Wheelchair bound horse gentler...

I was on a plane for the last two days and came across this article on Stanford Addison, an Arapahoe horseman who is confined to a wheel chair and "gentles" horses in a day.

It's beautifully written and very inspiring to me for more than one reason.

Not many folks know, but my father hosts a great deal ceremonies for healing - sweat lodges and long dances, although he is not, by birth, from an Indian tribe.

This Arapahoe man melds horses and spirit. He hosts summer camps with ceremony, with sweat lodges...

.....

Working with horses, for me, is intensely spiritual. It's not that I feel closer to God, per se, I feel more alive. More connected to some core element of myself.

Something about this story linked into that feeling of spiritual connection that I've been a bit relunctant to explore. Maybe because it feels too childish (which is tragic, when I think of it) or naive, or even dangerous. But it's still there, this feeling, waiting to be acknowledged.

For me, working with horses is more than animal training - or rider training. It's not just a ride, it's not just a goal, it's not just a challenge. It's deeper and I don't really understand why it should be. It's a tremendous amount of work, unpredictable, hot, sweaty, and at times a frustrating, irritating, disappointing day. Yet it's like cool water when you don't realize how thirsty you are. A precious gift, simple and satisfying.

.....



I can't imagine a life without horses now. It's changing me, changing how I look at things, bringing me to a contemplative space that's rich with passion and wonder. It's something I won't lose. But I have to find balance with it.

The balance is to not forget to keep my feet on the ground while my heart is in the sky. To be firm and consistent while not letting go of the exhilaration. To be a poet and a wrangler, braiding thought and action together in a sweet grass rope, and using it to rein my horse...



Read the article if you can.

Gone

This afternoon, Spirit was put to sleep.

I've been with two dogs when we had to finally let them go. I thought that this would be easier, I guess because Spirit wasn't my horse and because horses seem to come and go so much more than dogs. People trade horses, get horses specifically for certain sports, and only a few seem to have a strong connection to their horse.

Spirit, if he had been a person, would have been one of those people with a strong independent streak. The guy you can never buy a gift for because in a way, you never can know him that well. He had the distance that dominant people tend to have, the distance that makes them a leader also keeps them apart from you. Confident and bored with less confident people, but tolerant none the less.


But in the last half hour I was with him, he welcomed my stroking on his neck, acting comforted and quiet when I stroked him, pawing the ground in discomfort when I didn't. That wasn't normal for him, he hadn't liked being "petted" much in the last year. He was top horse in the herd and petting was for less dominant, wimpier horses. Yet now, in pain and alone, he was like he had been when I first met him. Accepting of comfort and companionship.

When Rudy arrived he led him to a grassy area where Spirit half heartedly nibbled at some grass. This was not normal, usually he'd fight to keep his nose in a green patch of grass. Now he took a bite almost out of habit.

As he lay down for the last time we stroked his neck and told Dr. Ball about him. About how he was great on the trail. About how anyone could ride him. About how he was in team penning for Rudy - plenty of cow sense but not the athleticism needed for the sport. About how he led every where he went.

We listened to the last shuddering breath leave him as he leaped into the sky, free of the pain in his gut, free of the halter, racing beyond the fences and into the fields that go on forever.


Spirit, we'll miss you.

Update on Spirit

Spirit's been in the horse equivalent of the icu for four days. He's stable but not progressing. The obstruction isn't breaking up. They have to stick a tube down his nose to remove the fluids they are putting into his system because horses can't throw up.

Horses, anatomically, are a one way road. What goes in one end must come out the other end. Otherwise it builds up in the stomach until it distends and ruptures, resulting in a terrible death.

We had a bit of hope for a moment when it looked like Spirit was absorbing some fluid. Less was coming out than what was going in. But that was just a moment's repise, apparently. Instead, he's stuck in nuetral. And with the costs involved in ICU, it's time to stop. The bills are already several times what this horse is worth... in dollars. And there's no guarantee that any more will change the end result. Some folks say if you can't turn it around in 48 hours, its time to stop.

I'm going to head over there to be with him for these last few hours. I wish I could do something, anything. I wish I could reach into his body and break apart that rock. I wish colic was cured with a kiss and a prayer.

And I hope I can be a good friend, in the end.