Winter Grass

anthropomorphism  — n the attribution of human form or behavior to a deity, animal, etc .

Until recently, I had never looked up the word “anthropomorphism” though I knew how to use it in a sentence and understood what people met when they say that one is “anthropomorphizing” their pet. When I arrived home nearly two hours later than usual last night, my dog greeted me with worried anxious eyes—then quickly ran over to a spot near her bed where she had clearly become ill. 

She followed me to the kitchen where I grabbed paper towels and some cleaning spray.  When I began to clean the mess she made she sat patiently near me, watching.  When I finished cleaning up before I could rise she placed her front paws on my leg and stretched.  After licking my cheek she inspected the area 

I had just cleaned then followed me back into the kitchen where I disposed of the soiled paper towels.   I reached down to pet her and asked what made her sick, her pointed tail waived back and forth—she hadn’t given it much thought but she felt much better.   I suspect it was the “street food” she often eats on our walks.

Clearly I am attributing “human characteristics” to my dog—she is concerned that she had an accident, nervous about my reaction and relieved that it’s been taken care of.  I think the problem we have when defining “animal behavior” is not that we anthropomorphize our pets but intellectually we are taught that only humans can have emotions and only we can have our emotional health adversely or positively affected.  So we tell ourselves we are projecting.

With Chief, I am not feeling anywhere near what he thinks I am feeling.  I am not concerned about working with him, about riding with him or bonding with him.  But clearly his behavior tells me that he is—tight lipped and either unable or unwilling to accept praise I find whole pieces of carrots and apple still wedged between his lips.

This week his lethargy was infectious, when Chris noticed that he wasn’t picking up his feet for me she led him out to the small arena, trotting him in both directions and giving firm corrections when he attempted to turn into her because he didn’t like her on his right.

I attempted to match her energy but noted that Chief was quickly fading, that the excitement wasn’t piercing through nap time.   I trotted him, jumped him over low obstacles and generally just worked on keeping him moving with no real goal in mind other than to get him to wake up and think.

My sister who has 5-month old arrived with the baby, my niece pumped her feet at the sight of the horse and made other pleasurable noises.   She weighs less than 20 pounds but apparently nothing about being confronted by at 1500 (Jack not Chief) pound animal was intimidating to her.  Chris insisted that I show Chief off, I was concerned—he was worked up.  His trot soon turned into a cantor and I struggled to maintain contact through his lead—my only thought was the fence between my niece and Chief was not going to stop him if he decided to go that way.  I slowed myself down and Chief matched my slowness shifting into a trot, a short walk then an abrupt halt.

That was two weeks ago.  Last week a new albeit temporary addition arrived at Iron Horse Park.  The horse without a name is  a Standardbred, seemingly calm despite going through various trials to arrive at his temporary home.

The permanent residence of Iron Horse Park were energized by the new addition and I found that Chief while not as enthusiastic as the others was not without his own curiosity.  When I arrived on Sunday, Chief was completely out of site—he had wandered down to the pond with Jack.   When he returned he didn’t acknowledge that I was there until Jack said hello.  

I greeted Chief and asked if he would like to play—since we were focusing on groundwork and wouldn’t be riding.  I paused until he turned to look me then slid his halter on, I asked if he would like a carrot he nuzzled the bag of chopped goodies in my hand which was new behavior for him.

We were a bit rushed, the new arrival, the nameless Standardbred’s  parents would be arriving to bond with him.   I groomed Chief quickly then walked him into the small arena, trotting back and forth and going over a few small jumps.  I decided to walk to the pond just to see how he did with being separated from the action.

He was fine, if not enthusiastic about our walk.  Nearly around the pound I heard a tremulous whiney, Jack was upset.  Chief did not respond, instead he walked with me but  I picked it up to alleviate Jack’s stress.   I find it a bit humorous that while Chief has always been low man on the totem pole—he is calm.  I told him he was Jack’s Goat. I don’t think Jack every had a goat friend when he was  race horse, if he didn’t he isn’t talking about it but Chief seems to be his goat.

He scolded Chief when he returned to his side.  We followed Jack into arena for some ground work.  I matched feet with Chief and counted, walk, walk faster, trot, walk.   At one point moving into a longe position felt natural Chief immediately began to circle me but on the second pass he realized I was on wrong side and broke the circle heading straight toward Jack and Chris, I didn’t let go of his lead and kept the tension even—he turned away and trotted the opposite direction, then walked then halted.  I connected with him again and stayed close.  We followed Jack’s exercises as Chris was ground driving Jack—Chief was very aware of her presence and pricked his ears forward to listen to her commands. When Jack would start to slow Chief would slow, when Chris would urge Jack on and Chief would immediately pick it up as well.  I quietly said Chris’s commands  and at times slowed him down so he wouldn’t get to close to Chris.

After we stopped playing follow the leader, I sat with Chief and watched Chris and Jack work on the Spanish walk.   While I watched Chief lowered his head to eat grass, at last he relaxed.