Walking through our fears

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.

Dog as my Teacher

Aries first day home June 26, 2007

After reading Your Dog is Your Mirror by dog trainer Kevin Behan, I looked at my dog, Aries, differently. Behan states that dogs respond to what their owners feel and not necessarily to what they say. Most of the book demonstrated the heart connection between humans and their dogs. The trainer had handled numerous canine behavioral issues which he felt were related to the owner’s emotional state.

I remember thinking – wow – if Aries’ behavior reflects what is in my heart, I could only be so fortunate. She is playful all the time. She is loyal, trusting and dependable. Aries never has a bad day. She likes everyone and everything. This dog is always wearing a smile. I must be joyful, loving and optimistic if my dog is my mirror.

In light of that idea, what keeps going through my mind is My dog is My Teacher. I could only aspire to be what Aries shows me. I don’t know if I can agree with Behan that she shows me what is in my heart or what I wish was there.

Aries demonstrates to me unconditional love. Right now, it is just the two of us. Aries lets me know every morning and every evening that I am the most important thing in her life. I can be totally who I am and she loves me completely. She is totally accepting, a walking example of unconditional love. Each day I see her and remind myself to be more accepting and forgiving in my work and at home. To me it is a process, to Aries it is who she is.

Aries trusts me completely. She does not worry that I will forget to feed her or care for her. She is always in the moment. How amazing would it be to have that kind of faith and trust? Aries lives without worry of the future and has no regrets of the past. Right here, right now. It is my intention to achieve that kind of peace and security. I tell myself “Surrender and Release, Let Go and Let God.” Eventually, I sense anxiousness over something at my work or fear of my future and I must remind myself to stop trying to control the outcome. Let it go. I say the Serenity prayer once more. Aries does not need a reminder.

Hand in hand with trust, must be patience. This is a quality I have worked on my whole life. Blame it on my personality type, my astrological sign - I’m an Aries, too – or my upbringing, but I am a get it done person. Be a part of the solution to something, or get out of the way. My co-worker and I joke about this all the time. I’d like to grow into the sweet, gentle, little, old lady in the back of the church that is wise and humble. I recognize that patience is a major ingredient to that achievement. Aries will wait for me for days, for weeks, for months. You could say it is because she has no choice. True. But when I leave her anywhere, she watches the door quietly until my return. Friends and kennel owners tell me that she doesn’t want to play, she doesn’t whine or pace, she just waits. She is obedient and calm. Her patience is unlimited. Her patience is not limited to waiting. Aries loves children. I took her to a sledding party where there were many dogs, kids, adults and activities. There was a disabled child there that could not join in the sleigh rides. She could only throw snowballs. Aries assumed that was a game and joined in catching the snow each time a handful was thrown. The child’s mother came up to me and said, “I am so sorry, your dog does not have to keep doing that for so long.” I told her, “Don’t give it a thought. When Aries gets tired, she will go lie down.” I can’t remember who gave out first, the child or the dog. I have seen her catch sticks, snow, or tennis balls from children for hours without getting bored or agitated. This must be where the saying “Patient as a Saint” came from.

Aries makes a sport of every activity. Ever since she was a pup, her favorite game is to catch the snow that is being brushed off the car as it is scraped in the morning. She makes me laugh even when I want to be miserable. This was a particularly bitter cold winter with more snow piled up than I have seen in years and countless subzero nights. Of course, it coincided with the winter I would sign up for a boot camp at the gym four mornings a week at 5:30 am. At 4:45 am, I am shoveling the walk and trying to find the car and Aries is having a ball. With each swish of the snow broom, Aries’ face is filled with white powder as she leaps and swallows the snow. She coughs; she gags and then leaps again. As I shovel, she grabs the shovel and tugs. I get angry because I’m freezing and tired and she pulls even more. Finally, I have to enjoy it with her. Her sense of humor is contagious. I can’t imagine cleaning the car without her dashing around my legs. I will remember her actions and be more like her finding enjoyment in little things - being excited by simple daily duties. No matter how daunting things appear, there must be fun in here somewhere waiting to be discovered.

Maybe her happiness stems from her youth. I told my friends when she was a fuzzy puppy, “I am treating her like she is 90 lbs. and I am wearing nylon stockings. This is how I want her to behave.” I spent countless hours training her and I have been rewarded for that effort over and over. The days of practicing drills, we were making an investment in our future. I had clear boundaries and expectations, consequences and reinforcement. She never questioned who was Alpha; she fell into her role as pack and relaxed contentedly. We would go on long hikes, swim in the lake and bask in the summer sun side by side as she traversed the road from sprout to mature dog. I was a mother bear in her regard, protecting her and the rules were clear. She didn’t need to expend energy in a power struggle; she could live life and find the ecstasy that abounds. I would be much more peaceful if I could remember that there is a power higher than mine. I am safe and protected. My relationship with the Divine is endless and the journey clear.

I do not believe for an instant that Aries is some type of super dog. She is a good dog. We have molded each other. She will be seven next month which is getting up there for a 90 lb. German Shepherd. Our time together is finite. I am choosing to learn the lessons that she presents to me. We humans, with our amazing brains and souls, have an ability to see everything and everyone as a path to our evolution. What can we take away from observing wildlife, holding a lover, raising a child or helping a friend? Are we able to use every opportunity to grow and become more of who we really are?

I can choose to become exasperated over the mud and shedding hair this time of year, or I can remember that soon things will dry out and Aries will be back on the front porch of our little cabin. I do not know if I will adopt a dog again after she leaves this world. I would have a great deal more options on where I can live without a pet. I will never regret this time and I treasure each day I am graced with her presence. People come in and out of our lives and pets do, too. Can I discover the lesson that each encounter brings to me?

What does my Creator ask of me? He asks me to be patient and kind, forgiving and trusting, love unconditionally and without regret. He asks me to be grateful for everything in my life and to know I am being cared for even if I lose my way. He asks me to be joyful and happy. He asks me to be of service to my brother. My Creator has given me a teacher and she is lying at my feet. Yes, Dog is my Teacher more than she is a mirror. Thank you for this gift. I am honored and grateful.

Aries and I December 2013

Head Shy

Yesterday when I was out to see my horse, she did not come when called. That will not do. “What? Lakota, you know better than that!” Within 3 minutes I had her obediently walking next to me and coming when called. She just forgot who was alpha for a minute. Anyway, I was picking up some baling twine on the ground near her and as I lifted it quickly, she jumped. I realized she thought I was going to hit her. I have owned her almost 3 years and have never smacked her. I have been working on healing the damage that someone did while “training” her, in her past. I make her obey me without striking her.


People can be a little head shy. Head shy, for non-horse people, is a term for the behavior a horse exhibits when they are trying to protect themselves. A horse may duck or run or rise up and strike, anything to keep us from getting near their head. This behavior comes from a past experience. Someone may have previously grabbed and twisted the horse’s ear or hit them in the head. It could occurred yesterday or 10 years ago. It doesn’t matter to the horse. The fear is the same. This behavior is dangerous to both the rider and the horse if left uncorrected. The horse could hurt the rider while putting on the bridle, could totally flip out on a trail ride if their head gets caught in some branches or could panic in a trailer if their halter gets stuck on the frame.


What do we do in a new relationship when we have been mishandled in the past? We may try and protect ourselves. We don’t know how this new person is going to react to things. We watch for signs. We proceed cautiously. We might duck or guard ourself a little more than we need to, at the beginning, but then trust evolves. We calm down. We relax and stretch our minds and words. Time. Consistency.

We should remember to be kind to ourselves and our new partner. I try to talk to myself the way I would to a best friend. I say, “Hey, you got bumped around and you want to be careful. It’s ok. It’s understandable. He has his memories, too.” If your mate is jumpy, let him have time and your compassion. Don’t get mad. Does it help our horse to get angry or demanding when she is scared? No. We have to get the horse past the fear in order to have a good relationship; it comes with creating confidence and trust. Communicate with your partner. Find out what is behind the apprehension. We can’t do that with our horses - that is ask them. It wouldn’t matter anyway. We have to show them what kind of trainer we are with our actions. We have to demonstrate our intention.
I think exhibiting our intentions is actually a perfect way to start a new relationship. Words come easy. Actions don’t. You can try and convince your new person that you are nothing like they  have experienced in their past. Only when you follow through and be the person you say you are, over time, will trust spring forth. Actions build a strong foundation. Be honest. Be caring. Be romantic. Be loyal. Be what you say you are.

Lakota still ducked after three years. It’s going to happen. I may shy if someone raises their voice at me. We are products of the experiences we have had. Life is our choices. Hopefully, each time we make a choice we choose wisely. If not, we learn from it and we choose again. Our horse can learn to conquer their fears, so can we.