Sunset Ridge Equine Services, LLC

03/23/2026

Not the horse's fault is not an excuse for bad behavior.

I hear this all the time—“It’s not the horse’s fault, it’s the owner’s.”

And every time I hear it, I understand what people are trying to say… but I also cringe a little. Because while that statement might be technically true, the way it gets used is where the problem starts.

Let me explain it the way I’ve come to understand it through real life—not theory, not opinions, but outcomes.

I once had a neighbor who raised their kids in a very specific way. If the kids did something wrong, all they had to do was apologize. No consequences. No accountability. No correction. Just say “I’m sorry,” and everything moved on like it never happened.

That system worked… until it didn’t.

One of those kids grew up and committed murder.

And what stuck with me wasn’t just the act—it was his reaction afterward. He genuinely did not understand why he was going to prison for life. In his mind, he had followed the rules he had been taught his entire life: do something wrong, say you’re sorry, and move on.

But real life doesn’t work that way.

Now, was that entirely his fault? Or was it the result of how he was raised?

You can argue that all day long.

But here’s the part nobody argues about—the consequence.
He still went to prison.
He still paid the price.
And the victim still paid the ultimate price.

That outcome didn’t change based on where the blame started.

Now bring that same line of thinking over to horses.

Horses don’t have the ability to sit around and decide right from wrong the way we do. They are a product of their environment, their experiences, and the decisions made around them. In that sense, yes—many behavioral issues can be traced back to people.

But here’s the question I always come back to:

If a horse, because of how it was raised or handled, hurts or kills someone… does it matter whose fault it was?

Does that change what happened to the person?

Does that change what has to happen to the horse next?

No, it doesn’t.

That horse may be put down—not because it’s evil, not because it “meant” to do anything wrong, but because it has proven to be unsafe. Because the risk is too high to allow that behavior to continue.

Fair? No.

Real? Yes.

And that’s the part people don’t want to sit with.

So let’s bring it down from the extreme example to something much more common—because most of what I deal with isn’t life-or-death situations. It’s the everyday behaviors that people excuse.

The horse that crowds you.
The horse that pins its ears.
The horse that refuses to move forward.
The horse that pulls, braces, or checks out mentally.
The horse that uses resistance, anxiety, or avoidance to get out of work.

And someone says, “Well, it’s not his fault.”

I agree.

But what now?

Do we just accept it?

Do we excuse it?

Do we allow that behavior to continue because the origin of it wasn’t the horse’s decision?

Because here’s the reality—whether it’s the horse’s fault or not, that behavior still creates risk. It still affects safety. It still affects usability. It still affects the horse’s future.

And the horse will still pay the price for it.

Maybe not in the form of being put down, but in the form of limited opportunities, constant frustration, or being labeled as “difficult,” “dangerous,” or “not worth the trouble.”

That label follows them.

That outcome follows them.

And it doesn’t care whose fault it was.

So when I hear “it’s not the horse’s fault,” what I actually hear—whether it’s intended or not—is an excuse to avoid dealing with the behavior.

Because if it’s not the horse’s fault, then people feel like they shouldn’t have to hold the horse accountable.

But accountability and blame are not the same thing.

That’s where most people get this wrong.

Blame looks backward.
Accountability looks forward.

Blame asks, “Whose fault is this?”
Accountability asks, “What needs to change so this doesn’t happen again?”

In training, I don’t spend my time worrying about who created the problem. That doesn’t help the horse standing in front of me today.

What matters is this:

What has this horse learned?
What behaviors is it using?
What responses have been reinforced?
And how do we retrain those responses into something safe, consistent, and productive?

Because at the end of the day, the horse has to function in the real world.

It has to be safe to handle.
Safe to ride.
Safe to be around people.

Not because it’s fair.
Not because it deserves it.
But because that’s the requirement to exist in our world.

Just like people.

If a person grows up with poor guidance, bad habits, or no accountability, we might understand why they act the way they do—but that doesn’t remove the consequences of their actions.

The same is true for horses.

So when I work with a horse that has developed bad habits—whether it’s fear-based, resistance-based, or simply learned behavior—I’m not punishing the horse for something that wasn’t its fault.

I’m teaching it a better way to respond.

I’m replacing what it has learned with something that will keep it safe, keep people safe, and give that horse a better future.

Because here’s the truth that doesn’t always sound nice, but it is honest:

A horse does not get a pass on behavior just because it didn’t create the situation.

It still has to be retrained.
It still has to learn new responses.
It still has to meet the standard of being safe and manageable.

And if it doesn’t, the consequences don’t go away—they just get delayed.

So yes… it may not be the horse’s fault.

But that doesn’t change the responsibility we have to fix it.

Because ignoring it in the name of fairness doesn’t protect the horse.

It puts it at risk.

And in the long run, the horse is the one that pays the price for that misunderstanding.

03/21/2026

👌🏼

This post will ruffle some feathers, but my regular followers already know I am not scared to do that.

I see it all the time in the horse world. Every breed association promotes their breed like it is the best one out there. Then the people who love that breed repeat it, defend it, and build their whole identity around it. According to the ads, the articles, the breed pages, and the devoted owners, their breed is the smartest, the smoothest, the kindest, the toughest, the most versatile, the most athletic, the most loyal, and somehow also the most misunderstood. Funny how every breed just happens to be the best breed when the people selling it are the ones writing the description.

That is where I think people need to slow down and think.

The best breed for one person is not automatically the best breed for another person. What fits one rider, one trainer, one program, one discipline, one body type, one personality, and one set of goals may be completely wrong for somebody else. That is not an insult to the breed. That is just reality. Horses are not one-size-fits-all, and people are not either.

Some people want a horse with a lot of motor. Some people want one that is quieter and more forgiving. Some people like a horse that is reactive and sharp. Some people need one that is steady and simple. Some people want more forward movement. Some want a horse that naturally carries themselves a certain way. Some people want a horse built for speed, some for power, some for endurance, some for cattle work, some for the show pen, and some just want one they can enjoy riding safely on the weekends. All of those are different needs, different goals, and different personalities.

That means the question should not be, “What is the best breed?” The better question is, “What breed, type, and individual horse best fits this person and what they are trying to do?”

That is a very different conversation.

The problem is that breed associations are not really in the business of giving neutral truth. They are in the business of promoting their breed. That is their job. They are marketing. They are selling an image, a story, and a sense of identity. They want their horses to sound unique, elite, rare, special, superior, or somehow above the ordinary horse. That kind of promotion naturally skews the truth, because once you are trying to sell people on something, objectivity usually goes out the window.

So people end up hearing the same kind of message over and over. This breed is special. That breed thinks differently. This breed must be handled differently. That breed needs a special saddle, special methods, special training, special excuses, special allowances, and special understanding because they are not like other horses.

I am going to say something some people will not like.

Most of that is nonsense.

Yes, breeds can have tendencies. Yes, body type can vary. Yes, movement can vary. Yes, mental traits can vary. Yes, some bloodlines, disciplines, and breeding goals produce more of one trait and less of another. I am not pretending all horses are stamped out of the same mold. Anybody with real experience can see differences in conformation, stride, sensitivity, power, stamina, speed, and mindset. Those differences are real.

But when it comes right down to it, they are all still horses.

They still learn through pressure and release. They still need clarity. They still need timing. They still need fair expectations. They still need leadership. They still need consistency. They still need to understand the job. They still need to be physically capable of doing that job. They still need good care, good management, and tack that fits correctly. They still need a rider or handler who knows what they are doing.

That part does not change because a registry says their breed is special.

I work a lot of different horses, and that is probably why I do not get emotionally attached to the marketing language around breeds. I do not have the luxury of living inside one breed’s bubble. I see enough horses to know that no breed has a monopoly on good minds, bad habits, talent, athleticism, softness, trainability, or problems. I have seen great ones and difficult ones in all kinds of packages. I have seen horses with wonderful minds from breeds people criticize, and I have seen train wrecks from breeds people worship. I have seen plain horses outperform fancy ones and unfashionable horses outwork the expensive, heavily promoted ones.

That is because the individual horse still matters more than the sales pitch.

I work each individual horse to become the best version of itself that it can be. That is how I look at it. I do not need a breed label to tell me what a horse is supposed to be. I want to see what that horse actually is. I want to evaluate the body, the mind, the movement, the training, the habits, the weaknesses, the strengths, and the job in front of them. That gives me something useful. Breed stereotypes often do not.

A breed may tend a certain direction, but the individual horse standing in front of me is the one I have to train. Not the advertisement. Not the myth. Not the emotional opinion of breed lovers. The actual horse.

And that brings me to another part of this conversation that really gets pushed hard in breed circles: the claim that certain breeds need special equipment, special methods, or special handling because they are somehow outside the normal rules of horsemanship.

Again, I call nonsense.

If a horse needs tack, it needs tack that fits. That should be the standard no matter what style, discipline, or breed we are talking about. Good-fitting tack is not a luxury. It is basic responsibility. The answer is not that a breed is so special that it requires magical exceptions. The answer is that all horses deserve equipment that fits their body and allows them to work correctly.

That is a very different thing.

If someone tells me a breed needs a special this or a special that just because the breed is “different,” I start asking hard questions. Does it really need something unique, or are people just protecting tradition, branding, or poor design? Is this genuinely about helping the horse, or is it about preserving a story? Is the horse actually hard to fit, or has the breed normalized something that should be questioned? If any breed truly requires special compensation just to function in ordinary, sound, practical horsemanship, I do not see that as proof of superiority. I see that as a flaw that people are trying to romanticize.

And I know that statement will make some people uncomfortable.

But too much of the horse world has gotten used to turning weaknesses into “special qualities.” Too much of the horse world excuses problems by dressing them up in breed pride. Too much of the horse world confuses uniqueness with superiority. Just because something is different does not automatically make it better. Sometimes different is just different. Sometimes different is manageable. Sometimes different is inconvenient. Sometimes different is a weakness that people learned to market.

That is why I do not worship breeds.

I respect horses.

There is a difference.

I can appreciate what certain breeds tend to offer without pretending they are above the laws of good horsemanship. I can recognize that some breeds may suit certain jobs better than others without turning that into a religion. I can understand that people love what they love without needing to agree that their favorite breed is the answer for everybody. I can also say plainly that many people choose breeds for emotional reasons, identity reasons, fashion reasons, or marketing reasons, and then work backwards trying to justify that choice as objective truth.

That happens all the time.

Someone buys into a breed because they love the image, the culture, the community, or the story around it. Then every trait becomes proof that they made the right decision. The good gets exaggerated. The bad gets excused. The flaws become “special characteristics.” The limitations become “misunderstood brilliance.” The management issues become “part of what makes them unique.” Before long, people are no longer evaluating horses honestly. They are defending a brand.

I am not interested in defending brands.

I am interested in developing horses.

To me, that starts by being honest. Honest about what a horse is. Honest about what a horse is not. Honest about what fits a rider and what does not. Honest about what is a strength and what is a weakness. Honest about what is training, what is breeding, what is handling, what is rider error, and what is just plain individual personality.

And I think more people would make better decisions if they stepped back from breed loyalty and started looking at horses more clearly.

Instead of asking, “What breed is best?” maybe ask, “What horse is right for me?”

Instead of asking, “What makes this breed special?” maybe ask, “What real traits does this horse have, and do those traits fit my goals?”

Instead of repeating what breed associations tell you, maybe pay attention to what actual horses keep showing you.

Because that is where the truth is.

At the end of the day, a horse is still a horse. The body may vary a little. The movement may vary a little. The mind may vary a little. The style may vary a little. But the fundamentals remain the fundamentals. Good horsemanship still matters. Good leadership still matters. Good training still matters. Good tack fit still matters. A fair, clear, capable rider still matters.

And no breed is so special that it gets to rise above that.

02/26/2026

Your Hands Are Not Brakes - Your Seat Is. Here's What That Actually Means!

If your students are stopping their horses with their hands, they're doing it wrong and their horses are telling them that every single time they brace, root, or throw their head. The stop lives in the seat, not the fingers.

Here's how to teach it:
The seat is your most powerful aid and your student is sitting on the most sensitive part of the horse's back, directly over his center of gravity. The horse feels every shift, every brace, every collapse which means the seat can either block movement or invite it and most riders have no idea they're doing either one.

What a halt aid should look like:
It's not a pull... it's a sequence...
Exhale → drop the weight into the saddle → rotate the seat bones down and forward → plug into the horse's back → then the connection travels through the elbow to the hand to the rein.

The pressure the horse feels in his mouth is connected to the increased weight on his back. The halt comes from the whole body working together and not from two hands hauling backward on a snaffle.

Try this off the horse first:
Pull a chair up to a table. Sit tall, feet flat on the floor, both hands resting on the edge of the table. Now exhale, rotate your seat bones down and forward, and gently pull on the table edge as your seat gets heavier in the chair. Feel that? That's your halt aid. That's what your horse feels when you do it right. Run this exercise with your students before they ever get in the saddle and watch the lightbulb go on.

Why this matters:
A horse stopped with hands alone learns to brace against pressure, root against the bit, and ignore escalating rein contact. A horse stopped with a connected seat aid learns to listen to the lightest whisper from his rider's body. Teach the seat first and the hands will follow.

02/14/2026

Situational Awareness
I’m going to say this the same way I used to say it to new deputies riding with me: situational awareness isn’t a “nice extra.” It’s not a personality trait. It’s not a vibe. It’s a skill, and it’s a survival skill. Back then, it could mean the difference between me going home or somebody else having to make a phone call they never wanted to make. And even though I’ve been out of law enforcement for a few years now, that skill didn’t just switch off like a light. I still walk into a restaurant, and I’m automatically reading the room. I notice what doesn’t fit. I notice the person who’s watching too hard. I notice the table that’s too close to the door and the guy who keeps checking it. I notice the energy. My wife can see it on me before I ever say a word. She’ll look at my face, and she already knows, “Something is making you uncomfortable.” Most of the time, I’m not being dramatic. I’m just processing information that other people don’t even register.

And here’s what a lot of horse people don’t realize: the same kind of awareness that keeps you safe around people can keep your horse alive.

That’s not an exaggeration.

When I went from field training officer to full-time horse trainer, I didn’t leave that part of me behind. It came with me. It shaped how I work. It shaped how I see. It shaped what I catch early—before it becomes a wreck. Because in horses, the difference between “no big deal” and “emergency” is often nothing more than time, minutes, or hours. One feeding. One missed clue that was sitting right in front of you.

Most problems in horses don’t start as explosions. They start as whispers.

A horse doesn’t usually go from “fine” to “crashing colic” in a single frame like a movie. A horse doesn’t usually go from “sound” to “three-legged lame” without a bunch of little changes leading up to it—changes that are easy to miss if you’re walking through the barn on autopilot. And that’s the part I want to fix in owners, because I want your horse to stay alive and stay healthy. Because I want you to catch the whisper and not have to deal with the scream.

In law enforcement, situational awareness meant I was always scanning: people, exits, hands, body language, what’s normal, what’s not, what changed since the last time I was here. In the horse world, it’s the same process. Different environment, different threats. But the mindset is identical.

The barn is a “scene.” The pasture is a “scene.” The feed room is a “scene.” Your horse is a “scene.” And if you want to be a good horseman—if you want to be the kind of owner who prevents problems instead of reacting to disasters—you need to learn how to read the scene.

I’m going to make this practical.

Situational awareness in the barn means you notice what’s “off” before it becomes obvious

Routine is one of the biggest early-warning systems you have. If your horse normally nickers at feed time, and today he doesn’t? That matters. If she usually meets you at the gate, and today she doesn’t? That matters. If a horse usually finishes feed, and today there’s a half-inch left? That matters. If the manure count is different, if the stall looks different, if the bedding is disturbed in a weird pattern, if the horse’s coat looks duller, if the eyes don’t look right—those are all pieces of a puzzle.e..
That’s not “just a bucket.” That’s a data point. If it’s too full, your horse might not be drinking. If it’s too empty, your horse might be drinking more than normal, or the bucket might be leaking, or the horse might be playing in it, or another horse might be stealing it, or the weather might be changing consumption. Any one of those could matter. Noticing it early gives you options. Ignoring it until tomorrow gives you problems.

A horse hanging out in an odd place.
Horses are routine animals. They have habits. They have preferred spots. They have social patterns. When a horse is standing away from the herd, or standing with their head in the corner, or not coming up to the gate like they always do, or they’re parked in the shade when it’s cold, or standing in the sun when it’s hot—those little choices can be clues. Pain changes behavior. Discomfort changes behavior. Early sickness changes behavior. Herd dynamics change behavior. If you’re paying attention, you catch the change while it’s still small.

A horse out of routine.
This is what I mean when I tell my help to go look at something because something seems off. Sometimes they go look, and they don’t see it. That’s not because they’re dumb. It’s because situational awareness is trained. It’s built over years. You don’t get it by “being around horses.” You get it by practicing noticing and then checking your noticing against reality.bedding is disturbed in a weird pattern, if the horse’s coat looks duller, if the eyes don’t look right—those are all pieces of a puzzle.

A feed scoop not where it goes.
That sounds silly until you’ve lived long enough to know that “silly” is how accidents happen. Maybe someone changed something. Maybe a new helper did chores differently. Maybe the wrong grain got used. Maybe a supplement was missed. Maybe a horse got double-fed. Maybe a lid got left off. Maybe a rodent got into the feed. Situational awareness isn’t paranoia. It’s noticing small changes that have big consequences.

This is what I mean when I tell my help to go look at something because something seems off. Sometimes they go look and they don’t see it. That’s not because they’re dumb. It’s because situational awareness is trained. It’s built over years. You don’t get it by “being around horses.” You get it by practicing noticing and then checking your noticing against reality.

In my law enforcement days, new officers missed things all the time. Not because they didn’t care—because their brain wasn’t trained to sort the important from the background noise. The barn is the same way. Most owners see the big obvious stuff. They miss the quiet details.

Every time you walk into the barn, do the same mental scan in the same order. Water. Feed. Manure. Posture. Eyes. Legs. Environment. Routine. It takes two minutes once it becomes a habit.ally see their horse. They see a shape in a stall, not a living system giving them feedback.dback.k.om the herd. If you catch that early, you can intervene early. You can call the vet sooner. You can walk, monitor, check vitals, adjust feed, check water, check manure. If you don’t notice until the horse is down and thrashing, you’ve lost time you can’t buy back.

In law enforcement, I taught rookies to watch hands. To watch posture. To watch where someone’s eyes go. To watch how people position themselves relative to exits and others. In horses, I’m watching a different set of indicators—but the concept is identical.

Here are some of the “tells” that experienced horse people see without even thinking:

Posture changes: a horse standing camped out, a horse resting a leg differently, a horse shifting weight, a horse with a tight back, a horse standing stretched out like they’re trying to ease belly pressure.

Expression changes: dull eyes, worried eyes, tight muzzle, pinned ears that don’t match the situation, a different look than yesterday.

Movement changes: shorter stride, toe dragging, reluctance to turn, reluctance to back, stiffness that doesn’t warm out the way it normally does.

Behavior changes: not finishing feed, not coming to the gate, more reactive than normal, unusually quiet, unusually “clingy,” unusually aggressive.

Environment changes: broken fence board, a gate chain unhooked, a water heater unplugged, a new object near the gate that wasn’t there yesterday, a patch of ice, a slick spot, a mud hole that grew overnight.

None of those things alone automatically means “emergency.” That’s important. Situational awareness doesn’t mean you panic every time something is different. It means you notice it, log it mentally, and follow up with a calm, systematic check.

That’s what good cops do. That’s what good horsemen do.

Situational awareness is how you stop small problems from becoming expensive problems

Let me give you a few real-world examples of how this plays out, because owners need to understand the stakes.

Example 1: Early colic signs
A horse that’s starting to feel gut discomfort might not be violently rolling yet. Early on, they might just stand a little different. They might not finish grain. They might drink less. They might look at their side. They might not want to move. They might be away from the herd. If you catch that early, you can intervene early. You can call the vet sooner. You can walk, monitor, check vitals, adjust feed, check water, check manure. If you don’t notice until the horse is down and thrashing, you’ve lost time you can’t buy back.

Example 2: Injury before it becomes a blown-up leg
A horse might have a small cut or a tiny puncture that doesn’t look like much at first. But if that leg starts to swell and heat builds, it turns into a much bigger deal. If you notice the horse standing oddly or not moving normally, you can find it early—clean it, monitor it, treat it, and avoid complications. If you miss it for a day because you weren’t paying attention, now it’s a swollen mess and you’re behind.

Example 3: Dehydration and water issues
A horse not drinking enough can look “fine” until they aren’t. That’s why the water bucket matters. That’s why the trough matters. That’s why noticing “too full” matters. It’s not you being picky. It’s you catching the kind of thing that causes impaction colic and performance issues and general misery.

Example 4: Feed mistakes and routine mistakes
People roll their eyes about feed room organization until the day a horse gets the wrong grain or a double dose of something that didn’t need doubled. Organization is not aesthetics. It’s safety. Just like on patrol, the little routines keep you from making big mistakes when you’re tired, rushed, or distracted.

The difference between “aware” and “unaware” is usually the difference between proactive and reactive

A lot of owners live reactive. They don’t mean to. They just do. They show up, do chores, throw hay, scroll their phone, leave. They see their horse every day but they don’t actually see their horse. They see a shape in a stall, not a living system giving them feedback.

Situational awareness turns you into a proactive owner. It’s the habit of constantly, quietly asking:

What’s normal for this horse?

What’s different today?

What changed in the environment?

What changed in routine?

What’s the simplest explanation?

What’s the worst-case explanation?

What can I check right now that gives me useful information?

And here’s the part I really want to underline: you don’t need to be dramatic. You don’t need to be anxious. You just need to be disciplined.

How I recommend owners build this skill on purpose

If I was training you like a rookie officer, I wouldn’t just tell you “be aware.” I’d give you a system. So here’s a barn version of that.

1) Build a baseline—know what “normal” looks like
You can’t notice “off” if you don’t know “normal.” Learn your horse’s normal water intake, normal manure output, normal feed behavior, normal herd position, normal attitude, normal movement out of the stall. Most owners don’t know these things until something goes wrong. Flip that.

2) Use a consistent scan every time
Every time you walk into the barn, do the same mental scan in the same order. Water. Feed. Manure. Posture. Eyes. Legs. Environment. Routine. It takes two minutes once it becomes habit.

3) When something feels off, don’t argue with yourself—verify
This is where people fail. They feel something and then talk themselves out of it because they don’t want to be “that person.” I’d rather you be “that person” than be the person who missed the early signs. If something seems off, check vitals. Watch the horse move. Check the bucket. Put hands on legs. Look at gums. Count breaths. You don’t have to jump to conclusions, but you do need to confirm reality.

4) Teach everyone around you to see the same way
Your help, your kids, your spouse—whoever does chores—needs the same standard. If you’re the only one with awareness, you become the bottleneck. This is exactly why I used to “send them to look” and then go show them what they missed. That’s training. That’s building their eyes. Don’t just correct them—teach them what to look for next time.

5) Keep a simple log when you need to
If a horse is borderline or you’re monitoring a potential issue, write down water, manure, temp, appetite, attitude. You’d be amazed how fast patterns show up when you stop relying on memory.

I learned situational awareness for my survival. I use it now for my horse’s survival.

That’s the core of this whole idea. In law enforcement, my brain learned to pay attention because the price of missing something could be catastrophic. In horse ownership, the price is different—but it’s still real. Horses don’t get to tell you what hurts with words. They tell you with behavior. They tell you with routine changes. They tell you with the quiet little stuff that most people ignore.

If you want to be the kind of horse owner who keeps your horse safer, healthier, and more comfortable, I’m telling you the truth: develop your situational awareness like your horse’s life depends on it—because sometimes it does.

I’m not asking you to be paranoid. I’m asking you to be present. I’m asking you to stop walking through the barn like a tourist and start walking through it like someone responsible for a living animal that can’t speak for itself.

Notice the bucket. Notice the feed. Notice where your horse stands. Notice what changed. Take a mental note. Follow up calmly. Catch the whisper.

That’s how you prevent the scream.