26/03/2026
Us trainers work incredibly hard to get your horse to where you want it to be, and majority of time, in short timelines. But when that horse gets back home to you, you can undo it all in only a week. If you donât also get trained, you will need a full-time trainer to fix your horse every week so you can un-fix it again every weekend.
A great read I found on another page:
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So you send your horse in for training. Itâs got bad behavior, a bad gait, or itâs just bad-bad. Like âI found it in a kill pen and thought, âPerfect first horse!ââ kind of bad. Excellent life choices so far.
You decide you need help. (Good start.) You pick a trainer and ship your discount dragon off. If the trainerâs goodâand spoiler, not all areâthey fix as much as they can in the tiny, ridiculous little window you gave them. You hand them 30â60 days and say, âHi, can you please turn Satan into a kid-safe babysitter? Thanks.â
This trainer pours their entire heart, soul, spine, and possibly a few internal organs into your horse. They spend 2â6 hours a day with it. They ride it, lunge it, desensitize it, pray over it, negotiate with it, and occasionally reconsider all their life choicesâall because you gave them two months to undo years of mystery trauma and bad riding.
They get bruised, stepped on, bitten, sunburned, and emotionally damaged. They are out there trying to turn water into wine, except the water bites and kicks.
And the great ones? They actually make it work.
You show up, climb aboard like youâre mounting a bar stool, do literally everything wrongâlean forward, yank on the reins, clutch with your legs, flop around like a fish in a dryerâand the horse still goes, âOkay⌠Iâll try.â It stops, it turns, it doesnât immediately launch you into orbit. Miracle.
Youâre thrilled. Trainerâs silently wheezing inside. They smile, say, âYouâre doing great!â and cross every finger and toe they have as you load the horse up. You drive away buzzing, and where do you go first? Straight to Facebook: âBEST TRAINER EVER OMG!â
And then⌠it happens.
You get home. Youâve had one lesson. Maybe seven, if youâre fancy. You now consider yourself a semi-professional. Then life shows up: work, those damn kids, the hubby or wife, the dog, the neighbor, Netflix, the couch. You donât practice. Or when you do, you do it⌠creatively.
Because letâs be honest: seven lessons doesnât make you a trainer. Seven riding lessons barely makes you a competent passenger.
You donât book more lessons. You donât buy a Pivo. You donât video yourself. You just head to the arena and freestyle your way into chaos.
Slowlyâor very quickly, lolâyou start peeling the training off that horse like duct tape off a hairy leg. A wrong cue here, a missed correction there, some accidental punishment for the right answer, a reward for the wrong one⌠and boom. The poor animal is speaking Spanish, youâre yelling in French, and nobody knows whatâs happening.
Then you pick up your phone:
âI donât know whatâs wrong with this horse! It was PERFECT with you! Now itâs dangerous and wonât listen!â
Trainer: âSend it back in, and you need more lessons.â
You: âThatâs stupid. I already did that and it didnât work.â
Plot twist: It did work. You just undid it.
Because guess what? Itâs not the horse.
Itâs you.
Youâre not a trainer. Your timing is off. Your feel is off. Your balance is off. Your reins are uneven, your legs are doing the Macarena, and your core took a personal day. You give the wrong cue at the wrong time, then get mad when your horse doesnât psychically guess what you meant instead of what you actually did.
But wait, it gets better.
Now you have another genius idea: Facebook.
You log in and type, with righteous fury: âMy trainer RUINED my horse. Itâs DANGEROUS now. I canât even ride it!â
Yes, clearly the problem started after the professional, who rides 5â10 horses a day, fixed your bargain-bin dragon and handed it back in working order. Definitely not when you, who rides twice a month on a good year, climbed aboard and started pressing buttons like an unsupervised toddler on a nuclear control panel.
That trainer did everything rightâexcept maybe one thing: they didnât sit you down, look you in the eye, and say, âHey. Even if I turn your horse into a saint, you still need training. Lots of it. Repeatedly. Forever.â
Because hereâs the truth nobody wants on a T-shirt:
I can train your horse. I cannot magically install skills in you via Wi-Fi.
A trainer can start the process. They can put on the buttons, explain the settings, and hand you a freshly updated model. But you have to learn how to ride it. You need to learn balance, timing, feel, leg aids, hand softness, body control, and the advanced art of ânot becoming a flying lawn dart when things go sideways.â
You need experience. You need to make mistakes, fix them, fall off, get back on, cry a little, laugh a little, and do it all again. Thatâs how riders are made.
I always tell clients:
âI can train your horse. I can put all the right buttons on it. But you can rip them off in a week. If you donât also get trained, you will need a full-time trainer to fix your horse every week so you can un-fix it again every weekend.â
What a sad little loop for that poor horse.
Honestly, Iâm shocked horses donât kill more people. Not because theyâre mean, but because we are:
⢠Lazy
⢠Inconsistent
⢠Overconfident
⢠Undereducated
⢠And somehow offended that riding actually requires effort
We expect them to be:
⢠Calm after two months off
⢠Polite while theyâre young and stuffed with rocket fuel
⢠Perfectly balanced while we flop around like a sack of laundry in a windstorm
⢠Totally fine with us yanking on their face while gripping their sides like a nutcracker
Then weâre shockedâshocked!âwhen they say, âIâm uncomfortable and confusedâ in the only language theyâve got: bucking, bolting, rearing, or just tuning us out.
If the trainer does everything right and you do everything wrong, itâs not that the trainer failed. Itâs that you didnât do your job.
Itâs your horse. Itâs your responsibility. Itâs your riding.
If you canât or donât want to put in the work, thatâs your choice. Totally valid. Get a pasture pet, get a horse you pay someone else to ride, or donât ride at all.
But donât you dare blame the trainer who:
⢠Got on your bargain-bin dragon when you were scared to
⢠Risked getting launched into low orbit
⢠Poured their heart, soul, time, and body into making it safer
All so you could go home, skip your homework, and then bash them on Facebook.
What a bad trainer, huh?
Sure. Letâs go with that.
By Gaye Derusso