I first met Romeo shortly after he arrived at the rescue. I was asked to look at his feet since they were an accurate reflection of the terrible neglect he had suffered. He was in a stall with other horses in stalls on each side of him. They were all taken from the same place. I looked into the stall through the bars on the front wall and saw a very thin palomino with long matted hair. He was standing as far to the back of the stall as he could, trembling. He knew we were going to come in. I said to those who brought me there that we would not be trimming or even picking up his feet, he is terrified. I asked if I could be left alone with him, and they concurred. I slid the door open just enough to bring my presence to its threshold. I turned my back to him so my presence was not too great. From my heart, I asked if he would just breathe in my direction. I cannot say how much time passed before my peripheral vision caught him as he turned his head in my direction slightly and he sighed. I then sighed, stepped forward, and closed the door.
The next time I saw him, it was much the same as before with him fearful in the back of a stall, but I sensed the intensity of the fear was not as great. I entered as I did the last time but this time, I placed my right foot just slightly over the threshold presenting my side- still not looking at him. I asked from my heart for him to breathe toward my held-out hand, or if he could, to touch me. Again, time was not counted or perceived. I heard him lick and chew a few times, and he stepped toward me and touched my hand with his whiskers. I acknowledged him, thanked him in my heart and left.
Eventually, I did trim his feet a few times under sedation. They desperately needed attention, and his physical body and hooves were starting to respond to regular nourishment. Under mild sedation, they do learn. The goal is to work with them often and reduce the amount each time until it is no longer needed.
The last time I was there, the day of this writing, it had been at least a year, maybe longer since those initial experiences in the stall. He was loose in the indoor arena with his herd mates. I was taken there by a volunteer to trim all of them. Romeo was last in the group. He was visibly nervous and evaded my approach to greet him, as I do with every horse, before asking for their feet. He was not comfortable, not interested. I asked the handler if he was in the therapy program and she said, “no, because he was too difficult”. I asked her to please let me have his lead rope. I put my tools down and the lead rope was handed to me. I held it slack and asked him to walk with me, and he did. I lead him with the lead rope draped over only one of my fingers and felt him lock into me. He turned with my every turn, stopped when I did and waited for the next cue with expectation. He was light, smart and very expressive.
He was still evasive with allowing me to pick up his feet, so I asked him in my heart to give me an “in”- I said, “I’m listening, I want to help you”. He stretched out his neck and presented his left cheek. I touched it with my hand and there was my “in”… and from there I went slowly down his neck, shoulder, forearm and leg. He lifted his foot and let me pick it out and I placed it down carefully. We went through all the same movements on the right side, cheek first, and he began giving. Then I asked him if I could trim his feet. I handed the lead rope to the handler and asked her to keep it loose. I trimmed his left front, but again had to wait for him to give me access connecting my hand to his cheek, and slowly down to the hoof. Then it was the right side. As my fingertips made contact with his cheek, I felt the dark energy of his inner burden go through my fingers, arm and into my heart like electricity. It was heavy and I was finding it difficult to accept it all. He continued to dump it into me as I went down his leg and trimmed the other hoof. He was letting go, what could I do? I told him I was listening. I placed his foot down when I was done. He was quiet, had a calm look on his face and did not move. I turned to the handler and told her we were done. He gave me more than I ever expected, and I did not want to betray his trust.
We went into the welcome center for lunch, and everyone knew that my countenance had changed, and they asked what had happened and I told them. I was really not able to trim any more horses leaving my 2 friends who accompany me each month to finish the day.
When I came home, Tom and I sat at the table out on the deck with some coffee and he asked me how the day went. When I told him the details of what happened between me and Romeo, I could no longer suppress my tears. He told me to go out and see my horses, which I did. My mare, Maizie, came to me first. She stood by me quietly, aware of my inner struggle. Dash and Bo came over too. The 3 just stood all around me, and I was in their circle of protection. We were all quietly standing in the shelter, and tears were streaming down my cheeks. No words came from my lips- none were necessary. I touched each one with gratitude for their medicine, and returned to the house.
I have never had a horse that did not belong to me, trust me to the point of releasing the depths of his damaged soul into mine to this degree. I recognize this as an awesome privilege, but not all of the grief he passed over to me has been processed inside of me, and harder still, not all of his grief was given to me. It was a glimpse of the unseen made visible in another sense that I cannot fully describe with anything more than heavy and dark.
Through the weeks that passed I reflected upon this daily. I decided I needed some time off physically and emotionally. I cannot go to either rescue this month until I am rested inside and out. I have questions and feel I am at a crossroad. I go to these places to help and charge very little. Ethically it is the right thing to do, to give. Right? My struggle now is the rescues I go to are overcrowded. How can these damaged lives find true peace and rest? On the outside they look healed because the condition they were in when they arrived was so bad that the only place to go was up or die. But, what about the inside? The place we cannot see. The place Romeo so vividly allowed me to see.
In my observations over the years, the quest of rescuing horses from the auction or the kill pens or from desperate circumstances sometimes becomes an addiction. What power it can give the person holding the number and making the bids against the “kill buyer”. The elation one feels when you win against evil. Life instead of death. The story is recounted through social media. Photos are taken, stories are written in the office and the perceptions invoked on them by the human rescuers may not really reflect the truth. Funds need to be raised to continue, and the more horses there are, the more desperate that becomes. The supporters are rallied. The spotlight falls on the rescuer and the newly rescued, but the light soon fades, and the funds slow, and they once again enter the world of the unwanted and hope that life will triumph over death for the one or two lucky enough to be chosen that day.
They move from one place of exploitation to another in a different way for the exchange of something they cannot comprehend. Anyone who has spent any time with horses cannot deny their awesomeness and noble presence. Too many are kept on “life support” and are mere shadows of their true selves because someone thought life was better than death that day. To keep the story going. The funds coming in.
I have been trimming some of the worst cases for many years at the rescues. I bring students there so they can learn from the many different horses with respect to pathology and what kind of horsemanship skills are needed to work within their limitations. I have gained a wealth of knowledge about people and horses, truth and lies, genuine care and deception, the heart of volunteers, the horses who were truly saved and moved on to better homes, and the ones left to languish in their brokenness in body and in spirit. Pictures and stories of rescue occupy web sites and social media pages and their true stories from their perspective are unheard.
In my efforts to help Romeo, he told me more than I asked. He told me that he is misunderstood, that he is intelligent, but no one can hear his voice, no one is listening, no one has the time.
This was written May 15, 2013. I edited the original version that sat in my hard drive for 10 years because I was, quite honestly…venting at the time I wrote it. I knew things could be done differently. I know it is not that way at all rescues and I don’t want anyone to get the idea that it is. I also wanted Romeo’s communication to me to be heard. He didn’t give it to me for it to be hidden. He was speaking on behalf of others as well as himself. Perhaps it may spark an interest in you to help at a rescue. To be near a horse that stands out to you among the others and ask “Please tell me your story, I am listening”.
Palomino painting at top by Crista Forest Gold Horse Meadow
Rock Art, Realism Journal- http://realismjournal.com/?p=164
Every Horse Has A Story #3
It’s been 10 years since you first listened to Romeo. Did you go back? Did he share more with you? Can you tell us the rest of his story?
tears streaming down my cheeks...thank you for sharing this with us..