Odin

After Odin and Butch were in the training ring for several tries at a join-up, we decided we needed to take a step back. Odin just doesn’t operate like a regular horse—that’s an observation, not a criticism. He’s been traumatized, and he’s understandably wary of joining up with any human. We adjusted the plan, and Butch began spending time with Odin outside the training ring instead. He narrowed Odin’s escape routes, but applied less pressure.

Earlier this week, Susan and I returned to using the Trust Technique with Odin in his small gentling pen. He did very well. As long as we didn’t add too much pressure, he was comfortable with us nearby. He watched us for a few minutes, then relaxed and began grazing in the pen with us. It felt like a quiet success—measured, fragile, but real.

Then Butch arrived and joined us. Watching him, I was again struck by how different his approach is from mine and Susan’s.

Butch adds pressure as most trainers do. That day, he wanted Odin to go through the chute. He started on one side of the ring and gradually moved inward, closing the space. He seemed to wait for Odin to stop snorting and turn attentively toward him before advancing again. It usually didn’t take long.

When I look at Odin, I rate him on a scale of 0 to 10. Zero would be him sleeping on the ground—head down, eyes closed. I’ve only seen him close to that once, and even then it was more like a one. When he was grazing with us in the pen, he was at a 3 or 4—the ideal range for the Trust Technique. When Odin is snorting, he’s closer to a 7 or 8. At that level, he’s on high alert. His sympathetic nervous system is fully engaged, and he’s searching for an exit.

Butch brings him down to about a 6 or 7 before advancing again. According to mine and Susan’s approach, that’s already near the edge of being too stressed to work with. Butch pushes further.

I don’t know yet what will ultimately work to help Odin move forward. Our approach has been very slow. My concern with Butch’s approach is that Odin doesn’t understand the rules of the game, and that each interaction feels unpredictable to him—like the ground is shifting beneath his feet.

I’m not a horse whisperer, but after hundreds of hours observing a single horse, you learn their expressions and patterns. Right now, Odin is telling me, I don’t know what he wants from me. I never know what he’s going to do next.

What unsettles me most is how closely my uncertainty seems to mirror his. And my deeper concern is that I may have failed him the other day. While we were in the ring together, I sensed Odin was asking me to step in—to lead, to protect him from the pressure he was feeling. I didn’t.

At one point, I shared some of my concerns with Susan and she suggested we allow an experiment to unfold. So, I stayed with it and told myself it was in the name of an experiment.

It went against my instincts not to intervene when I felt he was asking for it. And just to be clear, we only call it an experiment because this is Odin. With any other horse, this wouldn’t have even qualified as gentling.

That session left me wondering whether Odin’s real question isn’t, Who’s in charge? but Who will listen when I ask? That realization is gut-wrenching. Odin has been in charge all along—I don’t believe he can tolerate it any other way, at least not yet. But the thought that I might not have listened when he needed me to… I can barely bear it.

All of this has brought me back to the tension between patience and progress, and to trust as a relationship rather than a technique. The other day’s session didn’t even meet the standards of trust as a technique for Odin. In allowing it to continue, I feel like I broke something fragile between us, again.

Still, I haven’t lost hope. And I trust that Odin will bounce back much more quickly than he used to. But, the next time I see Butch, I plan to suggest slowing down even more—waiting until Odin comes back to a 3 or 4 before adding more pressure. I’ll suggest clearly communicating intentions through mind images before making a move, and showing Odin, in the same way, what’s being asked of him. And if I sense again that Odin wants me to step in physically, I will.

I don’t know how this will unfold. What I do know is that I’m still here—watching, listening, adjusting. I’ll keep moving at the pace trust requires, and I’ll share what I learn as it becomes clearer.