Driving Lessons

[Nanno]

I agree with the underlying statement that we need to TRAIN an animal as to what behaviour is acceptable and what not. I do no longer agree with the label of "rude", disrespectfull, etc.
If I wait for panic to take over I have already missed several crucial steps in the training and then, often, have to resort to harsher methods to get control back...

Whether we like the term or not, animals fully understand the concept of rudeness and disrespect and it's important for us to speak their language before we can teach them ours. If Cuzco tells Finn to move back from his hay and Finn gives Cuzco the hairy eyeball, he's showing disrespect to a senior member of the herd. Cuzco isn't going to let that stand and Finn gets a solid thrashing. If Sputnik "accidentally on purpose" swipes Finn with a shoulder or horn tip while passing, his intention is to be rude because he's subtly challenging or disregarding Finn's status in the herd without yet engaging in full battle.  

Example: I have a "rude" horse. Meaning, one, that will push over me to get to someplace else. If I'm a negative reinforcement trainer, I will punish the horse for that pushing against me. And luckily, I will have punished hard enough that the horse will never, ever try to enter my space in that manner again.
But, maybe I will need the horse at one point to move closer into my space because it's narrow or I ask him to load into a trailer where it HAS to come closer to me. It will refuse because the punishment of that first pushing was so severe, it still remembers it and does not want to experience this again.
Now, with the horse - as having been taught by me - refusing to enter my space although I need it to do JUST that I will have a hard time overriding that learned experience, that memory of punishment. Most likely, the horse will be labelled either stupid, stubborn or again disrespectfull and will now be punished for NOT entering my space.

"In that manner" is the key phrase here. No, the horse will (hopefully) not enter your space again in that manner, but he will not be afraid to enter your space in another manner. Saying he will be afraid to come close in all circumstances is an incorrect understanding of how a horse's mind works, and it makes the inaccurate assumption that horses are like computers that can be programmed to perform but not to think. It assumes no understanding on the part of the horse and is easily refuted by numerous real-life experiences. In fact, I can't think of a single example among all the horses I've worked with who responded the way you claim. 

My most extreme experience was with my first horse, Easter. She was 2 or 3 years old and I was 12 or 13, and we were best of best friends (so I thought!). We would run and play in the pasture, chasing one another, kicking up snow, and snorting like two horses. It was the greatest of fun, but while I ignorantly thought we were playing as equals, Easter was calculating whether she could become the dominant partner in our relationship. Now, in her defense, she was the lowest horse in a herd of about 30, and I've learned since then that the lowest member of a pecking order is also the one most likely to be sadistically mean to anyone who comes after them. Unbeknownst to me, Easter saw me as "the one who came after," and one day she attacked me. I don't mean she ran by and bumped me. I mean she full-out attacked me. I had no way to control her and nowhere to run to. So I picked up a stick and I fairly beat that horse up one side and down the other as she continued to come at me with teeth and front hooves. I beat everything I could reach--head, neck, chest, face, front legs--and I beat her as hard as I possibly could. It was one of the only times in my life that I've been mortally scared by a horse. After she turned away I went after her and beat her on the backside until she was running from me, and then I chased after her until I was satisfied that she was not going to turn on me again. That's the only time I've ever beaten a horse like that and in that moment it had nothing to do with training--it was pure terror and instinct. Soon afterward we both calmed down, I walked over to her and she stood and let me catch her. We left the pasture as friends with the understanding that as long as she never attacked me again I would not attack her either and the incident was closed. There was never any follow-up to retrain her to come into my space. We had arrived at an understanding without having to hash over details, and this is how every horse I've worked with has responded (although never with such drama--I've learned to read horse body language better than I could at 12!).  

Not long after the flogging incident I was walking Easter along an icy hilltop when we ran out of powder snow and I began to slide down a sheet of ice. I was trying to keep my balance when I suddenly felt an almighty shove from the back. Easter had pushed me with her head and sent me slithering across the ice. My immediate feeling was that she'd done something mischievous (it was not unusual for her to goose me in the backside when she was nervous or needed attention), but as I fell I looked over my shoulder and saw that she was sliding too--right into the spot where I'd been standing a split second before. If she hadn't shoved me away she would have run over me and probably fallen on me. I got up trembling with the grateful feeling that my horse had just saved my life. I got us into a stupid circumstance and she got us both out unscathed. A horse that will shove you away to avoid falling on you is not afraid of getting close to you, nor is it operating in a state of "learned helplessness" (a term which you are applying incorrectly if you read the psychological definition). 

It didn't have to be an emergency for Easter to come close to me. She was a cuddle muffin who loved to come over for rubs and hugs. My closest relationship with any horse was with Easter. She was one I could ride without halter or bridle (even trail rides away from home). We could negotiate a dressage pattern or jump course without so much as a rope around her neck to guide her. Phil called her my "telepathic horse" because all he had to do was think which direction to go and she went there. This is not a horse that has been traumatized or rendered into a state of learned helplessness! I'll never forget jumping on Easter's back on a snowy night in the 400-acre pasture where we kept the horses. I had nothing by which to control her. She could do whatever she liked. And she wanted to run! She took off at full speed after a herd of elk that was grazing on the other side of the meadow. The other horses came with us and we were all running silently together with snow billowing up behind. It was like flying. Easter knew the pasture by heart and she would leap suddenly to clear irrigation ditches that I could not see under the snow. I just held tight to her mane and enjoyed the thrill. We caught up to the elk and chased them over the fence before she slowed down. Afterward she walked me calmly back to my truck. I would never do that on any other horse, but with Easter I knew I was completely safe. Despite our rough start, that was the bond we eventually shared, and neither of us required rehabilitation or retraining to get there.