My Life and Philosophies in Summary

 

 

The draw I felt to horses as a young child was unexplainable. We lived in a city, with no horses anywhere around. My parents were not horse people. No one I knew had horses.

 

One day, I was walking through the small-town fair grounds of Winnipeg Beach on Boardwalk Days with my mum and sisters, enjoying the games and the rides, and eating mini donuts and cotton candy, rare treats indeed. We came upon a small carousel, turning and turning, with a red and orange striped roof covering, and underneath were real life ponies! Not the sometimes-grotesque pretend horses of the machine carousel, but real living breathing ponies!! I couldn’t believe my eyes! I was instantly drawn to them, begging my mum to let me ride, asking how many tickets I needed to ride, and then waiting in line to get on a pony. In my young mind, everything else faded into the background. The music, the crowds, the rides, the people, all of it. The only thing that existed to me was those little ponies.  The memory is as clear in my mind as though it happened only yesterday.

 

Getting lifted up onto the pony, the feeling as they started walking, the motion of the saddle, touching the mane, petting their neck, talking to them, asking what their names were.  It was as though something was awakened in me, a connection, a love, and a pure happiness. I felt no fear. When my turn was over, and I had to get off, I waited in line again and went on another pony. Until I had been on all four ponies. I remembered feeling so happy, so comfortable, and not wanting to ever get down.

 

After my tickets were all gone, I stayed there, standing as close as I could, watching the ponies, not wanting to leave them, eyes riveted on them. Their eyes, their faces, their noses, their manes, their tails, their legs, their hooves as they walked in that tiny circle. Even then, I remember feeling guilty for making them have to go around and around for me, and feeling sorry for the ponies, wondering when they would get a drink of water, and wondering how long they had been there, and how much longer they would have to stay. Wondering where they came from, and what their home was like. At the same time, I felt such exhilaration for having been so close to them. Wondering how they felt, wishing to stay with them forever. But, we had to go.

 

Since that moment, so long ago in my childhood, my life has been dedicated to horses. I discovered an all-encompassing love and passion for horses that day, and even as I approach my 50th birthday, this remains my truth. Horse books, horse posters, horse figurines, horse magazines, they were all I could think about. Every birthday and Christmas list I wrote had ‘A Horse’ at the top. Below that was every item I could possibly think of that had to do with horses. I remember getting my first book about horses for Christmas. It was a large, hardcover book, with a black horse running on a beach along the water’s edge, mane and tail flying in the wind. I read and re-read that book hundreds of times. I imagined myself with all the horses in the pictures, becoming so familiar with each photo that I felt like they were my very own horses.

 

I had a poster of chestnut paint horse on the wall of my bedroom which I had named Cinema. I used to pretend to pet that horse, and I spoke to him almost every day. I had learned about herd behavior, and how wild horses lived, and I collected small horse figurines, each one had a name, and spend hours on end playing with them on the floor of my room.

 

My mum was an avid reader, and she would take us to visit our local library, where I would look up every book I could find about horses and check them all out. I knew exactly what the numbers were on the spines of the books, and exactly where they were. I remember not wanting to take them back, and my mum telling me I must, so that other kids could read them too.

 

 Once I was old enough to ride the bus, I would ride the Route 16 Osborne city transit bus downtown to my favorite place, the Centennial Library. It was the city’s big main library. The largest one. With desks and soft chairs and so many more books about horses than my smaller library had. I had already read and reread every single one of the books in our local library many times already. This is where I discovered Walter Farley’s stories about the Black Stallion, and Marguerite Henry’s stories about Misty, Black Gold, and Brighty, and the story of Black Beauty. I was in heaven there. I also found the Trixie Belden book series, about a group of kids my age, and also about horses. I learned so much about horses through these stories. My family could not afford to move to the country or to buy a horse. So I did anything and everything I could do, to learn about them. My relatives would pitch in money for riding lessons on my birthday and Christmas, and I when I was old enough, I worked delivering newspapers for the Winnipeg Free Press, all to save money to take riding lessons.

 

I remember begging my mum to take me out of swimming lessons and using that money for riding lessons. She is a very smart lady, and she told me that when I achieved a certain level of swimming proficiency, she would gladly do so. Never in your life have you seen a child apply themselves to swimming as I did! I am quite certain my swimming instructor was completely baffled as to my change in level of enthusiasm towards her lessons! The prospect of being near a horse was all the motivation I needed. In hind-sight I’m glad I learned to swim, as I have since enjoyed many rides in lakes and rivers, swimming with my horses.

 

 

When I was 13 years old, my parents went through a divorce. I remember crying and missing my dad so much when he moved out, and the many feelings of betrayal and abandonment that followed, as he remarried and moved away Arizona, leaving me behind. I spent 10 years not speaking to him, I harbored toxic resentment, and I carried these wounds for many years. Feeling I was not enough to make my dad want to stay, and him choosing his new wife over me and our family. I found that when I spent time with horses I felt less anxious, and it was replaced with a sense of belonging and happiness. I realize looking back as an adult, that my dad was going through his own struggles and finding own way through this life the best way he knew how.  I am grateful to be able to say that I spent a wonderful year with him before he passed away at 64.  

 

I was very blessed that my mum literally did everything in her power to find ways for me to ride. With money from Birthdays, Christmas, and my paper route, I would get a set of 10 lessons, and she drove me to all my lessons and then froze in the cold for an hour, sitting and watching the lessons in a cold viewing room and dying a thousand deaths every time she saw me fall off.

 

When we were walking in a mall during Christmas time one year, I saw a flyer on a table with a horse on the front, caught my eye of course! It was an advertisement for a summer camp that offered, among other things, a horse program. I was so excited, and my sisters were interested too. My mum couldn’t afford to send us there; however she went through a lengthy, and I am sure humbling, experience of applying for assistance from the camp so we could go. In true Dorian fashion, she made it happen for all three of us for two summers in a row. I learned so much there, achieving all their levels and getting a certificate to teach camp lessons when I was only 16 years old. My project horse was Razzle, my sweetheart horse was MacGyver, because he couldn’t be tied, so I was fascinated with him. So many memories of so many beloved horses.

 

When I was 14, I switched schools from elementary school grade K-8, into a high school for grade 9-12. I was ill-prepared for the social dynamics of high school, and found myself the target of bullying for the majority of these years. I became withdrawn, and my desire to become invisible increased with each passing day, month, and year. I went from loving school and having straight A’s, to barely being above failing, going to summer school, and hating school. I couldn’t fight back or defend myself, as I was raised to turn the other cheek, at to be kind. I suffered mentally and emotionally as well as physically. The boys would often throw chess pieces, pens, pencils, garbage at me whenever the teacher would leave the room. I was shocked how cruel people could be. The girls would all laugh. The feelings of inferiority and ugliness instilled in me during these years are still feelings I struggle to overcome even today. I vowed to myself that once I graduated, I was done. I would never go into another classroom and certainly would not be going to University, which I never did.

 

I watched my mum go back and get her refresher training as a Registered Nurse, work full-time shift work, kept us in our childhood home to make the transition through the divorce easier, and raise three fiery girls.

 

I saw her love for us, her strength of character, her tenacity, and her complete dedication to us. She raised us to be strong independent women, and to never give up. She believed in my dream, and never once did she waver in her support of me. When we almost lost our house, she never gave up. When she was exhausted, she still went to work. When she was mentally, emotionally, and physically drained, she kept going. Some mornings, when it was too overwhelming to think of getting up and facing the hardships, she told herself that if all you can do is swing your legs over the side of the bed and put your two feet on the floor, then do that. Then, one step, and one more. And she did it. She is the strongest most caring person I know, taking care of my godmother, my grandmother, my granny, my uncle, and her three girls. She is an amazing human being. She protected us, kept us safe, and gave us the best opportunities she could. I am who I am because I followed her example.

 

My passion for horses and love and support of my mum were the only things that got me through those dark days of the divorce and the years of high school. I would struggle through the long winter school semesters, with my sight set on the freedom of summer break. My love of horses soon became my escape from people. I gravitated to the horses that were difficult, the ones other people had trouble with. I felt a kinship with them, I wanted to understand them.

 

Because of my mum chatting to everyone about her daughter who loved horses, hoping to find someone who had horses or know someone, we found the Equine Canada coaching certification course. I was a mere 17-year-old at the time I started the course, and I was secretly voted least like to make it through due to my age. But I am made of stronger stuff. I finished the two-year course, paying for it by working full time in the barn during day. I achieved my Canadian Equestrian Federation English Coaching, Western Coaching, and a few years later, my Canadian Therapeutic Riding Instructor Certification.

 

 

Ironically, I think I have spent a lifetime seeking the person I was before the lessons, before the career, before the bullying, and before ego.  I taught full time and managed riding schools, ran shows, competed, and met some amazing horses and people. When I was leaving one of the riding schools to move to Ontario, they had a going-away party for me. I had spent four years there, teaching 150 students a week. I still keep in touch with the owners and many of the students, and this is where I found Sharlotte, a beautiful and misunderstood power-house of a thoroughbred.

 

That going-away celebration was a life-changing experience for me, causing a shift in my reality. Having all my students from the different days of the week there on the same night, I suddenly realized that I was in a PEOPLE business!! Wow. I had gotten into horses to ESCAPE from people. It blew my mind. Almost subconsciously, I had learned through the horses how to connect with people, to read them, and understand them. I knew what they needed from me day to day, and how to give that. When I am teaching it almost as though it is more than just me and my knowledge of horses coming through to my students. Some kind of deeper connectedness that gives me energy and inspiration seemed to flow through me.

 

 

Despite the success I was having as a coach, I was beginning to burn out.  I was yearning to be a student and to shed my responsibilities for a while, at times even feeling envious of the progress my students were making while I barely had time to ride. I also felt my ego was taking over, a big fish in a little pond, as they say, and it didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel I was deserving of my students praise. I felt in some ways, like a fraud. A pretender. I could also see how I was judging others. Comparing myself to others, and needing to feel better than someone else, and I didn’t like it.

 

I left the horse industry, moved to Alberta, and starting working full-time in a completely different career. I felt I had to get away. I need perspective. I wanted to get out from under the pressures I had placed on myself as a coach: to be perfect, be better than everyone else, set a good example, don’t make any mistakes. I had poured my heart and soul into helping other people reach their goals and dreams with horses, and at the same time felt my own dream stagnating.

 

I worked for a year, living in camp, and saved up  enough to make a down payment on a truck and trailer. I leased a barn, and brought Vincent and Eden up, and later Sharlotte. Eden was pregnant, and she gave birth to a beautiful filly, who I named Archangel. I also took on three horses during my time in Alberta, who really needed me: Liberty, Frosty, and Hershel. True to my passion, all three of them were horses who were considered uncatchable, unmanageable, or downright dangerous.

 

I took a deep dive into natural horsemanship, studied, read books, trained with my horses, and raised a foal. Despite all of this, I was still feeling like I was missing something. There was something I wasn’t seeing, some way of being I wasn’t achieving, or some quality of results I wasn’t accessing.  This sense of vague dissatisfaction gradually intensified into questioning what the point was of riding or training at all.

 

During this time period, I went through the death of my 29-year-old mare Sharlotte, the lameness of Libby Vincent and Frosty, and losing my barn and everything in it which I had worked so hard for, to the 2016 fires. Truly a test of my determination and fortitude, and I worked full time and over time throughout all of it.

 

To this day, Libby has been the most challenging horse I have ever taken on. Her reactions and responses and tension were all internal, subtle, and virtually imperceptible. The kind of horse described like this: ‘There was no warning, she just exploded, out of the blue’.

 

She taught me to REALLY listen. To REALLY feel how she was feeling from moment to moment, and literally, my life depended on it.  She was the consummate prey animal, she not just afraid of the rider, she was afraid she going to die. She had zero trust/faith in anyone on her back. When I began my journey with her, she was at the point where I wasn’t even sure if I could reach her. She is the horse, of all the horses I have spent time with, who posed the greatest threat to me physically. I had to completely accept that reality each and every time I got on, that this might be the day I go flying through the air. Without this acceptance within myself, she would have felt the tension in me, and it would be over before I even began.

Acceptance that you might go flying through the air at any given moment and come crashing down can be a difficult thing to reconcile with. And make no mistake, I did hit the dirt a few times! The lessons she taught me, and the sense of love and purpose and connectedness I felt when I was with her, was pure joy.

 

After a year of hours and hours of time spent every single day, she and I rode in the Canada Day Parade. I was so proud of her, proud of me, proud of us. Proud how brave she had become, and the degree of trust she was able to place in me. I was honored and humbled by her. Just sharing this moment with you here, causes the emotion to well up within me. From this pinnacle, came the devastating crash. I noticed a slight shortness of stride in her left hind. I led her down to the vet and that x-ray machine with the heavy weight of dread draped across my shoulders. I didn’t realize the hope I had been holding onto until they told me her fetlock joint appeared to have sustained an injury when she was young, and was causing the joint to begin fusing. She was not going to recover. The lameness was going to continue to worsen. The tears flowed freely as I walked back with her to the barn, as they are now while I write this. We walked side by side, my hand on her shoulder, and my heart poured out through my tears. It changed me. I felt defeated. Bereft. Lost. We had come so far, only to reach this sudden stop. I had to let go of all my plans, all the rides we would now never have, all the adventures we would ever go on. It broke my heart. And it broke hers too. Maybe not in the same way, or for the same reasons, but it did. I immediately retired her from all work, in the hopes of slowing the progression of her lameness. I used to take her everywhere. I generally would take my whole herd. But now I had to leave Libby behind. One day, after loading Vincent and Angel in the trailer, I turned to find Libby standing there, looking into the trailer. She did not understand why she was suddenly excluded, and it broke my heart to see her wanting to come.

 

 

 

 

 

Truly, what was the point of all those hours, days, months and years, when they can step the wrong way and it is all lost?

 

Not too long after I retired Libby, Vincent and I fell. It was Easter. We were out cantering on a trail parallel to the highway. I had been riding out with a friend, but she had been around a bend and hadn’t seen what happened. When she caught up, I was crying, which rarely happens, and I had no idea where I was. The ambulance was called. I had been wearing my helmet. We must have fallen hard because I don’t remember what happened. Both of us were muddy on our left sides, and it was assumed he slipped on a wet spot and went down. They told me that when the ambulance arrived, I would not leave my horse. I was crying uncontrollably, and had my arms wrapped around his neck. They had to physically separate me from him. It took three more days for me to even remember I had horses.

 

Fast forward to a year later. We were landing from a jump, and he crumpled on the landing. He tried so hard to regain his footing, but after 2 more partial strides we hit the sand together. This was when I realized that perhaps he had not simply slipped before. I spent the next couple of years trying to figure out with the vets what was wrong, but in the end, it was just chocked up to developing overall arthritis.  I had poured hours and hours into him, years, advancing up the levels of natural horsemanship, and again, I was questioning what the point of it all was.

 

These events caused a great withdrawal in me. I felt despondent, sad, let down, disappointed, disillusioned, and directionless. Without purpose, I no longer felt like riding. I stopped developing my horses, I stopped up-leveling, and even the thought of saddling was enough to deter me from riding. Had I just wasted years and years of my life to master something that didn’t even matter? It always came down to the same thing. Getting my horse to do what I wanted them to do. This is not why I wanted to be with horses.

 

I spent the next 3 years questioning my ‘why’. I stopped riding for the most part, and focused instead on doing everything in my power to ensure my herd of five were living their best life. I let go of any goals I had. I rarely rode, and when I did, it was bareback and bridle-less, out on the trail, usually alone with my horses and my dog.

 

 

The answer to my ‘why’ is love. Healing of both myself and my horses. Growing as human being. The answer is relationship. No matter if my horses are sound or lame, the relationship endures. The trust endures. The life lessons endure. I did not waste my time.

But I HAD missed a very important lesson. Success is not in mastering the horse, or the technique, but to master oneself.

 

 

I was wrong when I thought I was nothing without Vincent to show what I could do and therefore what I was worth. First of all, who cares, who am trying to impress anyway? Second, I am worth something all by myself. I should not derive my self-worth existentially. I know now that within each horse is an opportunity for us to heal our wounds, to connect, feel peace, freedom, love, and acceptance. Horses are pure of heart and spirit. They have only one true self, their authentic self. They do not use, take advantage of, abuse, manipulate, or lie.   

 

Part of the reason why I am drawn to difficult, untrusting, and sometimes dangerous horses, is the purity of purpose. Here was a reason. Here was a reason above reproach. The point was not to up-level, it was to build a relationship. To gain and build trust. To improve their quality of life. To show them a human can be their ally, their friend, their caregiver, and their advocate. There is a purity here that is reminiscent of who I was with horses before all the training. Before my parents’ divorce, before being bullied, before I began to mistake dominating for confidence. To dominate under the guise of partnership or leadership. Taking away the horses free will to choose.

 

So many wounded people get into horses, some not even knowing what they are truly seeking. I believe there are many wounded people in the horse industry who have taken the wrong path with horses. Being in the horse world can be a dangerous place for a wounded soul. There is such a fine line between confidence and dominance, and it is so very easy to mistake dictatorship for horsemanship. We think we are healing. But without respectful, honorable guidance and mentorship, we become our abusers.

 

We. Become. Our. Abusers.

 

It feels good to be in charge of such a large beautiful, powerful animal. To control their every step, their speed, their direction, even their thoughts. Dictating and micromanaging. We tell them what to do, and they have to do it. It can make us feel powerful and in control. But do not mistake this for getting your power back. You are not. You are STEALING it from the horse. That’s real talk. You can’t change what you don’t acknowledge.

 

We CAN get our power back, heal our wounds, and gain control, but it is OUSELVES that we have to learn to control, not the horse. It is only by connecting with them, honoring and serving them that we can access and regain our true selves through horses. What we should seek is connection, understanding, listening, and partnership.

 

I hope to share with you some of my life lessons with horses, to help you on your path of learning and healing, and maybe save you and your horses some of the heartache along the way.