What is a Horse?
Oct 17, 2025
What is a horse?
It’s not just a beast of burden. Not just a pet. Not just a vehicle for recreation.
A horse, in its true essence, is a complex, intelligent, and deeply social being, a creature forged by millennia of evolution, history, and partnership with humans. To see a horse as anything less is to miss the profound truth of who they are.
From my own journey, of healing, fatherhood, and rediscovery, I’ve come to understand that a horse is:
A Herd Animal.
Horses thrive on connection. They form deep bonds, comfort each other, and mourn their companions. Isolation isn’t just loneliness, it’s psychological and physical torture. A horse alone is not a whole horse. This isn’t just instinct; it’s biology. When you see a horse standing alone in a stall, you’re seeing an animal out of place, out of balance.
A Sportive Animal.
They were born to run, leap, and push limits. Their bodies are built for endurance, power, and grace. To keep a horse idle in a stall, fed but unchallenged, is to deny his nature. Movement isn’t optional, it’s essential. The gallop isn’t just exercise; it’s freedom. The rhythm of the ride isn’t just pleasure, it’s purpose.
A Creature of War.
History remembers them as soldiers. Knights rode them into battle, charging through fire and fear. They stood firm when men faltered. “He who holds the reins of a warhorse holds the fate of nations,” an old proverb says. And Abraham Lincoln once said, “I can make a general in five minutes, but a good horse is hard to replace.” That’s not hyperbole. It’s respect.
But beyond these roles, the most powerful truth I’ve learned?
Your horse is your mirror.
When a horse resists, it’s rarely because he’s “bad.” It’s because you’re not listening. Your tension, your fear, your ego, they ripple through the reins. A horse doesn’t lie. He reflects your state of mind. If you’re anxious, he’ll be tense. If you’re unclear, he’ll be confused. If you’re dishonest with yourself, he’ll sense it.
I’ve seen people buy horses and then leave them unattended for weeks, saying, “The horse is fine, he’s eating.” But a horse isn’t a machine. He’s a living soul. He needs attention, training, companionship. Without it, his spirit fades. His body weakens. His trust erodes.
And I’ve also seen riders project their insecurities onto their horses, beating them, hitting them in the face, trying to “teach” them with force. These aren’t lessons. They’re acts of control. They’re rooted in fear, not knowledge. And they destroy the bond.
That’s why I wrote The Promise. Not to sell a book, but to share what I’ve learned: that a horse is not a tool, not a toy, not a commodity. He is a partner. A teacher. A healer.
My son Mo changed after spending time with horses. So did I. My horse Kuzey didn’t just carry me, he carried my pain, my guilt, my silence. He gave me discipline, focus, and a reason to keep going. He saved me from a prison of my own making.
So if you want to know what a horse truly is, if you want to understand the depth of this ancient bond, the responsibility it demands, and the healing it offers, then read The Promise.
This book isn’t about tricks or routines. It’s about truth. About integrity. About honoring the horse as a being worthy of love, respect, and understanding.