Posse training? I couldn't believe my ears. We still have posses? You bet. The modern-day posse has reinvented itself. Now posses are a friendly way to provide security in large crowd situations, not to mention their efficacy in natural disasters, when roads might be impassable. So when I met the captain of the L.A. County Sheriff Posse at the Santa Clarita Cowboy Poetry and Music Festival, I thought it over fairly briefly…and decided to dive in.

Saracen, my American Saddlebred horse was bred for the show ring, not for beach patrol, rescues and wrangling crowds. Still, he'd compromised with me and become quite a good trail horse, and I thought the posse experience would be good for both of us. Well, actually, for him. That it turned out so well for me was a kind of gift. But I should be used to that now.

We left the barn at 10:30 that morning, full of anticipation, not knowing what lay before us other than a lot of boundary stretching, sure only that the day would be long. The drill sergeant told us that the first step in posse training is to de-sensitize the horse. This means that you put your horse in situations that are strange and uncomfortable to him, frightening even, and let him go through the experience until the bizarre nature of it becomes familiar.

Imagine sitting on 1200 pounds of skittish, shy-at-anything-new muscle in the middle of a war zone. This is the best way I can describe what the day's training was like. During the day we'd ridden our horses in parade formation--columns of twos and fours. Yes, they still say things like "Forward, HO! Left flank, HO!" Then flares were placed in the middle of the arena where we serpentined our way through the flares as close as possible without stepping on them. Next we traveled in parade formation toward a truck in the middle of the arena. Boisterous people stood in the back of the pick up and music blared from its open doors. After that exercise we spaced ourselves out in the arena near the fence so that "The Bird" could land. The Sheriff's helicopter looked like an alien spaceship hovering over the arena, its giant blades slowly bearing down. Great gusts of wind blew dirt into our eyes as the deafening whirring of the blades drew closer and closer to the ground. Later smoke bombs, roiling bright red and green so thick we couldn't see the horses in front of us, singed our noses with their sulfurous odor. It was like riding horseback blind folded. Every hour we upped the ante.

I felt Saracen underneath me confront fear. I coaxed him into the danger by squeezing him forward with my legs and encouraging him. I witnessed him push against his first instincts to flee. I was so proud of him, of us. The whole day I'd been focussed on Saracen's reactions, trying to anticipate them; rewarding him when he performed well, cajoling him when he was reluctant to move forward.

Close to the end of the evening around 9:00, all stops were pulled out, putting together all the sensory activities we had experienced during the day. The scene felt like a war zone. In columns of two we passed through the unearthly light of flares while smoke bombs boiled up thick clouds, obscuring our vision. Firecrackers detonated around us without warning. The air cooked with hellish light and fiendish smells. To top it off, a police car, huge and menacing in the dark, paused in the center of the arena like a beast that had just landed and could lift off at any moment. Its growling engine threatened to take us with it, while its red, amber and white lights rolled like the eyes of monsters, roving at will over our bodies and minds. Terrifying. Like Dante's vision of Hell.

And Saracen? Cautiously yet bravely walking in step with his parade partner. And me, astride as if on a leisurely return to the barn, chatting idly with the rider beside me who'd started the day as a stranger to me. "So, John," I said, striking up a conversation while I watched the flares light up his profile, "how long have you been with the posse?" His answer was interrupted by the blaring loudspeaker of a patrol car beside us. He had to tell me twice because I couldn't hear over the noise of the crowd.

"And what's your horse's name?"

"Peaches," he said.

I nodded and smiled. "Peaches," I repeated. I wondered how he'd chosen the name.

And that's when the lesson came. I'd spent days worrying whether Saracen had the temperament to do this kind of training, not wanting to express doubt out loud, but shouldering it anyway. Most of this day I'd been focused on him, his behavior, whether he was, in fact, able to acclimate to such an overload of unfamiliar, threatening stimuli. And here I was, chatting to a stranger as comfortably as if we'd been sitting together sharing a sunset. Saracen wasn't the only one who'd been desensitized.

And yet I hesitate to dismiss it as simple desensitization. That's the beginning, of course, but the real benefit was that Saracen and I returned naturally to our core in the face of danger and uncertainty.

In these days of mergers and acquisitions (and I hope it makes you laugh when I tell you that the first time I said this, I said murders and acquisitions), when the fabric of our business lives seems in danger of unraveling, when change feels relentless, it's very comforting to know that we have the capability within us to desensitize to what we perceive as imminent danger. We have it in us to move into the danger and beyond it, to rediscover the place of peace and inner security even in what looks like a war zone.

My horse gave me this lesson. Pass it on.

Sometimes I wonder which of us is the trainer, and which is the one being trained. Feel free to use this article in your publication or web site, or forward it to a friend. The only requirement is the inclusion of the following statement:

Article written by Laura Hauser, founder of Leadership Strategies International--a change management consulting and training firm. She is available for conference engagements and consultations about how to significantly increase your business and personal success.
Contact information: laura@lsiltd.com www.lsiltd.com 661-251-0641 Copyright 2000 Laura Hauser