of her horse wisdom. She’s in her forties and has had horses since she was a kid.
“Slow,” I answer. “It’s been two weeks and he won’t even come to me.” I stand up and brush the dust off my butt. “Walker was so much easier. He wanted affection from people, so really I only had to help him heal physically. He didn’t have much emotional damage.” I nod to Tanner. “Him, on the other hand… he’s the definition of emotional damage.”
Michelle raises her arms and crosses them on the top rail of the fence. “Think about it from his perspective. Why does he need to trust people? He gets food and water, and he has his herd. He only sees risk in allowing humans near him, no benefit.”
“But he could be so much happier if he could let go of his fears.” I gesture to Tanner where he is running the fence line, whinnying and sweating profusely. “I mean, look at him, he’s a disaster. If he’d chill out and give me a chance, he could learn that not all humans are horrible.” I look back to Michelle and find her watching me with a smile.
She draws in a long dramatic breath and shakes her head. “That’s a big job you have, convincing a horse that no one will ever hurt him again.”
I narrow my eyes, feeling like this conversation is no longer about Tanner. “I don’t know that no person will ever hurt him again.”
Now Michelle removes her arms from the fence and steps back, preparing to leave. “That’s right, you don’t. So the question is: is that horse better off living alone in fear, or should he trust us and risk being hurt again?” With that profound question, Michelle turns and disappears behind the barn.
She’s right; I know that. This horse needs a reason to trust me. Why should he trust that I won’t hurt him? I turn and kick the fence, pissed. Now I don’t know if I’m talking about the horse or myself. I’m beginning to think I’ve taken on too much with Tanner. I drop to my knees and place my hands on my thighs, pulling in long, deep breaths. How can I possibly help this horse when I can’t even help myself?
As I sit in the field trying to push back all the emotions I never let show, I feel a big warm breath blow into my hair and a giant nose rub against my head. I freeze, unsure how to react. Tanner is standing over me, almost nuzzling me at the crook of my neck. I reach one hand to caress his nose and he pushes into my hand, almost as if encouraging my touch. I close my eyes and release a slow breath, careful not to scare him off. I’m not sure if it’s my position of submission or my emotional meltdown, but something I did made the horse feel safe with me, if only in this moment. I remain on my knees, my back to Tanner, completely vulnerable to this large, unpredictable animal. I allow myself to trust. He continues to sniff and nuzzle as I pet him on his nose and face. Allowing myself to be vulnerable and trust in the horse feels like removing a brick from the wall I have constructed for my protection. It is both terrifying and serene.
After several minutes, I slowly stand and turn to face him, attempting to maintain my non-threatening attitude. Tanner remains close, allowing me to rub his neck and down his back. He doesn’t try to flee, and he seems completely relaxed; his breathing is no longer heavy, his eyes are soft, and his head is low, not on alert. Not wanting push my luck, I decided to take Tanner to the pasture with the other horses. He stands still, allowing me to put his halter back on, and he walks quietly as I lead him to his herd.
I release him into the pasture and wonder what the hell I’d done to deserve compassion from that horse.
Chapter 7
I get back to the house around eleven and find my roommates, plus two of our new neighbors, lying around the living room watching Deadliest Catch . Kade is the only one missing, which I am thankful for. I don’t have the patience to deal with him again.
After I change out of my smelly barn
“Slow,” I answer. “It’s been two weeks and he won’t even come to me.” I stand up and brush the dust off my butt. “Walker was so much easier. He wanted affection from people, so really I only had to help him heal physically. He didn’t have much emotional damage.” I nod to Tanner. “Him, on the other hand… he’s the definition of emotional damage.”
Michelle raises her arms and crosses them on the top rail of the fence. “Think about it from his perspective. Why does he need to trust people? He gets food and water, and he has his herd. He only sees risk in allowing humans near him, no benefit.”
“But he could be so much happier if he could let go of his fears.” I gesture to Tanner where he is running the fence line, whinnying and sweating profusely. “I mean, look at him, he’s a disaster. If he’d chill out and give me a chance, he could learn that not all humans are horrible.” I look back to Michelle and find her watching me with a smile.
She draws in a long dramatic breath and shakes her head. “That’s a big job you have, convincing a horse that no one will ever hurt him again.”
I narrow my eyes, feeling like this conversation is no longer about Tanner. “I don’t know that no person will ever hurt him again.”
Now Michelle removes her arms from the fence and steps back, preparing to leave. “That’s right, you don’t. So the question is: is that horse better off living alone in fear, or should he trust us and risk being hurt again?” With that profound question, Michelle turns and disappears behind the barn.
She’s right; I know that. This horse needs a reason to trust me. Why should he trust that I won’t hurt him? I turn and kick the fence, pissed. Now I don’t know if I’m talking about the horse or myself. I’m beginning to think I’ve taken on too much with Tanner. I drop to my knees and place my hands on my thighs, pulling in long, deep breaths. How can I possibly help this horse when I can’t even help myself?
As I sit in the field trying to push back all the emotions I never let show, I feel a big warm breath blow into my hair and a giant nose rub against my head. I freeze, unsure how to react. Tanner is standing over me, almost nuzzling me at the crook of my neck. I reach one hand to caress his nose and he pushes into my hand, almost as if encouraging my touch. I close my eyes and release a slow breath, careful not to scare him off. I’m not sure if it’s my position of submission or my emotional meltdown, but something I did made the horse feel safe with me, if only in this moment. I remain on my knees, my back to Tanner, completely vulnerable to this large, unpredictable animal. I allow myself to trust. He continues to sniff and nuzzle as I pet him on his nose and face. Allowing myself to be vulnerable and trust in the horse feels like removing a brick from the wall I have constructed for my protection. It is both terrifying and serene.
After several minutes, I slowly stand and turn to face him, attempting to maintain my non-threatening attitude. Tanner remains close, allowing me to rub his neck and down his back. He doesn’t try to flee, and he seems completely relaxed; his breathing is no longer heavy, his eyes are soft, and his head is low, not on alert. Not wanting push my luck, I decided to take Tanner to the pasture with the other horses. He stands still, allowing me to put his halter back on, and he walks quietly as I lead him to his herd.
I release him into the pasture and wonder what the hell I’d done to deserve compassion from that horse.
Chapter 7
I get back to the house around eleven and find my roommates, plus two of our new neighbors, lying around the living room watching Deadliest Catch . Kade is the only one missing, which I am thankful for. I don’t have the patience to deal with him again.
After I change out of my smelly barn
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