Jess Harkness, Back 2 Form

18/02/2026

Sound up! When your little helper knows full well how helpful they are being ….

14/02/2026

A long, but really important and interesting read… grab yourself a cup of tea….

There is something we hear often when force gets justified.

“But horses do it to each other.”

Sometimes it gets explained away as something else...

“I’m the alpha.”
“I’m the boss.”
“They need to know who’s in charge.”

And when a horse crowds, resists, spooks or pushes into space, the response becomes physical. Push them back. Yank them. Smack them. Show them.

On the surface, it sounds logical. Horses bite. Horses kick. Herds have hierarchy. So surely leadership must mean dominance.

Until you slow it down.

Because what we see in a herd is not what we think we’re seeing.

And it’s important to say this clearly: modern research shows that horse social dynamics are fluid and context-dependent. Herd structure is not a rigid, linear ladder with one permanent “alpha.” Access to resources shifts depending on what the resource is, the relationships involved, the environment, and even the day. One horse may control space around hay but yield at water. One may lead movement but not control resting areas.

Hierarchy in horses is dynamic. And even within that fluidity, communication remains precise.

When one horse corrects another, the visible moment is tiny. A pinned ear. A shift of weight. A tightening of space. Most of the conversation has already happened before the leg ever lifts. And when it does lift, when there is a snap or a strike, it is precise and brief. The moment the other horse yields, it is over. The energy drops. They return to grazing.

That stop is part of the language.

Herd leadership is not constant intimidation. The horse who moves others does not spend the day proving it. Leadership in a herd is often quiet. Consistent. Spatially clear. It rarely requires repeated force. The hierarchy stabilises through predictability and resource control.

Humans often copy the strike and miss the rest.

Not because they are cruel, (however some are). But because we do not share the same operating code. We are learning a second language without native fluency. Horses read breath shifts, muscle tone, gaze, spatial pressure and intention instinctively. We are translating in real time.

So when a human jumps straight to impact, or continues impact after the horse has tried, or escalates because frustration rises or ego feels challenged, it is not the same as herd communication.

And the horse’s body processes it differently.

This is not about saying horses consciously see us as predators. It is about what a nervous system does with sudden pain, confinement and unpredictability. Bodies respond to sensation. They respond to context. They respond to whether there is choice and clarity.

In a herd, there is almost always choice. The other horse can move away. Can yield. Can adjust distance. Pressure lives inside a shared language and ends cleanly.

When a horse is tied, cornered, restricted under saddle, wedged into a narrow space or trapped in a trailer, and then struck, the meaning changes. The same physical stimulus that might feel like brief information in open space can feel very different when escape is removed.

That difference matters.

It influences posture.
Breathing.
Anticipation.
Learning.

We also need to separate pressure from pain.

Horses understand pressure. A body stepping into their space. A clear block. A hand placed firmly on the shoulder when they crowd you, held until they shift their weight back. A rhythmic tap on the hindquarters that stops the instant forward motion begins. Steady spatial presence that releases the moment the horse yields.

That is communication.

Pain used to overpower, intimidate or suppress is something else. The difference is not whether something is physical. The difference is in timing, proportion, emotional steadiness and release.

Is the signal brief and specific.
Does it stop immediately when the horse responds.
Is the handler regulated.
Does the horse leave neutral or braced.

That is the line.
And that regulation piece cannot be overstated.

Our own nervous system state transmits through every aid. Tension sharpens pressure. Frustration hardens hands. Fear makes movements abrupt. A steady body delivers steady information. A dysregulated body delivers volatility, even if the technique looks identical on the surface.

This is where the “alpha” narrative often slips in quietly. The belief that leadership means dominance. That if a horse tests you, you must win.

But leadership with horses is not about proving power. It is about reducing the need to use it.

Horses do not need a boss in the human sense. They need someone predictable. Someone proportionate. Someone whose boundaries are clear without being explosive. SOMEONE WHO IS SAFE.

Boundaries matter. Safety matters. A young, green horse learning space needs clarity. An older horse with a history of inconsistent handling or pain will respond differently. A horse carrying trauma patterns will not process pressure the same way as one raised in steady, calm environments.

Context changes everything.

Some horses crowd because they are anxious.
Some push because it has worked before.
Some react because they are uncomfortable.
Some can become genuinely dangerous.

Dangerous behaviour requires seriousness, assessment and often experienced professional support. It does not justify habitual escalation.

Individual variation is real. Some horses appear resilient and seem relatively unaffected by rough handling. Some are deeply sensitive. Some externalise stress. Some internalise it quietly. Resilience does not mean absence of cost. It means the cost may show up later, or under different pressure, or in the body rather than the behaviour.

When a horse begins to expect impact, the body changes. The ribcage tightens. The neck stiffens. The breath shortens. Movement alters. Anticipation increases. Some escalate. Some shut down. Some comply in a way that looks obedient but lacks softness.

Fear can suppress behaviour without building understanding.

A horse that loads because resistance became uncomfortable has learned avoidance. A horse that loads through progressive, choice-based exposure learns that the trailer is manageable. A horse that stands because movement was punished has learned to freeze. A horse that stands because stillness was built step by step has learned confidence.

Those are very different foundations.

Pressure and release, done with precision and feel, can be clear and fair. But it is not our only tool. Increasingly, we have approaches that build behaviour by reinforcing the right choice rather than correcting the wrong one. Reward-based methods can reduce defensiveness and help some horses engage without anticipation.

This is not about camps or labels.

It is about fluency.

The more ways we know how to teach, the less we need escalation at all.

Many of us inherited dominance-based narratives. We were told respect must be earned physically. That softness equals weakness. That leadership requires force. Most people are not trying to harm their horses. They are trying to feel secure in situations that can feel big and overwhelming.

But inheritance is not the same as accuracy.

We know more now about learning, biomechanics, stress physiology and regulation. We know that suppression is not the same as confidence. We know that timing and release matter more than intensity.

There are moments where physical interruption is necessary for safety. Emergencies exist. But emergency management is not a training philosophy. What we practise daily shapes the horse far more than what we do in crisis.

If we are going to reference herd behaviour, then let us model the whole thing. The subtle escalation ladder. The proportional response. The immediate release. The neutrality afterwards. The quiet leadership that does not need to prove itself.

Not just the strike.

When force becomes the primary language, when escalation replaces feel, when the horse leaves interactions tighter instead of softer, watchful instead of settled, that is power without fluency. It is volume standing in for skill.

We are not horses. We do not naturally have their timing. Those skills are developed. We will get it wrong sometimes. The work is in refining, in noticing sooner, in stopping sooner, in repairing quickly.

Clear does not have to mean harsh.
Firm does not have to mean frightening.
Leadership does not require domination.

If we are going to claim horses as our teachers, then we have to learn the entire conversation.

Not just the part that proves we can win.

12/02/2026

Imagine, just for a moment, that your body is not fully your own.

Imagine that strangers feel entitled to reach for you, stroke you, lean over you, or physically move you without asking. When you step back, stiffen, or quietly signal please don’t, you are told you are rude, difficult, or ungrateful.

Now imagine you are carrying pain, not obvious pain, but the kind that aches through your muscles, your joints, your back, your gut. You know it is real. You live with it daily. But every professional you see tells you they cannot find anything wrong.

You return to work anyway. You try. You grit your teeth. Your body tightens, your breath shortens, your movements become guarded. And when you finally cannot cope anymore and you push someone away, you are labelled aggressive, dangerous, or non compliant.

For a horse, this is not a thought experiment. This is often their lived reality.

There are moments in a horse’s life when handling is genuinely necessary, veterinary treatment, hoof care, safety checks, or emergency interventions. In those situations, perfect consent may not always be possible.

But that does not make consent irrelevant. It makes how we approach these moments even more important. If we must handle a horse, we owe them clear, calm presence, predictability, as much choice as circumstances allow, and real attention to their signals, not just the task at hand. Needing to act for a horse’s welfare does not give us a free pass to ignore their body, their fear, or their pain.

Horses cannot say no in words. Their consent shows up in subtler ways. Soft eyes instead of a hard stare. A lowered head rather than a braced neck. Relaxed breathing rather than held tension. Stepping toward you instead of away. Leaning into your hand rather than flinching from it.

Equally, their no is just as clear if we are willing to see it. Pinned ears. A tightened jaw. A swishing tail. A step back or a turn of the head. Stillness that is braced or frozen rather than relaxed. These are not attitude problems. They are communication.

Consider two everyday situations we often get wrong.

At the mounting block, a horse pins their ears as the rider prepares to get on. The common response is that he is just being grumpy, get on anyway. Yet ear pinning in this moment is one of the most frequent early signs of back, saddle, or muscular discomfort. When we dismiss it, we risk asking a horse to work for years in pain, teaching them that their signals do not matter.

Or think of a child running up to pet a tied horse. We culturally normalise this. He is gentle. He loves kids. It is fine. But a tied horse cannot move away. If they feel uncomfortable, crowded, or startled, their only option is to warn with their body or escalate to a bite or kick. When that happens, the horse is blamed, not the adults who created that situation.

What is most heartbreaking is this. Sometimes a horse finally meets a person who does notice their subtle signs, who slows down, pauses, and listens with their body as much as their mind. For a moment, there is relief. Recognition. Hope.

And then that person is told by others, often trainers, yard managers, or loud online voices, that they are being too soft, too emotional, or that the horse is manipulating them.

So the horse learns something devastating. Even when they are seen, they may still not be believed.

Yes, horses learn. They adapt to patterns, consequences, and expectations, just like we do. But learning is not the same as manipulation. A horse who steps away from a painful saddle, pins their ears when their back is sore, or freezes when overwhelmed is not scheming. They are protecting themselves with the tools they have. Discomfort is not strategy. It is survival.

This is not only about individual choices. There are real pressures in the horse world that make this harder. Lesson barns needing safe, reliable horses who tolerate a lot. Time constraints that discourage slow, attentive handling. Limited access to skilled veterinary or bodywork care. Training traditions that prioritise obedience over wellbeing. None of this excuses ignoring consent, but it explains why the problem is systemic, not just personal.

If we truly take consent seriously, small shifts can make a difference tomorrow. Pause before haltering and notice whether the horse offers their head or steps away. Allow a horse to step out of your space during grooming instead of trapping them. Take ear pinning, tail swishing, or tension seriously rather than correcting it. Investigate possible pain before labelling resistance as bad behaviour. Teach children and adults that not every horse wants to be touched.

So if you were a horse in a world that so often misunderstands your language, what would you do.

Perhaps the real question is what will we do.

Because true partnership does not begin with obedience. It begins with respect.

09/02/2026

Rummaging? I wasn’t rummaging…..

08/02/2026

Popsy having a good old itch today when we took him and scruff to lower haddon to practice for .insta’s demo there on the 7th March

04/02/2026

Thanks .insta 🤣… clearly I’m a natural in front of the camera…

31/01/2026

I often think about how stressful travelling for horses must be. This is interesting new research on the impact of travel on cortisol levels https://www.facebook.com/share/1CV6i7Jvyt/?mibextid=wwXIfr

Transdermal melatonin may be able to reduce physiological stress biomarkers in horses, specifically those induced by the stressors of transportation

Transportation acts as a serious physiological stressor for horses, triggering acute metabolic and hormonal changes that can compromise their welfare.

In a recent study, a team of researchers discovered that the application of transdermal melatonin successfully lowered cortisol levels, suggesting it is a viable, non-invasive tool to mitigate equine transport stress.

The primary impact of transport on horse welfare is the activation of the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) axis, which lead to a elevation in serum cortisol levels.

This hormonal surge is accompanied by metabolic disturbances, including increased glucose levels due to cortisol-driven gluconeogenesis and heightened markers of muscular strain like creatinine and bilirubin.

These changes reflect the physical toll of prolonged confinement and the effort required for horses to balance themselves during the ride.
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Transportation also leads to dehydration and electrolyte imbalances, specifically causing lower potassium and higher sodium levels.

The study notes that the resulting sodium-to-potassium ratio in transported horses approaches levels seen in pharmacological diuresis, which raises significant concerns for post-transport health issues such as colic or metabolic disorders.
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The team explored transdermal melatonin as a potential welfare management tool, finding that it effectively reduces cortisol concentrations in horses.

While melatonin does not eliminate all transport-induced effects, its ability to attenuate HPA activity suggests it may help protect horses against the cumulative oxidative and hormonal stress associated with transit.

Full paper - Effect of transdermal melatonin on circulating cortisol and blood chemistry in horses exposed to transport stress. W.L. Crossland, E.O. Aviles-Rosa, E.B. Perry, C. Crowell, E. Webberson, J. Brown, J. Fassbender.