In the rehabilitation of a damaged, abused or severely neglected horse, there comes a point of

release. It is most often very subtle, perhaps marked by an almost inaudible exhale or a small

amount of licking and chewing. Sometimes the moment is punctuated by a more obvious sign

such as a whinny trumpeting a greeting…most frequently such a moment will stun us and

produce a rush of heat to our face, or a swell in our chest. Such a moment, be it quiet and

uncertain or more enthusiastic and hopeful, marks the next step of many as we carefully invite

our new horse to reclaim his life. We are the architects who work to rebuild the self-image,

confidence, and right to thrive in a horse which has often only barely survived. Often we rebuild

the framework from within, work that is steadfast and intentional, continuing long after the eye is

bright, the coat is slick, and the scaffolding of ribs is covered with health. Some of our horses

present as not thinking that survival is an option, and it is seldom that the abused seem to

anticipate peace and a life free of pain and anguish. It is our moment-by-moment tender

invitations and soothing assurances that slowly allow the shedding of oftentimes layers of

stubborn and brittle defenses to vanish, and the new life and healthy horse to emerge from

within.

It had been the perfect sliding of gears that had resulted in a flush of victory for me…and what

felt like an undefinable satisfaction for my mount. First there had been the nearly ideal lead

change, and while in theory it was a stride or two too early, it had come easily and with the same

pride that a child has in presenting a parent with a colorful art project. There was no anxious

rushing or fear of an unwanted spur or flash of a whip….just a slightly detectable budding

confidence that radiated in the rhythmic communication from beneath me. The three fences were

the final validation of two years of work, patience, and me re-learning to ride him the way in

which he needed, and my horse re-learning not only his job, but his job description, one of

partner. First, and without the previous requirement of trotting tiny confidence-building fences,

we cantered the red brick wall. No stopping. No explosive drama on landing. No fear. The

landing was as perfect as the departure; perfect, confident and perhaps most

exhilarating…enjoyable. I allowed my fingers to lightly rub his neck, and we rounded the corner

for the roll top and then the brown gate. His eye, which had always been good but had been

second-guessed too many times, was working and right on target; the birth of his confidence

allowed me to stay out of his way as he tucked up his knees for a perfect spot and ……… an even

better day.

He eagerly gobbled up mouthfuls of grass as I gently leaned against the warmth of his shoulder.

Part of our routine had evolved into a ritual of grazing after our workouts. He expected it,

anticipated it, and experienced it as a reward, along with the five butterscotch candies reserved

solely for after a ride. For two years I had been depositing into a bank account that, until today,

had been in escrow. Like so many of the horses who come to us, he had been bankrupted by the

constant withdrawals and debits. Horses, whether they have been intentionally abused, starved,

neglected, over-trained, over-faced, or treated with too heavy a hand, have become expectant of

people taking from them, robbing them of their confidence and dignity. In the oftentimes

consuming and gently tenacious work of rebuilding the life and self-image of the horse, we

metaphorically must carefully and with the great consistency of building a bank account make

small, steady and routine deposits. Withdrawals of any sort are not effective until well after the

bank account is in the black…and only then must come with the clarity of the “why” and with the

conscious and careful replenishment of an abundant deposit.

We stood in the darkened breezeway of our winter barn, gently and with soothing murmers

assessing the broken body of a horse who had only known the anguish of a bankrupted

withdrawal system. His intolerable and obscenely broken knee, skeletal frame, and myriad of

saddle sores painted a picture that was tough to look at and impossible to ignore. Shona, Karen,

Lauren and I worked slowly and with great care to cold hose his grossly disfigured and throbbing

leg, treat his wounds, and administer pain relief. He stood without interacting with us, displaying

the stoic mask that we have seen too frequently, and one that we will work tirelessly to shed. His

brow was worried and silently he seemed to brace himself for what might come next, and in this

case it was a carrot, extended by a gentle hand…and then another…and another. The next few

weeks for Callum will consist of gentle deposits, small, carefully offered treats, and the

consistency of a committed and aligned deposit system of human behaviors that will build a

reserve from which trust, safety and ultimately happiness will spring from. Callum has received

his very own red bucket, the promise of the life that he deserves, and a name that Shona carefully

chose…ironically after a gentle human whom she loves. Callum soon will know that gentleness,

will learn what love feels like, and if history proves a reliable frame of reference, Callum will

receive the gift of learning how to love back.