Category: Ikke-kategoriseret

🐴 Positivt og negativt – to sider af samme sag

Der er billeder, der sætter sig fast på nethinden for livet. Et af de billeder bærer jeg med mig fra min allerførste rideskole – en scene, der både formede mig og åbnede mine øjne for, hvordan vi behandler vores heste. I dag vil jeg dele den historie. Ikke for dramatikkens skyld, men for at vise, hvorfor hestevelfærd er noget, vi virkelig må tale om – ærligt og åbent.

Da jeg startede min blog og min podcast, lovede jeg mig selv at holde det hele i en positiv tone. Jeg var så træt af alt det negative, der flød rundt på nettet. Med tiden har jeg fundet mange sjove og varme historier fra fortiden. Men når jeg sætter mig ned og virkelig tænker tilbage, så dukker også de tunge minder op.

Og selvfølgelig ved jeg, at hvor der er noget godt, er der også noget dårligt. Og ofte er det netop i det svære, vi lærer mest.

Et af disse tilbageblik fører mig til min første rideskole – et sted jeg elskede. Det var mit fristed væk fra skolen, hvor jeg ikke rigtig havde nogen nære venner. Jeg havde briller og var god til både at skrive og regne, og det gjorde mig ikke populær blandt dem, der mobbede.

Når jeg lukker øjnene og tænker tilbage, er det første billede, der dukker op, vores ridelærer Henry Thomsen, som med al sin kraft står og pisker Ali – en hest, der er bundet op i en spil, og som forsøger at krybe helt op i krybben, med skrækslagne øjne, sveden løbende og hele kroppen rystende.

Det er et billede, der har brændt sig fast på bagsiden af mine øjenlåg. Det er umuligt at forklare hele situationen med ord – der var lugte, stemninger, følelser og frem for alt en frygt for ikke at kunne gøre noget. Jeg var omkring 10-11 år gammel.

Tidligere den dag havde Thomsen haft en time med de “øvede” ryttere. Han havde forsøgt at “lære” Ali noget ved at slå med pisken. Ali svarede med et bagben lige i Thomsens ribben, så han mistede pusten og faldt omkuld. En halv time senere gik han ind i stalden for at “lære Ali, at det må man ikke”. Vi børn så det hele, men ingen kunne gøre noget – indtil en voksen kom og sagde til Thomsen, at Ali nok havde lært, hvad han skulle.

Thomsen havde et alkoholproblem, og der herskede generelt kaos på rideskolen i den periode. I mit næste blogindlæg vil jeg fortælle mere om, hvad der skete. Men lige her vil jeg bruge denne oplevelse til at give et budskab.

Denne oplevelse åbnede mine øjne. Først og fremmest: Man straffer ikke en hest en halv time efter noget er sket. Og endnu vigtigere – man straffer ikke en hest for at sparke mod en pisk. Det er en helt naturlig reaktion. Pisken burde slet ikke have været der til at begynde med.

Jeg fortæller denne historie for at vise, hvad jeg står for i dag. Mange mennesker (forhåbentlig) har aldrig set sådan noget. Og nogle forstår måske stadig ikke, hvad hestevelfærd handler om. Der er grader af alting – men i mine øjne er Thomsen et tydeligt eksempel på, hvordan man ikke skal gøre.

Så er der dem, der ønsker bedre præstationer fra deres hest og tager sporer, piske og skarpe bid i brug for at straffe, når hesten ikke adlyder. Og så er der dem, der straffer ud fra frygt – for at beskytte sig selv, når en hest bukker, tramper eller gør noget farligt. Jeg har selv stået der mange gange. Jeg har arbejdet med mange forskellige heste – egne hingste og heste, jeg aldrig havde mødt før. Set i bakspejlet kunne mange situationer være håndteret anderledes. Men i øjeblikket føltes det som selvforsvar.

Jeg tror, at én af grundene til, at nogle mennesker ikke tager imod den nye tanke om hestevelfærd, er frygt – frygt for, at det går for vidt, så man ikke længere må kræve respekt fra hesten. Men at støtte hestevelfærd betyder ikke, at hesten bare skal gøre, som den vil. Det er som med børn – de skal lære at sidde stille ved bordet, gå i skole og kunne klare sig som voksne. Men vi behøver ikke at slå børn for at lære dem det. De kan godt respektere voksne, hvis vi viser dem vejen.

Respekt er noget, man får fra det individ, man arbejder med – hvis man er en god lærer. Hvis man er konsekvent og viser vejen på den rette måde. Respekt er ikke noget, man slår sig til. Hvis man vil slås, så slår individet tilbage.

Respekt handler om at give og tage. Om at kunne læse det individ, man arbejder med – og forstå, hvad der påvirker det, og hvad der ligger bag. Respekt kommer med viden – og frem for alt med selvindsigt.

Det er os mennesker, der skal kunne hjælpe hesten – uden vold – til at blive en ven. En, der giver os lige så meget glæde, som vi giver den.

---

🐴 Positive and Negative – Two Sides of the Same Coin

There are images that stay with you for life. One such image is etched into my memory from my very first riding school – a scene that both shaped me and opened my eyes to how we treat our horses. Today, I want to share that story. Not to stir up drama, but to explain why horse welfare is something we need to talk about – honestly and openly.

When I started my blog and my podcast, I made a promise to myself: to keep everything in a positive spirit. I was so tired of all the negativity flooding the internet. Over time, I’ve found many fun and heartwarming stories from the past. But when I sit down and try to refresh my memory – to really look back – the flashbacks often bring with them the heavier things too.

And of course, I know: where there is good, there is also bad. And often, it’s from the hard times that we learn the most.

One of those flashbacks takes me back to my very first riding school – a place I truly loved. It was my escape from school, where I didn’t really have any close friends. I wore glasses and was good at both writing and math, which didn’t exactly make me popular among the kids who liked to bully others.

When I close my eyes and think back, the very first image that comes to mind is of our riding instructor, Henry Thomsen, standing with all his might, whipping Ali – a horse tied up in a stall, trying to crawl up into the feed trough, eyes filled with terror, sweat pouring, his whole body trembling.

It’s an image burned into the back of my eyelids. It’s impossible to describe the full scene with words – the smell, the tension, the fear. And above all, the helplessness of not being able to do anything. I must have been around 10 or 11 years old.

Earlier that day, Thomsen had given a lesson to the more “experienced” riders. He had tried to “teach” Ali something by striking him with the whip. Ali responded with a powerful kick straight to Thomsen’s ribs, knocking the air out of him and sending him to the ground. Half an hour later, he went into the stable to “teach Ali a lesson.” We children saw everything, unable to stop it – until finally an adult stepped in and told Thomsen, “Ali has probably learned what he needs to now.”

Thomsen had a problem with alcohol, and the whole riding school was in chaos during that period. I’ll share more about that in my next blog post. But this story – this memory – is one I want to use to deliver a message.

This experience opened my eyes. First and foremost, you don’t punish a horse half an hour after something has happened. And even more importantly – you don’t punish a horse for reacting to being whipped. That is a natural reaction. The whip should never have been involved in the first place.

I’m sharing this story to show you what I stand for today. Many people (I hope) have never seen something like this. And some may still wonder what horse welfare really means. There are levels to everything – but in my opinion, Thomsen represents one of the worst examples of how things should not be done.

Then there are those who want better performance from their horses and resort to whips, spurs, or harsh bits to punish them when they don’t obey. And there are those who punish out of fear – to protect themselves when a horse bucks, tramples, or does something dangerous. I’ve been in that place many times myself. I’ve worked with so many different horses – my own stallions, and horses I’d never met before. In hindsight, I’ve often realized I could have handled things differently. But in the moment, it felt like self-defense.

I believe that one reason people resist the modern idea of horse welfare is fear – fear that things will go too far, that we won’t be allowed to “demand respect” from the horse anymore. But supporting horse welfare doesn’t mean letting the horse do whatever it wants. It’s just like with children – they must learn to sit at the table, go to school, and function as grown-ups. But we don’t need to hit our children to teach them. They can still respect adults – if we show them the way.

Respect is something you earn from the individual you work with – if you are a good teacher. If you are consistent and clear, and you guide them in the right way. Respect cannot be beaten into someone. If you use force, the other will fight back.

Respect is about give and take. About reading the one you’re working with, and understanding what affects them – and why. It comes with knowledge, and above all, with self-awareness.

We humans are the ones who must help the horse – without violence – to become our partner. To give us as much joy as we give them.

How I Bought Ragyogo

About 15 years ago, I had a stallion named Mackay. We had many wonderful years together, but he was getting older – around 24 or 25 at the time. I realized it was time to start looking for a successor.

I was specifically looking for a golden-colored stallion, preferably a cremello, but they don’t exactly grow on trees. So, the search took a while. Eventually, a lady reached out to me saying she had a cremello stallion for sale. News spreads fast in the horse world!

She sent me a video, but he didn’t really appeal to me. Then she mentioned that a friend of hers in Germany had a palomino stallion available for lease. I wasn’t too thrilled about that idea – I haven’t had the best experiences leasing horses. If I was going to have a stallion for years to come, I wanted to own him.

But then she suggested I could lease him first, and then buy him later if everything felt right. That actually sounded like a really good deal – getting to know the horse first before making a commitment. I was all for it, but I wanted to see his papers – to know if he was approved and how.

Every time I asked for documents, she sent something else. That made me a bit suspicious. I had seen photos and a short video and thought he looked beautiful, but I had a strange feeling about the whole thing.

So I asked a friend who speaks Hungarian if she could help me check the papers. She couldn’t really tell whether he was approved or not, but she did find the name of the current owner. She suggested calling him – which I thought was a great idea.

The lady had told me the stallion was in Austria, being ridden by a 16-year-old girl, and that he was very sweet. But when my friend called the owner, whose name was Tamas, he went completely silent at first. Then he said:
“Yes, I do have him for sale – but he’s still my horse, and I haven’t decided who I’m going to sell him to.”
So, the lady didn’t have the right to lease or sell him at all!

I contacted her and said this didn’t feel right. I told her I was happy to pay for the contact, but I didn’t want to do business with her friend in Germany – she hadn’t even bought the horse, nor had she been given permission to.

That’s when she completely lost it. I got a full-on scolding – she said I had ruined their business deal, that I should never have called, and that I could go away with my “bad Swedish.” I still believe I did the right thing.

We called Tamas again. He said that if I could offer the horse a good home and take proper care of him, I could buy him directly. He checked my website, saw how our horses lived, and that old Mackay was still healthy despite his age. My friend spoke well of me, and in the end, he agreed to sell me the stallion – on one condition: he wanted to come to Sweden and see where the horse would live.

I thought that was a wonderful idea. I said they were all warmly welcome. The whole family came to visit, and it was a very nice experience. We’re still friends today. They felt the horse couldn’t have ended up in a better place.

That’s how Ragyogo – or Ragge, as we called him in Sweden – came to us. He actually had a very long official name, but Ragge suited him perfectly.

We had a few lovely years together, but sadly, we had to say goodbye when he was 19. One day he simply couldn’t get up in his stall. It was heartbreaking. He was a truly beautiful and kind stallion, with a big personality.

Molle and Bertil

I’m sitting here, thinking about what to share in my next blog post. I have so many stories, but unfortunately just as many sad ones as happy ones. That’s life – half good, half bad. When you’ve had as many horses as I have over the years, it’s inevitable that there are quite a few sad stories among them. Those, I don’t really feel like writing about, but I often catch myself having flashbacks when I sit and think back. Images in my mind that I wish I could erase and forget. That’s why I choose to write about the fun things instead – and when you focus on those, the painful memories at least fade into the background.

Today, I want to tell you a story about Bertil and Molle – a story that could have ended badly, but luckily turned out in quite a funny way.

At the time, I lived in a place called Björkefall, in a house I rented far out in the woods. I got water from a well, and there was no plumbing, so whenever I washed myself, I had to go outside and pour the dirty water away. That worked fine in the summer, but in winter it wasn’t exactly pleasant. I also had an outhouse. I had to haul up a lot of water from the well since I had three horses and a dog. The closest inhabited neighbor’s farm was Bertil’s – five kilometers away. In the other direction, there were “only” a couple of kilometers to living people, and nine kilometers to the nearest village.

My friends often asked me if I wasn’t afraid to live alone, but it didn’t bother me – I really liked it. It was just a bit tricky for my clients to find me 🙂

Bertil was always kind and helped out a lot. When he had to go somewhere within a reasonable distance, he always went with his horse. He preferred driving the horse over driving his car.

One day, Bertil came with feed for my horses, and it was Molle pulling the cart. Molle was a big, black North Swedish draft horse – very sweet and eager to work. Bertil used him often for driving in the forest, and Molle would obey the slightest signal.

Of course, I was grateful for the help and asked if Bertil would like some coffee. He rarely said no to coffee, so he gladly accepted. He unhitched Molle from the cart, hung the reins over the shaft bow, and let Molle graze freely. I was a bit concerned and asked if maybe he should let Molle into the paddock or stable instead.

“Nah,” Bertil said, “Molle never goes anywhere!”

But when we came out after having our coffee – he was gone. No Molle anywhere! We looked around briefly, but he was nowhere to be found. Then we spotted hoof prints on the gravel road and figured Molle must’ve decided it was time to go home.

We jumped into my little car – a Fiat 124 – and drove in the direction of Bertil’s farm. We managed to catch up with Molle about halfway home, which was quite a distance. Bertil jumped out and got hold of him. Since the cart was still at my place, he’d have to walk Molle all the way back.

I felt sorry for him, having to walk that far, so I suggested he sit in the car, roll down the window, and “drive” Molle in front of the car so he wouldn’t have to walk. Said and done – and Bertil and I laughed the whole way back, both because he had trusted Molle so much, and because of the funny situation he now found himself in, sitting in the car and “driving” a horse.

We got back safely with both horse and car, and Bertil could hitch Molle up and trot home again. Molle got plenty of exercise – though that was kind of his own choice 🙂

Bent in Svinninge

Over the years, I have gathered many stories from my life with horses and have written about several of the people I have met along the way. Not every story has a “happy ending,” but every life has its conclusion, and each one is unique. The man I want to write about today chose how his story would end – and even though the ending was deeply sorrowful, his story is not. Life has an end, but it is up to us to make the journey worth living.

Today, I want to tell you about Bent in Svinninge, a man I got to know when I lived in Denmark. He is worth remembering, and lately, memories of him have been surfacing again and again. While searching for some old pictures, I came across one where Bent was plowing with his two horses—both offspring of my stallion Mackay. I also recently ordered two new wheels for a stallion gig I once bought from Bent. It almost feels like he wants me to tell his story.

I had been living in Kalundborg, Denmark, for a few years, running a boarding stable for horses. One of my clients was a woman who had recently moved from her farm and was looking for a new home. She rented several stalls from me, and during that time, she had one of her mares bred to Mackay. The foal turned out beautifully, and when Bent saw it, he decided he wanted to breed his mare to Mackay as well.

One day, without any warning, he showed up with his mare.

“Well, she’s in heat now, so I might as well leave her here,” he said matter-of-factly.

Luckily, I had a stall available, but I was certainly caught off guard. That was Bent in a nutshell—everything at full speed, nothing left to chance. He was hardworking, meticulous, and always had something new in the works. We became good friends, and soon, I was invited to visit his incredible farm.

Bent ran a dairy farm, but he also had horses, magnificent carriages, and harnesses—all in pristine condition. When I first met him, he was alone, handling everything himself, but later, he found a woman as energetic as he was. Together, they built their home into something truly special. He eventually phased out the dairy business to focus more on carriage driving. He and his wife offered wedding and graduation carriage rides, and he had a particular white wedding carriage that was stunningly beautiful. It was an enormous undertaking, so they bought a truck to transport both the horses and the carriage.

Bent loved everything fun, and one of my most vivid memories is of a Midsummer celebration at his place. He had invited all his friends—at least 50 people. He had slaughtered a cow and hired a chef to grill it on the farmyard. The weather was perfect, warm and pleasant. In Denmark, it is tradition to light a bonfire on Midsummer, and Bent had gathered an enormous pile of branches to set ablaze. Dressed in an immaculate white suit, he hesitated briefly before lighting the fire—concerned that it might be too dry and that the flames could get out of control. But Bent was Bent, and once he made up his mind, things happened fast.

The fire caught immediately and became larger than expected. In the next instant, Bent regretted lighting it. Without hesitation, he leaped into the flames and stomped feverishly on the embers until he managed to put the fire out—all without getting a single mark on his white suit! We were left speechless before bursting into laughter. It was just so typical of him—impulsive, decisive, and fearless.

Sometimes, Bent ended up with too many horses, and I helped him sell some, even after I moved to Sweden. His horses were large, beautiful, and always easy to sell.

Then everything changed. His wife fell ill and passed away from cancer. The loss was devastating, and without her, it became difficult for Bent to continue his carriage-driving business—he had no one to help him. He started selling off his carriages and donated some to a museum. That was when I bought my gig from him.

One day, he asked me to help him find new homes for his remaining horses. He admitted it was getting harder and harder for him to keep up. He had undergone hip surgery and could no longer run—something that clashed with his entire way of life. Bent was used to things moving at 190 km/h, but now everything was slowing down. Too slow.

Two weeks after I had picked up the last of his horses, I received the news that Bent had chosen to leave this world.

He never wanted to be a burden to anyone, and in true Bent fashion, he made sure things happened on his own terms—just as he always had.

It hurts to think about, but one thing I know for sure: Bent lived more in his lifetime than most people do in twice the time. I will never forget him.

My Side Job!

When I lived in Mörrum, I had my own farm. It had been subdivided, but I was able to rent some land next to it, which gave me both a paddock and grazing for my horses. I loved living there, and my large house had plenty of space for my saddlery workshop.

However, living alone meant I needed a steady income to cover all the bills. Even though I had customers in my saddlery business, it wasn’t always enough. The hourly wage for a saddler wasn’t very high, and sometimes I only had small repairs to do. On top of that, I wasn’t very good at charging for my work. So, I often took on extra jobs to afford keeping my horses.

For many years, I didn’t have a car—it was simply too expensive. I rented out a few stable spots and sometimes got a ride with my boarders to the village to buy groceries. That way, I got to know a lot of people, and many were helpful in their own ways.

One day, I got in touch with a dairy farmer who lived a few kilometers away. He asked if I wanted to earn some extra money by working as a relief milker for him. Of course, I said yes! But how would I get there? I didn’t have a car, not even a bicycle… but I did have a horse!

I asked the farmer if he had a spare stall where I could keep my horse while I worked. He did, and he thought it was a great idea! He had a North Swedish horse himself, but he said it wouldn’t be a problem—he could turn her out while I was there.

And so it was settled! I started working for Aldo and rode my stallion, Mackay, to the farm every day. It was a perfect arrangement—Mackay got exercise and built up his fitness, I had a job, and Aldo got the help he needed. On top of that, Aldo was a true animal lover, and he didn’t like the idea of Mackay standing there without food. So, he always gave him some silage, which meant I saved money on horse feed as well!

It was truly a win-win situation, even though it wasn’t always fun to head out in the dark when it was -20°C. But it worked! Mackay got silage, which was quite unusual for horses at the time. However, Aldo’s silage was of the highest quality, dried in a silo, and Mackay thrived on it. Aldo had even won awards for his dairy cows and high-quality milk, so he was very particular about what the animals were fed.

It was a great job, and I stayed there for a long time.

The Universe Intervenes

Call it fate, but I saw an ad for a 15-year-old gelding competing at St. George level. The seller cared deeply about finding the right home, and I felt I could offer a good one. I knew the price would likely be beyond my budget, but I called anyway. You never know—has always been my motto, and it has helped me in many different situations.

The owner, Camilla, was very pleasant and encouraged me to come for a test ride. She was even willing to arrange a payment plan if we were a good match. I told her the whole story about Markant and how I would need to sell him to recover some of my money. But I didn’t want to sell him to just anyone—I wanted to release myself from any responsibility for him.

I traveled to Katrineholm to try Bekila, as the horse was called, and I was absolutely thrilled. He was a fantastic horse. Camilla liked my riding style, as I was very soft, which suited Bekila well since he was a Thoroughbred and needed a gentle hand. She mentioned that several people had come to try him, but most were too rough in their riding. I was overjoyed! She agreed to sell him to me—but how would I afford it?

Camilla started asking about Markant, and I didn’t hold anything back. However, when I described his movement and beauty, she became interested. She suggested that she could take him in for training, and based on my description, she was convinced that once he was ready for sale, the price would cover Bekila’s purchase cost.

I was over the moon. I had been almost ready to give Markant away, and now I had an offer that felt almost too good to be true. I told Camilla to be careful and not to feel bad if it didn’t work out—we would find another solution if needed. But she was completely convinced it would all go smoothly.

---

Camilla’s Struggles with Markant

Camilla took Markant home, and I asked her to check in regularly—mostly to make sure she was still alive! She promised she would. The first week went well, but the following week she called and told me that he had tried to throw her off. She had managed to stay on, though, and after that, he had to work hard in their gravel pit. She was confident that he was now on the right track.

Of course, I was happy to hear this, but I still warned her—she should never take anything for granted and had to stay cautious.

Another week passed before she called again. This time, she sounded more shaken.
“Now I know what you were talking about!”

Markant had thrown her off properly, and she hadn’t stood a chance of staying on. Still, she didn’t want to give up. But… she had received an offer for him! The buyer knew about his quirks but had seen him and wanted him anyway. The offer was high enough that I could fully pay for Bekila, compensate Camilla for her efforts—and even have some money left over.

I nearly screamed into the phone:
“SELL! SELL NOW!”

Camilla hesitated, thinking she might be able to get even more for him if she rode him for a while longer. But I strongly advised against it:
“No, no! What if you break your arms and legs? Or if he injures himself running home? If the buyer knows what he’s getting into and still wants him—call immediately and close the deal!”

---

All’s Well That Ends Well!

And so it happened. Markant ended up with a dressage rider who continued working with him.

I stayed in touch with Camilla for quite a while, and a few years later, she told me that Markant had become a huge success. He had won district championships and several competitions. Eventually, he was sold again for a six-figure sum—an enormous amount 40 years ago! He was an incredible and willing horse, agile and talented, as long as he was in an arena or indoor school. But… when the interns took him out for a walk in the woods? He still came home by himself.

I can also add that there was never anything physically wrong with him. He was X-rayed before the sale, and the vet told Camilla:
“I should frame this X-ray and hang it on my wall—this is the finest skeletal structure I’ve ever seen!”

As for me, I had a few wonderful years with Bekila and learned an incredible amount.

On the picture is me and Bekila:

My Most Difficult and Worst Horse!

About 40 years ago, I lived in Mörrum. I really enjoyed it there and had many wonderful friends. Among them were Ann and Lasse, a couple from whom I had bought a Collie. They were also interested in horses.

Ann had decided she wanted to buy a hobby horse—one she could ride a little and perhaps breed a foal from. She had found an ad from Erik Nilsén, a well-known eventing rider and breeder, who was reducing his breeding program. He had many horses, so there were plenty of options to look at. Ann asked if I wanted to come along, and of course, I said yes—I never turn down an opportunity to meet like-minded horse enthusiasts and see beautiful horses.

I was also looking for a new horse myself. I was tired of constantly buying young horses, training them, and then selling them. It meant that I never really progressed in my own riding or in competitions. Now, I wanted an older horse, one that was already trained so I could continue working with it.

Visiting Nilsén

We set off to see what Nilsén had to offer, and there was truly a large selection! A herd of 35–40 horses roamed the pasture. It was early spring, so they were all shaggy and rough-coated, but you could still see the quality of the horses beneath the thick fur.

Ann explained what she was looking for, and Nilsén recommended a chestnut mare called The Merry Widow. She had been unrideable until the age of seven, but they had finally managed to train her. Now, she was the sweetest horse and had even been used in a riding school. She seemed calm and reliable, and Ann fell for her immediately. There was no doubt—she was getting The Widow.

After looking at all the horses, Ann asked:
“Haven’t you found one?”

I had decided to buy a trained horse, but one still caught my eye—a gray horse with incredible movement. I tried to be sensible but couldn’t help asking about the price. It turned out he was a four-year-old gelding—and The Widow’s son! Ann thought it was an obvious choice for me to buy him—it would be so much fun.

The price was also very low, so the decision was made quickly. I figured that if he didn’t turn out as I wanted, I could always sell him later.

Markant Moves In

The horses at Nilsén’s farm were used to being outdoors a lot and were kept in tie stalls overnight, so he was accustomed to being tied up. I thought that was a big advantage. However, the young horses were not handled much, so I had to start from scratch.

I named him Markant, after a previous horse I had loved. Maybe giving him a name I liked would help? I took things very slowly with him, and at first, everything went better than expected. He accepted both the saddle and bridle, and after a while, I was able to get on. He was a very alert horse, so I took my time.

But one day, when I was going to ride him in the arena, came the first real protest. I put my foot in the stirrup, got just into the saddle—and suddenly, he exploded into a series of bucks. I had no chance of staying on.

I hit the ground hard, but I knew I had to get back on. I scrambled up, and this time, he walked quietly.

For the next few days, he was calm, but soon another outburst came. Back then, I was very brave and didn’t give up easily, but after he had thrown me off completely unprovoked several times, I started to realize it wasn’t worth risking my life for such an unpredictable horse.

Help from a Friend

I talked to Ann and Lasse about the situation. We had in the back of our minds that The Widow had been unrideable until the age of seven, so maybe Markant had inherited too much of her temperament.

Lasse, who had grown up in a competitive riding family, offered to try and see if he could work it out. I was hesitant—should I really risk my friends’ safety? But Lasse insisted, so we gave it a shot.

Mörrum’s riding arena wasn’t far from my home, so I led Markant there and had him on a lunge line. I offered to hold onto him while Lasse rode, but he preferred to ride freely so he could direct the horse where he wanted.

It didn’t take long before Markant started his acrobatics—but Lasse stayed on. We were very impressed, and I felt a flicker of hope when Markant slowed down, convinced that it had gone well.

At that very moment, Markant suddenly spun around and crashed straight through a solid wooden fence. Lasse went flying—he had absolutely not expected the horse to take off through the fence.

The horse ran home, and we walked after him. Lasse offered to try again, but I said no. I didn’t want to risk an accident, either with myself or my friends.

I realized that I truly needed an older, trained horse.

Since this is a long story, it will continue next week!

(A slightly blurry picture of Markant—people didn’t take as many pictures back then!)

Do You Talk to Your Horse?

I believe that all of us who have horses talk to them in one way or another. It feels completely natural – we share our time, our daily lives, and often our emotions with them. Sometimes, it even feels like our horses truly understand us, doesn’t it?

But even though we constantly communicate with them, we actually speak two completely different languages. We humans think in words and logic, while horses think in images and feelings. So, even though we can teach them commands and routines, have you ever thought about how much you actually listen to your horse? How it expresses itself – and what it’s trying to tell you?

Many people might say: “Well, I keep my horse’s stall clean, I feed it at the right times, and I bring it inside when it wants.” But are those truly the horse’s own desires – or are they simply things we humans have decided it needs?

Horses Communicate in Images

Did you know that horses think in images? And that you can actually transfer images to your horse through your mind? This means that when you’re with your horse but your head is full of everyday worries – like what to cook for dinner, when to pick up the kids, or that your car is broken – your horse might pick up on the images you’re unconsciously sending.

That’s why it’s so important to be mentally present when working with your horse. If you focus on your horse and your connection, you’ll soon notice a change. Your horse can feel when you’re truly there – and when you’re just physically present but mentally somewhere else.

What Does Your Horse Want?

A common concern is: “But if my horse gets to decide, it won’t want to work!”

But have you really tested that? And if your horse doesn’t want to work – have you asked yourself why? Is it because it’s lazy, or is it because it doesn’t see any meaning in what you’re asking? Maybe the work feels uncomfortable or stressful, maybe there’s a physical issue, or maybe the horse simply hasn’t understood what you want.

Horses want to connect with us, but if we only take and never give, there won’t be any real cooperation. Eventually, the horse stops expressing its own needs and just does what we say because it’s easier. We might interpret that as the horse being obedient and well-behaved – but in reality, it has simply given up.

Listen to Your Horse

If your horse doesn’t want to work with you, take it as an opportunity to pause and truly feel the situation. Is it physically okay? Are there signs of pain or stiffness? Does it feel safe in its environment? Or has it perhaps learned that training is always repetitive or unpleasant?

By being more attentive to your horse’s signals, you can create a deeper and more meaningful relationship. When your horse feels seen and understood, it will want to cooperate – not because it has to, but because it wants to.

So, next time you’re with your horse, take a deep breath, let go of all other thoughts, and be fully present in the moment. Tune into your horse, listen to what it’s trying to tell you – and most importantly, have fun together!

How Should One Interpret This?

For me, it has always been important to have fun in whatever I do! It hasn’t always worked out, but it’s always worth trying, right?

When I had my North Swedish stallion, Kosack, I used to invite my friends to the stable during winter when there was snow. Nearby, there were some great hills—ironically, in a village called Slätten, which means “the plains.” It was the most hilly plain I had ever seen!

My idea was simple: I would ride Kosack and pull my friends, two at a time, up the hill while they stood on skis. Then they could ski down at full speed. We basically became a living ski lift! It was a big hit—my friends loved not having to hike up the hill themselves.

But what about me? I wanted to ski too! So one day, when I was alone at the stable, I decided to try skijoring with Kosack. The only problem was: how do you do that when you’re alone?

I didn’t want to risk pulling on his mouth, so I came up with a plan. I used towing lines and a swingle tree, then tied a rope from the swingle tree to a belt I wore. To be safe, I added a quick-release so I could detach myself if needed.

With everything set, we headed down to a field. It wasn’t easy getting there—leading a horse, carrying skis, and dragging a swingle tree all at once was quite the challenge! But I was determined to make it work. I only had an old pair of cross-country skis with tricky bindings, but that wasn’t going to stop me.

Once we arrived, I parked Kosack, got into position behind him, and started strapping in. I had just managed to put on one ski when Kosack got a little impatient and took a few steps forward. BAM! I went face-first into the snow since I was still attached to the swingle tree.

Trying to get up in deep snow, bundled in thick winter clothes while holding onto the reins, was no easy task. But being as stubborn as I was, I gave it another go. I got both skis on and was just about to stand up—when Kosack took another few steps. BAM! Face-first again!

As I looked up, he turned his head back toward me. I swear, I could see him laughing!

Three times I fell, but on the fourth try, I finally made it. I took off, wobbly but triumphant. However, maneuvering the long skis was harder than I had expected, so I fell once more. But I refused to give up. Eventually, I got the hang of it and even managed to ski all the way back up the hill to the stable.

Can you guess how exhausted I was after all that effort? But I did it, and it was fun while it lasted!

On the picture Kosack as a 3 years old stallion in 1981.

---