could either step up to the plate and take on this challenge, learn and grow from it, or I could take the easy way out and move on without him. I’ve always felt there were reasons for everything in life but this one was really hard to find.

I couldn’t replace his sight but I knew somehow I could give him a good life. I didn’t know how I was going to do it but Gary, my fiancé, put the issue in perspective when he inno- cently asked, “He’s not lame, is he?”

Valiant was healthy in every way except for his lost sight. He couldn’t see, but I could. How could I even conceive of dis- carding such a wonderful, vibrant soul?

literally step by step. He slowly learned that the pitch of my voice would indicate whether he was going to step up or down. Again and again, I would repeat the word “up” in a higher pitched voice and use a deeper one for “down.”

We learned to do all these things on our own, but I realized I needed more input. I reached out for help from individuals I respected and who had a lot more ground horsemanship experience than me. James Morgan, a western horseman in nearby Loxahatchee, was instrumental in helping Valiant adapt to his new world. James gave me the confidence I needed to work through this very important and very difficult time. In his mind, there was never a doubt we could do it. Thank you, James.

As Valiant and I progressed year by year, another individual who helped us progress was John Lyons. Not only was John one of the most famous horse communicators in the world, he had a totally blind horse as well. Zip, his best equine friend and partner, had gone totally blind a few years earlier. John had firsthand experience with the things I was struggling to learn. John, thank you for all the time, patience, kindness, and consideration you extended to Valiant and me. Your knowl- edge has been invaluable to us.

Back in the Saddle?

Working under saddle was our next challenge. Riding Valiant presented all kinds of new challenges but thankfully, because I knew him so well, I understood where his mind was moving. At least I sort of did most of the time!

Valiant’s mother Caprice, a Westphalian/T rakehner

Finally, I wiped the tears away and decided the only solution was to train and ride him.

Upon leaving the hospital after the diagnosis, the doctors asked me what I was going to do with Valiant. I told them, “Train him to the highest level of dressage that I possibly can.” I’m sure they all thought I was crazy but they wished us well.

Starting Over

During the first few years, I depended on my instincts to find the right ways to train Valiant as he struggled to learn to move in a world gone dark. He would slowly and methodi- cally circle his stall, for example, making sure the area was safe and obstacle free. He would stretch out his neck and feel his way with his chin and eyebrow hairs.

I had to think through everything I did with him, from taking him in and out of his stall to loading him in the trailer. At first, Valiant was terrified to leave his stall. He would sense the sides of the door opening and would either bolt out or refuse to go. He would bang the sides of the door, scare himself and run me over.

Leading him was an unpredictable event. His hearing became his sight and the slightest noise would put him either on top of me or bolting forward in flight.

Loading him in the trailer was a slow process that we took

I had to understand what his body needed, then how it relat- ed to his mind. That first time I rode him after his blindness, I was terrified. I didn’t know what Valiant would do with my weight on his back. I focused on my fears and the unknown reac- tions he might have.

Gary, my fiancé, held the lead line and steadied Valiant as I put my foot in the stirrup. Valiant took a few steps sideways then settled down. I lifted my leg up over the saddle and gently settled in the seat. It was the moment when I had to pull myself togeth- er, dig deep for courage, remember everything I ever learned about dressage and apply it with great sensitivity.

Jeanette seeks help from John Lyons, owner of a blind horse himself

Once in the saddle, I was able to shift my focus from my fears to Valiant and his needs. Valiant swayed from left to right try- ing to find his balance with my 110 pounds on his back. A calm came over me and I tried only to be a part of him and stabilize his wavering body with my balance. We took a few steps forward and then Valiant stumbled, falling into Gary. He

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