https://www.calmwillingconfidenthorses.com.au/

Dr Shelley Appleton Calm Willing Confident Horses, Mundaring (2025)

03/07/2025

When Care Becomes the Expectation, Riding Becomes the Reward

Well… I’m home.

There’s still sand in my boots, a suspicious amount of hay in my clothes, and a to-do list longer than the highway I drove in on—but I’m home. I’ve been reunited with my coffee machine ☕ (which clearly missed me), and more importantly, with my family—who, bless them, welcomed me back even though I’m currently little more than a zombie torn between Netflix and that to-do-list!

I’ve just spent two months on the road. One month running clinics, filming retraining work with off-the-track Thoroughbreds and Standardbreds, and experimenting with how to teach, reach, and translate chaos into calm 🧠🐴. Then I spent a month studying equine tensegrity balancing therapy with the brilliant Tami Elkayam, culminating in a co-clinic where we merged our realms and demonstrated how therapy and training merge in a practical and important "nerdy joy" kind of way!

Yes, I’m fried. But also—buzzing. And while I can’t promise this post has a clear point, it’s the brain-dump of someone who has seen a lot, done a lot, and worked with a lot of horses and humans in the hope of helping both learn something new. Because cool things happen when we do. 💡

Let’s start with the remarkable group of riding school coaches I caught up with in Sydney. These legends are experimenting with teaching horsemanship before anyone even sits on a horse. We found ourselves deep in a conversation about the Dunning-Kruger Effect—that pesky cognitive bias where the less you know, the more confident you are, and the more you learn, the more you realise how much you don’t know.

At the summit of that curve is the infamous Mount Stupid—where half-baked opinions go to strut and self-congratulate. I know Mount Stupid well. I didn’t just visit—I had a mortgage there 🏡. I lived confidently in my little ribbon-covered cottage of arrogance, armed with trophies, a few well-rehearsed mantras, and the deeply flawed belief that I knew everything I needed to know.

Then I made my horse’s mouth bleed.
Not metaphorically. Literally. 💔

That was my ticket off Mount Stupid and into the Valley of Despair, where reality smacks you in the face and you realise you’re not as skilled or kind as you thought—you were just lucky enough not to be shown otherwise. Back then, I only changed when the evidence was red. I rejected new information because I thought I didn’t need it.

Spoiler: I did.
And once I knew that, I started really learning. And no, I didn’t become a spiritual horsemanship sponge who believes everything with a hashtag and a healing touch. I’m open-minded—but not so open my brain falls out 🧠.

Here’s how my understanding of horses evolved—step by humbling step:

Act I: The Behaviour Years
I got really good at training horses. I could see what they didn’t understand, fill the gaps, smooth the glitches. The answer to every problem was clarity. Teach better, and the horse would be better. It worked. Mostly.

Act II: The Feeling Years
Then I realised horses don’t just do things—they feel things. They have emotions, thoughts, motivations. When you improve how a horse feels, you often change how they behave. That was a powerful shift but full of red herrings as I obsessed over triangulated eyes, tight lips, tail swishes and uneven nostril flares...

Act III: The Soundness Spiral
Then I noticed the horses who were hardest to train actually had something wrong with them and "something wrong" didn't always present as obviously lame. Ulcers, hoof issues, sore joints. Once treated, their behaviour improved dramatically. I got good at spotting discomfort. At one point, my clinics had more vet referrals than training notes 🩺.

Act IV: The Depressing Truth
And then came the next realisation: in some clinics, most horses had soundness issues. Not everyone could afford help. Not everyone had access to good professionals. Some had access to professionals who weren’t actually helping. It wasn’t enough to spot the problems. I needed to get ahead of them.

And that’s what led me here.

Here’s what I know now:
✅You can learn to understand a horse physically, mentally, and emotionally—and that lets you make better choices, earlier.
✅You can see problems before they actually become problems that need vet intervention.
✅You can support your horse at every stage—from thriving, to compensating, to subtly off, to struggling.

And yes—people can learn this. With their hands. Their eyes. Their choices. 👐👀

Because caring for a horse isn’t what you do after you’ve finished riding. It’s not a nice-to-have. It’s the whole damn point.

And here’s the twist:

When care becomes the foundation—when noticing, supporting, and adapting become your default—riding actually becomes part of the therapy. Not something you do despite the horse’s body, but something you do because of it. Movement becomes medicine. Fitness becomes function. Riding becomes enjoyable because it’s no longer about forcing, fixing, or ignoring—it’s about collaborating with a body that feels safe to move.

Caring doesn’t take away the fun—it makes it possible. Training is caring.
It makes horses better to be around.
It makes riding better 🐎.
It makes meaning out of the mundane, and magic out of the moments you might have missed ✨.

So yes, we need to shift:
From expecting to ride to expecting to care.
Because when care becomes the expectation, riding becomes the reward.

That’s the evolution:
From ego to empathy.
From certainty to curiosity.
From Mount Stupid to something far more grounded—and infinitely more rewarding.

So if you’re still up there on the peak—confident, proud, blissfully unaware—don’t panic. The fall is coming. We’ve all had it.

That’s where the learning begins.
And trust me: the view from here is so much better.

IMAGES📸: A) The amazing group of horse owners and professionals that came along to the co-clinic with myself and Tami ❤ B) The Dunning Kruger Effect - I hope you have escaped Mount Stupid, survived the Valley of Despair and are enjoying the Slope of Enlightenment 😆

09/06/2025

From Racehorse to Riding Horse – The Off-the-Track Reboot 🐎🔧

You know what’s not fair?
Taking a horse bred for speed, trained to race, and conditioned to go for a gallop at 5am in the morning…
…and then expecting it to instantly become your barefoot, bitless, trail-riding soulmate by Thursday.

Isabelle Chandler and I are on a mission—a slightly obsessive, definitely nerdy, and proudly horse-first mission—to change that 💥🐴

Retired racehorses are not necessarily broken. They’re not naughty. They’re not “too much.”
They’re just misunderstood—victims of the classic human tradition of not reading the manual before pressing all the buttons at once 🚨📖

So, we built the manual.
A 6-week educational reboot designed to help people understand what life was like before their retirement … and how to reset these brilliant athletes for a life after the track.

✨ It’s not magic.
✨ It’s not woo.
✨ It’s practical, grounded, and full of lightbulb moments that make you go,
“Ohhh… so that’s why he gets anxious in the wash bay”

Big thanks to Dr Jodie Gossage for adding some serious Standardbred smarts to the mix 🧠💡

We’re releasing a beta version of the course now—exclusive to my Society Membership—and looking for thoughtful humans to help us test-drive the content, share stories, and help shape the full version for release in August 🎯

Curious? Confused by your own off-the-track equine? It does not matter how long they have been off-the-track! Check the comments for all the details 👇

📸 IMAGE: This is Isabelle with Dash—once labelled “dangerous,” now a star pupil and rebooted legend. He’d been returned to his rehoming program multiple times before becoming a case study in our course. Watching him transform was genuinely satisfying... like finding the missing piece of a very fast, very handsome puzzle. ❤️

04/06/2025

🐴 Clinic Invitation: The Art of Observation — Finding and Fixing the Glitches That Matter
With Dr Shelley Appleton

No magic. No theatrics. No grandstands.
Just real horsemanship, thoughtful teaching, and a quality learning environment focused on doing what’s best for the horse—and giving you the clarity and skills to do it well.

👀 What This Clinic Is About
This isn’t another feel-good demonstration where you’re left guessing what actually happened.
This is a clinic for people who want to learn how to see.

You’ll learn how to:

🧠 Understand your horse’s physical and behavioural responses to training—not just emotionally, but biomechanically
🕵️‍♀️ Identify glitches in learning and performance that often trace back to foundation issues
🔄 Make sense of how small things become big patterns—and how to redirect the trajectory
🧰 Build a toolbox of practical skills, clear observations, and confident decision-making
🐎 Set your horse up for long-term soundness, willingness, and performance—on trail or in the arena

I don’t teach fantasy.
I don’t sell feel-good jargon.
I teach the grounded middle.
Where partnership, welfare, skill, and progress all matter.

🤝 A Learning Space Like No Other
My clinics are designed to offer a high-quality, supported learning experience—not a performance in front of an audience.

That means:

👥 Small participant numbers for individual coaching and thoughtful attention
💻 Pre-clinic Zoom calls to prepare and discuss your horse
📚 Online course access for a month before the clinic
🔁 Continued access after the clinic to review and embed learning
💬 A community built on support, camaraderie, and progress—not judgement
Every decision made during the clinic is prefaced by one core principle:
❤️ The welfare of the horse.
Not just in theory—but in every pressure applied, every rest given, every movement asked for.

Here are the Clinics Remaining in 2025⬇️

Queensland - Biddaddaba 12-13 July 2025
New South Wales - Grafton 18-19 July 2025
South Australia - Mount George 2-3 August 2025
South Australia - Dingabledinga 8-9 August 2025
New South Wales - Wagga Wagga 4-5 October 2025

If you're ready to stop guessing, start observing, and learn how to work with your horse in a way that’s clear, kind, and grounded in skill—this clinic is for you.

Because it’s not about fixing the horse.
It’s about understanding what they’re showing you—and knowing what to do next.

⭐️Booking Details in Comments ❤

📸 IMAGE: Small Details, Big Impact
Here, I’m about to ask a horse to flex to the right—something that might seem simple, but carries a lot of weight. I could genuinely run an entire clinic on just this response: how to train it, how to observe it, and how it affects the horse’s long-term soundness and performance 🐎🧠

In each of these images, I’m helping participants train their eye 👀—learning what to look for, where glitches show up in both the ask and the response, and most importantly, how to improve them 🔍✨

Because in good horsemanship, the small things are the big things. 🧩➡️🏆

Disclaimer: This post contains no satire. I apologise for the unusually sincere tone and promise to return to regular programming shortly. 😉

02/06/2025

Are You Really Having Fun❓
(A cautionary tale about joy, delusion, and horses that could probably qualify for the Olympics in Uncooperative Dragging 🐴)

So, I’ve got this mate who’s a vet—brilliant, kind, and one of the only people who can say, “I’m here to help,” without making you brace for an invoice, a sermon, or a nervous breakdown 😅.

She told me a story that made my brain do that thing where it laughs and cries at the same time—like watching your nan try to send an email with the TV remote 📺📨.

Here’s the tale.

She was out doing a routine visit for another horse when she bumped into a new person who had just moved their horse to the property a month before. The lady was all sunshine and optimism, radiating that glow of a person who believes they’ve just unlocked the secrets of equine happiness through paddock feng shui ☯️🌿.

“My mare is soooo much happier here,” she beamed. “So relaxed! So rideable!” 🧘‍♀️🐎

This is the point in the story where the background music should turn ominous 🎻😬.

Then she adds, “Oh, I found a lump on her back—should I be worried?”

My vet friend, being the helpful human she is, offers to take a quick look. “Just bring her up to the stables.”

And then… it begins.

The woman heads off to fetch the mare. And by “fetch,” I mean: she enters the paddock like she’s auditioning for "Australia’s Most Nervous Ninja", takes 20 minutes to corner the horse, finally slaps a halter on like it’s booby-trapped with fireworks and marital tension, and then attempts to walk her to the stables with the same success rate as trying to walk a microwave on a leash.

The horse—bless her—immediately transforms from “relaxed paddock fairy” into a sweaty, turbo-charged panic noodle with hooves 😰🐎. Ears spinning, nostrils flaring, eyes wide like she just locked eyes with a wheelbarrow in a new location.

The woman is visibly terrified, gripping the lead rope like a defibrillator might be hidden inside it ⚡😳.

My vet friend watches this slow-motion disaster unfold and—being both heroic and possessing a strong sense of workplace health and safety—intercepts. But even she can’t get near the mare, who is now channelling the energy of a malfunctioning leaf blower full of adrenaline 🍃💥.

So they abandon the mission. Back to the paddock they go.

The mare exhales, suddenly serene again like nothing ever happened, because apparently the paddock is a magical land where stress goes to die and humans go to lie to themselves 🪄🌾.

Turns out the mare hadn’t left that paddock in a month. Not even for a spin around the driveway. Her entire social calendar consisted of grass, mild wind, and inner turmoil 💨🌱😐.

My friend, gently—because she’s nice—asks if the lady had done any groundwork.

The lady blinks. “Oh no, I don’t have time for groundwork. I just ride.”

Right. That’s like a paramedic saying, “I don’t do CPR—I just whisper encouraging things at the unconscious.”

She then cheerfully explains that at the last place, the horse was “a bit scary” to ride. But now, here in the sacred paddock, she’s “so much better.”

And the kicker? When asked if she was enjoying her horse, the lady smiled wide and said:

“Oh yes. I’m having so much fun.”

Fun. So. Much. Fun.

Let’s break this down, shall we?

Because behind this feel-good paddock propaganda is a textbook example of what happens when optimism crashes headfirst into reality wearing flip-flops 🩴🧠💥.

1️⃣ Paddock Imprisonment ≠ Peace
The mare hadn’t left a 20x20 grass square in over a month. This isn’t relaxation—it’s house arrest with hay 🏡🐴. The world beyond the gate has become a haunted carnival. The more you shelter a horse from life, the more likely they are to lose their mind when confronted with a garden hose or a gust of wind that smells like change 💨😱.

2️⃣ If You Can’t Lead It, You Can’t Ride It
If leading your horse around the property requires breathwork, bribes, and a therapist on standby 🧘‍♀️🍬🛋️, this is not a “challenging moment”—this is a four-legged red flag 🚩. Leading should not be a terrifying event. If your horse sees a wheelbarrow and responds like it’s being chased by wolves, it’s not "just a bit sensitive"—it’s underprepared and overwhelmed.

3️⃣ “I Only Have Time to Ride” = “I’m Flying the Plane but Skipped Pilot School”
Groundwork isn’t optional. It’s the instruction manual 📖 to basic handling. If you’re not doing groundwork, then riding your horse is like opening a novel halfway through and being surprised you don’t understand the plot.😍🤷‍♀️. You can’t have a big fight all the way from the paddock and just throw a saddle on and expect them to carry your dreams and your lunchbox by having a toxic encounter before you even begin.

4️⃣ Fun? Are We Watching the Same Film?
A horse you can’t catch, can’t lead, can’t remove from its paddock, and are slightly terrified to ride is not “fun.” It’s a cautionary tale 📚🫣. It’s equine-themed cognitive dissonance—when your brain tries to protect you from reality by pretending that fear, stress, and escalating dysfunction are actually part of the plan. It’s the equestrian version of saying, “He only yells because he loves me.” 💔

And look—I get it. I really do. I was this woman once. I thought groundwork was for people who were scared of their horse (which was ironic as I was scared of my horse but kept it to myself). I thought “fun” meant surviving a ride without vomiting from stress.

But then I learned that real fun doesn’t come from pretending. It comes from progress. From competence. From knowing your horse isn’t one gust of wind away from launching you into the neighbour’s paddock like a lawn dart 🎯🌀.

And here’s the thing—unsolicited advice rarely lands. It’s just another voice in the void 🗣️🌌. But demonstrated competence? That’s magnetic. That’s how change happens.

So maybe—just maybe—at this property, someone with good horse skills will cross her path. Someone who can catch, lead, and ride their horse without a tragic soundtrack 🎶. Someone who makes it look doable. Someone who quietly shows that you don’t need to live in the permanent emotional limbo of “just surviving.”

And maybe—maybe—she’ll get curious. Ask a question. Pick up a lead rope without fear and discover that “fun” is so much more than not dying 🐎💡.

Maybe she’ll even learn that the real joy of horses isn’t in pretending everything’s fine.

It’s in finally knowing what the hell you’re doing.

💬 A Little Note From Me
If this blog gave you a giggle, a lightbulb moment, or a feeling of “Oh no, I’ve done that”—please share the laughs and the learnings. Hit the share button.

And before the tone police saddle up—please don’t. I write for people who enjoy having a laugh while we talk about serious stuff. Because sometimes the best way to face reality is through a grin and a well-aimed metaphor.

This blog is about ideas, not individuals. Yes, it’s based on a true story—but details have been changed to protect the identity of those involved. So if you think this is about you... it isn’t. Unless it is. In which case—hi 👋 and I promise, we’ve all been there.😉

The goal isn’t to shame. It’s to spark curiosity, encourage skill, and gently hold up a mirror (with a glitter frame and just enough sass to upset one of the gurus selling connection for $997 a module🙄).

Thanks for reading. And remember—progress is fun. Pretending is exhausting. Choose wisely. 💡🐎🎯

IMAGE📸: Two seriously sweet young horses hanging out waiting for my groundwork clinic to begin on the weekend. They might not be under saddle yet but their education on being handled on the ground is excellent😍

30/05/2025

No Guru. No Gimmicks. Just Layers.

Over the years, I’ve gone from riding horses to unravelling them—layer by layer, like a dirt-covered onion with opinions 🧅🐴. What began as a casual hobby quickly spiralled into a full-blown forensic investigation of everything from behaviour to biomechanics to herd dynamics, with the occasional brief holidays in Overthinkingville (population: me) 🧠⛺. Apparently, once you start paying attention to horses, they return the favour by showing you everything you didn’t know you didn’t know. It’s both magical ✨ and mildly humiliating.

I began, as most do, with the Standard Model of Horsemanship: lead, ride, rug, feed, repeat 🔁. If a horse was “tricky,” there was always a solution—get lessons, bigger bit, fancier gear, lunge them into submission. We called it “training.” I thought that’s how it was done, mostly because that’s what everyone else was doing while nodding confidently 🙄.

Then a horse came along who didn’t just refuse to play along—he tore up the script, lit it on fire, and handed me the ashes 🔥📝. And that’s when the real learning began.

I discovered that horses actually learn things 🤯. Not just learn about things—but learn through things. Wild, right? I’d spent years doing stuff to them, and now I had to figure out how to do stuff with them. I got curious. I got better. I started spotting gaps in their understanding and learned how to build bridges instead of battlegrounds 🌉. I even built a business out of it. Turns out, I’m quite good at helping confused horses make sense of our nonsense.

But then came the mare.

The one who couldn’t learn that she’d be okay. Not just whether she could do the thing—but whether she could cope doing it 💥. Confidence, I learned, isn’t a side-effect of click-and-reward or a byproduct of pressure-release. It’s a whole internal ecosystem. And when that ecosystem is out of balance, no amount of cheerleading or technique will stick. In her case, the cause? Pain. Subtle, sneaky, unseeable. Her body couldn’t do what her brain knew it should, and her failure to gain confidence was the only breadcrumb she left behind 🧩.

By this stage I thought I’d reached the summit 🏔️. Turns out, I was still at base camp, holding a stick and calling it a compass.

And just when I’d stabilised that paradigm shift with a cup of tea and some deep breathing—enter wild horses 🐎🌾.

No saddles. No stables. No five-step plan to connection. Just horses being… horses. Grazing, breathing, moving as one—wired by nature, not rebranded by humans 🌿. And it hit me square in the prefrontal cortex: I’d spent years working with horses without ever really meeting the horse (note: Thank you to Kerry M Thomas ❤ )

It was like discovering your housemate of 20 years has a secret identity, and you never thought to ask what they do on weekends 🕵️‍♀️. I’d helped horses cope with the lives we gave them—but I never stopped to ask what life they were meant for.

I thought I understood “herd dynamics.” I could talk about alpha mares and hierarchy and "herd bosses" with the best of them—which is to say, confidently and inaccurately 😬. Turns out, a lot of what we call “natural” is just domesticated dysfunction and that's the only horse behaviour we are exposed to so we "think" it is normal 😵‍💫.

But these wild horses? They were functional. Their instincts were firing like a well-tuned alarm system 🚨. They were dialled in, not spaced out. When I energetically projected my desire to be their friend and guardian and emotional support human, they said, “No thanks. This is our family. This is our life. We already have a system. You are… not part of it.”❌ (True story 😆)

And just like that, the domesticated horse looked different to me 👀. I saw how captivity doesn’t break their instincts—it triggers them. Their brilliance becomes their burden. Because when flight is your superpower, suburbia is a psychological maze full of plastic bags, squeaky gates, and people who believe “groundwork” means walking in a circle until your soul leaves your body 🔄🫠.

But here’s the twist: those same instincts that make horses reactive also make them remarkably adaptive 🧠⚡. Nature didn’t just give them alertness—it gave them learning. Which means the problem isn’t their wiring. It’s whether we honour it.

And just when I thought I had reached a nice, balanced place with all this—along came Tami Elkayam Equine Bodywork.

While I decode behaviour and external expression, Tami dives into the deep tissues and anatomy of the horse and speaks fluent fascia 💬🧬. Where I build communication through behaviour, she builds it through biology. She taught me that tissue talks—and your touch can either soothe it or send it into full-blown DEFCON 1 🚫🖐️. She showed me how to read the horse’s movement, even when they aren’t moving, and how my own sensory system could be trained to listen like fingertips reading braille. [Note: I will admit here that this did involve a lot of Tami putting my hands on horses and asking me if I “Can you feel that?”. And me saying “I think so” while secretly panicking because I felt nothing before finally I felt enough tissue to feel something 😂].

She taught me that every single thing we do—the feed, the feet, the tack, the terrain, the exercise, the thoughts we had at breakfast—all of it feeds into the horse’s nervous system 🔄🧠. It’s a full-body conversation, 24/7, and you’re participating whether you mean to or not.

Tami also reminded me that every time I teach a horse something, I’m asking them to do something nature didn't necessarily create them to do. And that comes with risk. My job isn’t just to teach—it’s to protect the process 🛡️. To recognise when I need to back off, modify, or support. Because safety isn’t just a concept—it’s something a horse feels.

Now, I know some of you might feel overwhelmed by all this. You might think I feel overwhelmed by all this.

I don’t.

Because when you stop needing to know everything, the not-knowing becomes wonder instead of worry ✨. I don’t feel lost—I feel bloody lucky. Lucky to be learning. Lucky to be part of the conversation. Lucky to still be here, peeling back layers with muddy boots and an open mind 🥾🧠.

So yes—I’ll keep learning. I’ll keep listening. I’ll keep calling out red herrings, rabbit holes, and rebranded fairytales that promise magic and deliver mediocrity 🎭. I’ve been blessed by the horses I’ve met, the people I’ve learned from, and the lessons that hit me like a sack of feed when I least expected it 🪣💥.

And I’ll keep sharing it all. The good ideas, the bad ones, and the ones that just need a firm tap with the “this could be better” stick 🔨.

Because the horse deserves better. And we can do better 💛.

And now, a few closing notes for the back row philosophers, bored scrollers, and Facebook comment warriors:
👉 If this resonated, hit the share button. Thoughtful horsemanship isn’t built on silence and side-eyes. It’s built on brave conversations and brains that like a bit of friction 🧠💬.

🚫 Please don’t copy and paste this and pretend it’s yours. I wrote this. With my brain. And my time. Plagiarising me is not the flex you think it is 🚷🖊️.

🙃 I discuss ideas, not people. So if you’re reading this and thinking “Is this about me?”—take a breath. Probably not. But if it feels uncomfortably close to home… well, I’m not a psychic, but I’d take that as a gentle cosmic nudge ✨🫣.

📍 And if you think we shouldn’t critique ideas because they’re linked to people—pull out a map. If you don’t live in North Korea, you are not banned from having public discussions. This is not a gulag. It’s a conversation. Welcome to democracy 🗺️🗣️.

🎻 And finally, to the tone police:

✔️ Yes, I make you think.
✔️ Yes, I’m cheeky.
✔️ Yes, I know my stuff.
❌ No, I’m not writing for everyone.

I’m writing for people who want to do better by their horses and enjoy a laugh along the way 🐎😂. If that’s not you, that’s okay. Scroll on. There’s an entire internet full of other stuff for you to enjoy 🎶🌈.

I’m not your guru. I’m the person who makes you drag your favourite ideas out onto the porch and give them a good whack with a cricket bat 🏏. (Hat tip to Tim Minchin.)

Now go forth—and get curious about your horse. 🐴💡

IMAGE📸: Wild horses in Kosciusko Natural Park rejecting my subliminal messages for me to be their friend. They didn't want a human, they strongly preferred the world they had evolved to thrive in ❤

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23/05/2025

🧠🐎 Clinic Insight: You Flinch, They Learn – The Real Reason Your Horse Is Confused (and Most Likely Feeling Slightly Alarmed)

There’s a moment—subtle, automatic—when a person flinches or steps back as the horse approaches.
It’s not thought-out.
It’s just your nervous system reacting to 500kg of motion coming your way.

But to the horse?
That moment means everything.

👉 Once you see me demonstrate it in the video, you won’t be able to unsee it.

Because it teaches your horse:

“I can influence you.”
“You don’t lead—I have to figure things out.”
“You feel like restraint, not direction.”
“You touch without clarity. That’s aversive.”
Even when you're trying to be “gentle,” you might be teaching discomfort, confusion, or even threat—without realising it.

🎯 Here’s the truth:
Horses don’t learn from your good intentions.
They learn from how they change your behaviour. How you move, how you touch, where you place pressure, and how well you help them find focus and relief.

They watch:
👣 Your feet
🖐️ Your hands
⚖️ Your balance

And much more!

And from that, they build meaning—about how safe they feel, how clearly they can follow you, and how they’ll respond next time.

🔍 Put simply:
- Horses notice when they’ve influenced you.
- Subconscious reactions are loud signals to them.
- Without skill, people flinch, grab, and confuse.
- With skill, you stay grounded, give direction, and build trust instead of tension.

🌿 This is why I teach from the Grounded Middle.
Neither fantasy nor force—just calm, competent horsemanship rooted in reality.

Where critical thinking takes on magical thinking 🤯✨, and horses are understood through thoughtful training—not dominated, not indulged.

No drowning in pseudoscience, overthinking, or emotional monitoring.

Just clarity, skill, and partnership that makes sense—to both horse and human. 🤝

This is where real progress lives.
This is where I teach.

🎥 Watch 1 minute of video from one of my clinics:

▶️ [See the impact of skills & rules of engagement and how this changes everything.]

VIDEO🎥: Watch lovely Rugen politely tuning out to cope with my confusing meaningless handling - reflecting how horses are regularly handled. This is the stuff that really matters!!

If you stand for the middle too — you know “reality” between fantasy and force - share this video and help me bring back balance to the algorithm 😜

22/05/2025

Smug Science, Dirty Boots, and the Myth of the Superior Horseperson
(or: Why the horse doesn’t care how many letters are after your name)

Lately, I’ve noticed a particular kind of post doing the rounds online.
It’s polite. Friendly. Respectable.
And smug as a freshly printed certificate. 🧾

It politely suggests that what horsepeople really need is more science, more ethology, more studying… and a little less doing.
The vibe?
If you haven’t immersed yourself in behavioural theory and polyvagal buzzwords, your experience is well-meaning—but outdated.

And that attitude?
That quietly condescending tone that pats practical experience on the head before shooing it offstage?

It’s not science.
It’s scientific snobbery.
And scientific snobbery screams scientific ignorance—which is kind of ironic. 🧠💅

Let’s talk about Sue from Wagga Wagga.

Now, just to be clear, Sue is a fictional character in this satire. But Wagga Wagga is real and wonderful—and Sue represents the many brilliant, gritty horsewomen I’ve met. Calloused hands. Sharp eyes. Quiet wisdom. Decades of experience with brumbies, bolters, buckers, and biters. Horses that most people never see, let alone succeed with.

Sue has given hundreds of horses the kind of education that sets them up for life.
She doesn’t quote the literature—she is the literature, if you’re paying attention.
She works with feel, timing, and an uncanny instinct you can’t earn in a classroom.

But when the Ethology Enthusiasts log on, Sue is politely asked to sit down.

“Yes yes, experience is valid… but we’ve studied. Unlike you.”
It’s the intellectual equivalent of patting a paramedic on the head and saying:

“Aw, you’ve seen trauma—but I studied haemoglobin.”
Sue doesn’t recite definitions.
She tells stories with outcomes.
She reads complexity and adapts in real time—no citations required.
And honestly, I’d back Sue in a tight situation before I’d back someone who needs to check their notes.

Let me give you an example:

Yesterday, I met a mare Sue would’ve read like a book. 📖
An outlier. Not wild, not tame. Defensive. Pushed into pressure.
And I knew it—seconds in. Not from a manual, but from the kind of experience that lives in the body.

These are the horses that don’t appear in studies.
They exist in the gaps. The grey areas. The real world.

You don’t help those horses with infographics.
You help them with strategy and timing.
With feel and decision-making under pressure. ⚡

And no—I’m not anti-science.
I’ve got a Bachelor’s, a Master’s, and a PhD in a science field.
I love science. I use it. I teach it.

But if your version of science tells you to dismiss the people who’ve lived through more horse encounters than you’ve had hot showers—
you don’t understand science.
You’re just using it to prop up your ego.

Because true scientists—the ones worth listening to—do not dismiss practical expertise.
They value it.
They seek it.
They know that most breakthroughs didn’t begin in labs.
They started in paddocks.
They started with someone saying:

“Huh. That’s interesting.”
So yes, let’s celebrate science. Let’s value what it brings.
But don’t you dare dismiss the practical experts.
Don’t you dare suggest that reading papers replaces reading horses.

Because here’s what horses care about:
Not your credentials.
Not your course content.
Not your ethology buzzwords.

They care how they feel.
They care whether you’re safe.
Whether you make sense.
Whether you can turn a confronting, chaotic world into something navigable. 🐴

Quoting ethics is easy.
Being ethical while facing the brutal uncertainty of reality? That takes skill.

There is no black and white in horsemanship. No one-size-fits-all.
It’s a constant dance between what you know, what you see, and how fast you can pivot when things go sideways.

It’s a skillset that requires balance.
A unity of insight and application.
Of ideas and action.
Of being able to zoom out—and still know exactly when to act.

As the horse training anthem (borrowed from Kenny Rogers via horsemanship reality) goes:

🎶 “You got to know when to hold ’em,
Know when to fold ’em,
Know when to walk away…” 🎶
And your ability to do that well—consistently, calmly, ethically—depends on how much you know, how much you’ve seen, and how confidently you can hold both science and sweat in the same hand.

Because the more balanced your understanding,
the better your decisions,
and the more horses you can help.

That’s not snobbery.
That’s mastery.

So if you’re dismissing experience, you’re not being more enlightened—you’re being dangerously naïve.
And if you’re scoffing at science, you’re not being authentic—you’re just refusing to grow.

📝 FINAL NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
If you’re about to comment that this blog is anti-science or anti-practical expertise...
that’s just me setting off the smoke alarm in your cognitive dissonance centre. 🚨🧠
This is satire. It’s designed to make you think.

This is about respecting the centre—the middle ground.
The place horses need us to live:
Informed. Skilled. Grounded.
With open minds—but not so open our brains fall out. 🧠🚫

Because the person you’re tempted to dismiss…
Might be the one who helps you understand something you didn’t even know you were missing.

And that goes for everyone—on both ends of the spectrum.

If this blog made you think—about the wisdom in the middle, the value of lived experience, or that one unforgettable “Sue” who taught you more in a round yard than a course ever could—hit the share button.

And while you’re at it, think about that one scientific insight that changed everything too—the one that made something click, gave you language for what you’d always felt, or helped you see your horse differently.

That’s the magic.
Not one or the other.
But both—working together.
That’s where the good stuff lives. 🐴🧠💡

IMAGE📸: This is the beautiful Jewel—our very first meeting. A moment that marked the beginning of something big… where I had a lot to prove, and only my skills to do the talking.

Dr Shelley Appleton Calm Willing Confident Horses

03/07/2025

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