Equuality: Reflections on Life with Horses

The Power of Words

About the Book

The limits of my language stand for the limits of my world. -Ludwig Wittgenstein

One of the first horses I met during my year of service at the rescue was Patricia. At about 15 hands, sorrel with a blaze and a sock or two, she fell squarely in the category of "average horse." At first glance, there wasn't much to separate her from the crowd. However, it quickly became apparent that she had more than enough personality to make up for her average looks.

It was actually quite a while after our initial meeting that I discovered the name on her paperwork was actually Patricia. She had been introduced to me as Pushy Patty, the four-hooved menace. At first it seemed an apt moniker. She was often at the fence to meet newcomers, looking for apples, carrots, or scratches on the forehead.

She was called Pushy Patty instead of Friendly Patty because of her attitude. She was demanding, trying to get all that she could. Her expression towards those who were giving her treats was never very positive. Things came to a head whenever another horse attempted to join in the fun. Patty wouldn't tolerate anyone else cutting in on her action. As soon as another horse came near, her ears would pin back, her teeth would jut out, and she'd lunge at them.

Patty lived in the same paddock as Mustang Sally, a beautiful Kiger that caught my attention within minutes on my first visit to the rescue. Sally, who I would later adopt and rename Koa, needed a lot of time before she was ready to be taken out, so I spent many hours in that paddock playing simple approach and retreat games. Patty, of course, wanted to be a part of it. I wasn't thrilled at first, given her attitude towards the other horses. However, I quickly discovered that Koa wouldn't allow Patty to push her around, and in some ways Patty's insistence on being close to me helped build Koa's confidence.

As I started to spend time with Patty, it became clear that her bad attitude was based in fear and pain. She had an ongoing lameness in one hip and leg that fluctuated between fairly and extremely painful. Because she couldn't trust the leg, she likely felt out of balance and unequipped to deal with any threat that might arise. So, she developed an aggressive, defensive manner to try and protect herself.

My fiance and I knew that as long as Patty was "Pushy", people would treat her that way. She would be considered spoiled instead of scared, dominant instead of pain-driven, a problem instead of a needy case. While we were not able to resolve her lameness issues during my year of service, we did attempt to change public opinion.

We began introducing her to new volunteers as Playful Patty, and used the new nickname whenever possible. Though it was often hard to discern in her behavior, a close look at her expression revealed that was who she truly desired to be. She wanted to be loved and to have fun but was simply unable to do so given the pain she lived in.

We called Patty "Playful" not because that described her outward appearance the way "Pushy" did, but because we understood the power of words in shaping people's view of the world. We wanted our volunteers to view Patty not as she appeared, but as who she truly was, and who she wanted to be. By seeing her potential, rather than her problems, we hoped others would continue to hold open the doors along her path of recovery and give her an honest opportunity to show them the playful, lovable, good-natured horse within.