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| Lakota and I, reunited |
It had been another year of one of us healing. The latest
injury had been Lakota tearing off most of her hoof under a sharp metal fence.
Seven months of summer- hand walking and an additional six months of winter.
Now with over a year off from riding, the mare had fallen back into her
previous fearful behavior. Cripes. Not this again. It had only been two years before
that, when I broke my back in a horse accident. She waited more than a year for
my bone to mend. I threw the saddle over her back; she flinched and drove her
nose into the corner of the stall in terror. “Oh, come on. I am not going to
hurt you. I have never hurt you.” I threw the pad on and off her until she settled.
I hoisted the saddle up first from the left, then off and up on the right. I
sure hoped she calmed down before my arms gave out. She did. As I came around
her rump, I noticed her skin actually rippling along her right flank. When I
ran my hand over the area she cringed under my touch. Lakota looked like a
watch spring wound just a little too tight. This location on her body had been
abused years before. I imagined a right handed rider using a whip along her
side to motivate speed. The rider was long gone but the fear remained. Each
time we were laid off, we lost our rhythm and these fears came back to haunt
her.
Fast forward two months. I decided I didn’t have time for
Lakota. It would be better to let another owner take her who would give her the
attention I could not. I felt guilty when my work kept me away from riding her.
My schedule is erratic and I was house hunting. Maybe I’d be even busier with a
house and then maybe I wouldn’t be able to afford her board. I would sell her
and it would be the best for both of us. Our relationship had deteriorated and
neither of us was enjoying the situation. I was tired of riding around a farm
alone and she would rather eat grass than listen to me.
I delivered her to a trainer who would work with her for two
weeks, show her to perspective buyers and then she would be gone. I choked back
the tears as I drove away. The sobbing and heartbreak was relentless for three
days. I went back to the barn to check on her. The trainer had been using
ground exercises to help her work through her anxiety and return to work mode. She
was responding beautifully. More days went by and more I saw Lakota willing and
eager to cooperate. As time allowed, I learned the exercises and continued them
on weekends. She whinnied for me when I arrived and nickered with head bobbing
as I left. Our friendship was blossoming once again. When a buyer called, I
told him I needed a couple more weeks to decide.
The words fell on my ears like bricks. “She’s ready to ride.
You have your old horse back. Go get her.” I tied her. I brushed her. I applied
fly spray. She stood calmly as I lifted up the Tucker onto her back. Lakota
lowered her head to allow the bridle to slide gently into her mouth and up over
her ears. I led her to the arena. My bowels turned to jelly. My stomach
churned. The wind rattled through the aspen trees. Bits of leaves and dust
danced across the ring. She stood silently as I climbed slowly into the saddle.
I nudged her forward into a walk and then a trot around the fence line.
“Breathe,” I reminded myself. “Lakota has done her work, now you do yours.”
Traumatic images percolated up as soon as my foot hit the
stirrup. Long forgotten, or purposefully buried, painful equine mishaps reared
their ugly heads. My confidence had been shattered by a long history of horse
accidents. The events were suddenly remembered in vivid detail. The wind
reminded me of the thoroughbred off the racetrack I purchased 25 years ago. I attempted to retrain him for a dressage
horse. Each time something startled him, like the wind, a leaf, a gum wrapper –
he would bolt, racing then bucking – always, always resulting in a trip to the
emergency room. I broke both of my wrists, my nose twice, my ribs two or three
times, the bones on my hand. The last time I was thrown off my Achilles tendon
was torn so badly I was told I would always walk with a limp. After that
gelding, I bought a quarter horse that did not run away with me. In fact, when
asked him to trot or lope, he bucked and tried to throw me into a fence. I took
him to a trainer who told me that the horse needed an expert with a sharp set
of spurs. I handed him over to an expert for a month of training. The horse
never thought about bucking so there was not much for him to do. The moment I
climbed on board, much to the amazement of the trainer, the horse began bucking
around a huge rodeo arena determined to do me in. That is another story, but
when I finally got off that horse, I handed the man the reins and said, “I
never want to lay eyes on this horse again. Sell him.” More recently, I had
just purchased Lakota. My daughter was visiting and I put her on my new prize.
A friend handed me a horse all tacked and ready to ride. “Join your daughter.
Go on a trail ride; this mare will be fine.” I took her to the round pen to try
her in a small area and got on. I had no sooner asked her to move forward when
“she broke in two”. Meaning = she exploded into a fit of bucking. The pain I
felt when I landed will forever be burned into my body. The doctor at the hospital
said it was as if someone had taken a sledge hammer to my sacrum. The months of
therapy, medication, loneliness and agony are every horse person’s worst
nightmare. All of these horrors flooded into my psyche once I was aboard Lakota.
Had I really become too busy or had I simply lost my nerve?
Each time Lakota and I took a year off, we both fell back into our fears.
I was upset at Lakota because when she gets scared, I get
scared. When she gets tense, I get tense. I wanted her to stop thinking of the
past and know I wont hurt her. Stop being afraid! How ridiculous is that? Can I
just stop being afraid of getting thrown off a horse again? I wanted her to do
what I had not been able to accomplish. It would have been so much easier to
deny these feelings and send her down the road, than to face this terror.
When I made this realization, something inside of me shifted
entirely. I threw my arms around her neck and I am sure she understood. I am in
this for the long haul. I would like to be riding until I am 75 years old. I
would like Lakota to be my horse. By the time I am that age, we will both be
ready to hang up our boots and call it good. There is no race. If it takes me a
month or years to completely trust a horse again, it is OK. She helps me see
where I am each day in the process. Around and around the pen she lopes like a
carousel horse, allowing me to be comfortable with speed again. I don’t have to be afraid she will run away
with me. When the wind blows, she is unaware and keeps to the lesson. My new
instructor says, “it’s is all about trust.” Lakota and I are learning to trust
each other again. We are helping heal each other’s wounds. We can’t take away
the experiences that happened before. We can only move forward with what we
have today. Every day I see her moving through her fears, I hope she sees me
moving through mine.
