Who's Healing Who?

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.