11/11/2025
The mare arrived on a Tuesday morning. Her coat was dull from the long trailer ride, her eyes scanning the horizon for something familiar that would never come.
“She’ll do,” the man said, running his hand down her flank like he was checking fruit for ripeness.
No one asked if she was tired.
No one noticed how she pressed herself into the corner of the stall, small as she could make herself.
On Wednesday, they put a bit in her mouth.
She tossed her head- the only language she had - but the hands were firm, and the metal was cold. Soon she learned that trying to speak only made the metal bite deeper. So she stopped speaking.
On Thursday, they put weight on her back. Her legs trembled; she had carried nothing before but her own fear.
“She’ll get used to it,” someone said - and she did, the way a tree learns to grow around a fence. Twisted, but still standing.
Friday brought the whip. Not cruel - never cruel, they would say - just correction. Go here. Go there. Faster. Slower. Stop asking questions with your body.
By Saturday, she had learned to obey the pressure before it became pain. She had learned that her fear didn’t matter, that her confusion was an inconvenience, that her body belonged to someone else.
On Sunday, she stood perfect and still while children climbed onto her back. The parents smiled and said, “She’s so gentle. So patient. Such a good horse.”
And she was good.
Because she had learned what too many beings learn too soon -
that the world doesn’t always ask what you need.
It doesn’t wait for your yes.
It doesn’t honour your no.
It just moves you from place to place, and you must choose whether to break resisting or break complying.
The mare chose compliance, as most do.
Years later, a child asked, “Do horses like being ridden?”
“Of course,” the adult said. “Look how calm she is.”
But no one had ever asked the horse. Not on Tuesday when she arrived. Not on Wednesday when they took her voice. Not on any of the days that followed.
And by then, she had forgotten how to answer - even if someone finally did.
We ask this of horses.
We ask this of so many beings who cannot speak our language, who cannot sign our contracts, who cannot say no in ways we choose to hear.
We call it training.
We call it partnership.
We call it love.
But maybe it’s time we call it what it really is:
a choice we made for someone who never got to choose.