…the love you take is equal to the love you make (Lennon/McCartney)
I re-learned this from a horse today, dear Mabel. Coincidentally, the blogging prompt today was about animals:
Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?
I have had an affinity with horses since I was a toddler, as I’ve frequently mentioned here. Even before I met my first horse, they made an impression in books and on television (I was a child when Westerns were popular, so you got to see lots of beautiful horses, and I read every horse book in the school library).
Horses always seemed to have good lives, mostly eating, hanging around with friends, and sleeping, with some running around to liven things up. That would work for me. Plus, as prey animals they look out for each other, but low rank horses get picked on by insecure bullies (a drama I often witness). That reminds me of how I ended up being very protective of friends and team members after dealing with a lot of bullying.
No wonder I like horses. They even have delicate digestive systems like me.
As I’ve learned more about horses and how they interact with humans, it’s become so clear that your intention, your mood, and your demeanor affect them. It’s made a huge difference with me and Apache, and I’ve seen it break down with Drew due to his issues — no amount of good intentions has broken through his pain.
Healing can take time, and a horse in pain has trouble trusting people. That’s how Mabel was at first. Gradually, with good nutrition and care, she’s become healthy. And her attitude has shifted as well. I didn’t realize quite how much until the last couple of weeks, when she’s become downright friendly. All the love I’ve tried to pour into her may have helped, too.
This afternoon, after feeding everyone, I spent time removing winter hair and any new burs from each horse who’d let me. The last horse I groomed was Mabel, who isn’t as fuzzy as Dusty or Apache, but needs de-winterizing. I noticed how nicely she stood still and let me spend time on her, even lowering her giant head and asking to have it rubbed (I didn’t touch her head for at least two years).
I finished up, opened the gate to her pen, and set the grooming bucket down to keep the gate from hitting her when she left. But she didn’t leave. With her ears forward and eyes bright, she lowered her head so I could massage her neck. I ended up just holding this animal who’s as tall as me at her shoulders in my arms with her leaning her neck on my shoulder and her head cradling me. Other horses walked by us, but she didn’t move.
I remained with her. We watched a rabbit flee from a Harrier, then watched the bird hunt all over our field, still calmly sharing love (or safety or whatever a horse would call it) with each other. It was the most peaceful time I’ve ever had with Mabel. Since I’d already exchanged hugs, love, and peace with Dusty and Apache, I was all full of endorphins.
It’s not always this way, but lately these animals have repaid me for my efforts with so much. It’s the way relationships should be, giving and taking love as needed. It helps to identify with the animals, perhaps.
The Hermits' Rest 