Aspectos Generales

This thesis is loosely structured around horse and human progress from untrained to fully trained members of a natural horsemanship community - moments of my own training run in parallel to this. The idea of what a horse ‘is’ is constantly being negotiated within NH groups, and the fluid categorization of horses is explored throughout. I open this piece by describing the spectacle that is natural horsemanship in action. Chapter one discusses the people and the horses involved in NH through

ethnographic material from public displays run by IH to highlight how and why people choose natural horsemanship. These demonstrations provide a stimulating and eye-opening show for many whilst highlighting the role that the trainers play as moral exemplars to practitioners.

In chapter two I discuss the difference between part-time practitioners and trainers of NH by using Grasseni’s (2007) idea of ‘skilled vision’ to explore differences in embodied expertise. This chapter considers how NH produces a change in how people ‘see’ horses as the first step to successful training and recognizing horses as

individuals, and how training changes how horses ‘see’ humans. The first step for many horses coming to NH is the process of Join-up – chapter three highlights the importance of this step for both humans and horses. Join-up fosters ideas of

detachment to horses by considering them as members of a species whilst promoting engagement with an individual horse and human. By recognizing that detachment is the counterpart of engagement, and not its opposite, I show how these two ideas work together in NH. Further to this, chapter three discusses how training aids in the transition of horses from being ‘wild’ to ‘tamed’ through a process of enculturation. Chapter four unpacks how human and horse create a shared method of

communication during the next stages in training. My informants suggest this language allows horses to express that they are choosing to work alongside humans by showing trust in their human companion. I use the ideas of choice and trust to consider ideas of freedom in NH, and how the horse could be seen to be subject to

degrees of freedom through certain interactions with humans. I then consider the limits and potentials of these degrees of freedom in the process of training, where ideas of domestication are considered further through discussion on the ‘wild’ and the ‘tame’.

In chapter five I detail the emotional connections between human and horse that literal physical contact can provide through the role of touch and descriptions of shared feelings, with particular focus on the role that joy plays in these mutual

relationships. Chapter six considers the everyday actions of human and horse and how they solidify the affective responses developed in NH training. The shift that NH produces in these ‘horse cultures’, from domination to respect, are shown through the

creation of horses as kin. Further to this, I highlight how becoming kin produces tensions in rational and emotional responses to horses.

Finally, in chapter seven I discuss more broadly ideas of horse welfare and horse rights within NH groups by investigating how ideas of the ‘natural’ are deployed by NH practitioners to validate claims of improved welfare in a cultural setting. The techniques of NH are often cited as being the ‘correct’ way to live with horses; I conclude by considering the extent to which this is true, and the damage caused by incorrect use of these techniques.

Chapter 1

Becoming Inspired: The people and the horses of a natural horsemanship community

‘My goal is to leave the world a better place, for horses and people, than I found it’

Monty Roberts (1996: 365)

Natural horsemanship is a self-consciously ethical project. As the above quote from Monty Roberts shows, he is concerned with improving the lives and worlds of others. Natural horsemanship is often conceptualised by practitioners as a new ethical

practice that it sits within debates of animal welfare, however, what is especially interesting about it as an ethical practice is that it does not spring from a discourse or language of animal rights or welfare. It is its own ethical vision for the improved welfare of horses that resonates with wider ethical debates surrounding animal welfare and rights. Roberts’ own biographical narrative and his narrative of the necessity of NH is an overwhelmingly powerful aspect of his role as a moral

exemplar. There are, of course, similarities between the language of animal activists and natural horsemanship practitioners, but it is through the narratives of trainers like Roberts that people reject the socially accepted norms of traditional horsemanship in the UK to adopt this method of living with horses. The following paragraphs attempt to reveal the seductive and persuasive nature of Roberts and NH:

We arrived at the equestrian centre early to try and secure ourselves tickets and good seats for the evening performance on the ‘Stablemate to Soulmate’ tour - run by Intelligent Horsemanship (IH, see Appendix A). These tours are run every year across the UK - each year a different inspirational name for the tour is decided – and feature performances by Monty Roberts and Kelly Marks. Many of us were not members of IH, and as such were not entitled to the £5 discount afforded to those who joined the (free) IH community officially. There are no private boxes or ‘cheap seats’ as in horse racing or the theatre: at a flat rate of £25, tickets were not cheap, but not so expensive as to be an exclusive event. By 7pm we had our tickets and joined the queue of other people anxiously waiting to enter the indoor arena and secure a seat with an unlimited

view of the proceedings. At a distinctly average 166cm, I live in fear of sitting behind tall people at the cinema or theatre, and this was no exception and potentially more important than ever: How was I to witness this incredible feat of horsemanship that everyone had told me about if I could not see it? I was not about to let someone with annoyingly big hair impede my view.

Luckily, we found seats on the ascending gallery lining one side of the spacious indoor school; technically we were in ‘the heavens’ in comparison to the other seats closer to the round pen, Roberts’ stage, but still close enough to share in all that happened. At what appeared to be over 80m in length and 40m in diameter, the space was more familiar with indoor showjumping competitions, but tonight it would allow us to witness Monty Roberts and Kelly Marks in action. The high ceilings did nothing but amplify the excited whispers that circulated the cold, airy, space - the perfect acoustics to build tension as we sat huddled together in our seats. In front of us, in the middle of the sand covered arena, is a circular pen made of two-meter high meshed metal sections that slot together, approximately eight meters in diameter. This round- pen is the hub of the whole show, everything important happens in this circular area; however, on first appearance, the pen does little more than remind me of a cage in which Roberts and the horse are trapped together and images of lion tamers in red tailcoats flash before my eyes.

An intimidating scaffold tower overlooks the round-pen; inside it and on top of it are many large lights and cameras for filming the work done inside the round pen. Outside of the pen is a pile of equipment that Monty or Kelly may need during the demonstration. There are saddles, bridles, bits, plastic sheets, hats, sticks with plastic bags tied to the end (for desensitizing nervous horses), blinkers, ropes, and lunge lines. Behind the spectator seating sections there are a few business stands advertising Monty Roberts or IH affiliated products. There is also a stand with a large banner overhead that signposts where you can ‘meet Monty!’ before the demo starts and during the half-time break and have him sign one of his own books. From our position above the crowds we saw people queuing at this stand for over forty five minutes for a brief meeting with their equestrian celebrity idol before the show started. Most of the people standing in this queue are women, and a few children, whilst their patient

partners that have been dragged along willingly or otherwise, keep seats warm and bags protected.

As the people behind us settle in to their seats I am knocked on the back of the head by a large, expensive, leather bag. The woman attached to the handle of the bag gives me a good look up and down before settling down on to her seat in her designer jeans, without saying sorry. She is dressed in what appears to be her finest equestrian gear; a Barbour jacket that barely conceals a loudly coloured Joules jumper, and sparklingly clean Dubarry boots. And she is not alone, many of the people (mostly women) here appear to be wearing equestrian or ‘country’ clothing that looks like it has never been near a horse. Perhaps it is because I am less familiar with men’s equestrian fashion, but I did not notice the men to be as dressed up ‘to the nines’ quite as much. The phrase ‘all the gear but no idea’ is commonly uttered by those working in the

equestrian world to describe someone dressed in these types of functional clothes but no practical ability with horses. I looked down sheepishly at my old faithful boots that were once upon a time used for competitions but are now relegated to yard wear, feeling foolish that I hadn’t ‘dressed up’ for the occasion. I can see my fluffy blue sock poking out of the hole between the upper and the sole.

The only comment about the dress code before we left was “make sure you wrap up warm, these things are always freezing”. I pulled my boots on carelessly that morning and will undoubtedly toss them just as casually back in their place at the end of the day to be replaced by fluffy (clean) socks, and I will mourn on the day that I have to throw them in the bin. The other people I work with are all similarly attired; James’s laces are tied together in multiple places which makes them difficult to tie effectively and leaves him with a gentle shuffle; Daniel’s jumpers regularly have holes in and he has to change his jacket multiple times a day if it rains before the water soaks through to his damaged knitwear; Tracey doesn’t appear to own anything other than jeans. Back in their day our clothes and shoes would be considered expensive but they are now worn-in with a multitude of concealed holes, broken zips, and temporary repairs to eek a little more life out of them - but we are comfortable. When Tracey rides anything young or difficult she turns up the back of her well-worn body protector which is perfectly moulded to her body, lessening its effectiveness and ruining its sole purpose in life. This reduces its ability to protect her but it does make her more

comfortable and she argues that things are less likely to go wrong if she feels capable of moving freely. New or unworn clothes feel stiff and unforgiving against the body, foreign and at odds with familiar movements. If James doesn’t do well at a

competition he blames his expensive competition boots, “these bloody things won’t let me bend my legs properly! How am I supposed to wrap them around the horse if I can’t feel my bloody ankles!” We were the working class of the expensive equestrian world (and make up little of the audience): and the woman behind me seemed to know it.

In her book on Newmarket racing society, Cassidy provides an elitist account of a very different horse society in the UK where ‘success’ is a composite notion involving appearance, residence, connections and winning - a way of ‘being in the world’ which offers (self-fulfilling) proof of the theory of pedigree’ (2002: 44). She also suggests that the relationship between human and horse is an ‘intersubjectivity whereby gains and losses in status of the racehorse accrue to those with whom it is associated’ (124). Samantha Hurn also notes in her work among Welsh cob breeders in Ceredigion, west Wales, that these horses were integral to her informants sense of identity and produced an intersubjectivity where it could be said that humans are equally as dominated by their horses, and the way of life it produces (2008a). The Welsh Cobs that her informants owned and bred were very much attached to ideas of value, either monetary or for social status, and ‘a successful horse will bring ‘fame’ to all those hands he or she passes through’ (Hurn 2008a: 347). ‘Fame’ in this case is linked to prestige in the showing ring, or in the production of successful offspring. Although Hurn notes that ‘desirable human characteristics, both masculine and feminine’ are ‘projected on to nonhuman animals’ (2008b: 25) (in this case the Welsh cobs), I did not observe a similar engendering of horses throughout my fieldwork. Natural horsemanship practitioners experience a similar but different relationship with horses compared to these two examples of British ‘horse culture’, emphasizing that horses are picked for purpose in a different way. Success is measured by the

development of the individual relationship and not in public spectacles or

competitions; success or failure is measured on a more personal level that directly reflects individual opinions of the self. Natural horsemanship is viewed as having no specific elitist following and instead, skill with horses and training is celebrated and

held in high regard, but is not a necessity. Racehorses and successful Welsh cobs are the epitomisation of years and years of careful breeding whereas any horse can be used in natural horsemanship training. Horses are celebrated simply for being horses, not because of their pedigrees. In the case of both Hurn (2008b) and Cassidy (2002), this careful breeding is recited in patrilineal terms. As Cassidy notes, sales catalogues often give a more detailed report of the dam line. Her informer explained that this occurred:

...on the grounds that the dam line is the weakness that must be shored up by being associated with successful relatives, as if to reassure potential buyers that the mare will not detract too much from the ability of the stallion in his offspring. (2002: 147)

I found that natural horsemanship is a nation-wide community that is not protective of its secrets. There were no suggestions of ‘outsiders’ that I could find (except perhaps a gentle tension between different groups) and access to the club is granted simply by showing enthusiastic interest. On the other hand, Cassidy (2002) suggests that the inner workings of racing society are protected by insider knowledge and the use of an intentionally mystifying language as a means to keep people out:

The style and content of the language is also significant, because communication is not only intended to exclude, but also to create the impression that the interlocuters are in possession of greater power than is actually the case. The content of the language serves to mystify the outsider or newcomer by implying that the speaker holds powers over uncontrollable processes (21)

Words about racing are ‘exercises in mystification’ (21), where conversations between trainers, owners, lads, and jockeys are shrouded in mist to ‘outsiders’ and dominated by names of horses, pedigrees, performance records, relationships to winners and dates of victories. In natural horsemanship, words are used to include people, or to inspire, or to encourage, or to educate. From the outside, the ‘horse world’ in general still seems complicated and ungraspable to many, but the specific language of natural horsemanship groups are open to the public, and people are

actively encouraged to learn in order to become a practitioner and connect with horses. Being a part of Newmarket racing society extends beyond talking about pedigree, class, and language; it is also literally embodied. The ability to ‘talk horse’ is augmented by the appearance of people in these circles: Clothes are a major factor in this translation of pedigree into class. They should be ‘worn in without being scruffy’ and be fit for purpose (2002: 27). Cassidy describes two types of Newmarket ‘body’, the trainer and jockey, that represent racing nobility and the hard-working employee; but each of these two body types fit the landscape that they are a part of, helped in part by the clothes that they wear. Even the horses wear ‘clothes’ that are a reflection of the owner or trainer; the colours that the horse and jockey wear represent the stable that the horse is from, to the point that Cassidy remarks that it is hard to tell where the rider ends and the horse begins.

Most part-time practitioners of natural horsemanship wear branded, new looking clothes, whereas trainers tend to verge on scruffy (at least on their home turf). I noticed no definitive class distinction present within these groups, although I would note that the majority of those I worked alongside would describe themselves as middle-class women. However, a hierarchy is formed based on recognized levels of experience and ‘horsey’ qualifications. There is the potential to gain status through the horse if it performs well, whereas only personal pedigree will do as the ultimate status symbol in Newmarket (Cassidy 2002). At the time of Cassidy’s fieldwork, only 11% of Jockey Club members were female - and this was considered too much by many in this male-dominated industry. However, at the lower levels of this world, stable hands and the like, women dominate. They were considered to have a ‘gentler touch’ with the horses that is appreciated on the studs and training yards where a closer connection with the horses is valued (2002). The opposite is true in the wider horse-world where, in general, more women partake.

Cassidy normalises the traditional modes of horsemanship that are still widely practised in the horse racing industry (2002, 2007) - although the harsher aspects are glossed over by Cassidy - but which are highly criticised by NH enthusiasts of every group. An interesting link between these two projects that stands them on opposite sides of an intricate chessboard, is how many ex-racehorses end up in the hands of