"Their ears and their body language tell it all," says Almaden's Ginny Gerbino as she turns to see in the distance a stable worker walking between buildings.

Patting Hamlet on his broad shoulder she tells the horse: "Good boy. Yeah, I see it too."

"You cannot take the fear away from the horse. You have to acknowledge it," she says explaining that horses are prey animals, their nature of which is to flee from danger.

In the seven years Gerbino has been working with Hamlet they've developed an understanding which she shares with all the other horses at the San Jose Police Mounted Unit's stable where she works as the department's horse trainer. The understanding is trust and a mutual agreement of sorts between her and the horse. A bond that affords her the freedom to work with no lead and still direct the large creatures to walk, trot or cantor when she commands them to with just her voice or gestures. With a swift movement of her hand held high, Hamlet halts as ordered.

Voice commands are important for police horses so that if an officer is hurt while on duty with the horse, he can still control the horse's movements, she says.

Gerbino's intuitive nature—she says she sometimes feels more in touch with horses than humans—and great success with both horses and riders, helped her land what she calls "the best job in the world" when she was asked to train horses for the mounted unit of the San Jose Police in 1986.

If the city—facing a large budget deficit—hands down budget cuts to the department, Gerbino's favorite job could be in jeopardy and the police department's mounted unit could be eliminated, or more likely, scaled back. But Gerbino is an optimist and believes that nothing will happen to the unit she loves.

And Deputy Chief Pete Oliver says it is too soon in the budget process to know what, if any, changes may occur in the department and he refused to comment or speculate on particulars. He pointed out that last year cutback concerns were raised and then alleviated when the city council decided to look to other areas in the city for cost reduction.

"It is so premature to discuss anything" about the mounted unit's funding, Oliver says.

Still, units such as the mounted unit are not necessarily the core of public safety and, if the fiscal reins tighten, there's no telling where cuts may be made, he says.

"Everybody knows when they work in those specialized units that they may be cut," he says.

The mounted unit is specialized, and unlike any other. It is the department's the most effective unit in two key areas of community interaction: crowd control and public relations.

"Horses do things that officers on the ground just can't do," says Sgt. Greg Trapp, assigned to the mounted unit. "When you have a line of ground troops approaching a group only the first couple of people in line can see the officers. When they are on horseback, the middle of the crowd can see them coming."

Effectiveness in crowd control is easily recognizable when unruly groups are quickly quieted and the horses' worth is earned, but less quantifiable is the value the horses hold in public outreach.

"We do something that is totally unique to the department," says Chris Sciba, an officer in San Jose Police Department's Mounted Unit. "We can go out and in one day at one event and impact 300 people easily and leave a positive outlook [of police officers.] That's not easy to do and it is not easily measured."

To prove the point, Sciba and other officers set a scene something like this: Joe Citizen approaches a cop sitting in a parked patrol car just to say hello and chew the fat for a minute. Joe and Mr. Police Officer talk about the weather, and the horsepower of the patrol car. Sound unusual? It is. But change the car to a horse and not only does the chat become reality, but a whole new meaning to horse power kicks in.

"Horses attract people and give us an opportunity to relate to the public in a non-business way," Sciba says. "For most people, their interaction with police is at best a ticket, and at worst, they're getting arrested. And, nobody wants to walk up to a car and ask about the car, but they will walk up to us on a horse and ask us about the horse."

This was evident the recent auto show when officers Mike Carroll, James Cooper and Robert Plamenco—perched atop their mounts outside of San Jose McEnery Convention Center—were approached by four citizens in less than 10 minutes, for seemingly no other reason than just to be friendly.

"What kind of mileage do you get on these guys?" asks passerby Ron May.

"One bale an hour," Cooper says.

They exchange a few more pleasantries and May moves on.

The horses are accustomed to public interaction and the officers welcome the opportunity to be "ambassadors of good will," they say. Often it is the first time someone will encounter a horse in person, and Gerbino keeps that in mind as she evaluates each horse that is being considered for the mounted unit. Gerbino hand picks and specially trains all the police horses, and she has also trained all the officers currently in the unit. None of the officers had previous riding experience, but when Gerbino is done with them, they trot off knowing how to groom, feed and train their horses.

Gerbino also has the responsibility of regularly exercising them and even administering medication when necessary. She spends three months working with each officer teaching proper riding techniques, care and handling, and sharing her intuitive and hands-on knowledge of the psychology of horses.

"Ginny knows more about horses than any group of people," Trapp says. "She has a sense of when to push and when to stop."

Gerbino, who has been riding since she was a toddler, dislikes the phrase "horse whisperer," saying she learned most of what she knows from her grandfather, who raised quarterhorses in Michigan.

"He always taught me that if you see the world through a horse's eyes you'll find success," she says.

And so she does, always trying to understand the actions and reactions of the horses and paying close attention to their behavior and body language. As the only trainer for the mounted unit for the last 18 years, she has evaluated hundreds of horses, purchased some and accepted many of which were donated to the city by people from all around, the horses being given up for all different kinds of reasons, she says.

On average, it takes her less than a week to determine if a horse is suited for the unit, she says.

"I need the horses that are going to stand there and say, 'you know what makes me go,' " she says.

Most don't make the cut and are sent away from the stables on Kenoga Avenue near the intersections of Tully Road and McLaughlin Avenue. Those that go are sold, and Gerbino's strict definitions are applied to whom gets to take the horse home. The new owners agree to surprise drop-in visits that assure the horses are being properly cared for.

"Lack of education is the biggest form of abuse," she says.

The horses that do stay must conform to certain requirements, one of which is size. The horses have to be at least 15 hands high so that they and their officers have a presence and height advantage on the street. All the horses are male, because, as the officers recently conducting a presentation to 80 Orchard Elementary School kindergartners gently explain, when one female was entered into the mix of males, the boys became unruly and fought with one another. That was the last time a female horse was brought in to the stables, they say.

The horses also are all a dark color, usually chestnut or black, and they've all got a history. To Gerbino, learning their history if vital. It tells her what training each and every horse has had giving her insight into the behavior of the horse.

"Every horse comes to us with a story," Gerbino says.

The story of one horse that was recently donated to the department is that he once belonged to a horse-loving young teenager, but as that teen reached driver's license age her equestrian interests gave way to other lures.

"Her dad said, 'Now she's got a Mustang and it's got eight cylinders,' " Gerbino explains.

The horses of the mounted unit must learn to walk among cars and since they are working they spend most of their time in downtown San Jose, they encounter other possible distractions: sirens, firecrackers, gunshots, protest signs, things they might not see at a ranch or stable.

"Most of it is exposure. There are all sorts of noises and scary objects," Sciba says. "It all depends on the horse. Some don't like the light rail, some don't like the painted curbs. We have to constantly keep them exposed so they realize those things aren't threats."

And it is Gerbino's job to find creative ways to acclimate them.

Titan is a large black Percheron that originally came from Pennsylvania and is now assigned to Carroll. A bouquet of balloons tied to a block sway to and fro in his pen. Titan doesn't like balloons, but because he may encounter them while working at an event such as the Mardi Gras or Cinco de Mayo celebrations, the balloons are there to habituate him. It seems to be working.

"We've caught him playing with the balloons," Gerbino says.

Balloons attract kids, and according to the mounted unit officers, so do the horses. They are kid magnets, they say.

At Christmas in the Park, Trapp says they were "mobbed," and people told officers that the only reason they went to the park was because they knew the horses would be there.

"In a car, most people wouldn't give us the time of day. The horse breaks down barriers. People who would normally shun us or avoid contact with us will bring their kids up to us when we're on the horses," Trapp says.

Gerbino pairs the officers and horses, often basing her match on the personalities. Trapp's horse, Spartacus—also known as Spartan or Sparky—is known for his easy demeanor, much like the sergeant's, she said.

When she took Sparky—a huge horse that came from Amish country—for his first ride in the neighborhood, a jaunt that usually lasts 10 to 15 minutes to test how horses handle outside elements, took a little bit longer than most.

"I was gone so long [the officers] came out looking for me. I was gone about 40 minutes," she says. "He cocked his leg and decided to take a nap."