Chapter 1: The Tenderfoot

Recently I got a letter telling me I was a terrible person.

The writer had been at a recent Leaders by HEART training and was, to put it mildly, unimpressed. Having spent more than four decades as a public speaker and leadership coach, I’ve received my share of negative letters. While many people appreciate what I do, not everyone does. Sometimes people criticizing my speaking style, disagree with something I’ve said or think that my training methods are wrongheaded or misguided. That’s par for the course.

This letter writer, however, went above and beyond the call. I wasn’t just a bad speaker or mediocre horse trainer in their eyes. They believed I was a terrible person. And, in the writer’s opinion, I had no business having anything to do with horses or teaching leadership.

Besides, the writer claimed I was a bad Christian. They were sure that Jesus would agree.

In short, the writer was not a fan of my work.

What had I done to make this writer so mad? The writer believed I had mistreated a horse named Buddy. They wanted to make sure I was never mean to a horse again.

Let me explain.

A few weeks earlier, I spoke at a company in South Carolina. The company cares about its people and wants to build a culture of respect, where everyone is valued. They asked me to help them do that. I’d been meeting with the staff at the company on a regular basis to talk about leadership over several years.

One morning, I gave a presentation to a group of workers, demonstrating how the principles used in training a horse can help people to communicate better with one another. That morning’s presentation was mostly about listening—learning how to pay attention and to build trust by your action, not your words.

As I said in the introduction, you can’t text a horse or send them an email. You can’t call them on the phone and pass on your instructions. You have to spend time with them, meeting face-to-face. You have to show them you care by investing your time in them. You have to show them what you want them to do in person—not in an email or text. And you have to listen to what they are saying with their body language and attitude.

Sometimes this can be uncomfortable, especially if you are working with a horse (or a person) who wants to be left alone.

That particular morning, my friend Charlie and I were working Buddy, a 9-year-old horse who had never been ridden before. Now Buddy was tall and good looking—a white horse with a few spots of black and brown on his hide. For the most part, he seemed to be a mild-mannered, easy-going horse. Just the kind of horse that anyone would want to ride or pet on the nose.

As I gave my introduction, Buddy stood in the middle of the round pen, grazing contentedly. Every once in a while, he’d look at the crowd outside the fence, as if he was wondering what all of the fuss was about.

He seemed happy just to be there on a warm sunny day. Then we got started.

As I stood outside the fence, addressing the company’s staff, telling them what we would be doing that morning, Charlie stepped into the round pen with Buddy.

Over the course of about 90 minutes or so, we would do some initial training with Buddy. Charlie led Buddy through a series of exercises while I explained to the onlookers what was happening inside the pen. At the end of our time together, if all went well, Buddy would let Charlie put a saddle on his back and ride him.

At all times we treated Buddy with respect. But we asked him to do things he’d never been asked to do before. And that’s where things got interesting.

A few ground-rules

The training had three key components.

First, we set up some boundaries to keep both Buddy and Charlie safe and focused on the job at hand. The boundaries gave them room to maneuver so neither one could be painted in a corner. At the same time, the boundaries kept Buddy and Charlie in close contact.

There was room for Buddy to breath but not enough room for him to run away.

Second, we gave Buddy our full attention. And we asked him to do the same in return. One of our core beliefs is that you can’t build a relationship with someone while you are distracted.

Third, we asked Buddy to move —usually by waving a flag at him— and rewarded him for making even the smallest bit of progress.

Each step of the process was broken down into small, bite-sized chunks that helped the horse understand what was expected. After each small step, we rewarded Buddy when he did well and pressed him to try again when he didn’t give his best effort.

I’ve done presentations like this all around the country for decades, taking horses that have had no training and who have never been ridden—sometimes even mustangs who have been running free all of their lives—and in less than two hours, have earned enough of their trust that they will let me ride them.

Most of the horses I work with in these sessions are on the younger side. Buddy was older than most and more set in his ways. Still, he was a good horse and was used to being around people. As long as they didn’t get too close or ask him to do something he didn’t want to do, he was happy to live and let live.

Try to cross that line, however, and Buddy got ornery. The problem for Buddy is that most of his life, he’d been treated mostly with benign neglect.

For years he’d been owned by a “horse hoarder.” A woman collected horses and kept them on a few hundred acres she owned. Some she had bought, others she had traded for, some she had bred. For the most part, she let the horses run free on her land. She fed them and was kind-hearted, but she lacked the time or energy to care for them and develop healthy relationships with them. Besides looking in on Buddy and the other horses once in a while, she let them run free.

As a result, Buddy liked people as long as they kept their distance. If they got too close, he got nervous. He didn’t know how to act around them and became easily spooked. He had never been trained to do even simple tasks like walking into a horse trailer for a visit to the vet.

When it became clear Buddy’s owner could not manage the horses, her family took over the property and the care of her horses.

Buddy’s new owners, Wes and Marsha, were doing their best to take care of Buddy and the other horses. They'd both grown up around horses, and while they weren’t trainers, they knew how to take care of them.

But Buddy was a problem. Even after a year, they'd made very little progress. “He doesn’t trust anyone,” Marsha said.

Because he didn’t trust anyone, Buddy would get spooked easily. Even something basic, like checking his feet or walking him into a horse trailer or visiting the vet, turned into a crisis.

Buddy hadn’t been mistreated. But he had been neglected and never learned to have a respectful relationship with people. His new owners wanted to care for Buddy and provide him with a long and happy life. But that wasn’t going to be possible unless he learned how to trust them.

That fall morning, we set out to change Buddy’s life.

As I mentioned earlier, the first step was setting boundaries. We led Buddy in a round pen, an enclosed area where he’d have space to move but couldn’t run away. Then we taught him how to listen, not just with his ears but with his eyes and his feet. We made him move by waving a flag and showing him which way we wanted him to go. And we rewarded him when he paid attention.

We also let Buddy choose whether or not to trust us. When he got nervous, Charlie backed off a bit and gave him breathing room. In other words, we gave Buddy respect and attention and we asked Buddy to return that respect and attention.

Things started slow. But eventually, Buddy started following Charlie around the pen because he wanted to be close to this new friend he had made. At the end of an hour and a half, this once shy, confused and distrustful horse let Charlie put a saddle on him and ride him around the pen.

Boundaries. Respect. Listening. Trust. These are the building blocks of any good relationship—whether it’s between a horse and a trainer, an employer and a new employee, a coach and their team, or a teacher and a classroom full of students.

All relationships start with these basics and a lot of hard work.

In Buddy’s case, we had to get after him some. Because of his trust issues, he wanted to ignore Charlie when the training started. When that didn’t work, he tried to run away. Charlie waited him out. While he gave Buddy space, he never let the horse get too far away. Instead, with patience, kindness and persistence, Charlie continued to invite Buddy into a conversation that would lead to a relationship based on trust. At the end of the session, Buddy was a different horse.

His owners were amazed. They had hope now that life could be different for him. There was a sense of calm around Buddy as if an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

The letter writer, however, had a different impression. They had watched our training session and felt we had mistreated Buddy by being so direct with him.

Buddy was a nice horse, the writer said. Why didn’t we just leave well enough alone? Why put him through the hassle of our training session? Couldn’t we see that Buddy was shy and confused and just needed some space? Why put him through so much stress?

These are good questions.

Why go through all this effort to get through to Buddy? Why not just leave him alone?

Because his owners cared too much about Buddy to leave him the way he was and to continue the pattern of treating him with benign neglect. They wanted to see him reach his full potential. And they wanted to help undo the damage that years of benign neglect had caused.

I wish everyone at that session had the chance to talk to Wes and Marsha and see how much they cared about Buddy and how much they worried about him. Or had the chance to see what they had gone through to get Buddy to the training.

Earlier that morning, Wes was loading Buddy into his horse trailer—a fairly low key, routine task—-when Buddy balked and banged his head against the wall of the trailer. It took a long time to calm him down, and Wes had to be careful to add some extra ropes to keep Buddy from harming himself.

If something as simple as getting into a trailer—the horse equivalent of sitting down in a car—caused Buddy to panic, what would happen in a real crisis? What would happen if Buddy was sick and needed medical care, had an injury to his hooves that needed attention or was stuck somewhere and needed to be helped?

If Buddy panicked in that kind of circumstance, he could hurt the people who were trying to help him or he could lose his life. He would be like a drowning person who grasps so desperately to a lifeguard that both of them are at risk of sinking to the bottom.

Buddy’s inability to relate to others and trust them made him an unsafe horse—not bad or intentionally dangerous but unsafe all the same. And no one wants to keep an unsafe horse. It’s not good for the horse or its owners.

The older he got, the more trouble Buddy would be. And if he didn’t change, the owners might eventually decide that he was too much trouble to keep around.

In the end, a lot of it was up to Buddy. He had a choice to make: did he want to remain isolated and mistrustful, withdrawing from anyone who tried to get near? Or could he take a risk and let someone else get close to him?

He chose the latter. And it changed his life.

When he walked out of the pen, Buddy was a different horse. Calmer, more relaxed, and more trusting. When Wes and Marsha led him to the trailer, he walked in with no trouble because he’d finally learned how to trust someone else.

“I am thrilled to death that he responded the way he did,” Wes said afterward. “It gives us a lot more hope that we can take him home and work with him.”

Buddy wasn’t a bad horse. He was a lost horse, who needed someone to show him the way to a better life.

There are lots of horses out there like Buddy. And lots of people like Buddy—who have never learned to trust someone else or to have healthy, respectful relationships, where they are respected and give respect in return.

All they need is for someone to take the time to show them a better way.

Over the past four decades, I’ve traveled the country, training thousands of horses like Buddy and showing how the principles used in training horses can be applied to human relationships.

Those principles—setting clear boundaries, learning to listen, building trust slowly, pursuing excellence, developing sound decision-making skills—can be applied by anyone. With a little time, patience and consistency, the principles can change your life and the life of the people you lead.

We call it “Leadership by HEART.” The goal is to build close relationships, so people not only want to do the right thing, but they also know how to make the sound decisions needed to do the right thing.

It starts with a few simple first steps.

Set firm boundaries

I can’t emphasize this point enough. All mentoring begins with a few clear boundaries.

With a horse, this involves working in a clearly defined space—most often in a round pen that’s about 60 feet in diameter. The pen is made up of a series of interlocking fence panels set up in a flat grassy area or an area of well-tamped down dirt. The pen helps us create a space that is safe and comfortable, with good footing and enough space to give both the horse and trainer room to maneuver as we work together. I want us to be close but not crowded.

With your employees, students or employees, this means setting a few ground rules of how you will work together, such as what time people are supposed to arrive, what their specific job duties are, how they are to treat one another and how they care for the office or the workshop.

In the classroom, it may mean setting up assigned seats, giving clear rules about when to talk and when to listen and how students will treat one another. For a team, this can mean rules about practice times, how to treat the equipment you use and the kind of commitment that’s needed to be part of the team.

The key is to make sure people know what is expected of them and to ensure they have a safe environment in which to work and learn.

When we set up a round pen, I make sure the ground is level and firm, so there’s no chance the horse or trainer will trip or stumble. I make sure the fence panels are locked in place and solid and won’t fall over if the horse decides to bump them.

In work or class settings, this may mean making sure the environment is clean, free of hazards and quiet enough for people to be able to get their work done.

Once the pen is set up, either I or one of my team members will lead the horse in and let them get used to their new environment. This usually happens an hour or so before the training session starts. That way, the horse has a chance to relax and get comfortable. They can graze a bit or walk around, getting used to the sights