I met Barb through my aunt who worked as a receptionist at the community centre where she used to swim every morning. One day Barb explained she had 10 horses and since her husband, George had passed it was becoming a lot to handle, especially with her aspirations of starting a bed and breakfast. My aunt suggested I help her with the horses and took me to the farm to meet her. We did our negotiating and hit it off.
Before I got there I imagined I’d be practicing my riding, cleaning the stalls and looking out for the general well-being of the horses. But when I arrived it turned out differently: Most of them hadn’t had much more than basic human handling for 18 months and one of them was totally untrained.
A few of the horses had been professionally trained in the past, so they just needed some refreshers. And then there was Tonka.
Tonka was born on the farm and when she was just a yearling her mom got into an accident and died. When you take that safety away from a horse, they grow up being unconfident and scared. Barb didn’t know how to train from scratch and it’s expensive to hire a professional, so Tonka was always a field horse.
When I met her she was four years old. She was not wild but feral and scared of her own shadow, so I started by figuring out how to teach her to be secure with a halter and to let me lead her. I started riding when I was seven and had done competitive showjumping, but I never did ground training or got into the psychology of horses. All this was completely new to me.
I read blogs by professional trainers and watched Youtube, which was a godsend because there are some world-renowned natural horsemanship trainers who put out a lot of free content on there. I was really enjoying it and Tonka was coming around — we got to the point where I could have her in the round pen and give her just hand directions to do things. And then one day Barb said, “Why don’t you ride her?” And I didn’t know anything at the time; I didn’t have the training, so I said, “Okay.”
First I introduced Tonka to the saddle and bridle and the following week Barb put me on her. I could feel her shaking under me instantly, which should have been a sign that I needed to get off.
I was trying to control Tonka with the reins and Barb had a lead line — which I learned was a mistake because we were giving her conflicting directions. So that lasted for ten steps and then Tonka freaked out. I fell off and at the same time Barb was trying to avoid the fence, so she tripped and I landed on top of her. The two of us were covered in dust in the middle of the round pen, with Tonka opposite us.
She looked at me and asked if I was alright, I think she was worried I might have broken a bone. Thankfully, we were both fine. We got up and dusted ourselves off. “Maybe that was a bad idea,” said Barb. And then, a second later, “D’you wanna try again?”
I declined. I liked the idea that we could ride her, but I needed to go home and study up, with the help of the experts online. I suggested this approach to Barb and from then on, each weekend I’d make note of what Tonka needed to know, go home and figure out how to teach it. Then the following week I’d go and do it.
After a few months, I had a huge epiphany when I was riding Tonka through a field and a plastic bag, which was basically the visual equivalent of a wolf, blew just in front of her. She didn’t even flinch. We moseyed through the field as if she was a totally different horse. And shortly after that, a neighbour bought Tonka for her daughter.
I learned very quickly from Barb what not to do, and after a few years, I became much better at reading horse psychology and learning horse behaviour and manners. Then I could say, “The horse isn’t ready for that, but I can make it ready if you give me time.” By then, if a friend of hers asked to do something with a horse, Barb would tell them “Go ask Dani first.” It was a huge compliment to have her trust on that level.
But there would be situations when I’d be on a horse and Barb would have been watching us for a while. She’d come over, say we looked good and suggest I attempt something new. I wouldn’t necessarily be up for what she was proposing, but I’d try it and it would go really well. So it was an important balance between me saying “no” to Barb and accepting those moments where she was challenging me and I needed her to push me. It just kind of worked.
There were so many shenanigans that went on. I think that’s why it was so fun to go to the barn. It wasn’t just about being with and training the horses. You wondered, “What’s going to happen this time?” Even if it resulted in an injury or somebody falling, you knew there was always some kind of story by the end of the weekend.
I don’t want this to sound bad, but I’m less safe now. I’ve come to realize that there are times when I’m overly cautious. Safety is a good thing, but you can be so safe that it stalls your progress.
Having said that, the last time I took a big chance was when I shattered my wrist.
I fell off a horse because I put myself and the horse in a situation I shouldn’t have, so it was actually a bad judgement call on my part. Live and learn.
I hit the ground, broke my leg and shattered my arm. The horse stopped dead in her tracks and stood by me. I got up and walked back to the barn because I didn’t realize my leg was broken and she just followed me back.
When I was in the hayloft half-conscious (my arm clearly shattered, my leg broken) Barb got really mellow. She came over and put her hand on my forehead, got a cold cloth and was watching me like a hawk. She went from being this rambunctious jump-off-a-cliff person to really maternal.
She was like that with the horses, too. She could really, really push the limits of what she wanted a horse to do but when one of her horses looked like it was suffering you could see on her face that her heart was breaking.
I have only seen her cry once. That was with two very old horses that she bred on the farm — Murphy and Sylvester. Both had gone on to compete in shows with Barb through Canada and the U.S.
Someone in the area had a daughter with cognitive intellectual disabilities who couldn’t attend a traditional school but really connected with horses. They were looking for easy horses that she could spend time with and were safe to handle. Murphy and Sylvester were perfect. They would enjoy being pampered and Barb was still able to visit. But on the day they were collected, I helped load them onto the trailer: Barb had raised those horses and was so upset she had to leave.
Barb knew the impact that being around horses had on people. I think that’s why she liked having guests at the farm so much — it gave them a sense of adventure, but also peace and contentment.
I spent so much time at the farm that a lot of my memories aren’t even horse-related. One Thanksgiving I was there with Blair, his girlfriend at the time Melinda, Paul, Brian and Dennis. We’d all had such a good weekend and Barb suggested we eat Thanksgiving dinner together, so we set up a long table in the loft and spent the afternoon cooking. Over dinner, I think it was Brian who was talking about something stressful that had happened recently. He was explaining the details, I can’t recall them, but I remember Barb sympathizing. Then she looked at him and said, “But are you okay now?” and he said, “Yeah, I’m good.”
Then she looked at Paul and asked, “Are you okay?” And he replied, “I’m good.” He turned to me and said, “Dani are you okay?” And we went around the table asking if everyone was alright. It was not just are you okay at this moment, but are you okay in life? And Barb totally instigated that.
Another time we were eating in the loft not long before she decided to move to PEI and I noticed a painting. It was of a girl riding bareback. I had spent the weekend cleaning out the tack room and that week I had ridden Libby bareback for the first time. This painting was of a black horse and a rider with no face, but a long brown ponytail. It struck me that it could have been me and Libby. Looking at it brought back this moment on a beautiful day when she was listening perfectly and I felt so proud of her. I didn’t say anything, I just remember having that thought. Then, when Sunday night came around and I opened the back door of my car to put some riding gear inside, the painting was sitting on the seat. She didn’t mention it, but she’d noticed me looking at it and had it put there.
It’s perfect because Barb painted it and it reminds me exactly of that time: We weren’t horse and rider, we were the same force in a sense. You get those moments on a horse and this painting captures that feeling.
Barb certainly put me in situations that forced me to step outside my comfort zone, but I know I have even further to go. I learned from her that when you’re in a hairy situation, just breathe, think and work through it. For someone who has dealt with anxiety on and off, working with some high-strung, scared horses and mostly on my own, really grounded me. I learned to keep a sense of calm for their sake, even if I was shaking inside.
The biggest impact I think this will have on my life going forward is in a new role I’m training for as a member of an Emergency Response Team with the Canadian Red Cross. It will be useful anywhere this new field of emergency management leads me. Wherever I end up, I’ll be taking the experience of knowing Barb — and that painting — with me.
As told to Alex Laws.