Heart Horse

I reach out to gently stroke his neck, and my hand sinks into his quickly growing winter coat.  It's soft and comforting.  Wanting nothing more than to snuggle up against his big shoulder, I wrap my arms around him and lay my cheek against his neck.  He leans in for more and I smile.  That's it - we've finally made it, and it's only taken us 2 whole years to get there.

I fell in love with Ben the day I met him.  Thin and frail and all alone, he was separated from the herd because he was herd bound.  I was warned beforehand that he was a puller, a bolter, and tended to do have "fits" if not lunged before being mounted.  I needed special equipment to keep his head from going up and ignoring all aids.  The list went on and on.

I'll preface this by saying that I have had a few bad accidents in my lifetime, and my confidence is not what it should be... it was even worse then.  Getting on a horse that was branded as "trouble" was not something I wanted to do, nor felt I had the skillset to handle. That day, however, I mustered up the courage somehow, put my foot in that stirrup and got up on that horse. I had none of the equipment she had mentioned, and never having seen him ridden, I had no idea of what this "fit" would look like.  

First impressions are everything, and my first impression was that of a horse that was so twisted up inside, he didn't know whether to guard himself, go along with you, or run the hell away. Immediately, his head went up in the air and I let it go.  He had a look of surprise, and after a few rounds of walking he settled in and let his body relax.  We walked and trotted and it all went wonderful.  No bolting, no fits - just a cooperative horse still somewhat on-guard.  

He braced as he stood to be untacked, and he weaved - back and forth, back and forth - at the hitching post.  "Somebody never taught him respect," uttered the barn manager.  I didn't see that.  I saw a horse fretting not because he was snotty or obnoxious, but because he was so caught up in worry.  We worked on calmly and firmly stopping and repositioning on each weave, being careful to never get angry.  I worried that he had the ability to really panic and throw himself into an unsafe place, emotionally and physically.  I wanted nothing more than to "fix" this horse, and I loved him for his hurt heart.

I described Ben as aloof and professional.  You don't push him or show anger and he'll do exactly as you ask.  Physical touch made him... uncomfortable.  I wondered for a long time if he physically felt something that caused his aversion to human touch.  Either way, I left him alone.  I touched only when necessary.  Withheld my kisses.  Certainly never hugged. Our ritual was catch him, groom him, ride him, groom him, release him.  Nothing more and nothing less.  We continued on this way for many months, and after a while, I just stopped "testing" to see if that day would be magically be different.

Then along came Mowgli - my "love" horse.  He thrived on human attention.  I hugged him and kissed him and just spent time with him.  We had an unspoken bond and he filled that longing and ache for a heart horse that Ben just couldn't fill.  The distance between Ben and I grew, and at one point, I actually thought that I should just sell Ben.  

When I lost Mowgli this summer, my heart felt shattered.   All of my love and that amazing bond was just ripped away.  I got lost in should haves, could haves, and would haves.  I cried endless tears for days - and I avoided the pasture with the other horses.  Fortunately, the chores didn't stop and I was forced to go out one day and walk the pasture.  I knew it would be hard.  I wasn't even to the gate yet, and the tears started flowing.  I walked out to the middle of the open pasture on the side and sat down.  Crouched over and sobbing, I begged for my Mowgli back.

I hadn't noticed that Ben had come up.  He gently touched my head with his muzzle and then went back to grazing, only feet from where I sat.  He had a look on his face like he was shocked that a human could be vulnerable... much like a child the first time they see a parent cry.  I realized that I never let him see that side of me... the side that needed him.  I felt him say, in the only way he could, that it was all going to be ok.  

Our relationship changed that day, and I feel forever grateful it did.  I've allowed him to see my vulnerabilities, my heartaches, and my frustrations - as well as the opposite range of emotions.  In return, he has shown me his and has allowed me into that space where he feels most weak.  He knows my touch is not an extension of a hand that demands something from him, but rather a hand that wants him to feel me.

Yes, it's been two long years, but it's been worth every second.