I only want to understand her and for her to understand me, and for us to feel ourselves as one - one mind, one heart, one love. But she's not easy - my little mare Secret. She never was. She was born in the middle of the night to a struggling Mama as her first and only surviving baby. And Mama died, only eight weeks later, from intestinal impaction, leaving a confident, opinionated, red-headed child, with an easygoing "Aunt" and "Uncle" who couldn't teach her the way that Mama could: It takes a strong woman to raise one. So Secret grew up a strange combination of sensitivity and rebelliousness, sweetness and sassiness, keenly intuitive, yet ready to blow you off at a moment's notice if you don't keep up. She has taught me more than any horse I've ever known. She can't be tamed with dominance, nor can she be coaxed with kindness. "Natural" horsemanship methods almost ruined her. Like a candle she flickers from pissy to shut down, from bitchy to dejected. If you miss the worry in a barely arched brow or the tension in her soft upper lip, she will pin her ears and walk away, Clueless human. You missed it. Too late. And so I'm done with the goals like flying lead changes and bareback gallops through the neighbor's pasture. I only want her respect. And love. And her trust - one moment at a time. Because in her eyes I see myself - a sensitive child with shifting moods - made shiftier still because no one noticed the wrinkled brow, or the far-away eyes, or the shut-down resignation of good-girl compliance.
10 Comments
|
Archives
September 2024
Categories |
Quick Links
|
864/933-8000
Mailing Address: P.O. Box 1233 Pickens, S.C. |