Читать книгу Horse Sense for People - Monty Roberts - Страница 16

In 1948 I made my first of many trips to Nevada. There, deep in the heart of Indian and ranching country, I watched the wild mustangs and began to recognize that there was a decipherable vocabulary in their actions and movements. There were quiet times during our trek in which I could observe the mustangs interacting with one another oblivious to our presence. I was driven more by intuition than by a desire to communicate with horses, but this experience opened the door to a process of communication that would help me find common ground between human and horse.

Advance and retreat was one of the first lessons taught to me by horses and I was later to discover that it works well with people, too! This was an exciting time for me as I was discovering the presence of a language that nature probably had had in place for millions of years.

This early knowledge was the foundation of all that I am today as a horseman. A few years later, as a boy of fifteen, I was convinced that it would be possible to get a wild mustang to turn and come back to me of his own volition, so that he would Join-Up with me instead of fleeing. It was a wild undertaking, but out there in the desert in 1951, I caused a mustang colt, about three or four years old, to Join-Up with me in one day.

I started out early one morning and within a couple of hours or so I had a young mustang separated from the herd and was driving him away from the group by using what I now know to be crude gestures in the language of Equus. Even though I had a lot to learn I was able to utilize the principles of advance and retreat to make it uncomfortable for him when he was negative and very comfortable for him when he was positive. Within twenty-four hours, having stopped to feed and water my saddle horses while allowing the mustang to do the same, I had full control over the movements of this wild flight animal. I could square up on him with my saddle horse and run straight at him if he decided to leave me. I would stop abruptly, turning to ride away if he showed me the signs that he wanted to come closer to me. In one full day I could cause him to willingly follow me around. His actions became voluntary. He was relaxed and comfortable. I didn’t take it any further because I was so pleased with the achievement and my time was limited.

I was certain people I knew would embrace my accomplishment; sadly that was not the case. I must have anticipated meeting with some disbelievers, but I never imagined the level of ridicule with which I was met. When the word got back to my father and his friends, I was further put down. My mother was the only one who gave me any credit, but I’m not sure she completely believed me. As I reflect on it today, I can understand how in the early 1950s my claims seemed utterly impossible.

But I went back to work with my horses and made them my life. During my childhood I lived in two distinctly separate worlds, one with horses, the other with people. My world with horses was one of comfort and understanding, but with people I felt isolated and alone.

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It wasn’t until early in 1985 that I attempted to demonstrate to my father the effectiveness of my work. I explained that what I was doing was based on what I learned out there in the desert. Even at that late date he was too set in his ways to give ground. Father and son relationships can be powerful and often inflexible, as ours was. There was never any give in the constant struggle for supremacy. My father tenaciously clung to his beliefs, and I to mine.

In February of 1997, I adopted three mustangs with the intention of repeating my experience of the 1950s. This time I was older and wiser, though somewhat less agile, and determined to record the event on film. Once again I confronted a wild mustang in the wilderness. I knew now that if I could persuade him to trust me I could cause him to accept his first saddle, bridle and rider without force or pain. Just as in 1951, Equus proved to be constant and reliable. It was incredibly tough for me, both physically and mentally, but this experience proved to be one of the most gratifying of my life.

The BBC/PBS television program about the mustang, which I named Shy Boy during that long twenty-four-hour ride through the Cuyama Valley of California when we became acquainted, was shown around the world. The video of that remarkable Join-Up became very popular when I conducted my lectures and demonstrations, and I often fielded remarks and questions about the event. One of the most frequently asked questions was, what did I think the mustang might do if he was taken back to the wild and turned loose? Would he go with the herd or return to me? It took more than a hundred queries of this kind before I realized that I had to accept another challenge.

By this time Shy Boy had been ridden for nearly a year and had been treated well. If I gave him the opportunity to choose between the wild horses and the wilderness or his newfound domestication and me, which would he choose? It was not without trepidation that Shy Boy was released to make his choice.

Come what may, I decided to document his release just as we had documented our first dramatic encounter. After we had tracked down the herd he knew before and released him, the wranglers who accompanied me, and the film crew, watched and waited, scanning the desert hills for any sign of his return. He had rejoined the herd without hesitation; they had welcomed him back before galloping off together. Through the remains of that day, and through the night, I watched him. In the early light of morning, we saw the herd on the crest of a hill. One horse stepped away from the others. I waited. Then Shy Boy came down the hill, galloping through the high grasses. Running directly to me, he put his head to my chest and, in the language of Equus, clearly stated that he was happy to be back with me. He had deliberately chosen to Join-Up with people over returning to his own kind.

I have always asserted that a happy horse that loves his work is better than one that has been forced. This has always been very difficult to demonstrate, but now for me there is no longer any question about it. A mustang, born into the world of absolute flight, chose caring people over his own kind. Shy Boy made his choice because I had gained his trust. Using his own language I had assured him that I was not predatorial and I’d made it clear to him that he could come to and stay with me without fear.