When There Is Space

“There is no need to force anything. When you let go, everything comes into its own.” - Lao Tzu

This morning, the horses were waiting by the water trough. It was empty, so I cleaned it out and filled it up. Once they had all had a drink, they started making their way back out onto the land.
There is a little single-track corridor they have to pass through to get there, maybe 50 meters long, with tall brambles on either side. It's only just wide enough for one horse, so not really a place where horses can comfortably pass each other.

As usual, Gemma and Peaches, the two mares who are in the position to be first in line, finished drinking and headed off up the track. Zorro followed not long after.
After their turn, the other two mares, Jiya and Lua lingered around the water trough for a while as Jakob, our donkey, finished his turn drinking.

When Jakob eventually set off to join the others, he went up the corridor and found Zorro standing at the far end. Grazing. There wasn't really much grass there. But Zorro had apparently decided that this particular little patch was absolutely worth stopping for.
Jakob, being the lowest-ranking member of the herd, couldn't simply push past him. So he stopped and waited. And then after some time the two mares who had lingered behind by the water trough came up the corridor from behind Jakob.

Suddenly, Jakob was in a slightly awkward position.

Zorro was in front of him. The two mares were coming up from behind him.
He couldn't go forward, and he couldn't really go backward either.
But he stayed calm. As a proper smart donkey would. 
He turned around and faced the mares behind him, while Zorro continued his very important grazing at the other end

.

And then something happened that caught my attention.

Jiya, who is the youngest horse in the herd, was at the front of the two mares coming up behind Jakob.
 She stopped.
Rather than continuing forward and putting pressure on him, she started grazing herself. On a tiny grass patch along the path. It was almost as if she was saying, Okay. We don't need to make this more difficult. Her mother, who is also lower in the hierarchy, simply waited behind her. There was no pushing. No drama. No attempt to take advantage of the fact that Jakob was temporarily stuck.

After a while though, and it was quite a while, Jiyia decided it was probably time to move on.
She approached Jakob, but very softly. Her ears weren't pinned back. There was no obvious threat. She simply moved towards him with a little bit of intention, as if to say, We'd all quite like to get going now.

Jakob felt the pressure.
He turned back towards Zorro. And then, interestingly, he started moving sideways into the bushes, looking for another way out.

Jiyia immediately stepped back. Just one step.
She didn't keep increasing the pressure.
She gave him space.

Eventually, Zorro decided that his magnificent patch of grass had been sufficiently appreciated and moved aside. Jakob walked through. And that was it.

No fight. No kicking. No chasing. No escalation.
Just a small problem that was allowed to resolve itself.

I stood there watching them, thinking about how much information there was in such a seemingly insignificant moment.

Jiya is the youngest horse in the herd, but I'm beginning to notice something quite mature in the way she behaves. A few days ago, she almost calmly called Peaches and Zorro back towards the rest of the herd when they had wandered ahead. And I'm starting to see more and more moments where she seems to be aware of what is happening around her rather than simply reacting to it.

And perhaps that's what struck me most today. She could have used the situation. Jakob was vulnerable. He couldn't move forward, and he couldn't move back.
But she didn't.
She seemed to recognize that pushing harder wasn't necessary.
And when she did move towards him and he became uncomfortable, she backed off. There was room for him to find his way through the situation.

I don't know whether "compassion" is the right word. That's a human interpretation, and I don't want to pretend I know what was happening inside her. But from where I stood, there was something very gentle about it. Something that looked a little like compassion.

And it made me think about space. Not just physical space.

When horses have plenty of room to move, graze, retreat and come together, they have more options. They don't have to resolve every disagreement immediately. They can move away. They can wait. They can change direction. They can let someone else have a moment. And perhaps most importantly, they have the capacity to see what is happening before reacting to it.

This isn't to say that horses in domestic environments are inherently aggressive, or that every interaction in a natural herd is peaceful. It isn't that simple. These horses didn't choose each other in the way a truly wild herd would. I brought two family groups together. But they have a lot of land. They live together continuously. They have room to spread out. They have access to food and water. They aren't being asked to constantly perform, compete or tolerate one another in a confined space.

And I think that matters.
Because when there is space, there are choices.
And when there are choices, perhaps there is more capacity to respond rather than react.

I see this with the horses again and again.

And sometimes I wonder how much of what we call "behavior problems" in horses, and perhaps in ourselves, is simply what happens when there isn't enough space to do anything else.

Space to pause.
Space to move away.
Space to breathe.
Space to notice what is actually happening.
Space to let someone else be uncomfortable without immediately trying to fix it.

Today, I watched a young horse create that space for a donkey who was temporarily stuck. She didn't solve the problem for him. She didn't take control. She simply didn't add more pressure than was necessary. And eventually, the situation resolved itself.

I think there is something beautiful in that.
Sometimes presence isn't about knowing what to do. Maybe it's having enough space inside yourself to see what is happening and not make it worse.

♡

If this story resonates with you, if you’ve ever questioned the old ways, or felt that quiet discomfort in your gut, you’re not alone. There is another way. One that begins with listening. With slowing down. With consent.

And that’s where the real connection begins.