TREASURE HUNT
By: Debbie La-Haye, UK
This article is dedicated to Spencer and all of us who have ever known what it is to love a horse and the horses we have loved. May horses ever be our safe space, and we theirs.
Out in the green field, the man and the horse stand absorbed by each other as he love-bombs Sushi with words and gentle caresses.
“I love you. You’re wonderful. How can I help you? Let me know if I can do anything for you because you’re the one. It’s all about you”.
I lean on the fence nearby, enjoying the reflected glow of the peaceful partnership. Spencer turns to me, his eyes aglow. “He’s SUCH a lovely doggy!” “He is,” I agree. We watch Sushi standing relaxed in the grass, head low and eyes half closed, his amber hair reflecting the sunlight. “Shall we go and visit Commander next?”
In my world, Sushi is a horse. In Spencer’s world, he is often a doggy, and I’m not going to disagree. Spencer’s world is sometimes cruel and scary as dementia muddles his thinking and perception. But with horses, he feels safe. In his younger days, he had worked at a yard in Newmarket, riding out racehorses. While his mind now plays tricks, his body recognizes the smells, the sounds, and the sight of the horses he has loved, and he is right back in a familiar, happy place.
The horses seem to share that happy place of safety when they’re with him. I noticed it from his very first visit. Now, on our way to Commander, Goldie intercepts. Goldie is brave, curious, sensitive, and super reactive. She comes from a line of strong females. Her mum was a diamond, and she’s a chip off that precious stone, getting shaped as she journeys through life. I don’t encourage our visitors to kiss the horses on the nose. I’ve seen too many times horses tolerating well-meant advances on the most sensitive parts of their bodies, not feeling they have the right to say no. Goldie does know her rights and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. She’s not the sort of horse you’d want to plant an unwelcome kiss on. But today she offers her muzzle up to Spencer, and I watch slightly in awe as she accepts a kiss and then stands listening to his words of reassurance. The heartfelt words are just for her, not to impress anyone, or prove anything, or seek answers to self-centred questions. Like Sushi, when we leave her, she is relaxed and soft, the feistiness replaced with peace.
“I love you. You’re wonderful. How can I help you? Let me know if I can do anything for you because you’re the one. It’s all about you”.
I lean on the fence nearby, enjoying the reflected glow of the peaceful partnership. Spencer turns to me, his eyes aglow. “He’s SUCH a lovely doggy!” “He is,” I agree. We watch Sushi standing relaxed in the grass, head low and eyes half closed, his amber hair reflecting the sunlight. “Shall we go and visit Commander next?”
In my world, Sushi is a horse. In Spencer’s world, he is often a doggy, and I’m not going to disagree. Spencer’s world is sometimes cruel and scary as dementia muddles his thinking and perception. But with horses, he feels safe. In his younger days, he had worked at a yard in Newmarket, riding out racehorses. While his mind now plays tricks, his body recognizes the smells, the sounds, and the sight of the horses he has loved, and he is right back in a familiar, happy place.
The horses seem to share that happy place of safety when they’re with him. I noticed it from his very first visit. Now, on our way to Commander, Goldie intercepts. Goldie is brave, curious, sensitive, and super reactive. She comes from a line of strong females. Her mum was a diamond, and she’s a chip off that precious stone, getting shaped as she journeys through life. I don’t encourage our visitors to kiss the horses on the nose. I’ve seen too many times horses tolerating well-meant advances on the most sensitive parts of their bodies, not feeling they have the right to say no. Goldie does know her rights and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. She’s not the sort of horse you’d want to plant an unwelcome kiss on. But today she offers her muzzle up to Spencer, and I watch slightly in awe as she accepts a kiss and then stands listening to his words of reassurance. The heartfelt words are just for her, not to impress anyone, or prove anything, or seek answers to self-centred questions. Like Sushi, when we leave her, she is relaxed and soft, the feistiness replaced with peace.
Lost Gems
Knowing how the horses respond to Spencer means that I’m comfortable for us to walk amongst them, an experience that I’m lucky enough to experience every day but that I don’t share with everyone. It might seem like the most undemanding thing in the world for the horses. However, I see it as a privilege to enter their space, aware that any change in their environment affects them. Their prey animal awareness is sensitive to the most subtle shifts, which keeps them safe. I can be responsible for the energy I bring to the horses, but I can’t control the energy other people bring. I can, however, choose whether or not their energy goes out into the field. The energy of the herd changes from day to day, depending on changes in the environment, like the weather, or cattle moving on the neighbouring farm. The energy also changes because horses have their own inner stuff going on. So, I need to check in with them at the start of the day to ensure it’s a good day for visitors.
I’m lucky enough to live alongside the horses, so my first check of the day is out of the bedroom window, noticing if they all seem settled and physically well. Then, it’s out to the field to feel what’s going on. As I walk amongst them, Dollar checks in with me by softly touching his nose into my hands, closely followed by Goldie, with Louis just a little way behind, just as they have done for the past few months. You might think that would make me happy; humans love a physical acknowledgment of connection. But there’s a sadness to it. The truth of this seeking out of comfort through touch is that, a year ago, this little band of three was a herd of 6. In the past 12 months, each of them has lost a best friend. Dollar and Goldie are both big characters who, 12 months ago, would have checked in with me with a raised head acknowledgment across the field, busy with herd life with their best friends Bilbo and Tashunka. Louis would have connected with me with a soft gaze from under his forelock as he grazed by the side of his best friend, Amee. It was a herd of three strongly bonded pairs. But, as Queen Elizabeth II once said, grief is the price you pay for love. Over the last year, we have had to say goodbye to horses who had been with our two- and four-legged family for fourteen, fifteen and twenty-five years, respectively, as they succumbed in their turn, to various age-related conditions. We have shared our grief, the four of us. And now, when I visit in the morning, the three check in with me as three individuals slightly adrift, gradually finding their new solidarity after the huge shift. Yes, horses have their own stuff going on.
But today, they’re giving me the feeling that they are ok to receive friends. The herd energy is soft, curious, and inviting. They have no expectations of big groups arriving with scattered energy and an agenda to learn about themselves, that’s not how we work. We are just friends, who will tread gently in the horses’ home.
Knowing how the horses respond to Spencer means that I’m comfortable for us to walk amongst them, an experience that I’m lucky enough to experience every day but that I don’t share with everyone. It might seem like the most undemanding thing in the world for the horses. However, I see it as a privilege to enter their space, aware that any change in their environment affects them. Their prey animal awareness is sensitive to the most subtle shifts, which keeps them safe. I can be responsible for the energy I bring to the horses, but I can’t control the energy other people bring. I can, however, choose whether or not their energy goes out into the field. The energy of the herd changes from day to day, depending on changes in the environment, like the weather, or cattle moving on the neighbouring farm. The energy also changes because horses have their own inner stuff going on. So, I need to check in with them at the start of the day to ensure it’s a good day for visitors.
I’m lucky enough to live alongside the horses, so my first check of the day is out of the bedroom window, noticing if they all seem settled and physically well. Then, it’s out to the field to feel what’s going on. As I walk amongst them, Dollar checks in with me by softly touching his nose into my hands, closely followed by Goldie, with Louis just a little way behind, just as they have done for the past few months. You might think that would make me happy; humans love a physical acknowledgment of connection. But there’s a sadness to it. The truth of this seeking out of comfort through touch is that, a year ago, this little band of three was a herd of 6. In the past 12 months, each of them has lost a best friend. Dollar and Goldie are both big characters who, 12 months ago, would have checked in with me with a raised head acknowledgment across the field, busy with herd life with their best friends Bilbo and Tashunka. Louis would have connected with me with a soft gaze from under his forelock as he grazed by the side of his best friend, Amee. It was a herd of three strongly bonded pairs. But, as Queen Elizabeth II once said, grief is the price you pay for love. Over the last year, we have had to say goodbye to horses who had been with our two- and four-legged family for fourteen, fifteen and twenty-five years, respectively, as they succumbed in their turn, to various age-related conditions. We have shared our grief, the four of us. And now, when I visit in the morning, the three check in with me as three individuals slightly adrift, gradually finding their new solidarity after the huge shift. Yes, horses have their own stuff going on.
But today, they’re giving me the feeling that they are ok to receive friends. The herd energy is soft, curious, and inviting. They have no expectations of big groups arriving with scattered energy and an agenda to learn about themselves, that’s not how we work. We are just friends, who will tread gently in the horses’ home.
Ellie & Louis
The Fortune of Friendship
One of those friends today is Ellie, so I know Louis will get some comfort. Louis is a horse who likes to stand apart, assessing what’s safe, and often staying back. Ellie is one of his true companions, a young person he feels safe with. So many people over the years have wanted to fix Louis, desperate to make a connection, to touch him, as if that could somehow rescue him from his apartness. They don’t see that he’s actually ok. Ellie sees him. She understands what it’s like to want your own space that is quiet, calm, and not invaded by other people’s ideas of how you should be. On the days that Louis’ choice is to walk away, Ellie shows gentle acceptance, not wishing to change him. When she visits, there are a lot of days when Louis chooses to step forward, shining like the gem Ellie knows him to be. Ellie has never been to one of our mindfulness sessions, but as I see her standing with Louis’ head in her arms, I am reminded of one of the phrases our mindfulness teacher uses at the end of a meditation. “Nowhere to go, nothing to do, nothing to attain, no choices to make. Just this breath, then this breath, then this breath.” With both of them absorbed in the moment, the space Ellie shares with Louis is empty of expectations and pressure, so there is plenty of room for it to fill up with love.
I stand a little way off, not wanting to intrude on their precious bubble, the pair of them like a living meditation. Thinking about mindfulness, my mind travels back to the session we did just after Louis’s best friend died. Amee became ill on a Thursday, and our mindfulness group participants that day went home with the sadness of knowing he might not make it. The following week it felt right for us to go to the paddocks and offer a loving kindness meditation, to say goodbye to Amee and to offer our support to Louis, feeling lost without his soulmate. In preparation, I placed the chairs in a circle outside the field where Louis was grazing with Commander and Sushi. All our horses are familiar with meditations and know what the chair circle means. They can choose to come over if they want or keep their distance.
By the time the six of us walked out to the field half an hour later, Louis had left Commander and Sushi to lay down closer to the circle, curled up in the buttercups. Beccy began the meditation, using the ancient words of the Metta Prayer to send out well wishes to all living beings, naming in turn some of the beings we were particularly thinking of that week. When she reached the part offering loving kindness to Louis, “May Louis be happy, may Louis be peaceful, may Louis be well,” he lay flat on his side. As the meditation gently came to a close, “May all living things be free,” he calmly got up and walked away. We sat together in silence for a while, feeling the enormity of what just happened, a horse seeming to choose to accept our offering of love and compassion in such profound circumstances. Then Serena said, “Look up!” In the sapphire blue sky above, was a heart-shaped cloud. The feeling of connection with Louis that morning was strong, and now the universe was joining in too.
Although we don’t often set out to the field with the purpose of learning about ourselves, there are definitely times that we will, as life is one long journey of learning from our experiences and each other. Only last week Robert felt a familiar pang of rejection as Elvis walked away from the offered brush. “This always happens,” he said sadly. “What have I done wrong?” I couldn’t answer for Elvis, so I suggested we wait a moment to see where he was going. It turned out that he was thirsty and went to get a drink of water. Robert laughed with relief realizing Elvis’s departure had nothing to do with anything he had done. Elvis was soon on his way back to choose his brush once he’d taken care of his thirst. Robert admitted that he too, was feeling thirsty but hadn’t taken the time to have a drink. Lessons about assumptions AND listening to your body, two for the price of one! There are indeed many pearls of wisdom to be had amongst life with the ponies.
One of those friends today is Ellie, so I know Louis will get some comfort. Louis is a horse who likes to stand apart, assessing what’s safe, and often staying back. Ellie is one of his true companions, a young person he feels safe with. So many people over the years have wanted to fix Louis, desperate to make a connection, to touch him, as if that could somehow rescue him from his apartness. They don’t see that he’s actually ok. Ellie sees him. She understands what it’s like to want your own space that is quiet, calm, and not invaded by other people’s ideas of how you should be. On the days that Louis’ choice is to walk away, Ellie shows gentle acceptance, not wishing to change him. When she visits, there are a lot of days when Louis chooses to step forward, shining like the gem Ellie knows him to be. Ellie has never been to one of our mindfulness sessions, but as I see her standing with Louis’ head in her arms, I am reminded of one of the phrases our mindfulness teacher uses at the end of a meditation. “Nowhere to go, nothing to do, nothing to attain, no choices to make. Just this breath, then this breath, then this breath.” With both of them absorbed in the moment, the space Ellie shares with Louis is empty of expectations and pressure, so there is plenty of room for it to fill up with love.
I stand a little way off, not wanting to intrude on their precious bubble, the pair of them like a living meditation. Thinking about mindfulness, my mind travels back to the session we did just after Louis’s best friend died. Amee became ill on a Thursday, and our mindfulness group participants that day went home with the sadness of knowing he might not make it. The following week it felt right for us to go to the paddocks and offer a loving kindness meditation, to say goodbye to Amee and to offer our support to Louis, feeling lost without his soulmate. In preparation, I placed the chairs in a circle outside the field where Louis was grazing with Commander and Sushi. All our horses are familiar with meditations and know what the chair circle means. They can choose to come over if they want or keep their distance.
By the time the six of us walked out to the field half an hour later, Louis had left Commander and Sushi to lay down closer to the circle, curled up in the buttercups. Beccy began the meditation, using the ancient words of the Metta Prayer to send out well wishes to all living beings, naming in turn some of the beings we were particularly thinking of that week. When she reached the part offering loving kindness to Louis, “May Louis be happy, may Louis be peaceful, may Louis be well,” he lay flat on his side. As the meditation gently came to a close, “May all living things be free,” he calmly got up and walked away. We sat together in silence for a while, feeling the enormity of what just happened, a horse seeming to choose to accept our offering of love and compassion in such profound circumstances. Then Serena said, “Look up!” In the sapphire blue sky above, was a heart-shaped cloud. The feeling of connection with Louis that morning was strong, and now the universe was joining in too.
Although we don’t often set out to the field with the purpose of learning about ourselves, there are definitely times that we will, as life is one long journey of learning from our experiences and each other. Only last week Robert felt a familiar pang of rejection as Elvis walked away from the offered brush. “This always happens,” he said sadly. “What have I done wrong?” I couldn’t answer for Elvis, so I suggested we wait a moment to see where he was going. It turned out that he was thirsty and went to get a drink of water. Robert laughed with relief realizing Elvis’s departure had nothing to do with anything he had done. Elvis was soon on his way back to choose his brush once he’d taken care of his thirst. Robert admitted that he too, was feeling thirsty but hadn’t taken the time to have a drink. Lessons about assumptions AND listening to your body, two for the price of one! There are indeed many pearls of wisdom to be had amongst life with the ponies.
The End of the Rainbow
But I think Spencer has struck gold. We’re walking back down the field now, with Tashunka devotedly following us. She was the latest recipient of his constant stream of affirmations and kisses. We stop for a moment as he has something else to tell her.
“I love you, you’re wonderful, don’t worry because you’ve got good people to look after you who love you. I’m just a silly old fool, but you are wonderful. Let me know if I can do anything for you. You can do whatever you choose because you’re the one. It’s all about you.”
Spencer is not interested in what the horses can teach us. That veers into matters of the head, and sometimes his head doesn’t serve him so well anymore. But dementia hasn’t robbed him of a pure heart connection, as Tashunka’s silver nose pressed into his chest, testifies. There’s no need to intellectualize with word labels when you’ve got a heart hotline between beautiful spirits.
Spencer knows the horses are jewels scattered through the pasture, open to receive love if we bring it to them. And if we do, their sparkle will reflect it right back at us.
Horses, doggys, they’re all just other words for love. And that is Spencer’s gold. ~*~
But I think Spencer has struck gold. We’re walking back down the field now, with Tashunka devotedly following us. She was the latest recipient of his constant stream of affirmations and kisses. We stop for a moment as he has something else to tell her.
“I love you, you’re wonderful, don’t worry because you’ve got good people to look after you who love you. I’m just a silly old fool, but you are wonderful. Let me know if I can do anything for you. You can do whatever you choose because you’re the one. It’s all about you.”
Spencer is not interested in what the horses can teach us. That veers into matters of the head, and sometimes his head doesn’t serve him so well anymore. But dementia hasn’t robbed him of a pure heart connection, as Tashunka’s silver nose pressed into his chest, testifies. There’s no need to intellectualize with word labels when you’ve got a heart hotline between beautiful spirits.
Spencer knows the horses are jewels scattered through the pasture, open to receive love if we bring it to them. And if we do, their sparkle will reflect it right back at us.
Horses, doggys, they’re all just other words for love. And that is Spencer’s gold. ~*~
