July 3, 2026: Confidence Is Built One Spook at a Time

There are weeks when you leave the barn wondering if you've accomplished anything at all. Then there are weeks like this one, when you look back and realize that the biggest victories weren't flashy or dramatic. They were quiet. They were subtle. They were the kind of moments that make you smile all the way home because you suddenly realize your horse is becoming just a little more confident.

And maybe...so are you.

The last couple of rides have taken us out into the hay pasture and what we affectionately call the "Back 40." If you've been following our journey for a while, you know those words would have made me nervous just a few months ago. Bee has always been a wonderful horse, but she's also an anxious one. She's the kind of horse who likes to know what's around every corner, behind every tree, and hidden in every patch of tall grass.

Around the barn, we jokingly call her a "looky-loo."

Her ears are constantly moving. Her eyes are scanning the horizon. She doesn't want to miss a thing.

One of the things Sarah has worked on with both Bee and me is something horse people call "gathering your horse up." If you're not around horses, that probably sounds like I'm supposed to pick up a thousand-pound animal and carry her somewhere. Thankfully, that's not what it means.

Gathering your horse simply means bringing their attention back to you. Instead of letting their mind wander to every squirrel, rabbit, tractor, or suspicious blade of grass, you're reminding them that their job is to focus on you. It's less about controlling the horse and more about reassuring them that you've got things handled. "I've got this," you're telling them. "You don't have to worry about every little thing."

That simple concept has become one of the biggest turning points in our rides.

The World's Scariest Stick

Of course, the world is full of things determined to test that theory.

One afternoon, we were riding toward the Back 40 when a loud crack echoed behind us. One of the men working on the property had snapped a large stick while clearing brush.

Apparently, this was deeply concerning.

Not just to Bee, either. Several horses around us jumped at exactly the same moment. I'll admit, my heart skipped a beat too. But instead of spinning or trying to leave the county, Bee looked, startled, then almost immediately relaxed. A little reassurance, a deep breath, and we were right back to walking down the trail.

That may not sound like much, but those quick recoveries are where confidence is built.

Other Terrifying Creatures

Then there were the rabbits.

If you don't own horses, you probably think rabbits are adorable little woodland creatures. Horse owners know better. Rabbits have an uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere at precisely the wrong moment, and many horses react as though they've just encountered a fire-breathing dragon.

I was fully prepared for Bee to launch both of us into the next zip code if one darted across our path.

Instead...nothing.

Either I had done a good enough job keeping her attention on me, or she never saw the bunny in the first place. Honestly, I don't care which explanation is true. I considered it a victory either way.

The vultures were another story.

There was a large group of black vultures gathered in the middle of the Back 40 enjoying whatever unfortunate creature had become their lunch. Bee kept one eye on them for quite a while. I briefly entertained the idea of trotting through the flock just to scatter them, but I suspect the other riders may not have appreciated my creativity. Besides, the goal these days isn't to prove Bee won't spook. It's to help her realize she doesn't need to.

The funny thing about horses is that they're prey animals. Their brains are wired to notice movement long before ours do. Tall grass blowing in the wind isn't just grass. It might be something hiding in the grass. A plastic bag isn't just litter. It might be alive. Grasshoppers have been known to cause complete emotional meltdowns in perfectly sensible horses.

When you look at the world through a horse's eyes, it suddenly makes a little more sense why they worry so much.

Desensitizing Never Ends

That's why desensitizing remains one of my biggest priorities.

Desensitization is exactly what it sounds like. We safely expose horses to the things that might frighten them until those things simply become part of the scenery. Loud machinery. Tractors. Flags. Umbrellas. Plastic bags. Whatever they might encounter on the trail or at a show.

This week, the barn added one more item to the list.

A giant inflatable playground ball.

I was ready for fireworks.

Bee walked over, stretched her nose toward it, gave it a good sniff, and then looked at me as if to say, "Well...that's certainly a ball."

I kicked it toward her.

Nothing.

I rolled it into her.

Nothing.

She politely stepped aside because apparently she had no interest whatsoever in participating in playground activities. She wasn't frightened. She just wasn't impressed.

Honestly, I'll take unimpressed over terrified any day.

The Tarp Test

The biggest accomplishment of the week came after one of our rides.

Someone had spread a large blue tarp across the arena.

If you've never worked with horses before, you may not appreciate how offensive a tarp can be. They're noisy. They move in the wind. They wrinkle. They flap. In horse language, they're basically suspicious blue lava.

Our friend Connie and her horse, Zeva, volunteered to go first. Zeva calmly walked over, sniffed the tarp, and crossed it without giving it much thought.

Then it was Bee's turn.

She walked over, stretched out her nose, sniffed every inch of it, pawed dirt onto it and then looked at me with an expression that clearly said, "Nope. Not today, Satan."

Fair enough.

Rather than forcing the issue, we simply went to work. We circled the tarp again and again, always keeping her nose tipped toward it so she could continue studying it. Every lap made it just a little less scary.

Eventually she reached one foot onto the tarp...and immediately backed away.

No big deal.

We circled again.

The next time she quietly stepped onto it.

Then another foot.

No leaping.

No scrambling.

No dramatic Olympic long jump.

Just one thoughtful step after another.

I don't know who was prouder in that moment, Bee or me.

Your 1,000-pound horse conquers the blue tarp that she thought might be the end of civilization. As excited as I am watching this, all I see is how tight my reins look when I definitely was thinking they were loose from up top!

Heading Home

We're still polishing a few things. Heading back toward the barn can occasionally bring out her impatient side. After all, that's where her friends are, where dinner is served, and where the air conditioning...well, the barn fans/her personal spa...are waiting. I stay ahead of it now, asking her to slow down before she ever gets in a hurry. Three of our five rides this week ended with a relaxed walk all the way home.

I'll gladly take three out of five.

Looking Back

As I thought about the week on the drive home, it occurred to me that progress isn't measured by whether your horse ever spooks again.

Progress is measured by what happens next.

Do they recover?

Do they trust you?

Do they take a deep breath instead of running away?

Bee still notices the sticks, the rabbits, the vultures, the tall grass, the machinery, and all the imaginary monsters that live in the Texas countryside.

But more and more often, instead of making the decision herself, she looks to me first.

That isn't just training.

That's trust.

And trust isn't built during the big, exciting moments.

It's built one bunny...

One stick...

One tarp...

One giant playground ball...

And one quiet ride through the Back 40 at a time.