By: Keri O’Neal

I step out my back door, peer over the backyard fence and let a low whistle out through my teeth.  The lovely face of my flaxen chestnut Arabian gelding shoots up, and he lets out a high pitched whinny.  He calls out the same way that foals do when crying out to their mothers, not in the low, more grown up tone reserved for other horses.  I smile.  “Hey, Bascat.  How’s my boy?”

Bascat rushes over to meet me at the fence.  As I scratch along the crest of his neck, he raises his head up high, half closes his eyes, and sways back and forth when I reach “the spot” just above his withers.  Sometimes it turns into the mutual grooming seen among herds of horses, and he tries to scratch my back with his muzzle.  This is a rather comical spectacle, usually involving lots of horse slobber getting in my hair.  We have done this since I bought him as a 9 month old colt.  No matter how dirty I get, I am rarely happier than when I am with my horse.

The day before, I borrowed a horse trailer from a friend of the family.  My family does not own a trailer, so my horse has not had much experience or training with trailering.  He has only seen the inside of trailer two times during the four years of his existence.  So, as far as Bascat is concerned, tiny metal boxes, or horse trailers, are scary places.  They impair the two most important survival features a horse possesses; sight and the ability to run from danger.  But he really needs to be able to load so that in the future I can transport him farther than I can ride him.

Rather than push my horse to get in trailer using force, my father and I use a great deal of finesse.  For thirty minutes, my father and I coax, plead and prod Bascat to climb into the trailer.  Needless to say, my coaxing and pleading works far better than light prodding, which successfully inspires Bascat to back the two feet he has inside out of the trailer and shoot my father a rather indignant look.  He deliberately places his hooves back and out of the trailer, stops with haughty defiance, his neck held high he tips his head in my father’s direction and stares at him with fire in his eyes and paws the ground.  Alright, now we are right back where we started, except with a slightly frustrated horse and human.  Perhaps Bascat does not want to get in the trailer because he does not trust my dad as much as he trusts me.

Finally, with the motivation of grain at the far end of the trailer, Bascat cautiously climbs all the way in.  My father is a little too pleased with this, and puts what horse people call “the butt-bar” up.  This is the bar that goes up behind the horse’s rear end to keep them from backing out of the trailer when opening and closing the doors.  Bascat is not overly fond of this action.  His head shoots up, ears go back, eyes widen and he backs up into the butt-bar.  In turn, my eyes widen, oh, dear God, NO.  Most horses would at this point go berserk and start kicking at everything, most likely damaging the trailer and their bodies.  Does Bascat do this in the split second he realizes that he is trapped?  No, he sits down and pushes himself backwards under the butt-bar and out of the trailer.  My jaw literally drops.  I have never heard of a horse doing this.

While squirreling out from under the butt-bar, Bascat scrapes his back up a little, but other than that is fine.  He stands up, shakes out his mane, throws his head up rebelliously, and stares right at my father.  I place one hand on his halter and the other on his shoulder and he turns his head and nuzzles my hand, then snorts at my dad.  I laugh that nervous chuckle that only comes out when disaster has just been averted, and pat Bascat.  “You’re too smart for your own good, Bascat … or for ours!”

Perfect, now he has a reason to be afraid of trailers, I inwardly say.  Now I know that I have to get this equine Houdini back into the trailer before it becomes a life-long trailer phobia.  While I ask him to step into the trailer, I stand just in front of him, holding some food as a reward for when he puts a foot in.  He stays just in front of the ramp, and paces back and forth.  No, that trick won’t work on me again.  That’s how you got me in the first time, he seems to think.

Alright, you win, I’ll break out the grain, I think back.  With trepidation he places one foot in the trailer.  With excruciating slowness, I talk Bascat nearly all the way into the trailer.  He has three feet in the trailer, and one as close to the trailer as he can get it, without actually being in.  Alright, we can play that way.  If you want to do things the difficult way, I can make you think it’s your idea to get in, I silently retort.

After great deliberation, I ask my father to place a carrot on top of a pile of hay in the manger, located in the back of the trailer.  Bascat wants this delectable treat, his ears prick, eyes brighten and nostrils drink the air as the carrot comes into view.  He places three feet inside the trailer and tries the “let’s-see-how-far-I-can-stretch” method.  Not quite able to reach it, he pulls his head back a little bit, brings the last foot into the trailer and quickly starts tearing at the hay underneath the carrot, at its base of support.  He stops, opens his mouth and waits for the carrot to roll in.  When the carrot is in his semi-prehensile lips, he promptly backs out of the trailer to consume his prize.  This whole process that I like to call “operation: carrot retrieval” takes less than 20 seconds.  Once again, I do not know how to respond; my horse has a better concept of physics than many people that I have met!

Hours go by, or at least it seems like hours, and my horse finally gets and stays in the trailer again.  My dad walks around the trailer, and as he steps up to the ramp in order to stand in the unoccupied half of the trailer, Bascat places a hind foot out of the trailer.  He continues eating, however, and as soon as my father is past the midline of the trailer’s length, Bascat brings his foot back in.  My dad decides to get out of the trailer, and as soon as he reaches that same point, Bascat puts a hind leg out of the trailer again, without interrupting his munching.  That hind leg does not return to the trailer until my dad is a good five feet away.  Out of curiosity, we alternately try nearing the butt-bar to see what Bascat will do.  When my dad nears it, Bascat backs up just far enough to prevent the bar’s placement, but continues eating.  Nothing happens at all when I near it, though his ears do swivel back to monitor my activities.  Finally, my dad loses interest, or patience, or a little bit of both, and leaves.  Upon my request, Bascat climbs into the trailer with significantly less hesitation, since he seemed to know that I would not put that nasty butt-bar up.

As Bascat’s owner and trainer, I could not imagine life without this intelligent, loving and loyal horse, though he may be trying at times.  A mutual understanding, achieved through respect, trust and love, is necessary to someone training a very large animal as intelligent, strong and proud as my Arabian.  If he wanted, Bascat could easily hurt me, but instead he would follow me to the end of the world if I asked.  He runs behind me and puts his head over my shoulder when something spooks him.  When I am experiencing speed bumps on the road of life, he seems to understand, and will stand with his head in my lap for hours.  This mutual understanding that my horse and I share makes living together more fulfilling and training is so easy!  The few professional horse trainers that I have spoken with comment on how difficult it is to train horses, and that breaking horses is easier when you are younger and can “bounce back.”  I built a relationship with my horse, and then when he was old enough to ride, I broke him bareback, using only a halter and lead rope for control.  He did not “act up” once.  My horse trainer acquaintances are amazed, for they do not take the amount of time needed to build such amazing relationships with their horses.  But we know better.

You may include what you want of this Biography:

I am an Arizona native, born in 1983, and have been riding horses since I was five in hunter-under-saddle.  I rode western horses for a year, before returning to English.  Later I began riding thoroughbreds and warmbloods in the hunter/jumper discipline.  I volunteered for a therapeutic riding program, Stable Influence, in Cave Creek and New River while I was in high school.  I bought Bascat in December of 1998, and he is largely responsible for my decision to become a vet and remain involved with Arabian horses for the rest of my life.  I have also enjoyed drawing and painting from an early age, horses being my favorite subject.  I will paint people’s pets on commission, though I usually end up giving my artwork to friends.  I have a website that functions as my portfolio .

Now, I am a Veterinary Sciences major at the University of Arizona in Tucson.  I will apply to vet school so that I may become a veterinarian and specialize in equine reproduction.  My ultimate goal is to breed Arabians, and I have recently been accepted in the breeding apprenticeship program of Al Marah Arabians in Tucson, Arizona.  My parents are kind enough to care for my Bascat while I am in college, and I go home to visit them as often as I can.