Are Horses Dumb?

"Horses are dumb".

I felt myself bristle. I kept quiet while the conversation circled stories of horses. I decided in the moment to not speak. To not defend a horse's intelligence. I found myself curious why a college educated animal professional would make a comment like that.

The comment offended me. It hit me in the stomach. My solar plexus bruised. I noted how the comment "horses are dumb animals" hit my power center.

As I listened, I noticed the way this person stood self assured and committed to her point of few. I thought of so many others who have treated and talked down to horses as if they were dumb carrying a brain that didn't intellectually match the proclaimers.

Who is this horse before us?

In my experience, horses are one of the most sensitive, emotional, feeling, intuitive, primal, intelligent animals I have had the pleasure and honor of caring for.

During a house sit, a few years back, I fell off a deck chasing after two exhuberant mischievous Labradors whose owners assured me, "the dogs stay on the grass in the unfenced area".

I should have known better. Dogs do what dogs do especially when their people are away.

Twisting my ankle, I landed on the manicured acre of lush green lawn. The dogs running amok up the hillside were concerned enough about me to stop their crazy antics, turn around, run back and stand over me panting drool while I determined whether I cracked a bone.

Getting up, my ankle swollen, I immediately remembered after this sit, I was moving on to a horse ranch with a high falutin thoroughbred mare and a young Palomino, both needing regular handling, hand walking and turn-out.

How would I manage hobbling on a swollen ankle?

A day or so later, with swollen ankle stuffed in clogs that barely fit, I checked in to my ranch sit and headed out to the barn.

The mare, a gorgeous bay thoroughbred in her prime who on previous stays showed me her ingenuity by releasing unlocked stall doors within a half second greeted me with a hungry whinny reminding me not to forget her mash.

It was noon. Lunch time.

I limped over to her stall.

I showed her my ankle. I explained to her that when I haltered her, we had to walk slow. I couldn't keep up with her stride. I didn't want to get hurt.

I patted her and slipped her halter on.

I didn't know horses could tiptoe. I didn't know horses could look at a swollen ankle tenderly with concern in their brown eyes.

I had experienced horses taking care of me in the saddle but not like this on the ground.

Holding the lead rope, we left the paddock.

The big mare gently walked along beside me swinging her beautiful black mane looking down at my ankle, and checking in with me to make sure I was okay.

She took care of me.

The whole week.