It Was Never The Horse
How four rescued Andalusians changed my understanding of connection, willingness, and the relationship between horse and human.
For much of my life with horses, I believed that becoming better meant learning how to communicate more effectively, getting my timing right, and figuring out how to help a horse understand what I was asking.
I wanted a relationship built on trust and willingness. I wanted horses to feel safe with me and to want to engage with me. But I didn't yet understand what it would take to develop that kind of connection.
That began to change when four Andalusians came into my life, and what they taught me would shape the way I worked with horses for years to come.
The Horses I Couldn't Reach
When I moved to Costa Rica in 2008, I settled near Lake Arenal and began looking for a horse. My search took me to a farm about three hours away, where I encountered a beautiful herd of Andalusians. They made a lasting impression on me.
Five years later, I was on my way to a dentist appointment in the city when I came across a saddle for sale on Craigslist. As I followed the directions to look at it, I found myself traveling down a back road that seemed familiar. Eventually, I realized I was returning to the very farm where I had first gone looking for horses when I moved to Costa Rica.
But what I found when I arrived was heartbreaking.
The Andalusians I remembered had deteriorated terribly. Four of the horses were emaciated and sick, and seeing them in that condition was deeply upsetting. I couldn't simply walk away. I brought them back to my farm because I wanted to help them.
I had no idea how much those horses would change my life.
Although I was committed to caring for them, developing a relationship with them was another matter entirely.
These horses were profoundly checked out. Their previous experiences with humans had not been good, and they had little interest in engaging with us.
When I went out to halter them, they would leave me. I would follow them around the pasture, trying to get close enough to put a halter on, and they would move away again.
I felt as though I was constantly chasing them, trying to persuade them to let me approach.
I wanted to help them feel safe. I wanted to develop a connection with them, but they weren't interested in what I was offering.
Given their history, their behavior made sense. They had learned not to engage with humans, and I could see how deeply disconnected they had become.
What I didn't understand was how to reach them.
I was focused on the horses, their behavior, and what I needed to do to get them to cooperate. I wanted a different relationship with them, but I hadn't yet learned how to create the conditions for that relationship to develop.
Then something happened that changed everything.
Five Days That Changed My Understanding of Horses
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I had discovered Carolyn Resnick's work through her book Naked Liberty, and I was drawn to the possibility of developing a relationship with horses through a different approach.
I reached out to Carolyn for help, and she sent one of her trainers to work with me and the horses in a five-day Waterhole Rituals clinic.
Those five days became a turning point in my life.
Through the Waterhole Rituals, I began experiencing a different way of relating to horses. Rather than concentrating on getting the horses to do what I wanted, I began learning to pay attention to the relationship itself.
Within those first five days, I witnessed a remarkable transformation.
The horses who had been so disengaged were now connected, curious, and interested in me. The same horses who had walked away whenever I approached them were becoming engaged and willing to interact with me.
I was astonished by the change.
I had brought these horses home because I wanted to help them. I had been concerned about their physical condition and their history with humans, and I wanted them to have a better life. I hadn't anticipated that they would teach me so much about myself.
Watching their transformation forced me to reconsider what I thought I understood about horses and relationships.
I began to realize that it wasn't only the horses who were checked out. I was checked out, too.
That realization was profound.
I had been so focused on their behavior and on trying to get them to respond that I hadn't recognized how much I was missing in our interactions. I wanted them to connect with me, but I hadn't yet learned how to approach the relationship in a way that invited genuine engagement.
I had been looking at what the horses weren't doing. I was beginning to see the importance of paying attention to what was happening between us.
The horses hadn't suddenly become different animals. Something about our interaction had changed, and I needed to understand my part in that change.
Those five days opened a door for me. They gave me a new way to look at horses, and they set me on a path of learning that continues to this day.
It Was Never Just About the Horse
That experience changed the questions I asked when working with horses.
When a horse walked away, resisted, or seemed uninterested, I began looking beyond the behavior itself. I became more curious about what the horse was experiencing and what I was contributing to the interaction.
I started to recognize that the way we approach a horse influences the relationship we are able to develop.
Our attention matters. Our timing matters. Our state of being matters, including whether we are distracted, frustrated, impatient, or genuinely attentive to the horse in front of us.
So does our ability to recognize the horse's responses and adjust what we are doing.
This doesn't mean every difficulty originates with the human. Horses have their own histories, personalities, physical needs, fears, and limitations. Pain, discomfort, confusion, and environmental factors can all influence behavior, and those possibilities deserve careful consideration.
But we can miss important information when we focus exclusively on changing the horse.
A horse that walks away may be communicating uncertainty, discomfort, a desire for space, or simply a lack of interest in the interaction. The behavior alone doesn't tell us everything we need to know.
Learning to observe more carefully gives us an opportunity to understand what might be happening before deciding what to do about it.
This shift in perspective became fundamental to my work.
I began to understand that developing a relationship with a horse requires more than knowing how to ask for a response. It requires learning to recognize what is happening in the relationship and becoming more aware of how our own behavior influences it.
Connection Begins With Awareness
One of the most important lessons I learned was that connection cannot be measured simply by how well a horse follows instructions.
A horse may follow us, stand quietly, or respond to a cue for many different reasons. Those behaviors alone don't tell us the full story of the relationship.
I became increasingly interested in what helps a horse become genuinely willing to engage. I wanted to understand the role of trust, attention, understanding, and the horse's freedom to respond.
What makes a horse interested in being with us? What helps a horse become curious rather than disengaged? What changes when we stop concentrating exclusively on the outcome and begin paying attention to the interaction itself?
These questions led me to observe horses more closely.
I began noticing subtle changes in posture, movement, attention, and willingness. I became more aware of the information horses communicate through their behavior and how easily we can overlook it when we are preoccupied with what we want them to do.
I also began to recognize the importance of our own state of being.
When we are caught up in frustration or urgency, we may become less attentive to what the horse is communicating. When we are more present, we have a better opportunity to notice the horse's responses and make thoughtful decisions about how to proceed.
This is a skill we develop through experience. It requires patience, observation, and a willingness to question our assumptions.
It also requires us to recognize that the relationship is something we participate in creating.
That was one of the most valuable lessons those four Andalusians taught me.
What This Means for Your Relationship With Your Horse
You may recognize some part of my experience in your own relationship with a horse.
Perhaps your horse walks away when you approach, loses interest when you want to work together, or seems resistant to something you are asking. You may have tried different techniques and still feel that the connection you want is missing.
There may be practical reasons for the difficulty, including pain, fear, confusion, or a lack of clarity in your communication. Those possibilities need to be considered rather than assuming the problem is a lack of willingness.
But it can also be useful to pause and observe the interaction from a different perspective.
Notice what happens when you approach your horse. Pay attention to the horse's response and to the way you respond in return. Observe your own attention, posture, timing, and expectations.
Give yourself time to see what is happening before deciding what your horse needs to do differently.
You may begin to notice patterns you hadn't recognized before. You may discover that a small adjustment in your approach changes the interaction, or you may realize that your horse needs something you haven't yet considered.
The purpose isn't to blame yourself. It is to become a more perceptive partner, someone who can recognize the horse's experience while taking responsibility for their own part in the relationship.
This is where I believe meaningful learning begins.
When we become more aware of what is happening between ourselves and our horses, we have more information to work with. We can make better decisions, communicate more clearly, and develop the practical skills that support trust and willingness.
The change begins with learning to see.
The Lesson I Continue to Carry With Me
Those four Andalusians brought me into a new chapter of my life with horses.
The five-day Waterhole Rituals clinic introduced me to a way of relating to horses that profoundly influenced my direction. Over the years, my own experiences, observations, and continued work with horses have deepened my understanding of connection and willingness.
I continue to learn from horses every day. They remind me how much there is to notice when I stop concentrating exclusively on the outcome and pay attention to the relationship unfolding in front of me.
That experience also helped shape the work I teach today through Carolyn Resnick Liberty Horsemanship.
I want to help people develop the awareness and practical skills to understand their horses more deeply, recognize what influences willingness, and build relationships in which communication becomes clearer and connection has room to grow.
For me, liberty horsemanship is about much more than having a horse respond without a lead rope. It is about learning to understand the horse as a partner and developing the skills to create a relationship that supports trust, understanding, and mutual engagement.
The Waterhole Rituals are Carolyn Resnick's methodology, and my experience with that work was an important part of my development. What I share with students also comes from my own years of working with horses, the lessons they have taught me, and my commitment to helping others develop their own understanding and skills.
The journey begins with a willingness to observe, to question what we think we know, and to recognize that we are part of every interaction we have with our horses.
My horses taught me that lesson in a way I will never forget.
Sometimes, the most important change begins when we stop looking only at the horse and start paying attention to the relationship we are creating together.
And that is where a different kind of connection can begin.
Enjoy!
Nancy Zintsmaster
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