The Story of Dante

Or 'oops, I bought a yearling'

Helen and I stood by a window in a farmhouse surrounded by rain-soaked paddocks, our cold hands wrapped around cups of hot tea. ‘What do you think?’ Helen asked quietly, ‘Should I buy him?’ I looked out the window at Cruiser, a yearling horse standing in the rain, who we had been closely inspecting minutes before. ‘Yes, you should,’ I said. And then, looking at the young foal lying down in the wet grass near Cruiser’s grazing mother, added, ‘And next year we’ll come back and buy his baby brother for me.’  It was a throw-away line, a spur of the moment suggestion. I had gone with Helen to view the yearling she was considering buying to be her next riding horse. I was meant to be the voice of reason, to tell her to walk away if it looked like a bad idea, but reason seemed to have deserted me. Throw-away line or not, my glib comment that rainy day came to pass – Helen bought Cruiser and the next year I bought his baby brother Dante.

Dante as a yearling soon after I bought him, with young Cruiser in pursuit.

For the next three years I diligently did everything I thought should be done with a young horse. When I rode Floss out, I would ‘pony’ Dante along, which means l would lead Dante while riding Floss. In this way I exposed him to many situations and gradually built his fitness. I handled him from the ground – doing what horsemen call ‘groundwork’, teaching him how to behave around people, how to stand still while tied up (and not pull saddles and blankets off the hitching rail – that took a while!), to pick his feet up, to calmly walk on and off the float, to yield to pressure. I went for walks leading him to get him used to being on his own. I took him to riding club and training days to expose him to other horses and noise and excitement.

When he was four years old, I sent him to a horse trainer I know and trust so he could be started under saddle. I deliberately don’t use the word broken; nothing in him was being broken; he was being trained to be a ridden horse. He spent six weeks with Sam, learning under her kind but firm guidance. Finally, the day came when I rode him, with Sam keeping a close eye on both of us. Then I took him home and we continued our journey. We had regular lessons with Sam, building our ridden partnership. I was excited about the future with this willing young horse. He was so trainable. So friendly. So willing. And for a young horse, remarkably unfazed by things.

Until it began to change.

Happy days. Riding Dante before things changed. Photo by Debbie Dowden.

I noticed he was a bit off, a little bit less willing to be saddled or stand at the mounting block. I talked to people about it, lots of people, including my vet. The consensus was that he was just a young horse coming to terms with the idea of work. I pushed on.

Dante’s behaviour deteriorated further and dramatically. He would buck when asked to canter under saddle. Pin his ears back and attempt to bite me at the mounting block. I went looking for answers. He had body work to iron out sore muscles. Exercises to strengthen his back and core muscles. Lots of slow walking to build his legs. His saddle professionally checked and fitted many times. His teeth checked. His feet regularly trimmed. Feed supplements. Minerals. Herbs. Still, he complained. Ears back. Wary expressions. I worried. ‘It’s just teenage attitude,’ people kept saying to me. ‘He’ll get over it.’ The months ticked by, stretched into years. The pattern kept repeating. Dante would be all sweetness and light until he was asked to do a little bit more, then he would have a personality change. He would flip from being the first horse to greet you at the gate to being the one who was dangerous to handle. It would take weeks to bring him back around to his old self. Throughout all of this, he was never actually lame. It seemed to be in his head. Or maybe his gut?

I took him to a vet and had a camera put down into his stomach and they found some ulcers, not bad, but definitely there. He was treated. There was no change in his behaviour.

I talked at length to my regular vet. She suggested we do another test and prescribed a week-long course of strong anti-inflammatory pain relief. During that week, Dante was ridden every day, including a long trail ride and a session over some small jumps. He loved jumping. He was happy on the trail ride. ‘There’s something wrong with him but I don’t know what it is,’ my vet said. ‘He has pain somewhere.’ She referred Dante to a lameness specialist. Over the course of two visits and a barrage of rather expensive tests, we finally got a diagnosis. Dante has an issue with the suspensory ligaments in his hind legs, especially his right hind. Certain movements cause him pain. If he’s going in a straight line on firm ground, he’s fine. Add a hill or a bend or a canter on the left lead, and he’s not comfortable. Do it too much, and he’s very uncomfortable. To make things worse, he has learnt what hurts and anticipates being asked to do things he thinks will hurt. Hence, not wanting to be mounted, even though walking under saddle is not a problem for him. Trotting in straight lines on firm ground is fine. But cantering circles or trotting in sand? Forget it.

It was strange to finally have a diagnosis. In one way I felt exonerated. I had known there was something wrong and that pushing him through was not the answer. But I wanted it to be something that could be fixed. Not this. Not something congenital. Not a problem that would never go away. Even as I write that, more than two years after his diagnosis, I still don’t quite believe it. I still haven’t quite let go of the idea of somehow being able to rehabilitate him, some day. For now, my relationship with Dante is complex. I don’t want to ride him, partly for fear of hurting him and partly for fear of him hurting me if I accidentally push him too far. My daughter rides him once a week or so. They are slow, gentle rides, without much being asked of him. I tell myself that I will start doing the same thing. Soon. But I’m not sure when soon will become now. Or even if it needs to.

The boys: Dante (right) and big brother Cruiser.

And Cruiser, Dante’s big brother whom Helen bought? He is now a freakishly good endurance horse. He’s completed numerous long-distance rides, more 40km and 80km rides than I could name and two 160km rides, including a Quilty Cup (which, for anyone who knows anything about endurance riding, is no small thing). He’s never come close to failing a vet check at an endurance ride. (Endurance horses are thoroughly checked by vets before, during and after rides.) I laugh sometimes to think that if I hadn’t bought Dante, I would look at Cruiser now and kick myself for not buying his baby brother and giving myself a chance at having such a remarkable horse. I did end up with a remarkable horse, just not in the way I thought he might be. I have a highly sensitive horse with issues that have needed careful management. He has taught me so much about horsemanship and horse training, and about trusting myself and my own observations. It’s not what I thought I was signing up for but it’s what I got. And who knows, maybe one day I really will find a way to rehabilitate him.

Thanks for reading,

Jill