A Journey Worth Taking, a Sacrifice Worth Making
The Extreme Mustang Makeover is more than just a competition. It is a journey, and an emotional one at that. At first glance it seems like you are just training a horse, going through the motions of teaching them required skills to compete in a contest. The horse finds a good home at the end, and money is raised for the foundation, all to help more horses find homes. It is a good cause. But once you go through it, you realize it is so much more than that.
To spend so much time with a horse, a horse who has lost everything and everyone they know, and to try to earn their trust. Teaching them to depend on you, a person who their natural instinct tells them not to trust. You teach them to rely on you, to obey you, to follow you, and carry you, all while knowing that in the end you cannot stay with them forever. You know that you will push them to their limits over and over, and that they will become so much braver, so much stronger, and so much happier because of it, because of what you went through together. You know that you will risk your own safety and well being in order to spend time, out in the elements, trying to convince a wild animal with a powerful survival instinct to accept you, accept restraint, and to “lay down their weapons” so to speak. There are hard days, really hard days, and even harder days. You may begin to doubt, but you push through because you are this horses best, possibly only chance at having a happy future. They fight you because they don’t know.
It’s not as hard to think about the end when they are fighting you.
No, it is when they stop fighting, when they give in and hand over their trust. It is when you look into those big, kind eyes, and all the worry, fear, fight and tension fades away as they softly watch you, so trusting. That is when you realize that this is too hard, because you just want to stay there, you and this horse. You could conquer anything together.
When the time comes, you walk up the ramp of an unfamiliar trailer, and your trusting partner takes the step into what they once considered to be a terrifying, dark and noisy box, because you taught them that they would be okay. Then you shut the door behind them, and step back, taking one last look into those trusting, unknowing eyes through the barred windows of the vehicle. You no longer see fear reflected in the depths of these eyes, but rather peace, as the horse contentedly pulls a mouthful of hay from the feeder. There is no stress now, but you can’t help but wonder if they will be the same when they are unloaded from the trailer at the destination and you are nowhere to be found. Part of you wants to believe that they will look for you, wonder where you are: react, although you really actually hope though that you did your job so well that they will settle right in, forget you, and immediately bond with their new person. Mostly you hope that they will find happiness.
You stand and watch quietly as the trailer pulls away, contemplating all of this, thinking about how much you went through together: all the blood sweat and tears. You think about the hard days and the emotions.
But you are a professional. You knew what you were getting into when you signed up for this, when you picked up the horse on that first day. When you got the first touch. Every moment of everyday. What you didn’t realize it would be this hard, so different from other horses. You don’t speak as trailer pulls away, because you know what will happen if you try.
You know the horse won’t understand, but you also know that they will be okay. They will be okay because you taught them a new way to survive. You taught them how to trust, and you know that they will soon be home, to a new owner, who maybe couldn’t have gotten them through those first steps, but who you hope and pray will now stay with them through the rest of their lives, teaching them and bonding more in those years than you ever could have in your short 100 days.
You ask yourself why you put yourself through this. Why not keep one or two, let someone else figure out their own mustangs. Why not stick to regular domesticated horses, or rescues with some idea about people. Horses who don’t test you in the same ways, horses who don’t make you doubt why you ever chose to become a trainer. Horses who don’t bond with you in the same way.
Then you pick up your next mustang, and you see the fear in their eyes, the tension in their bodies, as they reach out with every bit of courage they have to try to please you. You see the fear melt away as they begin to trust you. You see their personalities come out as they begin to take on life from a new perspective, no longer fighting for survival, but actually beginning to thrive, as they become curious and content. That is when you realize why you do it. This horse would never have found his happiness if you had been too selfish to let the last one continue on their journey. You do it because your sacrifice really does make a difference, not just to one horse, but to every horse you can possibly reach.
It is heartbreaking, but we do it again and again. If we kept every horse we trained, there would be no trainers with room in their barns and with the skills to help more mustangs learn to not only survive, but to thrive in our human world. Each time your heart breaks a little bit, the cracks make room for another horse to squeeze in, and find the hope they needed to find their way in a new world.
The makeover is really is more than just a contest, it is a journey, and it is a sacrifice. But it is a journey worth taking, and a sacrifice worth making.