One thing you can always count on when living on a farm is mice. It is just a plain fact of life. In the barn, in the shops and yes, in the house. No matter how clean you keep the house when you’re surrounded by nothing but farm ground, pasture land and wide open spaces, mice are inevitable. I refuse to use poison to attempt to control the situation. Not only would it put my beloved dogs at risk, but it is also harmful for other wild life, especially the hawks and falcons and eagles. And there is still something about the idea of bleeding to death internally that sets my ethics radar off.

With that being said, I have been relying on traps in the house and have recently secured a cat who is promised to be an excellent hunter and she is pregnant with hopefully a brood of more hunters. I have high hopes for Roxy and her kittens. There is also a rather large bull snake that patrols the property and I wish him well. The best way to fight nature is with nature. Natural predators are always the way to go in my book when it comes to pests.

Tonight however, there was and incident. As I was sitting in relative quiet with my dogs watching tv as a storm blew in we all jumped at the tell tale “snap” from the kitchen. I sighed and slowly decided to get up from the couch. Cleaning traps is down right nasty. I’m not afraid of mice but I certainly don’t like them and they creep me out a little. But, the trapping has slowed a little so it’s getting better around the house anyway. So I begrudgingly wandered to the kitchen to dispose of the little thief. I moved the trash can away from the corner and there he was, staring back at me, frightened out of his poor little mind, with a broken back in the trap. My heart sank.

I’m probably the only person in the world that would feel for that poor little mouse. But if it lives and breaths I can always sum up compassion for it. Here he was, terrified, in pain, trapped and I had to end his suffering. I had to be rather creative about it too, because he was right in the position to bite me if I tried to pick up the trap and I wanted to reuse the trap so I ended up using a broom handle to hook the trap to carry him outside and I’m glad I did because he indeed tried to bite the handle. He was still fighting for his little life.

Once outside, followed by the wild curiosity of my dogs, I was able to finagle him out of the trap without getting bit so I could ultimately find a way to quickly end his life. Fortunately for us both, I didn’t need to. As soon as the trap released he gasped and twitched and died. I assume his lungs filled with fluid perhaps at the release of pressure? Either way it was very quick and I was relieved he was no longer scared or suffering.

I absolutely, one hundred percent do not feel guilty about killing mice. It’s just the reality of living “out here”. I don’t feel guilty about killing a lot of things to be honest. I eat meat, enjoy hunting, have had to end the life of many animals for humane reasons. But if there is one thing I cannot handle it is suffering. If I know anything, I know they feel pain and fear. And if I cannot end their life quickly and humanely it deeply disturbs me. What I don’t understand is how people can feel compassion for some and not others.  Offering dogs and cats empathy, but not mice and rabbits.  It just doesn’t make sense to me. Those little black eyes put me in a funk tonight. I know it was “just a mouse”, and no one cares but me. Yes I’m the girl that felt bad for the little mouse. Yes I’m the girl bothered by the suffering I caused. And no, I won’t feel bad for the empathy in my heart.

This weekend has been one of the most terrifying of my life.  Saturday, after working on the farm all day and Shorty being with me and enjoying life, I got out of the shower to find her almost completely lifeless on the kitchen floor.  She was panting rapidly, pupils dilated, freezing cold to the touch, foaming and her gums were white as snow.  She was completely unresponsive to my calls and when I picked her up she was like dead weight in my arms.  I thought for sure my best friend of 13 years was dying.

After 4 hours at the vet clinic and running every possible test, we still have no idea what happened.  Shorty ended up coming home and we took her off IV’s and supportive care about 24hrs after the incident.  It is now Monday and she is tired, and seems to have aged 100 years over night, but she is doing fine.  She is acting like herself.  She helped me feed the horse, bit at my ankles, rolled in the grass and is all around just being Shorty.  I’m taking her back to the vet tomorrow for more blood work and to send samples to CSU for tests.  I don’t know what else to do.  Not knowing what caused this is terrifying.  I have no idea if or when or how often it could happen again.  I go back to work tomorrow and am almost frozen in fear to leave her unattended even though she is fine now.  What happened?…

As I laid on my bathroom floor, with my precious girl monitoring her fluids all night Saturday and into Sunday morning, my mind raced with questions and thoughts.  I knew, and still know, that things will continue to get harder and scarier as she ages.  Such is the process of life and ultimately death.  I know that.  The biggest difference when you become a pet parent is you know, from the second you decide to open your heart to this life and take it in and love it as your own, that you will ultimately see your baby die.  You know they don’t live as long as we do.  You know your time with each other, ultimately will always be too short, no matter how long their life is.  You know this, you accept it, and you do it anyway.

Shorty is, no questions asked, my child.  No matter how much you “prepare” yourself you never can prepare yourself for their aging.  It is the most awful thing to watch them grow old.  Shorty has offered me more love and devotion than I ever thought was possible.  I know the routine, I know how this goes.  After all, I’ve lost several wonderful horses that I counted as family.  But there is something inherently different about dogs.  They entangle themselves so intimately into our hearts they can never be untangled from them.  After 13 years, Shorty is a constant in my life.  A witness to my existence more so than any other.  She is always with me.  We know each other so well after all these years.  She knows my moods, my body language, when I’m sick, feeling great, and I know the same of her.  We move flawlessly together in the same space.  Day to day life is but a simple dance together.

It is painfully hard right now and it wont get any easier.  My heart is breaking more every day.  But never will I ever regret my decision to adopt this beautiful being into my home and heart.  Never will I have another like her.  Never will there be one as good.  I cherish more and more each day we have together.  There is something so undeniably wonderful about the company of an old dog.  As I write she going back and forth from sitting in the grass, chewing her favorite stuffed goose to lying on the porch in the sun, snoring like an old man.  She is just truly my most favorite and precious angel.  Weather I have another day or another 5 years with her, I’ll never know.  But I do know that whatever time we have left will be cherished.  And even after the heartache, if anyone asks if I’d do it again?  Yes.  A thousand times, yes.

I’ve been doing something for a few days now that I have longed to do for ages.  Something my heart has longed for, no matter how simple it seems.  I have been waking up with the sun, no alarm needed, in my cozy country home.  I walk into my warm, clean kitchen with the big windows and sliding glass door onto the porch and make coffee.  As the coffee is readying I look out onto endless acres of land and check the local weather.  After the first few hot sips are acquired I slip on old heavy muck boots, my old carhart coat and while still in pj’s, my dogs and I head out.   

            I open the gate and the dogs bound outside the small fenced perimeter.  They run and I mosey out onto the property.  As I round the corner I hear the sound that makes an equestrian feel at home.  My horse nickers to me as I approach the barn.  Of the three stalls only one is full of hay, shavings, buckets and the warm body of an equine friend.  “Give it time”, I tell myself as I look forward to the day all three stalls are nickering at my approach.  I step onto the concrete floor of the barn, taking in the horse smell, the sight of a barn in perfect working order.  Blankets hung there, brooms and rakes over there, halters placed just so, tack room organized and still locked up from the night before, and the ally swept and ready for morning.  This simple, simple place is paradise. 

            I slide open the stall door and step inside.  Arwen is quiet but ready to go back outside.  I peel off her cotton rug and swing a rain sheet over her back.  There is a 60% chance of scattered showers today.  She stands quiet, staring out onto the same acres and acres of land that I did as my coffee brewed.  I always wonder what she sees.  She sees things that I don’t.  She sees things many other horses don’t.  She drops her head so I can slide a halter over her nose and I walk her out of her stall.  The distinct sound of hooves on concrete is a symphony.  I walk her to her small outside turn out.  “It’ll be bigger soon”, I say to her.  She pays no attention as her freshness from the night takes her over.  She snorts and surveys the land looking for something.  I turn her out into the 30×30 corral with the big water trough.  “I’ve got to get goldfish to keep the tank clean this weekend” I remind myself. 

            The dogs are still bounding around as I make my way back to the barn.  I pick up the manure fork and pull the bucket to the stall door.  I check her water buckets and smile because for the first time she drank water in her stall last night.  I’ll refill them with fresh water when I come to do evening chores.  I put the grain bucket back in the tack room, put the left over hay in the corner of her stall.  She ate quiet a bit last night too, such a relief.  The expensive salt rock still hangs in the corner.  I start to clean the stall shifting out shavings from poop.  Turning over and spreading wet shavings to dry.  This is my Buddhist sand raking.  This is how I make the world right.  This is my meditation.  This is where I talk to God the most.  I talk to God while sifting poop.  I leave only a small light layer of shavings in the corner Arwen has deemed her poop spot, the opposite corner of her feed.  She’s such a clean mare.  The rest I fluff with a thick layer of bedding.  I push back the shavings with a broom from the door of the stall in an effort to keep the shavings from being pushed out and wasted.  It seems to work, I really haven’t lost much out the door. 

            When the stall is clean I sweep up the mess out in the ally and take the bucket out to the tree rows to spread.  The dogs are still doing dog stuff.  On my way back I check Arwen one more time and throw her some hay outside.  She ignores me and I smile.  Such a cranky old thing.  I step back to the barn to put my bucket away and take one more look around.  This is it.  This is what my heart was missing.  I still can’t believe it’s real as I look around my personal heaven.  It’s all so familiar, my inner child is back at home.  That little girl madly in love with horses, is giddy.  I don’t want to leave.  My heart wishes there were 20 more stalls, and grain to mix, and more horses to turn out, a round pen and an arena to start working horses, a wash rack to bathe them so I could stay in the barn all day…  But this, this three stall barn is more than enough.  It is home.  After one more deep breath of aroma therapy, I amble back to the house for another cup of coffee, already planning the day ahead.  It’s been about a half hour since I got up and it’s been perfect.  My days are now book ended with a start and finish in the barn.  No matter where I am, what I’m doing, the weather, Nebraska or Arizona, it cannot get better than that.  It just cant. 

When I was younger I struggled with my “faith”.  I knew God existed, but I did not know anything about Him.  How to pray, how to reach Him, if He heard me…  One thing I did know, was animals were sacred.  It has always been in my heart.  Never has it been a question in my mind.  I saw the land as sacred too.  I believed in a Lakota faith and it made perfect sense to me, that everything God had made, was His, and sacred by no other means than the fact it was made by God and belonged to Him.  I never saw the earth or the animals within it as things that “belonged” to us as humans.  I still do not.  Although my faith has changed, I have accepted Christ and believe other things, some of the values of my earlier beliefs I have not forgotten.  I still believe they hold great value and pertain to Christianity.  I always thought that it didn’t matter what language it was in, if it held a reverence for our Creator and the things He created, what difference does it make?

Now that I am in a place of strong faith in Christ, I am doing more and more to learn about Christ.  Because for one, the moment you stop learning, is the moment you stop living.  We are called to grow every day in our faith… translated, that means we are called to continually LEARN.  And what better teachers of God, than his humble animals?  And the more I learn, the more I search, the more surprised I am about what God DOES have to say about Animals, if only we have the eyes and heart to see!!!  He uses them to teach us, help us, befriend us, love us.  But so many Christians fail to see this piece of Gods plan!  I am at a point where the exhausting argument of whether or not they have souls is just that, a foolish and exhausting argument.   It should be no more of an argument to a Christian than Adam and Eve, or the parting of the Red Sea, or any other plainly printed story in the Bible.  Anything God created He said was “Good”, and was created to be eternal in the Garden.  We screwed up, God doesn’t change his mind.  They were eternal then, they are eternal now.  Period, end of discussion and that is not what this paper is about.  However if you are a Christian, who does not believe they have value to our Creator, you are missing out on so much information about our Creator and the vastness of His love. 

Animals have always been my teachers, in just about every subject.  I relate to them much more closely than to people.  They are how I make a living.  They are my constant companions.  They know my secrets, have helped me to laugh and allowed me to cry.  They have taught me how to trust and how to love.  But most importantly they have taught me a lot about God.  God has used animals as a constant reminder to me of Him and His love.  When I could not love Him, I loved my animals.  When I could not love other people, I loved my animals.  When I could not feel Gods love, or the love of others, I could feel my animals love for me. Not all angels have wings, some have fur.  Love is not a man made creation. It is made by God and it is through Him we are capable of love and it is through the pure selfless love of an animal, that we can see a shining example of Gods pure love. It is because God loves all his creation we, here on earth animal and man alike, are able to love one another in the first place. 

There is a stillness in the eyes of the beasts… I can only recognize it as ancient wisdom. A knowledge we, as humans will never posses. It lures me in, and beckons me to become a part of that world but there is a wall I am unable to cross. Job 12:7-10 says “But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you; or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish in the sea inform you. Which of all these does not know that the hand of the Lord has done this? In his hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.”  That sounds an awful lot like some things I have heard from Native American elders when they speak about learning about God through His creation…   Is this the ancient wisdom? A quiet reverence for God? A peace of inherent knowing that He is there? Or is it a greater knowledge, beyond a quiet peace? Is it a faith in all that was, is and will be? Do they know, at their heart, more than we?  What is it that they know? 

I think animals can see God.  Visibly.  I also think they can hear Him, audibly.  I believe they can be called to action, just as we can.  I don’t see that God using an animal for His will is that farfetched.  He uses people every day to teach others about Him, to help others, to love others.  But what if these people were like me?  And did not have the ears to hear?  Would God not send love in another way? 

I think so many times we forget we were put here to be stewards to the land and the animals.  What does that mean?  It means to care for as if they were your own.  I do not own my animals.  As far as our man made world full of lawyers and such, sure I do on paper.  But in the grand scheme of things, in life and death, I no more own them than the Sun and Moon.  They belong to God.  Wow!  Let me say that one more time.  They belong to God.  And it is my job to do the best by them I can while they are in my care.   I feel bad if someone loans me a book and a page gets bent.  What will God say about the shape of His dog’s soul when he goes home?  How will you feel when you have to give it back?  Are the pages battered and torn, the binding coming off, the message inside gone from water stains?  Or is it, older, yes, but well kept, beautiful and the message inside still beautiful and clearly written?  When you give your dog back, was he fearful, beaten, scared, cold, lonely, abandoned,  and the message of his kind soul never heard because “ he’s just a damn dog”… Or is he happy, loved, content, confident, peaceful, and fulfilled his purpose in bringing joy and love and compassion into your heart by way of his message inside, sent by God?

What about our planet?  So often we think, we as humans can do with it as we please.  Hold up!  This is God’s Kingdom!!!  Not yet restored to His glory, but His none the less!  Would it not bode well in our favor to care for it as if our King was indeed coming home?  My mother furiously cleans the house for any kind of company.  Her home is generally, what most would consider spotless, in the first place.  Company comes over and break out the mops and dusters!  We know our King is coming back, yes?  Should we not have a clean house prepared?  Would it kill you to recycle every now and then?  Maybe conserve some water?  Save the National Parks?  Maybe my logic is off, but it makes sense to me.

Coming back to the subject as animals as teachers, I am currently reading a year long devotional called Paws to Reflect, by Devon O’Day and Kim McLean.  A daily devotional for animal lovers it highlights stories about how we can indeed learn from animals about God.  One of my favorite quotes so far is this; “Maybe it’s not such an outlandish question after all, to wonder if the animals catch glimpses of God.  They certainly seem to be full of gratitude.  Ever watch your dog, or cat, or horse take in the sunrise?  We are wise to recognize that they, too, are part of God’s divine plan.”  I know I catch my dog all the time, in the back yard, sitting with nose to the sky, not sniffing, but with eyes closed, just taking in the sun… just like I do, when the sun just feels good on your face and you are quietly thankful for the day.  Every morning the horses play as if rejoicing in a new day…  Is it so farfetched?

I often wonder too if this ancient wisdom comes from a memory.  In the garden, animals did not fear Adam and Eve.  And I am lead to believe that communication was efficient between the two.  Many people swear their animals speak to them, I am one of those people.  Does my dog speak English?  No, of course not although I think she does understand it pretty well.  Does she communicate with me?  Easily, yes.  And so do the horses the closer we become.  Some call it an “understanding”.  Some say a good rider can hear her horse speak but a great rider can hear her horse whisper.  So many times they understand us on a level that is almost incomprehensible to us.  It is also not uncommon for people to say, all animals speak, but few people listen.  These sayings and testimonials do not come out of nowhere from delusional psychiatric patients.  No they come from every day people who build and undeniable bond with the animal God has entrusted in their care.  There are therapy dogs for PTSD that literally know when their owner is going to have a bad dream, before it happens and will wake them… Before their heart rate rises, before chemical reactions in the brain, before restless fits.  Amazing.  How dare people call them stupid, unfeeling or dumb.

I also think it is interesting, and this may not be popular but I think it is note worthy.  I feel animals and people could speak, perhaps more “telepathically” than vocal in the Garden.  As we know, they do not have the anatomy for speech, but we do know they could communicate.  Want to know how I know that?  Eve.  How many women do you know, or men for that matter, would hear a talking snake and not scream and run the other way based purely on the FACT that it was speaking??!!  Eve thought not only was it totally normal to stop and have a conversation with the serpent, but there had to have been a mutual trust she had in animals, to eat of the fruit.  You cannot be betrayed by something you already do not trust.  You can, by something you do. 

Have we lost the ability to speak, or more importantly listen to animals?  Not completely.  What we have lost is the desire to speak with them.  For centuries animals have been viewed as “nothings”.  But I believe the desire is steadily coming back.  With a new thought process sweeping the animal world, more and more people are looking for better ways of working with their animals, empathy and compassion being of foremost importance.  They are beginning to see them not just as tools but as living, breathing beings with feelings.  They are using homeopathic medicines, dog/equine psychology, and the continuous learning about species, massage, chiropractic, and there are some who are beginning to welcome the idea of animal communicators.  I have used all of these.  Now as with anything people can be fooled easily.  I have heard communicators, who are, to put it nicely, full of it.  However I have developed a report with a woman named Carol who is an equine communicator, who is stunning in her work.  She does her “readings” based on emotion and energy.  Some horses never speak, many do.  And what they have to say is usually very emotional, spiritual and with a gratitude that they had been heard.  All have said, they know the purpose they hold in their human’s life, a divine purpose.  She never knows anything about the horses when she comes, very little about the people, but she reads into deep, and sometimes dark places into the persons past or present, through their equine partner.  It is simply beautiful.  No one has ever come out of it worse, always better.  I believe she has honed her skills of listening.  I do not believe it is anything more than that.  I believe we have the ability, but few try.  “Some people talk to animals.  Not many listen though.  That is the problem.”

In today’s fast paces society it is not surprising to me that we do not have the time, much less the understanding of how to quiet ourselves enough to listen.  In Numbers 22, starting verse 21 is the story of Balaam’s Donkey.  To paraphrase, he is riding his donkey and in the road, 3 times she sees an angel that will surely kill her rider.  She veers away and all three times he beats her.  When there was no room to veer away from the angel, she lied down and he beat her and the Lord opened the donkey’s mouth for her to speak!  The donkey asked why he had beaten her and he said, he was ready to kill her had he had a sword.  She countered and said “Am I not your own donkey, which you have always ridden, to this day?  Have I been in the habit of doing this to you?”  Of course he said “no”, and then the Lord opened his eyes to see the angel.   Numbers 22:32-33 “The angel of the Lord asked, “ Why have you beaten your donkey these three times?  I have come here to oppose you because your path is a reckless one before me.  The donkey saw me and turned away from me these three times.  If she had not turned away, I would certainly have killed you by now, but I would have spared her.”

Has an animal ever warned you of danger that you have not heeded?  I know mine have.  Boy had I wish I’d listened.  How could this lowly donkey see the angel when he, a human could not?  Does this not prove my point, that they see God?  If she was not of value to God, why would He have opened her mouth to speak and the angel spare her?  If she was not loyal to her master, would she have not allowed the angel to kill him?  If he had listened to his donkey would he have gone home and not gone against Gods will?  Animals can “read” the earth faster. They know when natural disasters are coming, they know when to migrate and they know where to travel to without ever having been there themselves.  There are countless stories of animals saving people from disaster, suicide, mental and physical illness.  Is this not the work of God through his animal angels?   I truly think, they live half in the physical world, and half in the spiritual. They need not seek the spirit like we do. They live it, understand it, accept it, see it, and find peace in it. It is in the spiritual that God speaks to them, in a way we do not get to know. It is there they hear His voice. If they can do these things, weather it is God or themselves, are they not great teachers? Is there not something of value to be learned here? Wouldn’t you want to listen?

Another unpopular thought about my compassion toward animals is the misunderstanding that I put them above people.  True I feel more comfortable with them and connect with them easier.  To me it’s not about putting one above the other.  It is about a compassion for all.  God knows when a sparrow falls, He knows us as well.  If the sparrow AND mankind is of value to God, should they all not be of value to us?  Some people say, why work to save animals when we have starving people?  Well, because no matter how long you live or work, you will not end world hunger.  That does not mean, to not save the ones you can… But do that… save the ones you CAN, man and animal.  I have a hard time seeing Jesus walking down the road and seeing a hit by car cat and not stopping to help it and instead blowing it off and saying “Sorry, I can’t help you today cause there are children in Africa I have not saved yet.”  Of course he would help the suffering animal.   It does not mean he stops helping and loving people… Love is endless.  Why limit yourself, why try and limit your God?  Everyone is called to do something different.  Why would it be such a horrible thing to be called to help animals?  The animals nailed to the operating tables in labs, fully conscious with vocal cords cut out so they cannot hear their screams while they dissect the live animal, are no more abandoned by God than the woman being raped and stoned.  If we are to be as Christ like as we can, should we not care about them both?  Should not our goals be to have compassion and empathy for all living things?

I feel it is my job as a steward of Gods creation to love and care for it, to the best of my ability.  To never deal in harshness or cruelty to anything or anyone in it.  The animals in my life make it worth living.  The joy they bring, the quiet they share.  I am more patient, humble, compassionate, empathetic, and happy.  I often wonder how we would treat each other and our animals if we could actually see Christ?  Would you have said those words or thrown that punch if He was standing in the corner?  Would you have jerked the dogs lead or bloodied that horses’ side?  Probably not, maybe I suppose, but probably not.  And yet we know God is always with us.  He sees our actions.  But how quickly we forget His presence, yes?  It is a life long struggle, but I challenge myself every time I step into the round pen with the old What Would Jesus Do?  Such a simple concept… but so hard to remember.  Would you not want to seek the same?  Would you not want to please your God by loving His creation?  And handling it as though you did?  “I care not for a man’s religion who’s dog and cat are not the better for it.” Abraham Lincoln. 

There is no other horse in the world that moves through open country like the Mustang.  There are none to compare.  I have ridden probably, at this point, thousands of horses, and none can compare.  Quarter horses may be stronger, Thoroughbreds faster, Arabians lighter… but the Mustang does not gallop over the ground, it gallops in a parallel world.

The Mustangs’ hooves do not pound the ground.  The ground rises to meet their stride.  They do not stumble in holes, trip on the downhill or have effort in the incline.  The Mustang does not move upon the earth, but within it.  Part of it, born of it, ready to return to it.  They are the drinkers of the wind.

As I rode Arwen through the pasture today, a horse aptly named for a warrior princess, her stride lifted me to another place.  She carried me to different worlds.  The first world was a world filled with memories.  Memories of other Mustangs that carried me, flawlessly across the plains.  Memories of those Mustangs, full out on the open ground, and me a passenger on the back of an eagle.  Memories of mountains climbed, weather survived, and dangerous places, carried through by a spirit horse.  A creature not of this world.

The next world was a world of wild ones.  Thousands, more spirit than flesh.  Living as ghosts on the red rock plateaus of the dessert.  They call to them.  They call to their brethren behind fences.  They call to the spirit horses who have left this world and they call them back to run with them, and they come.  They come by the thousands and the join with the buffalo and the wolves and the bears.  And they dance.

The world after that was a world of history.  Bull fighters in Spain.  War horses of the crusades.  Cortez’s conquerors of new worlds.  Pawnee war ponies and Lakota buffalo runners.  To Comanche, the only known U.S. survivor of the Battle of the Little Big Horn, a tough sorrel Texas Mustang.  To the cowboys, to the farmers, to the settlers, to the gold miners.  To the undaunted spirit of the pony express horses.  To the helicopters and slaughter trucks.  The royal blood runs deep.

The last world, is the world of what could be.  The future I want to see.  The world in which I see me climbing more mountains with a wild horse.  The future I see where wild horses cherished and protected.  The future my truest, deepest self would pray for.

The way a Mustang moves across the ground is hypnotizing.  It is no simple lope through the pasture.  When I am on the back of a Mustang I am touching in this life and the next, floating between time and space, flesh and spirit.  You cannot possibly know of what I speak until you have too, ridden a Mustang.  A drinker of the wind.  There are none that can compare.  There are none that get you so close to God, so close to spirit, so close to heaven.  They live their lives constantly between the two worlds.  They are the War horses.  The Spirit horses.  The Ghost horses.  The Teacher horses.  Come, if you are brave.  Come and let them show you their world.

I was chatting with someone today about farriers and such, and I made the comment that, although my mare, Arwen isn’t generally too fond of men, she seems to get along ok with my farrier.  The lady kind of chuckled and said “she doesn’t like anyone.”

Alright, first off, how rude.  And secondly a few months ago, I probably would have agreed with her.  Arwen didn’t seem to “like” anyone, including myself.  We either got along or we didn’t and most often, we didn’t.  But as with all things, this too seems to have shifted.  I took her to the Rocky Mountain Horse Expo in March.  It was fairly overwhelming for us both.  I hadn’t been to a show for myself in years, much less one this big and it had been a sworn goal to ride again at the National Western Complex in Denver.  For Arwen, our relationship was struggling, and she’d never been anywhere sans the fairgrounds in Sterling Colorado and neither of us knew what to expect.

Truthfully Arwen was a dream.  She stalled very quietly, was not spooky, and aside from a little nervousness just from the sheer volume of activity, rode out calm and quiet each time the whole weekend.  All in all, she did me and the Mustang association I had gone to represent proud.  While we were there I had a friend and communicator come to see us.  I had some questions and I hoped she had some answers for me.  She spent well over an hour releasing a lot of negative energy both Arwen and I had trapped, and Arwen’s drastic life changes were made clear to her and why she was with me.  It was a very needed discussion.

Ever since I brought Arwen home I have toyed with the idea of keeping or selling her.  As I usually do I have a picture in my head of what type of horse I “like” or “need”, and Arwen didn’t really fit the bill.  Although I felt a huge sigh of relief at expo, that maybe we could do better than “get along”, as soon as we got home my own fears and doubts came right back.  She had almost a full month off before I got back in the saddle.  I can blame some of that on weather, being sick and a few other things, but mostly just because I was dragging my feet not wanting to battle the same issues we had been having before expo.  And, for a month I threw around the idea of selling.  I even offered her to a few people for the right price, right home situation.

Then sometime in the last few weeks something has changed.  Her eye has softened, and her guard has come down several notches.  I no longer have to follow her around her pen to catch her, she turns to me and waits for me.  She is happier, quieter and more relaxed under saddle.  She “plays” with me by licking my arm.  When I put her bridle on, her head is so low its by my knees and after I slip the headstall over her ears we just take a moment there.  I rub under her ears and on her big cheeks, stroke her forelock, cradle her head, and we just exist in that moment for a while.  She no longer fights me with her feet, trusts me to brush her legs, doesn’t tense at fly spray or conditioner.  She rests a foot while I groom her.  And she is no longer grumpy and uncomfortable when I pull the cinch.

On the flip side, I no longer worry about what she’s doing or how she might run me over when she’s walking behind me, because that’s just where she walks.  I smile and talk to her when she licks my arm instead of pushing her away thinking she may bite.  I ask to come into her space instead of demand it, you know how females are…  I am more relaxed when I ride.  I take the time to brush her legs and cradle her head.  In short, we are getting comfortable with each other and we’re both learning to trust.

She is perfect for me.  We are very similar she and I.  We’re both past our prime riding age.  We’ve both had some bad experiences.  We both are a tad out of shape and we both have our fair share of aches.  But we can both come back.  We can come back from the bad experiences, we can come back from being out of shape.  We can both get fitter mentally and physically.  She has already come so far in her balance and fitness, and I feel I’m getting stronger again too.  And we’re doing it together.  Caesar Millan said “you don’t get the dog you want, you get the dog you need.”  And I firmly believe the same goes for horses.  Arwen may not have been the horse I wanted, but she is certainly showing me she has been the horse I needed for a long time.

A good rider can get along with just about any horse they step in the arena with.  They know horses well enough, been on and around enough not much will surprise them.  They get along.  But they “get along” about as well as you and your co-workers, the person behind the counter at the store, the lady at the bank, people at your husbands work party.  You don’t have to really know them, to be their best friend.  Shoot, you don’t even have to like them.  You could even despise some of them, but you still know how to “get along” like a civilized human being.  Much the same for a skilled rider and a strange horse.  If she is a skilled rider, she can “get along” with any horse.

If you take it one step further, every now and then a horse and rider will just “click”.  We have all seen it, some have even felt it.  A person steps onto a horse for the first time, and they just jive.  Their aura’s are in sync or something.  Again, much like that person at your husbands work party, that you make small talk with and then you find something in common and you “click”.  You’re great-full you found each other.  But unless that relationship is pursued, you will never become besties, because relationships take time.  True, real, natural, raw relationships take time, nurturing, conscious attendance to caring, learning, loving.  Weather it’s your significant other, your best friend or your horse.

I’ve loved and enjoyed and had good relationships with many horses.  I’ve gotten along with even more than that.  But there are two, and only two, that I have truly had a partnership with.  Partnerships are not 50/50, they are 100/100.  (Wait am I writing about horses or marriage?)  These two very special horses came to me a different times in their lives and mine and have both since passed away.  It took years to build the relationship I’m talking about.  Both went through a short spell where I considered selling.  Boy I’m glad I stuck them out.  Sally was my first horse, my first Mustang and Henry was the horse I got by chance when I entered the Mustang Makeover in 2007.  Each were totally different animals and after I had had a horse like Sally for so long, I thought there might be something wrong with Henry, because, well he just wasn’t her so how could he possibly be a good horse?

When I look back it took about 3 years with each horse, before we really began to feel close.  Familiar starts to set in at about a year.  At about two years you feel like your gaining, and at year three you feel confident there isn’t anything you cant accomplish together.  When I look back at students and their horses it seems about the same timeline.  A year of struggle and frustration, a year of getting the hang of each other and then a year of bonding and the partnership.  The teammate.  The other half really.  You truly begin to feel a part of each other.  Once that bond is there, nothing can break it.  This is when that sixth sense about each other develops.  You wake up in the middle of the night because you just “feel” something is wrong with your horse.  You instinctively know where they hurt when the vet asks.  The horse knows when your energy is wrong and compensates.  You walk to their stall, tears in your eyes over something that happened that day, and the hottest of hot horses will stand quiet, head low, soft eye, quiet breath while you cry in their mane.  You have become a codependent being.  When you feel good, so does he.  When you feel bad, he reciprocates.  You truly have become one and the bond gets stronger and more fine tuned as the years pass.  You truly know each other.

These are the horses that bring their A game every time you step in the saddle.  They want to do what you ask and you have succeed at convincing them how important it is.  Now that we all know what horse we’re talking about, how do you get over them?  How do you move on?  My A game horses have passed away.  I have not had the luxury of a true partner since.  I’ve had my current mare for about six months and I have to keep reminding myself that it will come.  It’s brutal.  I know what that relationship feels like and I know what it feels like when it’s just not there.  And when it’s just not there, it sucks.  She’s wonderful, quirky, full of energy, not a mean bone in her body, but she drives me nuts sometimes and I just flat don’t get her yet.  And it is so hard to remind myself that that is okay and that it doesn’t mean it’s a lost cause.  It just means we haven’t spent enough time nurturing our relationship.  We clicked for sure.  There are things about her I just like and visa versa.  They day I went to try her the previous owner even remarked “she’s never been that good for me and I’ve had her 13 years!”.  We “clicked”.  But like that person at the party you found a few things in common with, it’s not enough.  Trust.  Love.  Those things take time.

I have a wonderful friend who is a great rider.  She has been on a lot of horses.  She can “get along” with the best of them.  She has recently in the last couple years lost both of her A game horses, her loves, her partners, to lameness.  Each for different lameness issues, both freak incidences, but none the less she has had to let them go.  She is trying to move on.  She has a couple horses now, that I dare say she has even “clicked” with.  But they are far from partners.  They are still just horses and she is still just a rider.  They are merely acquaintances with some things in common.  How maddening.  After the loss of love, taking the time and patience to learn to love again is so hard.  So, well, heartbreaking.  It is a constant battle between not wanting to betray your love of the past, wanting love again and feeling like it is just not in your cards with your current partner.  (One more time, we’re talking about horses right?).  It is hard for me to console her and tell her to keep her chin up and that it will happen when I have days of doubt for me and my own horse.  But it will.  Time heals all wounds.

I’ve joked about human relationships a few times in this piece because it sounds so familiar.  But the truth is, a good rider, truly sees this relationship with their horse as THAT IMPORTANT.  It is not something that can be half hearted.  People who aren’t horse crazy will never understand that but it is true.  It really, truly is that important.  Love and relationships are hard, no matter the facet.  But I have to believe that once love is lost, it can be gained again.  Never the same, never replacing another, just adding to the strength and abundance of your heart.  And what better thing to teach us that, that the ultimate teacher?  What other creature has ever taught us more about our own capabilities and humanity, than the horse?  I dare to say, none can compare.

I’ve been riding my horse totally different the last weeks or so.  It has had to be a very conscious effort.  I’ve always ridden reining horses and because of that I’ve been an attention to detail perfectionist.  Well, lets just call a spade a spade.  A control freak.  I love the “power steering” and “power breaks” of the reiner.  Can’t get enough!  And usually I am very good about not pushing the horse, taking your time, doing things the “right” way.

Ask any of my students and they will tell you, I work in the horses time.  And ask any of them, when we go to a show it’s all for the horses benefit.  Winning is great, but it’s never “why” we’re there.  We are there to teach the horse, to teach the human, and to progress in our horsemanship.  No matter how the day ends, give that pony a pat and a peppermint.  But I am human and not afraid to admit that sometimes it’s easier to preach than practice.

I put a lot of pressure on my personal horse.  The reason being is I have a phobia of anyone thinking less of a Mustang.  They have enough bad representation, the last thing they need as a breed is a less than stellar example shown to the public.  When I worked for the animal shelter it was much the same for our pit bulls.  They didn’t have the luxury of messing up and making a few mistakes, simply because of the public’s opinion of the breed.  It’s no different with Mustangs.  You can take any young Quarter Horse to a show, it can loose a gasket, be dangerous, cause a complete ruckus and even be asked to leave and no one will think less of the breed as a whole.  But one bad move from a Mustang and you begin to hear the whispers.  “They are stupid”, “Not a brain in their Roman nosed head”, “Dog food”, “range maggots”, “untrainable”… and the worst “worthless”.  I’ve been nose to nose with people literally yelling and spitting in my face, for nothing more than riding a horse with a brand on it’s neck.  Is it fair?  Of course not.  Is it based in fact and not bias?  No.  Do they truly have a reason to hate these horses?  No.  Do they?  Undoubtedly, yes.

So although I can give my students great advice and insist they don’t drill their horse and insist they don’t panic over a public appearance, I sometimes let the whispers get the better of me.  I am only human.  I have on occasion, when knowing a show is coming up, trained too hard and blew their brains right before the show and had to limp through on a prayer hoping they are better than me.  And the horses always are.  They never fail to save my butt every time regardless of my irresponsibility.  But I am growing, learning, maturing as a person and a trainer.  You always grow.  If you don’t what is the point of life?  The fear is still there.  I still want to show these horses to the world and prove what a great asset they are, and hopefully in turn save a few.  A mistake is still a huge deal to me, but I cannot let the horse know that.

I set up some trot poles in the arena to spice things up for my mare.  Keeping her interested, and giving her something to focus on, as well as me.  I’ve been riding her on a long rein, one handed, guiding when I need, not caring if she’s collected, just quiet and relaxed.  She can handle the training.  She can handle learning the collection, moving shoulders, hips, haunches in, half pass… she can learn.  But not right now.  We have a show in March and undoubtedly little ride time between now and then due to weather.  I just need to keep her happy, and focused under saddle.  I need the relationship and I need relaxation.  That’s what I am hoping will get me though this show.  As I said before it has been a huge conscious effort to not “train” on her.  I am a trainer after all.  But just as it is counter instinctive for a horse to allow a predator to ride it, it is counter instinctive for me to just lope around without an agenda.  But this time, I’m going to try and take my own advice and see where it gets me.  Perhaps I’ll be as good as my students one day…

It has been a dream of mine since the last time I rode in Westernaires (a high speed mounted drill team located in Golden, Colorado) at the Event Center in Denver, to ride there again, in one way or another.  Of course I’ve had big dreams of the Invitational Freestyle Reining, the Mounted Shooting and so forth, but life has just not allowed such things yet.  But, last night, one phone call has quite possibly made this little dream come true.

The US Wild Horse and Burro Association is an organization that basically helps pull Mustangs out of bad situations, help adopters, volunteers for the BLM and raises awareness for the American Mustang.  I am a Regional Director for them here in Nebraska.  It is a non-profit and fun to be involved in.  The president of the association called me last night and asked if I was close to Colorado.  I said of course and she went on to tell me how she wanted me at the Rocky Mountain Horse Expo, as another representative for the USWHBA.  I was ecstatic to be invited, but not without my reservations.  Despite my fears, I told her I would go.

My current Mustang is a bit of a puzzle, thus my concerns.  I acquired her from someone who sought me out, purely because she knew I was “into” Mustangs.  She needed to find her a home asap, and I basically said I’d take her sight unseen.  I’ve had her a few short months now, and although broke to ride, she is not without hang ups.  I’ve had little time to ride, mostly due to weather, other life commitments, and a transition in boarding facilities.  Excuses?  Maybe, but it’s the fact of the matter.  I have not had much time on her.  She can be… well… goofy.  She is a lovely mare without a mean bone in her body but she has not bonded with me at all yet.  She seems uninterested in human friendship unless it involves food.  And she is not near the solid, broke, steady eddy I was promised.  So although the previous owner has said Arwen has been in big indoors, around crowds and so forth, I have my doubts.

I know this will be good for her and that it could be a fantastic bonding weekend.  She could really learn to rely on me if I approach the weekend right.  Fantastic.  But I still get butterflies.  My biggest goal in the world is to promote Mustangs as amazing horses and the last thing I want to do is bring a horse that might cause a scene to one of the biggest Public Relations events the USWHBA has.  But I also tend to have wild and irrational fears.  I’ll have a couple months yet to prepare and get Arwen hauled to a few new places so I have an idea how she will behave.  I have to have faith in my abilities, and I have to have faith in this little mare that is still a bit of a mystery to me.  I’ve let myself down many of times, but I’ve never had a good Mustang let me down.  So I guess in a few months Arwen will have the chance to show me what she’s made of, what she can be, what is in her heart.  I hope it’s the same pure gold that made up the heart of my other Mustangs.  I’m counting on her, and I hope I will be pleasantly surprised.

If you have horses, chances are, you have dogs.  They seem to be synonymous.  In face of the many, many horse friends I have, only one does not have a dog.  Like peanut butter and jelly, dogs go well with horses, and horse people are dog people and visa versa.

I’m a dog parent of three.  Both my husband and I brought a dog to the relationship, then our little one was, well she was an “accident”.  Our dogs are so much more than fur children.  They offer not just love, but companionship, protection, loyalty, humor and so much more.  Especially in the days my husband is on the road, we appreciate the dogs with us that much more.  I believe someone once said the relationship man has made with dog, is by far the best deal we have ever made, and I believe this is oh so true.

Shorty is truly my best friend.  She is my child I brought to our relationship.  Her mother was an almost solid black blue heeler, and her father was a blue merle Australian Shepherd.  I picked her out at 6 weeks and picked her up at 8 weeks, and we have been inseparable ever since.  I cannot explain what this dog means to me.  She brush popped wild cattle with me and my first Mustang, Sally.  Sat in the grand stands in Fort Worth, Texas at the Extreme Mustang Makeover while I competed.  She’s spent nights in the truck with me, move from 4 different states, who knows how many houses, rode in every truck, protected me from every foe, talked me though many a rough choices, smiled that heeler smile at me when I threw the tennis ball.  She has had a toe broke, many ribs, her nasal cavity, concussion, torn both acl’s in her stifles, split her lip and had one too many run in’s with cacti all from ornery cattle, nasty horses, rough dirt roads, playing too hard and our mutual outdoor adventures.  She’s had a hell of an exciting life for a dog.

She will be 11 years old in February.  I found a lump on her side last night.  My logic is telling me its almost positively a fatty benign tumor.  But, matters of the heart don’t often listen to logic.  She’s 11, and I have not prepared myself, if that is even possible, for her growing old.  I cannot bear it.  Cannot stand the thought of what life may be like one day, without her here.  I’ve never had a more faithful or loyal friend.  They say parents should not outlive their children.  But, when you sign up to be a dog mom, you know that day will inevitably come.  Dogs just don’t live as long as people.  It’s not something you think about when you’re holding the squiggly puppy, smelling the sweet puppy breath, loving their little heartbeat.  But you sign up for the heartbreak anyway.  A lot of people will chastise me for comparing the loss of a child to the loss of a dog.  And that’s fine.  I know my heart.  And I know what that dog means to me.  In fact their have been recent studies saying that the love is the same, it is just as powerful.  So to those of us who see our animals as equal, sentient, loving beings, the thought of loosing our child, is terrifying.

I’ve been around animals enough, unfortunately had to euthanize enough, I know what to look for from now on.  More regular health checks, more vet visits, quality of life, not quantity….  I know, I know.  I believe she still has a good long road ahead of her.  She plays with our youngest, is still game for walks, rides in the truck, playing ball.  She’s far from ready.  I pray I have many, many more years.  I pray that the biopsy comes back negative.  I pray my baby stays as long as she can.  But I also know the inevitable reality of aging dogs.  How do you prepare for that?  Can you prepare for that?  I don’t know.  All I know, is I will be in for a whole new kind of heartache.    You cannot expect an angel to walk the earth forever.