Call me a slow learner, but I just recently caught on that men really are another species altogether. No wonder people are writing books about this fascinating topic! Now I'm catching on to the fact that the various breeds of horses are just as diverse and some are nearly as mysterious as those men from Mars. It keeps life interesting, with plenty of opportunities for miscommunication.

To spice my life up further, I don't always pick my horses; they sometimes pick me. As a result, I've owned, leased, and baby-sat horses of many different breed combinations; each one an adventure. But until fairly recently, I must admit that the one group that's been missing from my realm of experience has been the Warmbloods.

[Warmblood fans: this is not a matter of personal bias it's a matter of maintaining matrimonial harmony. Having married a non-horseperson (you know the type: they don't think the horse should cost more than three months salary; a year's tuition at a local college; or a family trip to Disneyland), I've had to overlook all of those "affordable!" horses you see advertised for the cost of a new sport utility vehicle.]

I got my chance a year ago, when I fell for an easygoing gelding whose gentle temperament pulled me in quicker than my husband could say, "We can't afford him." Before he knew it, I was the proud owner of a spotted horse the size of a small city. Technically, Nick is an "American Warmblood": a happy accident of largely unknown Thoroughbred, Quarter Horse, and Draft parentage, which resulted in attractive movement and color within my price range. I love taking him to shows and listening to people speculate about his "Art Deco" bloodlines.

In these politically correct times, I realize that generalizing about cultures, genders, and even footwear is frowned upon. However, for the sake of discussion, such comparisons must sometimes be made. In general, it may be said that Martian horses are a more reactive lot than the Venusian. Tending to be a little more "expressive," shall we say, they'll let you know in no uncertain terms what they're thinking. In any event, you'll know where you standeven if it's on the ground or three miles from your intended destination.

Venusian horses, on the other hand, tend to be slower to reactalthough what they may lack in initial takeoff speed may be compensated for with a greater stride length. And instead of running off in a huff like a miffed Martian, your Venusian may refuse to budge at all. While there has been little research in this area, I believe this is a Venusian attempt to work things out; to come to a complete and final decision before running the risk of making a mistake. Unfortunately for riders, this completely interferes with most riding sports and a communication breakdown frequently ensues. This is where the use of body language (backed up by whip and spur) is often most useful. The Venusian must trust that the Earthling on his back has the correct data and that, indeed, action is the appropriate response. Otherwise, the Venusian is likely to go into a mode of self-examination and introspection that could take days (and professional counseling) to resolve.

I've ridden with plenty of Warmblood owners but apparently I was so busy with my own "issues" (staying on) that I didn't absorb what they were saying about their oversized mounts. I remember one Venusian that would rather walk on his hind legs than trot, and another whose trainer actually chased him with a broom every time he got "sticky." Vague memories of giant whips and generous spurs are coming back to meespecially as I now never ride without them.

With my Martian mounts, going forward was something you could count on. In fact, too much forward was one of the more adrenaline-raising aspects of Martian horse ownership. And, while I've owned and loved several fine Martian mares and geldings, some of the more terrifying moments in my life have been aboard elegant animals whose flight or fight instincts tended strictly towards flight. To my surprise, my two best coping skillsyelling "aaaargh" and pulling on the inside rein until the horse circles, increasing chances of a return trip from wherever we were goingwere virtually useless on my new horse.

The first inkling that I wasn't in Kansas anymore came on that fateful day when I went out to ride Nick, forgetting both spurs and whip. My big-strided beast quickly noted this oversight and took advantage of my puny Earthling size by refusing to walk, trot or canter. I'd prefer you didn't call me "The Human Fly," but that's obviously what Nick was thinking. In my strongest Earthling voice I screamed (and feel free to use this ineffective command on your own horse), "you big lunkhead!", smacked the reins on his neck, and flailed with both legs. To Nick's delight, I instantly exhausted myself while imparting no damage to either his thick hide or sense of self-esteem. I lay, panting, on his neck, fighting a sense of total humiliation while he continued sun bathing. As a result, I learned to never undertake a launch without packing appropriate accessories. But there were other lessons to learn.

As I said, I wasn't really paying attention when my friends complained about a lack of impulsion. New surprises were in store for me. Having a Martian mare temperament myself, I can understand the tendency to get frisky in cold weather, when frightened by alien objects, or simply when one feels good. I was amazed to find that Venusian types sometimes don't go when they're excited. Some of them actually grow roots.

It soon became apparent that my working knowledge of the Martian language (particularly the terms for "slow down!" and "stay in the arena!") were useless with my Venusian gelding. (Ironically, many of these terms sound similar to certain swear words in the English language.) I've since picked up the Venusian phrase for "get going!" and, more colloquially, "move it, you lazy slug!" I practice these phrases often and am getting quite adept at the loud, guttural tones required to sound like a true native.

Nick, being much more crafty than he looks (he's got that deceptively sleepy looksimilar to the one those men from Mars adopt when you ask them to take out the trash), attempted the root-growing maneuver with some success in the early days of our relationship. As he's much bigger than I am and I'm used to horses that bolt when provoked, I'll admit I was a little timid with my use of the whip. In fact, my trainer would laugh when I'd "tap" him with it. "He can't feel that," she'd yell, between giggles, "Hit him like you mean it." Feeling like I was terrorizing the poor guy, I'd give it a little more oomph, but my heart wasn't in it.

I overcame my tenderhearted nature, however, when Nick started getting serious about not going forward. He learned new variations of not going forward, such as rooting the front legs and hopping with the back (an unathletic buck), going on to embellish the unathletic buck with an impressive series of more athletic (full body involvement) buckssometimes taking up the entire arena during his execution.

Coming from the Mars School of Riding ("if he's outta control, make him stop"), I put on the brakes, thinking I was doing the right thing. Wrong! Nick said [translated here in English], "you tell me to go forward (which I don't want to do, so I buck), then you tell me to stop. I'm still quite excited. Therefore, I'll really buck!" In short, the horse was confused and so was I. Things were falling apart.

Fortunately, I was not too confused to sign Nick up for a few weeks of re-schooling. My able-bodied Earthling trainer schooled the buck out of him and gave me a course in assertiveness training. The lessons went mainly like this, "Hit him! Really hit him!" Her technique effected an immediate response from my stubborn steed.

And in that moment I realized that Warmbloods really are from Venus. If you used the whip like that on a Thoroughbred you'd be promptly teleported to the next galaxy!