05/30/2026
Remuda Update 🐴
It’s been a hot minute since I’ve done a Remuda update on my training page, and this mare has been busy collecting “firsts” like they’re Pokémon cards.
Over the last month, Remuda has crossed her first bridge, loaded into a trailer, been roped from the ground, laid down, gone on ba****ck rides, pushed her first cow, gone on her first outside ride, and even made it onto the payroll here on the ranch gathering and moving cattle through steep, rough country.
And honestly? She’s handled every bit of it suspiciously well.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that just a few short months ago this was the same mare who could turn a quick arm movement into a full-scale emergency. If a leaf blew the wrong direction, she was prepared to file for witness protection and relocate to another zip code. An unexpected movement could have her attempting to clear the 8-foot panels I had set up for her. Now when she encounters something new, she looks to me for guidance instead of trying to launch herself into the next county.
That change didn’t happen by accident.
When I first started working with Remuda, I wasn’t entirely sure how this incredibly reactive, intelligent, and sensitive mare was going to settle. She’s one of the most reactive horses I’ve worked with in all my years of training. The kind of horse where one wrong move can set you back weeks because trust isn’t something she’s willing to hand over freely—and if you lose it, she’ll happily send you back to square one with a receipt.
That’s exactly why I’ve approached her the way I have.
I’ve done zero desensitizing with Remuda.
My training focuses on building confidence through understanding and leadership, not through forcing a horse to tolerate things. I want my horses to willingly follow my direction. I want them soft, fluid, confident, and mentally engaged in what I’m asking.
Forced control creates brace.
Brace creates tension.
And a tense horse isn’t a horse that fully trusts.
Everything I teach gets broken down into baby steps. When the horse tries, I release. Sometimes that “try” is nothing more than a lean in the right direction. If they don’t understand, I don’t get bigger—I get clearer. I break it down even further and use things they’ve already learned to help them find the answer.
Because of that approach, Remuda has gone from reactive and explosive to calm, confident, and eager to tackle new challenges.
Crossing a bridge for the first time?
She was basically, “Well that’s weird. Anyway…”
Loading in the trailer?
She struggled with the step-up at first—which, to be fair, was about knee-high and looked more like a CrossFit obstacle than a trailer entrance. But once she figured it out, she loaded like she’d been doing it her whole life.
First time being roped from the ground?
“Interesting life choice you’ve made there, human, but I’ll allow it.”
First time seeing cows?
She acted like she’d spent the last three years filling out ranch job applications and was finally called in for an interview.
First outside ride?
She left the other horses behind like, “You guys stay here and discuss your feelings. We’ve got a job to do.”
She didn’t need other horses to feel safe. She drew confidence from her rider. (Shoutout to my friend Megan for volunteering to be my test dummy. 😝)
The very next day she was out gathering and moving cattle through rough terrain, crossing creeks, navigating ditches, climbing rocks, and handling everything as if she’d already read the employee handbook.
What continues to impress me most about her isn’t that she does these things—it’s how she does them.
She doesn’t approach new things with panic.
She approaches them with curiosity.
Her response is almost always, “I don’t know what this is, but let’s figure it out.”
And that’s exactly what I’ve tried to build from day one.
So why has she done so well?
Because I’ve never given her a reason to believe she couldn’t trust her leader.
When something worries her, I don’t shove it in her face and demand she stop reacting. I don’t punish fear. I don’t try to convince her the scary thing doesn’t exist.
Instead, I redirect her mind back to me.
I teach her that when things get uncertain, the answer isn’t panic—it’s thinking. It’s looking to her rider for guidance.
And the best part?
She’s remained light and responsive the entire time.
I didn’t dull her to her environment, so I didn’t dull her to me.
She’s not standing there because she’s learned she has no other option.
She’s participating because she trusts the process.
She hasn’t been taught to simply stand there and tolerate the world around her.
She’s been taught that when the world gets confusing, scary, or uncertain, she can come back to her rider and find the answer.
To me, that’s confidence.
Not the absence of fear.
But trust that’s stronger than it.
And watching a horse go from trying to leave the planet over a waving arm to calmly gathering cattle in rough country is a pretty cool reminder of what can happen when you take your time and build trust instead of just demanding obedience. ❤️🐴
