It is 4 a.m. Nature calls. Junior (dog) wants a quick dart outside for the same reason. I open the door for him. The silvery landscape reflects the waning quarter moon. It is cold, just above freezing; I don my warmest robe. My thoughts go to the warm body in the stable a few meters away.
Patas Blancas (PB) somehow got his tooth damaged, probably by a kick from the frisky filly. In recent days he has refused to do his morning groundwork. Manny tries to force him, to yank and drag him by his halter to the exercise ring. During our predawn visits I noticed subtle changes, a restlessness. His usual calmness is missing. Thankfully, Manny noticed the blackened rough tooth and the inflamed gumline. Although my goal is for my horses to be bitless, thankfully Manny is still using the bit. In preparation for their daily ride he was working the bit and noticed the tooth.
Manny is excellent with the horse, knowing how to read him at least at the gross level, and caring enough to maintain a loving relationship with the horse. The men in his family have passed down horsemanship traditions for generations.
I have always loved horses. Perhaps this is my spirit animal. I do not have generations of horsemanship behind me; Modern generations of this immigrant Italian family have been suburban dwellers, tradesmen, foreigners to wide open spaces and the livestock that dwell there.
The shape of my universe suddently changed, well past retirement age. Now I own a horse, and need to catch up on a generation or two of equine vacuum.
As a result of my online research on this matter, previously vague impressions of how smart horses are have come home to roost atop four iron shoes. Years of mind training under Eastern teachers has opened my mind to see with tools beyond the viscous orbs that easily expose my face to its Sicilian roots. PB and I have been 'talking', or as Mr. Spock would say, 'mind melding'.
I am showing Manny that there is another way. When he pulls on the halter, stretching the horses neck out to its full length, ears back, eyes bulging, I see a child in tears dragged by the arm towards something scary or away from something precious. No, no, no, my heart screams. There is a better way. Stop. Draw close to PB's face. There is a problem here; how can we fix it? PB will relax, calm down, and agree to walk with Manny to the exercise ring. Unless there is a problem.
In the six months that PB has been with us, we have been building a friendship. He is still a child, with baby teeth, and so has needed educating. He had a tendency to knock about with me as he would a friend in the herd. In his playful shoving, nipping and hugging he has the advantage over me by oh, say, 880 pounds. In the search to educate myself on educating a horse, I turned to the web. After trying to implement a lot of poor advice found there, I finally stumbled upon the Tao of Horsemanship. Finally I found a horse language I can understand.
In recent weeks I have risen early, donned my warmest clothes, and sat out in the corral for a little alone time with my friend, PB. During that same time we acquired a young friend for him, responding to his need for a herd. She, who could have spent another six months at her mother's side learning and loving, is younger than he and in fact doesn't even have all her baby teeth grown in. She knows nothing of humans, except for observing the wranglers who work the cowherds on the open plains where she was born. PB is now her teacher. And so it is that in the madrugada, the dark silent chill, I sit and wait for two large shadows to slowly emerge from the far end of the corral. We hang out. We learn each other's intent. We build trust. We love on each other in our fumbling new language.
This morning I am thinking about a toothache. He has spent the night alone in his stable, while the filly stands behind the corral fence a few feet away. It is dark in his stall. There is no nicker for me today. His head hangs low. Last night, on the long-distance ecommendation of a horse dentist in the city, I bought a solution with which to flush PB's mouth and apply an antibacterial. The good news is that in time this broken tooth will grow out, followed by a permanent tooth. Now he lifts his head to the level of the top-most slat and greets me. He plants a kiss on my cheek, with the soft nuzzle of his nose. I open my mind to him, as I cup his chin in my hand. I listen with him to the silence of the night. A dog is barking in the distance. A mile away the whisper of a truck rumbles by on the highway. Insects rustle the dry grasses. We notice the shadowy cats milling about, energized by my presence. Junior lifts his paws to my thigh, tail wagging, bladder now drained. PB begins to lick and nibble; I hear the grinding of teeth. This is the sound of calm contentment. The mouthwash seems to have made an improvement in his discomfort. He thanks me for my unexpected visit; predawn is still a couple hours away.
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