“Your Horse is a mirror to your soul. Sometimes you might not like what you see…. Sometimes you will.”
– Buck Brannaman
In a rare immodest moment, it’s hard to believe Dan M. “Buckshot” Brannaman wouldn’t like what he sees. Horse-whisperer, clinician, trick-roper, Vaquero, cowboy philosopher, idol of horses and their people everywhere, Brannaman is the improbable and ineffably modest subject of “Buck,” a documentary film, just released on DVD.
A winner at Sundance this year, the film is garnering international acclaim, too, screened in such far-flung venues as Rio, Abu Dhabi and at the recent American Film Festival in Deauville, France. It also won for documentary at both the Zurich Film Festival and the Bergen (Norway) International Film Festival. The rest of the world, it seems, loves our cowboys as much as we do.
“Buck” takes us along for the ride in a year of the gifted horseman’s life–a reluctant film star whose abusive childhood with an alcoholic father might have left him dysfunctional. Instead, for nine months out of every year, The Buck stops here, as it were, as he hauls all over the country to clinics, ministering to troubled horses and baffled horse owners alike. His mission, make no mistake, is to help “horses with people problems”— not the other way around.
Though largely well-meaning, their “people” are off-balance, clumsy, fearful, confused, inpatient, tongue-tied (in horse language) but adept at befuddling their steeds. They are also literally horse crazy, as anyone might be with a mount who rears, bucks, spins, runs away with or over them, or is lazy, pushy, disobedient and downright dangerous. Absent clear direction or boundaries, the horses simply don’t know any better. How Buck gets human and equine together is part mystery, part miracle and riveting viewing — even for non-riders.
The “Zen Master of the Horse World,” thus dubbed by “The Horse Whisperer” author Nicholas Evans, facilitates horse/human relations wisely, laconically and always without sugar-coating, in true cowboy fashion.
The power of empathy
Despite his quiet, almost legendary celebrity in horse circles, Buck had kept a lower profile outside them, until he allowed first-time filmmaker/director Cindy Meehl — a rider and his student — to tell his personal story. The film inextricably links his experience as an abuse survivor with his empathy for and keen understanding of horses.
“In this particular discipline, if you want to be great you have to be a sensitive person,” says one Buck devotee. “That’s why so many of the people that are good at this are sometimes tortured souls.”
Just as the local sheriff rescued him and his older brother from their violent father, placing them in a loving foster home, his work is really rescuing horses from unjust treatment, fear and suffering.
Brannaman, the model for Tom Booker, “The Horse Whisperer” in Robert Redford’s 1998 film of that name, is the horseman of choice for those who prefer their horse wisdom plainspoken (albeit with a wicked sense of humor) and minus the marketing and hard sell. Booker and his real-life inspiration have very little in common actually — except for the fact that the real-life Brannaman is also notoriously hard to reach. Until fairly recently, for example, he didn’t have much of a website.
Eschewing the “breaking” of horses — often tantamount to abuse — for “starting” them, Natural Horsemanship has flourished since Buck began giving clinics almost 30 years back, and it has morphed into a fiercely competitive business.
Working the same territory are hard-marketing cowboys John and Josh Lyons, Monty Roberts, Pat Parelli and Clinton Anderson, among others. Each inspires almost cult-like devotion, traveling nationally and often internationally (Buck recently went to Italy) to clinics, all but Buck hawking their books, magazines, DVD’s, training methods (complete with instructor certifications), and peddling their paraphernalia–bridles, halters, wands, bits and other tools that purport to render communication with the horse magical.
All concur that understanding animal flight behavior is crucial to working with horses. Horses are complex, emotionally intelligent creatures. No two are exactly like. Interpreting their body language is critical to training and a productive, trusting relationship.
Brannaman follows the tradition of horse gentling taught by such greats as Ray Hunt and Tom Dorrance and, early on, spent hours watching Hunt ride and work horses.
Gentling a dangerous horse
Long before the film, I had personally seen Buck working horses at a Wellington, Fla., clinic in a corner of the Grand Prix ring at the Winter Equestrian Festival.
One horse battled bitterly with his farrier and handlers, flat-out refusing to lift a hind foot for shoeing, The horse simply didn’t understand how to balance on three legs, said Buck, because no one had ever explained it to him. He did this by roping a hind leg and holding it off the ground to help him learn.
While this seems nonsensical to humans, it made perfect sense to the horse, who as a prey animal must flee danger at a moment’s notice. (He needed that hind leg, thanks).
Abused horses are like abused children, Brannaman once said. They trust no one and expect the worst.”
In general, Buck says, we assume our horse’s trust without having to earn it. As he explains in the film, we sit on their backs exactly where a cougar would pounce, on tack made from other dead animals. And we wonder why they feel threatened.
What I witnessed in Florida neatly made this point in one particularly intense session with an imposing warmblood/former jumper. Intimidated by the big jumps (as can happen with some of the more “extreme” horse sports), the horse tried to “save“ himself by refusing. Passed on to a new owner, he soon demonstrated an impressive repertoire of bad behaviors.
Like people, horses can become traumatized, and when they don’t trust their riders will take charge to protect themselves. Without intervention, then such dangerous behaviors can quickly become entrenched.
After roping him and identifying his evasions, then test-riding him in the safety of the makeshift round pen, Buck ventured out into the wide open spaces of the Grand Prix ring — scary-jumping central — inviting the horse to misbehave.
And he obliged. The horse’s attempts to flee, buck, rear and just plain eject his rider were terrifying to watch, but Buck endured it all with astonishing equanimity. Patiently but firmly, time and time again, he sat the horse’s antics and then quietly gave him only one option — going forward calmly and sanely.
At the end of the protracted rodeo, he rode up to the crowd where the horse stood quietly regarding his stunned audience.
“Nobody’s here to hurt you,” he says to a horse in the documentary. “I understand when something is afraid for its life,” he adds. And indeed, anyone who’s ever been abused — horse or person — feels an instant kinship with Buck.
Like abused children, abused horses trust no one
The biggest challenge with horses — doubly hard for an abuse victim with a compromised fight/flight response — is to be able to “control your emotions.” It’s never just about controlling the horse by any means necessary.
Abused horses are like abused children, Brannaman once said. They trust no one and expect the worst.
But no matter how badly they behave, with horses it’s never personal: “Don’t hold it against him for how his life has been,” he’ll later say in the film about a horse’s dangerous, unpredictable behavior.
Without exception, the horses he works with look back wistfully at Buck as they are led away by their owners. As one old friend in the documentary says: “He walks into the round pen, and in five minutes the horses are following him around like dogs.”
But horses are much more than pets or even athletic partners. They symbolize our hopes, aspirations, fears and frustrations, rooted in the past and projected into the future. If horses are mirrors to our very souls, it also becomes quickly apparent watching Brannaman work that they are emotional lightning rods. Especially poignant is how clinic participants’ emotions, so painfully close to the surface, are often triggered by working with Buck. (Perhaps because people feel safe with him, as do the horses)
“Boy, do you feel like a fool and kind of like a failure,” says the film’s most troubled owner, who has brought her damaged, volatile stallion to a clinic. Oxygen-deprived at birth, the horse is essentially disabled, Buck explains. She is clearly out of her depth, as most amateurs would be–a recipe for disaster, as the scenes with her horse reveal.
Though some participants have reached an impasse with their ponies, much of the documentary features equestrians with more routine problems. Some are here to “start” babies; some to fine-tune the horse-rider relationship (and yes, you can teach an old horse new tricks); work on basic horsemanship skills; or even learn ranch roping. Many who started in another discipline are simply looking for a more effective, kinder approach.
One longtime Buck student who had ridden and shown Arabians her whole life describes the punitive methods she saw being used to train for the show ring (bits tethered to the horse’s back legs — the horse’s head uncomfortably low and claustrophobic).
The Horse Whisperer is born
Buck certainly knows about such punishment. The film does not shy away from his frequent childhood beatings and the resulting physical and emotional scarring. Night after night he and his brother were forced to sit while his father drank and ranted, afraid to meet his gaze (to this day he still remembers every line and detail of the kitchen table’s wood grain). One night to escape he spends the night outside in sub-zero temperatures curled up with the family dog.
In a “Huffington Post” interview about the film, Buck reveals that every year he and his brother got “birthday cards” from his father revealing his plan to kill them when they turned 18. (Details of their daily routine at their foster home indicated he was watching them through a rifle scope.)
Given his history, you can understand why Buck would be wary, as in his first meeting with Robert Redford when he was interviewed for his job as technical consultant on “The Horse Whisperer.”
He wondered about the identity of this mysterious “Bob” that Redford’s assistants referred to so reverentially. And as for Redford, he thought Buck curious in his cowboy get-up, but quickly discovered a “humanity and gentleness of spirit.” Buck, he adds, is “the real deal.”
“Bob” and Buck’s mutual respect evolved throughout the filming. One scene reuniting “Pilgrim” and his owner (Scarlett Johansson) had been taking all day. When Brannaman suggests they use his horse as a stand-in, Redford protests: “But he’s not a trained actor.” “No … he’s a horse,” retorts Buck. (Buck gets the shot in 15 minutes.)
Buck’s mischievous sense of humor is evident throughout the documentary. He jokes that during the “Whisperer” filming, in which he sometimes doubled for Redford, the actor/director acquitted himself so well with horse handling he “could maybe have a career if the movie thing didn’t work out.”
His working collaboration with Cindy Meehl, Buck’s director, is equally harmonious–a real leap of faith for both of them. He refuses to play to the camera in working with the horses, leaving her to find the shots for herself, which she quickly does.
As I had seen in Florida, Buck speedily sizes up the film’s equines. There’s probably not much he hasn’t seen when it comes to horses behavin’ badly. And while “Most of us have a bag of tricks,” says a friend, “Buck has an arsenal.”
Before he even sees horse and rider together, a quick assessment tells him how the horse will behave when ridden, and starkly reveals the rider’s emotional/psychological makeup. “This horse tells me quite a lot about you,” he says to the disabled stallion’s owner. “Maybe there are some things you need to learn about you, and this horse is the only damn way you’re ever going to learn it,” he says firmly.
Hot buttons and patience
Self-awareness is crucial to working with horses who always seem to know their owners’ hot buttons. Besides emotional maturity, horse training requires a tremendous ability to check one’s ego at the door, patience for the endless repetition required to correct the same old bad behaviors and a sense of humor–all for the horse’s sake.
Especially with young horses, Buck explains to one rider, “Get mad at them when they’re babies, and they’ll shut down.”
And as anyone who has ever aspired to ride well knows, there is also considerable grace involved.
“Everything you do with a horse is a dance,” he says. He describes it as a “gliding feel.” As he trots a horse in sidepass, floating sideways across a meadow, we can see what he means.
He describes finding the balance point from which you can ask a horse invisibly for any maneuver — forward, sideways or backwards. Sitting a horse seamlessly, he makes it look easy, his horse in perfect self-carriage, achieved with what he calls a “soft feel.”
Ultimately, “Buck” is about much more than horse training. It’s about the triumph of innocence, faith and trust restored, about life lived without fear and intimidation — gifts given to him by his foster parents that he in turn gives the horses. Horses have a lot to teach us about life — an over-arching wisdom — if we only listen. Says Buck: Working with them will “make you a better person in areas that you didn’t even think related to horses.”
Like Buck as a child, horses are innocents and victims of circumstance. But as one prey animal (Buck as a child) to another (his mount), partnership is possible. The difference is that though Buck identifies with the horses, he’s still ultimately the one who’s leading the “dance.”
“It’s a real trust thing between the two of you,” says Buck. “It’s like when you’re dating…. that last five minutes can be a real deal-killer.”
Buck talks about his daughter, Reata, who travels with him in the summer. In scenes where he coaches her and they work cattle together, we see their enviable relationship. Clearly proud of her blossoming talent, he wonders wistfully what his own life without abuse would have been like. In the boyhood photos from his rodeo trick-roping act days, we can see his innocence and goodness shine through (even though he was whipped if his performance wasn’t perfect). It’s the same trusting nature as the horses.
Just as his experience as a child was hardly idyllic, neither was his equine education.
“All I ever wanted was to be a cowboy,” he says. Yet from the age of 12, he’s been “ bit, kicked, bucked off and run over” and had his share of injuries. On a horse, he can’t feel his right leg from the knee down from permanent disc damage.
“I started to realize that things would be much easier for me once I learned why a horse does what he does.” And thus was born a method that promotes real communication, affection, understanding and mutual respect–the very things he lacked as a young child. In a way, he’s come full circle.
Meehl’s film paints a rich portrait of a survivor whose courage makes him a real hero–to both his fans and the horses he profoundly understands.