Horse therapy in Montana

I suffered an intense loss a few weeks ago. Eighteen months ago I adopted a gentle-hearted Golden Retriever from a "service dog" organization. He was up for adoption because he had not fully made it through the training. I bonded with him, as did all the children we work with through our Reading Dog program, several of whom are autistic, their trust hard won. But suddenly, the organization decided they wanted him back. Without discussion, and without forewarning, they literally stole him away from me. “He’s still our PROPERTY,” they declared. They didn’t charge malfeasance, they simply wanted him back. It was a bizarre, incredibly cruel thing for them to do. And what do you do with that? How do you deal with evil when it presents itself in an otherwise gentle life?

Well, this Florida girl took off for Montana for a week. In a peaceful valley close to the west Yellowstone entrance is a place of utter tranquility. "I feel something here, sacredness, a spirituality in the air," I remarked to my hostess, who lived on the other side of the ranch. "You should," she replied, "This is the place where all the Native American tribes would meet to have their peace conferences. It was safe, surrounded as it is by mountains. With the wide open fields, they could see enemies coming from far away. The Indians, they thought of this place as consecrated. It's a healing place."

And indeed it was. It was quiet and tranquil and I faced my demons head-on there. I had to, there wasn't much else to do. Of course I thought of my beloved Murphy, to whom I had given all of my heart. Of course, I thought about all the ways I could have done better, tried harder, and fought tougher to keep him, but I was physically outnumbered, and they took him away. Oh that hindsight, it is an effective but brutal teacher.

I tell you this because I want you to fully understand the pain and torture that was in my heart those days, and for many days. It is only through empathy that you can understand the grace the horses bestowed upon me.

On the property where I was staying lived two lovely brown horses. I knew nothing about them: not their names, their gender, their breed, their purpose there on the ranch. I only knew they were there because I heard them whinnying from my bedroom window and went to investigate. Oh what beautiful animals! Such soulful eyes and handsome features they have. And so I went and stood with them, basking in their presence, feeling the mighty spirit that lives within the horse, and I was calmed.

Up until that point, I had been lonely. This was a retreat for me, in every sense of the word. Like a soldier retreating from battle, I had withdrawn from the fight in Florida to seek solace in a new and unfamiliar state. But sometimes, loneliness envelopes one like a weighty velvet cloak. The deep “purple-ness” of it more a feeling than a color, its heaviness pushing down deeply into one’s body, making muscles ache and spirit weak. Being lonely is not the same as being alone, after all. To be lonely is to be fearful of one’s very own thoughts as they intrude and harass and, damn it, won’t take their leave. They strike fear simply because of their dreaded potential to do oh-so-much harm. In the dead of the night, when there is not so much as a moth to keep you company, not another beating heart, not another breathing soul, just you and the night, that’s when it happens. The anticipation of it is almost as bad as the terrible thoughts themselves. Have you ever feared your own thoughts with still ten hours of night to suffer through? No? Then count your blessing, friend, because to experience this kind of loneliness is to peak into a tiny corner of hell.

Oh, but those beautiful horses. They were just there, outside my window, keeping watch. Saint Michael himself could have been astride one of these beautiful animals and maybe he was. Can he help me get my dog back?

I don’t know a lot about horses. Naturally I Googled horses and spent most of the next day trying to understand them. I know that there are those who are fighting for them to be saved from slaughter; legislation is on the table which would save them from an inhumane and unnecessary death. I wrote my congressman about it a while back and forgot about it. But now, it was critical that I understood them. I wanted to learn more. I read articles, journal entries, stories, blogs and anything else I could about horses. I learned a great deal, and also felt a great shame at the way horses have always been treated by my kind. Just watch a Western movie, really watch it from a horses’ point of view, and you’ll understand my disgrace. These two horses were gentle souls, with eyes full of the wisdom of generations of beautiful brown horses who came before. They looked at me curiously, and allowed me to feed them carrots and pet their soft velveteen ears. I was grateful for their ministry, and spent hours sitting in the sun by their corral just to BE. And just to be with them.

One day, I saw two young girls saddled them up and take them for a ride. As they were walking with them on lead, one horse stopped to graze from the fresh green grass just outside his pasture. How long had he been staring at that bright, wet grass that was, maddeningly, just out of reach? Now he had his chance. But the girl kicked at his nose and face with her boot to get him to stop, and so the moment was not so idyllic after all. The horse didn’t seem to mind. But who taught that girl that it’s ok to kick a horse in the face? And what else are they teaching her?

And so I thought that maybe, if young girls like her are taught that horses are sentient beings deserving of our admiration and respect, they wouldn’t grow up to be the kind of woman who callously breaks two hearts: The canine heart that beats just under the bountiful mane of the chest of a Golden Retriever, and the human heart that is my own.
Bye Ce

It's Bigger Than I Am

It’s bigger than I am…….
By Michelle A. Rivera

I love all creatures great and small
I don’t distinguish them at all
I don’t just love the cute and fluffy
I love the scaled, the finned, and scruffy
It’s bigger than I am…..a grave and heavy weight

They do not have a voice, you see
And so I fear it falls to me
If what I say strikes then a chord
I fear my swift linguistic sword
It’s bigger than I am…..a sharp, incisive blade

I’m sorry if I do offend
I cannot for peace just pretend
Or deafen to the words you say
For in my dreams I’ll dearly pay
It’s bigger than I am…..a demon, haunting dread

I will not ask you to forgive
I ask you only live, let live
And speak not of this scorching plea
And speak not harshly thee, of me.
It’s bigger than I am…..it’s bigger than I am
Bye Ce