09/04/2026
The research from ISES actually shows that it takes a horse a minimum of 90 days to start to relax and trust in their new environment. If they have moved a lot and it has been stressful in their previous homes, with big changes in routine, it can take even longer.
When I pulled Tiz from the track I set her out to be a horse from 90 days before we tried any riding, lunging, etc. in the 90 days we hung out. Learned the routine. Hiked around the farm, played in the arena. And she learned when meals were served, that hay goes in that corner, that we would refill her 2 water buckets as often as she drained them, and about cross ties, grooming stalls, and blanket changes. She learned about me, and who her caretakers were.
And she was still sad, melancholy at times because she didn’t understand why she here, where had her grooms and trainer gone? Why wasn’t she at the track that had been home for 3 years. Had she done something wrong? She wasnt done winning, she told me. But we pampered her, and let her be right about things, and gave her time, and she started to shine, and play, and express herself, and blossomed into an amazing mare.
It takes time.
I read somewhere recently that the average horse will have seven different homes in its lifetime.
SEVEN.
And that’s the average...
In my job, I meet horses who are four or five years old and have already had an extraordinary number of homes. And more often than not, somewhere in their history, you’ll find the word ‘naughty’.
Naughty to catch. Naughty to hack. Naughty to mount. Naughty to ride. A ‘naughty’ horse.
But are they naughty?
Or have they simply never had long enough to feel safe?
Horses thrive on familiarity and predictability. Familiar horses, people, surroundings and routines.
And when we sell a horse, we know why.
The horse doesn’t.
One minute he’s in his field with Dave, who he’s spent every waking moment attached to for the last two years. Who’s perfected the art of stealing his fly mask.
The next, some woman he’s never met has put him in a box, driven him three counties away and introduced him to Kevin.
Dave has vanished.
Dinner tastes different.
Kevin is a k**b.
And on Tuesday someone gets on him and seems disappointed that he isn’t immediately living up to the glowing description in his advert.
So perhaps he struggles.
Maybe he’s harder to catch. Anxious when left alone. Tense to ride. Doesn’t want to leave the yard.
‘Naughty.’
So he moves again.
New field. New human. New food. New Kevin.
Of course sometimes horses genuinely aren’t right for their homes, and selling can absolutely be the kindest decision. Obvs.
But sometimes perhaps what a horse needs isn’t another home, rider, bit, saddle or training method.
Perhaps he just needs time.
Time to learn that breakfast happens every morning.
That these horses aren’t disappearing.
That this human keeps coming back.
That the rules aren’t going to change tomorrow.
That he’s allowed to unpack his metaphorical little suitcase.
And maybe, before we ask:
‘What’s wrong with this horse?’
we should occasionally ask:
‘How many times has this horse had to start again?’
Thoughts?