06/16/2026
Definitely worth the read! ❤️
Why Do We Love Horses?
Sometimes I write an article or make a statement in a video that generates tremendous enthusiasm and overwhelmingly positive comments. Other times I trigger significant controversy. Sometimes a video receives only a few thousand views. Other times it reaches millions.
For years I have wondered why.
The answer cannot simply be the quality of the content, because some of the ideas I consider most important receive relatively little attention, while a seemingly simple observation can ignite an emotional wildfire.
Over time, I have come to suspect that the strongest reactions are not actually about the horses. They are about identity.
I have spent most of my life around horse people. Cowboys, dressage riders, jumpers, racehorse trainers, trail riders, competitive riders, recreational riders, harness horse drivers, teamsters, natural horsemanship practitioners, traditional trainers, therapeutic instructors, rescuers, and advocates of positive reinforcement.
What fascinates me is that nearly all of them claim to love horses.
Yet these same people often disagree passionately about training, riding, management, welfare, equipment, competition, ethics, and good horsemanship.
How can people who love the same animal become so divided?
The question that increasingly interests me is not whether people love horses. It is what they actually mean when they say it.
Because the longer I observe both horses and humans, the more I realize that we may not all be loving the same thing for the same reason.
For many people, horses become far more than an interest. They become part of our identity.
We do not simply ride or drive horses. We become horse people.
We build friendships around horses. Communities around horses. Businesses around horses. Entire lives around horses.
And as in many areas of life, influential clinicians can sometimes attract almost guru-like followings.
The horse becomes deeply woven into our sense of who we are.
And this is not necessarily a problem. In many ways it is beautiful.
But the problem begins when our identity becomes so attached to horses that we can no longer clearly see either the horse or ourselves.
Years ago I listened to a cowboy passionately criticize what he described as the arrogance of English riders. As he spoke, I noticed the large championship belt buckle displayed proudly on his waist.
The irony was not that he wore the buckle. The irony was that he could easily recognize status-seeking behaviour in others while remaining blind to his own.
Of course, this is not a cowboy problem. I suspect we all do it. It is a human problem.
English riders have their symbols and Western riders have theirs. Dressage riders have theirs. Natural horsemanship practitioners have theirs. Competitive riders have theirs. Positive reinforcement trainers have theirs. Traditional trainers have theirs.
Different costumes. Different cultures. Different language.
Yet beneath them often lies the same human desire:
To belong.
To be respected.
To matter.
To be understood.
To know who we are.
Perhaps this is why discussions about horses become so emotionally charged.
When someone questions a training method, we may hear them questioning our competence.
When someone points out tension in a horse, we may hear criticism of our character.
When someone challenges our beliefs, we may feel our identity is under attack.
What appears to be an argument about horses is often something much deeper.
It is an argument about ourselves and what we value.
The horse world contains countless expressions of love.
Some people love collecting horses. One becomes three. Three become ten. The accumulation itself becomes gratifying. The horses may be cherished and well cared for, yet like a child with toys, quantity becomes part of the attraction.
Some people love achievement. Competition provides challenge, purpose, discipline, and growth. For some, the ribbon represents a personal standard of excellence. For others, it represents recognition and approval. The same trophy can satisfy very different personal needs.
Some people love the horse as a working partner. On ranches, farms, and in countless practical settings, horses still have jobs to do. There can be enormous respect in these relationships. Yet it is worth asking whether we love the horse itself or what the horse enables us to accomplish.
Others love the excitement horses provide.
The speed.
The danger.
The adventure.
The uncertainty.
The thrill of competition.
The thrill of gambling.
The horse becomes associated with exhilaration itself.
Then there is the beloved heart horse. The horse who understands us. The horse who comforts us. The horse who seems to see us in ways few humans do.
These relationships can be profoundly meaningful.
Yet even here there is room for reflection.
How much of what we love is the horse?
And how much is the way the horse makes us feel?
How much is the horse itself?
And how much is our longing for acceptance, connection, goodness, or belonging reflected back through the horse?
These questions are not intended to diminish our love. They are intended to deepen it.
Because there may be a profound difference between loving what a horse does for us and loving the horse itself.
Horses do need things from us.
Food.
Water.
Safety.
Health care.
Social connection.
But horses do not care about our divisions.
They do not care whether we ride English or Western. They do not care about our trophies, titles, certifications, social media following, or reputation. They do not care which training philosophy we belong to.
Horses care about something far simpler.
How we make them feel.
Whether they feel safe.
Whether they feel understood.
Whether their wellbeing matters.
Perhaps the deepest form of love is not found in what we get out of horses.
Not identity.
Not status.
Not achievement.
Not healing.
Not excitement.
Not recognition.
But in our willingness to place the horse's wellbeing alongside, and sometimes ahead of, our own wants and needs.
Perhaps genuine horsemanship begins when we become curious about not just what we are doing with horses, but why.
Why do I ride?
Why do I compete?
Why do I collect horses?
Why do I feel defensive?
Why do I need others to agree with me?
Why do I need to be right?
Why do I love horses?
I know for myself that I can honestly say my long life with horses has included all of the above.
The answers will be different for every person. But I suspect the future of horsemanship depends less on finding universal answers than on having the courage to ask better questions.
The horse may not care whether we are English or Western. Competitive or recreational. Traditional or progressive.
But the horse can offer us an opportunity to become more honest human beings.
Not only about horses.
But about ourselves.
