For ten years, I lived with 16 therapists.
There was no cost to see them. It was one of the benefits of where I worked - part of the salary package. They ranged in age, and experience. Some were completely unpredictable. Those were demanding, stubborn, fiery and would literally snort in derision if you did anything to cross them. We had a few young ones, too. They were untrained and skittish, easily spooked if you approached with the wrong attitude.
I went to school, with the understanding that I'd be a psychiatrist someday. Life took a different turn and I wandered from that path, but I gathered all my acquired skills in understanding behavior and used it in any session I had with these therapists. I was studying them probably more than they were studying me.
Of the sixteen, I actually connected with one of the older ones. He was probably the most stubborn, but I don't know - there was just some quality that he respected about me. I'd seek him out, put my hand on his shoulder and he would just let out a big sigh and melt, letting me lead the whole session as I saw fit.
He was taller than me, approximately 15 hands high, with gold champagne coloring. His mane was straw colored and his pretty brown eyes would soften at the sight of me. I'll never know why this particular "therapist" of mine let me call the shots while ignoring every other command from every other person. But he did. He simply allowed me to lead him around and loved our time together.
Of course, you realize that I'm not talking about traditional counselors, but yes - these sixteen horses were all the therapy I needed for ten years. There were mornings where I would open my front door and see three or four of these rebellious characters who had broken free from the stables, ending up right there on my front lawn- eating as much green grass as they could please.
"Ohhhhh you bad babies! What are you doing out here?!" I'd call out to them, but secretly laugh hysterically at the wranglers who would get the call from me, and have to come rein these unwilling conspirators back in. I sure as hell wasn't going to do it. I thought they were hilarious for breaking free every few months, and I kinda liked to know that they ended up on my front lawn.
If you haven't ever ridden a horse, I'm not sure if you would see the time with them as therapy, haha. They can be pretty intimidating, but as it is with most creatures, if you approach them with humble confidence, they'll usually form an understanding with you.
From the moment I'd approach the stable and smell the scent of sweet oats mixed with their dusty coats - I'd relax. Brushing them down and combing out their mane and tail had a very therapeutic quality for both rider and beast. It seemed to signal the beginning of the dance, where one partner would extend the offer to another, asking for the pleasure of their companionship.
Placing the bridle inside the mouth of the horse could be downright scary. Fingers holding metal in front of very large teeth that can easily bite - it's nerve-racking! But when a horse trusts you, they understand, accept, and that bit slides right back over their tongue. It really is a moment that always comes with a bit of relief. To know that they are willingly allowing you to place that leather over their ears, slide that metal into their mouths with the intent to lead them to your will, and not their own? It's an honor. I would always follow his willing acceptance up with a hug around the neck and a pat on the shoulder, acknowledging that I appreciated his compromise.
Don't think that it is all me requiring his subservience. On the contrary, it was a constant give and take. The most accurate representation of my service to him was when I would clean his hooves. I'd run my hand down his flank, letting him know exactly where I was, and exactly what I intended to do. Passing all the way down, I would give his ankles a little squeeze to bend his hoof and ask him to pick up his leg. He would let me place it on my knee and I'd go to work picking his hooves clean. It was strangely satisfying for me, despite the nastier nature of the job. But simply seeing how much discomfort I would relieve for him was so rewarding. I knew that the ride would be that much more pleasant for both of us.
A heavy saddle woud be carried from the barn to his stall, lifted high, and placed on his back. I would pause to quickly catch my breath, and wipe my brow. Being only 5'2", it was not an easy task for this small cowgirl. hehe But it was the end of the ritual. Once that saddle was secure, I was free to mount him, and I was seconds from tasting freedom.
... and then we would begin.
At least an hour of dancing. We would start inside the corral, a light walk - then picking up to a nice bouncy trot to warm him up. We might canter a bit, but it wouldn't be until we had freedom that I'd get him into a gallop. I wasn't the best horsewoman, but I was comfortable enough to find my rhythm and feel the connection. It would never feel like horse and rider with him. We were just one new creature. He could feel the slightest pressure from my thighs and respond. He'd listen for my kiss to get the signal to go faster. We never fought one another, we just rode. And it was brilliant.
It's the one thing I miss most, and the one thing I hope I can have again in this life. Hours of silence with an incredibly majestic beast, riding off into the sunset.
This might seem a funny report for my DreemPort Challenge, but it was a funny kind of week. I had high highs, and some interesting lows. But overall, I conquered the week and the slightly sorrowful stillness is at least calm. I can't wait for our next week, Dreemers. It's going to be fun, and I'm so glad to be able to finish well with you all. Be on the lookout for my post explaining what will happen this week! It will be posted tomorrow! ❤️
FIVE STARS, BABY 🤩
One more week left!!!!
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