I have a green horse. This doesn’t mean I’m fantasizing or thinking nonsense. At least, in the world of horsemen, that’s not what it means. “Green horse” is a term used by cowboys when talking about a horse that has just started with a saddle and rider. They even have a term for this process: *Starting a Colt*. What a beautiful expression! They don’t “break” the horse, but begin a process that ends with a riding horse. The fact that we don’t have a specific term for this in Greek today means a lot, but we’ll discuss that another time. So, I have a green mare. Vagia is four years old. She gradually needs to acquire the skills of a riding horse, to become physically and mentally stronger. But there is time before the intensive work under the saddle begins. A horse’s skeleton takes about five to six years to fully develop. The last part to ossify is the spine, so starting intensive riding too early is a crime. The consequences are many, primarily various deformities, injuries, and we end up with spondylosis, or *kissing spine*. Spinal pathologies caused by mishandling at a young age or excessive workload are incurable. They are permanent, often worsen, and are accompanied by excruciating pain.

So far, Vagia has gone for a trail ride outside the farm twice, always with another horse. Now, for the first time, she’s going out alone. With a determined step, she left the farm. Well done, Vagia! We started descending the paths among the olive groves. The first intersection brings the first hesitation: “I don’t know if I should continue,” she thinks silently. I breathe and send the power of my inhalation to the horse. I lower my hands, assume the so-called zero position (absolute calmness), and offer the reins with a breath. Good! We continue.

There’s a truck at the side of the road and a man inside looking at us. “I’m not going any further,” Vagia decides and stops. “Good morning,” I say to the man. And Vagia decides to continue. She rightly judged that there was no danger. Suddenly, a greenhouse worker passes by on a bicycle: “That’s it! I’m not going any further,” she says with her body, and we stop again. The same process begins: I exhale intensely towards the horse, try to convey my calmness, offer comfort with the reins… Nothing. I add a leg motion to help. I press, distributing the pressure along the entire length of my leg. From the top down to a light tap with my heel. I feel a small movement forward. Praise for Vagia, but she stops again. “Let’s go,” I say calmly but decisively. A hesitant step follows. I praise Vagia with a stroke on the neck and between the ears, and we move on. We pass the dovecote, which shakes in the strong wind. No reaction. A piece of torn plastic from the greenhouse flaps in the air. No reaction. Vagia just follows the plastic strip with her eyes. We had done a lot of plastic bag games for days, and now she doesn’t get scared. Someone starts up a truck. No reaction. Vagia is used to similar sounds from the milking generator at the farm where she lives.

Further ahead is the cemetery corner with a trash can whose lid lifts slightly in the wind. Vagia doesn’t even care. My confidence is sky-high! I feel like I can go anywhere, even though I still have a relatively weak mare beneath me, who is searching for balance, trying to figure out how to carry me on her back, zigzagging a few times. We walked past the cemetery wall to the intersection with the road leading to the village square. I will make it there! A risky decision. But Vagia has shown great courage so far. We’ve been on the road for half an hour now. There could be cars and motorcycles on the road with drivers who don’t know how to react when they encounter a horse and rider. But only euphoria and selfish ambition drive me now.

On the square, some children are playing soccer. A ball flies here and there, they shout at each other, they laugh. But I don’t see it; I don’t hear anything. I just want to go there. I want to enjoy the feeling that I am perfect in the saddle, in the training, in the education of the horse. The horse doesn’t interest me at all at this moment. Vagia reaches the middle of the intersection, looks around, and assesses the situation as an insurmountable obstacle. From this point on, beneath me, I have a horse made of concrete and a hydrogen bomb in one package. You could “roll the dice” to see which side will take action. So, I offer the reins, try to relax (where will I send some calm energy now???), a push with my legs, “Let’s go!” I say and… nothing. The horse’s feet are “rooted” deep in the asphalt. It doesn’t matter, we have other tricks for such situations: I’ll send her into a small circle. Even the slightest movement is better than nothing. We make a circle, first, second, and I turn Vagia towards the square. And the horse is still motionless. She doesn’t try to run, she doesn’t panic, she just can’t continue. She is scared, worried, doesn’t believe she can make it. In her own way, she tries to tell me, but I’m stuck on my goal. Instead, I try to convince her by backing up. To no avail. I clarify that I want to move forward: reins, leg, emphatic calf, I tap her side behind the saddle with the whip. “I’m telling you, I’m not going anywhere,” Vagia insists. I’m deaf. In my arrogance, I make more mistakes. She can’t win! She will go to the square, I become stubborn. I start applying various tricks, one after another, without even waiting for a reaction. A clear message of disappointment and despair from my side. Vagia understands and turns her head towards the road back to show me what she wants. Who would feel safe with a leader like me now? Who would follow? But Vagia is generous. She stands and waits. The only thing she’s willing to accept is a “about-face,” and let’s go back to the safety of the farm. In the end, I give up. I won’t resort to violence. What I’m doing is already borderline. Calm down, I order myself. On the third inhalation, Vagia chews slightly. She understands that my “performance” is over. I offer her the reins and immediately she takes a step forward. I stop and praise her. I really have no right to ask for more at this moment. My green mare has more sense than I do. We turn and head home. But we don’t go straight. We speed up, slow down. We stop. We slalom between the trees. We cross a small stream that didn’t inspire much confidence in Vagia since she was a foal, and we reach home. I praise Vagia, remove the saddle, bridle, wash the sweat off her back, and give her a big carrot.

In the end, I saved what I could. Fortunately, we had a long and intense period of groundwork, building mutual respect and trust. But I’m angry with myself for letting her down at a critical moment… What conclusions can we draw?

• Horses learn through positive experiences. It’s possible to conquer a horse through violence, breaking it, but the next time the same demand, the same situation, will cause even more anxiety. Fear is not a teacher, neither for animals nor for children. The threat of a test, a grade, a hit can only produce short-term results.
• We mustn’t be overzealous with horses. We try to perceive their limit and end the training one step before that limit.
• The horse should go home in a positive mood, feeling successful, that it did its lessons well, that it succeeded, that it was worthy.
• If the horse doesn’t trust us, its performance doesn’t improve, and it doesn’t learn new things.
• We can only gain its trust through consistency, reward (not meaning treats), encouragement, support, and clear boundaries, but all this takes time. The horse is not a destination; it is a journey.
• The horse senses our insecurity, panic, desperation, as well as our well-being and inner calm, and behaves accordingly. It won’t follow a leader who doesn’t exude calmness and safety. The horse appreciates honesty and straightforwardness in communication. It is not sneaky, cunning, vengeful, and doesn’t understand such behaviors from us.
• Our reward or disagreement must come immediately after the action. We can’t punish the horse for long periods or a day later. After a few seconds, it already stops understanding the relationship between its actions and ours. We don’t want a machine; we don’t want a subjugated animal. We want a partner, a companion, a friend on the journey we make together.
• When a horse trusts us, you can’t imagine what it is willing and capable of doing for us.