made enough progress in his training that he only tried to bite me once during each session (he had to try at least once early in the session to get it out of his system though he knew he was going to get in trouble by a tap under his chin and getting backed up while I made the ssshhh sound). He could flex softly, yield his hind and forequarters, and stand quietly as I tossed the rope over his back, around his feet, and slapped it loudly on the ground. 

What I learned is that Benny needed to play with me, but I had to set some rules.  We could play the “I’m gonna gitcha game” so long as he maintained a safe distance. I used my four-foot stick to keep him out of my space, simply tapping him if he was too close. I would spin around and face him, backing him up suddenly. He, in turn, would rear, hop, and run off. This is what he wanted all along, someone to play with. Our relationship began to blossom as I became more in tune with his needs. Warm up time was just play until he had his fill. Then we would get into training.

I figured since Benny was twelve when I got him, he must have had some riding in his early years, so it was time to try. I went through my usual protocols for preparing him for the ride, as well as had my vet and farrier check him out. By this time Benny had received two chiropractic sessions. All three professionals agreed that Benny had functional deformities, but the limp on the left foot and shoulder was a deformity that could possibly improve over time. As long as I worked him lightly under saddle, he would benefit from the continued physical and psychological development. 

My first ride was met with a bit of bucking and rearing, but Benny wasn’t athletic enough to carry it through. When I asked for a turn and a halt, it became obvious that he had never been ridden. He didn’t understand anything I expected a horse that age that had been ridden to know. However, I soon realized Benny was eager to learn and behaved better under saddle than on the ground.

He quickly learned to halt, break at the poll, back up and neck rein within a month, all with just a halter and lead rope, completely iron free (no bit or spurs). His trot was light, but riding him contorted my body. His limp would cause his left shoulder to drop while his contracted flexor tendons pushed me forward, so that I was practically riding on his neck. His contracted flexor tendons caused his hooves, pasterns, and cannon bones to be perpendicular to the ground; his right hip was higher and forward since his right rear hoof was somewhat like a club foot. Needless to say the ride was pretty uncomfortable.  

After a few weeks of riding, it was time to take Benny on the trail. We had taken walks together in hand to the trail, as I do with all horses in my training program. Now it was time to ride him down to the trail. As I was riding Benny down the road to the trail another neighbor, Ron, waved hello from his yard and met us at his driveway to chat. I remained sitting on Benny knowing he is not one to stand still for too long so I readied myself to do a one rein stop if he suddenly melted down. We chatted a while and then another neighbor drove up and stopped to chat from her car. I was going on about my kids when, in a flash, Benny reared. I leaned forward pulling his nose to the girth, preparing to shut him down for the buck that was coming when he came down, and sure enough he attempted, but to no avail. I disengaged his hindquarters while holding his nose to the girth as we spun around for what seemed minutes yet only seconds. When he stopped moving his feet I released his nose, stroked his neck and finished my sentence as if nothing had happened, my neighbors eyes bugging out of their heads and their jaws agape. One neighbor decided she’d better get home and drove off. I waved goodbye to Ron and headed on down to the trail. I didn’t want Benny to think he just got away with something so I acted as if nothing had happened. 

I did a lot of one rein stops that day because Benny didn’t seem to think he had to stop when I asked. It was just a short trail ride, but a huge leap forward for Benny and me in our growth of trust and confidence. Though Benny’s behavior and manners on the ground were less than desirable and for all appearances seemed dangerous, within weeks he became the lead horse on the trail when Paco was teaching one of my students how to trail ride. 

Even with all of the improvement, by the end of a year, I came to the painful realization that Benny simply wasn’t going to improve much more when it came to ground manners and safer behavior. He could “perform” for me—lunging, flexing, yielding—and was reasonably rideable, but only for me. I knew that Benny could not develop much beyond his stunted emotional and psychological conditions. This realization inspired the phrase, “Orphan Syndrome,” referring to behavior patterns that develop because, orphaned and isolated, a horse like Benny lacks, in whole or part, natural brain development. 

Benny truly means well and simply struggles to control his impulses. Playing with him has become a wonderful way to meet his needs for companionship and for us to be together. Understanding the underlying issues of Benny’s behavior has given me a deeper compassion for him and opened my eyes to the fact that there is always a sound, legitimate reason for so called bad behavior and training problems. Once again, this time with Benny’s help, it was clear that Problems Are Not Always Training Issues