Spirit of the Horse

by William Shatner

  THE SECRET.

  “A GENTLE HAND MAY LEAD THE ELEPHANT BY A HAIR.”

  Cause your horse to be put into a small yard, stable or room. If in a stable or room, it ought to be a large one, in order to give him more exercise with the halter, before you lead him out. If the horse belongs to that class which appears only to fear man, you must introduce yourself gently into the stable, room or yard where the horse is. He will naturally run from you, and frequently turn his head from you; but you must walk about extremely slow and softly, so that he can see you, and whenever he turns his head towards you, which he never fails to do in a short time, say in a quarter of an hour, or half an hour—I never knew one to be much longer without turning towards me—at the very moment he turns his head, hold out your left hand towards him, and stand perfectly still, keeping your eyes upon the horse, and watching his motions, if he makes any. If the horse does not stir for ten or fifteen minutes, advance as slowly as possible, and without making the least noise, always holding out your left hand, without any other ingredient in it than what nature put in it. The reason of my having made use of certain ingredients before people—such as the sweat from under a man’s arm, &c.—was, to disguise the real secret; and Drinnen, as well as several others, believed that the docility to which the horse arrived, in so short a time, was owing to those ingredients. It will be seen, in this explanation of the secret, that they were of no use, whatever; but, by placing so much confidence in them, those who had succeeded in breaking one horse, failed in another, and that is what I foresaw.

  If the horse makes the least motion when you advance towards him, stop and stand perfectly still till he is quiet. Remain a few minutes in this position, and then advance again in the same slow, almost imperceptible manner. He generally keeps his eye steadfast on you, till you get nigh enough to touch him upon the forehead. When you are thus near to him, raise slowly, and by degrees, your hand, and let it come in contact with that part just above the nostrils, as lightly as possible. If the horse flinches, (as many will,) repeat with great rapidity those light taps or strokes upon the forehead, going a little further up towards his ears by degrees, and descending with the same rapidity, till he will let you handle his forehead all over. Then touch, in the same light manner, making your hands and fingers play around the bottom or lower part of the horse’s ears, coming down, now and then, to his forehead, which may be looked upon as the helm that governs all the rest. Having succeeded in handling his ears, advance towards the neck with the same precautions, and in the same manner; observing always to augment the force of the strokes, whenever the horse will permit it. Perform the same on both sides of the neck, till he lets you take it in your arms without flinching. Proceed in the same progressive manner to the sides, and then to the back of the horse. From the tail come back again to the head; handle it well, as likewise the ears, neck, breast, &c., speaking now and then to the horse. Begin, by degrees, to descend to the legs, always ascending and descending, gaining ground every time you descend, till you get to his feet. Talk to the horse in Latin, Greek, French, English or Spanish, or in any other language you please, but let him hear the sound of your voice, which at the beginning of the operation is not quite so necessary, but which I have always done in making him lift up his feet:—“Hold up your foot,” “Leve le pied”—“Alza el pie”—“Aron ton poda,” &c., at the same time lift his foot with your hand. He soon becomes familiar with the sounds, and will hold up his foot at command. Then proceed to the hind feet, and go on in the same manner; and, in a short time, the horse will let you lift them, and even take them up in your arms. All this operation is no magnetism, no galvanism. It is merely taking away the fear a horse generally has of a man, and familiarizing him with him, as the horse experiences a certain pleasure from this handling of him.

  MY FIRST TIME

  So there I was, having fallen … again. I was broken but unbowed, a man in the midst of a long, long love affair with horses. As with any love, you willingly take the pain that comes with it.

  I know exactly where, when, and why the first blossom of that love appeared.

  For many, naturally enough, their first exposure to horses was in the movies. Where else could most people even see moving, thundering horses except in a darkened theater? Whether it was Tom Mix or John Wayne, the horse enhanced an already great screen presence. And drama! Who could not be thrilled when, in 1938, Errol Flynn in The Adventures of Robin Hood leapt from the scaffold where he was about to be hanged, landed on the back of his horse, and made a getaway.

  Yet, as much as those images fanned the flames for me, none of them was the seed. I actually had one contact with a real horse in my youth and it clearly got into my soul.

  I was about twelve and we lived in the suburbs of Montreal, far enough out that there was empty land around, and on one of those pieces of land there was a stable. One day—and I forget how I actually got the money, though I think I told my parents I swabbed out the stables to ride the horse, which wasn’t true but it made a nice story—anyway, one day I was able to wangle myself a ride on a rental horse. And I rode as though I’d been born in the saddle. I was neither afraid nor awkward, and people were commenting, “Oh, you ride well.”

  I remember thinking at the time: first, how much bigger I felt and how much smaller everything else seemed; second, how much power was beneath me, tolerating me (because I did have the sense that it could toss me any time I became a burden); and third, of course, how much I wanted to do it again.

  I didn’t get to do that for a long while, since it was a luxury and we didn’t have the money for many of those … and if we did, it wasn’t so I could ride a horse. But—I did say it was a seed, and the seed was planted.

  When I told my mother, she wasn’t angry but astonished. She asked, “Where did you learn to do that?” And I honestly didn’t know, don’t know. It was just a gift.

  Or maybe it was some kind of time-spanning moment, where young me on horseback somehow connected with or had a glimpse of older me on horseback and realized: I’m destined to be back. I’ve lived long enough to believe that such things can and do happen!

  Experience of Two Boys in Managing Horses, with Many Anecdotes of Quadrupedal Intelligence

  HORSE STORIES AND STORIES OF OTHER ANIMALS, by THOMAS W. KNOX (1890)

  You’ve got to love that title, and the short narrative that goes with it! Thomas Wallace Knox (1835–1896) was a well-known Civil War correspondent, who subsequently worked as a travel writer and historian. Horse Stories was part of his Boy Traveler series.

  “Here’s an account of how they break horses in Texas,” said Mr. Graham, as he took up a newspaper, from which he proceeded to read as follows:

  “There are but a few men who make it a business to break horses, and who possess sufficient skill and patience to conquer the fiery spirit of the most vicious animal. These ‘wild horse riders,’ as they are called, in addition to receiving the use of the horse while handling him, get fees ranging from five dollars to twenty-five dollars. Fearless Frank, a well-known Texas tamer, had been engaged to break a magnificent sorrel, called Mad Ranger. Ranger was a spoiled horse. He had been caught several times for the purpose of being saddled and bridled, but the tamers had been unable to do anything with him.

  “The horse-lot was inclosed by massive logs and stout timbers, capable of successfully resisting the most determined effort on the part of the beasts to escape. Connected with the large enclosure were several smaller ones, and into one of these Ranger was driven. Frank then took from his saddle a coil of three-quarter-inch rope, forty feet long, and a second coil about half as long, but much heavier, and an oilcloth slicker. Thus equipped, he slipped into the inclosure and faced the horse. Making a noose in one of the coils, he quickly threw it over Ranger’s head and fastened the other end to a post called the tug-post. The animal commenced to rear and plunge, but at every plunge the slack in the rope was taken up, and Ranger was soon alongside the post. Here he was made secure with a Spani
sh knot, which his struggles only served to tighten.

  “Seizing the old slicker, the trainer next hit the horse over the head and neck, causing the animal to rear and kick. The horse was soon tired out, and the blows that fell upon him scarcely caused him to wince. The trainer next took his long rope and fastened it around Ranger’s head in such a manner that it served as a halter. The other end of the rope was secured to the post. A rope was then placed around the animal’s body in such a manner that it would not slip, and another rope was fastened to his hind foot. The rope attached to the foot was drawn through the one around his body and the end taken by the trainer.

  “A couple of hard pulls brought the foot up to the stomach, and the horse was compelled to stand on three legs, thus unable to kick or rear. The trainer then patted the horse on the head and slipped the bridle on. Then the saddle was put in the proper place, and the stirrups ‘hobbled,’ to prevent any injury to the animal, should he fall. The rider then seated himself in the saddle, the ropes were taken from the horse’s feet and body, the gate of the pen opened, and horse and rider dashed out on the prairie. For fully an hour the infuriated animal reared, plunged and jumped about, vainly endeavoring to throw his rider, but finally, becoming exhausted, came to a standstill, and had to be urged even to walk. It was then that the horse was broken.”

  “And now,” said Mr. Graham, after pausing a moment, “did you ever hear of how they used to capture wild horses in Texas by ‘creasing’ them?”

  “I’ve read about it,” replied Charley, “but forget exactly how it was done.”

  “Well,” responded Mr. Graham, “here’s an account by a man who was once in the business and knows all about it. Shall I read it?”

  Both the youths were anxious to hear about this manner of taking horses, whereupon their father gave them the following in the words of Mr. Hill, an experienced cattle raiser of Texas:

  “In the early days of the cattle business in Texas, from 1857 to 1860, the ranges were overrun by bands of wild horses. These animals were a great nuisance, as they would get mixed with our loose horses and run them off when any one approached. As a rule, they were a rough, ill-shaped set of beasts, and almost untamable, so that few attempts were ever made to catch them, it being considered best to shoot them and thus get rid of a disturbing influence in our horse herds.

  “Sometimes, however, a really fine animal would be seen and the ranchmen would try hard to secure it. But the ordinary mode of capture—lassoing—could seldom be used against wild horses, as these beasts were very shy, and even a poor horse, carrying no weight, could outstrip a very fine animal with a man on his back.

  “In this extremity the Texans used to resort to a means of capturing the horses which is, I believe, exclusively American. It was discovered, I do not know how, that a blow upon a particular sinew in a horse’s neck, located just above where the spine joins the skull, would paralyze the animal temporarily without doing it any permanent injury. In those days the Texans were nearly without exception fine shots, and at short range could send a rifle ball with phenomenal accuracy.

  “The horses could not be approached on foot, and it was impossible to catch them on horseback. But, not to be overcome by any such difficulties, the cowboys discovered a way to capture them. Taking his rifle, a hunter would crawl through the thick chaparral until within fifty or sixty yards of the horse he desired to secure. Then, taking careful aim, he would endeavor to send a bullet through the top of the neck so as to strike the sinew. When this was properly done the horse would fall as if struck by lightning and remain insensible for ten or fifteen minutes, recovering completely in an hour or two, with no worse injury than a slight wound in the back of the neck that soon healed.

  “The weapon universally employed in creasing mustangs was the old Hawkins rifle, which carried a bullet not much larger than a pea, had a set trigger and required but a small charge of powder. Hundreds of mustangs, always the best animals in the herd, used to be creased every year, and this practice was kept up until the herds had entirely disappeared.

  “Some of the horses thus secured were very tough and fleet animals, but few were of any practical use. Nearly all were irreclaimably vicious, even when judged from the Texas standpoint. Even when broken to the saddle, they could only be ridden by the very best horsemen, and were always on the lookout to do their riders an injury. Strange to say, they seldom tried to kick, but a man had to be continually on the lookout for their fore feet and teeth. They only used their hind feet when a man was about to mount, but nearly every one of them had a trick of kicking forward as soon as the rider put his foot in the stirrup, and unless he was wary he would receive a terrible blow on the leg. I used to own a horse that, I believe, could scratch himself between the ears with his hind foot, his hind leg being apparently made of India rubber. The instant he felt a foot in the stirrup his hind hoof would come forward with the speed of lightning, in the attempt to inflict a most vicious kick. I gave up mounting him in the usual way and always used to vault into the saddle without touching the stirrups, a feat easily enough performed in my younger days, although I would have some difficulty in doing it now. I used to like to ride wild horses, but after one or two narrow escapes from their deadly fore feet, which they would use if a man carelessly stood in front of them, I gave it up and stuck to the tame stock.”

  Other stories about horses consumed the evening, and at length the boys said “Good-night” and went to bed, where they doubtless dreamed of exciting experiences among the wild horses of Texas and other regions where those animals abound.

  THE WINGED HORSE

  For many of us, our first exposure to the idea of a flying horse was in books of Greek mythology and, in particular, tales of Pegasus. Though he’s as old as any fictional being, there’s a paradox: look up in the night sky today and you can see him, a northern constellation between Cygnus and Aquarius.

  Other nations and other media have written about flying horses, and they have been memorably portrayed in films like Walt Disney’s Fantasia, in 1940—which had a Greco-Roman setting—and Clash of the Titans (1981), which depicted Pegasus himself, though the origin was somewhat altered.

  So, why has Pegasus stood out and endured?

  The Greeks were wonderful horsemen. They considered the horse a mystic, heroic part of life, a spiritual being as well as a means of conveyance and labor and an instrument of war. No other animal served so many domesticated functions across so wide a social spectrum, from pulling a plow to pulling a leader’s chariot. Not surprisingly, the Greeks worshiped various iterations of the horse. Apollo, son of Zeus, pulled the sun through the sky in a flaming horse-drawn chariot. When Hades needed to leave the underworld, he did so on a horse made of shadows—the distaff side of Apollo’s golden-skinned steeds. Ares, the god of war, rode fire-breathing stallions. Poseidon, the sea god, rode a chariot pulled by the Hippocampi, which were horses in the front, fishes in the back. There were the Wild Mares of Diomedes, a herd that attacked humans and were tamed by the hero Hercules as the eighth of his twelve legendary labors. There were also Centaurs, who had the heads and torsos of men but the bodies of horses (which we will talk about more, below); Hippalektryons, which were horses that had the hindquarters of roosters; and many others.

  Yet Pegasus is the best known, and for very good reason. Whereas the mortal Icarus flew too close to the sun and perished, Pegasus had no such limitations. He became—and remains, some three thousand years later!—a symbol of the higher reaches of a sentient being. The higher reaches of the mind, of the spirit.

  According to the myth, Pegasus was sired by Poseidon and his mother was Medusa. Some tales have it that the horse sprang from the blood of Medusa, which is wonderfully spiritual: Medusa was a Gorgon, a snake-headed monster, dark and bad: anyone who gazed directly at her turned to stone. That is, until the demigod Perseus used her reflection as a guide and lopped of her head with his sword. Now, these Greek tales, and the players in them, had multiple layers of meaning, so the i
dea here has always seemed to me that if we were able to overcome the evil in our nature, if we were able to slay it, then a higher being would arise—a flying horse springing from the dying womb of the Gorgon. And what lower symbol of human failure than a snake? He was there in the Garden of Eden, after all, helping us to spoil it.

  As I think about this, and how it relates to my own experience playing Captain Kirk, it occurs to me that, though he didn’t ride a winged horse named Pegasus, Kirk did fly through space and fight various battles. You can make the argument that the starship Enterprise was a metaphor for horses of all times and every location—riding that vehicle, that means of transportation, into the sunset, into the unknown like we did across the West and depending on it for survival. In fact, speaking of archetypes, we had an episode in the second season of Star Trek, “Who Mourns for Adonais?,” where the crew is captured by an alien who says he’s the aforementioned sun god Apollo. That episode posited a temple as the source of his powers—a fun way for a show about future heroic explorers to pay homage to their ancient historic and mythic roots.