Pam White “Missouri Mud Run”
Yesterday when I was riding the Arabian that lives in a field down the road all by itself got loose. He came tearing down the road to visit the horses at our farm. Brandi told me that everyone out in the fields was galloping from excitement, and I should probably stay in the indoor arena. Capprichio, the horse I was riding, didn’t need to see the horses to feel all that energy. He arched his neck and strutted. The loose Arab ran up and down the road, tail flagging. Everyone else galloped in their fields with their tails up. “This is fun.” they seemed to be saying. “Let’s play!!” Finally the lonely, running horse was caught, and things settled down.
We are herd animals too. But I am not sure we have as much fun as the horses. Sometimes I think that we just want to get back to our computers instead of partying down when one of us gets loose and running.
Flash mobs want to be herd-like, but they are planned, choreographed. Other kinds of herds are more scary, mob-like. Things that get large numbers of us running are also scary. 9/11, tsunamis, earthquakes. This is the problem with being predators. It takes natural disasters to get us going. One loose human doesn’t do it, unless of course, they are armed.
Herds are curious things. With horses, signals get passed almost invisibly with movement. A twitch of an ear, a look, a sudden start, or a mosey travel like ripples through the herd. They all mean something. “Look out!” “Better grass here.” “Get away from my mare!”
We are much less savvy movement-wise. From the horse’s perspective, we are bumblers, clomping along meaninglessly, much noise signifying not much.
That is why I recommend horse dancing. It is about waking up to the ripples we make and the ripples we feel. Learning to be better herd-speakers, learning to feel the currents among us.
How do you feel your herd?