The Heart of a Horse

A horrible accident reveals incredible beauty

Buck, on a good day working cows with Chanoah

We almost lost a horse at the ranch yesterday. Buck, the dominant horse in all situations, tried to jump across a cattle guard. His right hind leg caught in the concrete ridges at the far end, as told by the blood on the stone. The nearby pools of yet more blood, hair, and disturbed dirt told a tale of a violent injury and a heroic struggle. We found him a hundred yards away, standing up, back leg bent and mangled, trembling in pain.

The emergency vets came and determined that he should probably be put down, but his owner and his trainer insisted everything possible be done to save the horse. He is now at the clinic and expected to live, and with extensive work, be rehabilitated. The jury is out on whether he will be rideable, but there is so much more to a horse than riding.

Such was the week. I haven’t ridden Jasper. One day it poured down rain. I sat in the barn and did paperwork to the muffled sound of the horses eating breakfast in their stalls, the glorious smell of horse and rain and leather mingling with that of my coffee, and frequent breaks to visit Jasper in his warm, cozy stall made for a beautiful day in the office.

Our next ride, which would have had to be a short one, was interrupted by scheduling. The arrangement of horses is in flux right now. There are 15 horses, two pet steers, and a lovable donkey in addition to over a hundred cows that need grazing room. Two new horses are on their way from Nevada. I can barely keep up with which animals are in which spaces.

I had not accounted for the time it would take to find and feed Jasper, who was moved away from the barn across the street, and after feeding and having a long conversation with him, I spent my remaining limited time visiting places on the farm unavailable to me when on horseback.

Yesterday I was itching for a ride. I arrived early, set out my tack, and went across the street with Chanoah, the horse trainer, to feed and gather Jasper and his friend Tex. Then we found Buck and of course, there would be no riding, only tending to this emergency and making sure all the other animals got their care.

The injury was horrible. “It’s awful,” I kept texting my husband, “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Chanoah cried through the morning, Buck being one of her favorite horses. I held myself together, trying not to let my brain go back to another early February morning when I was 13 years old and found my beloved horse ill. My horse died.

I was frankly surprised that Buck was alive after seeing the blood on the cattle guard and the trail left behind his struggle. I patted his chest and head, and told him he was a good boy. I was calm, stoic. But when Buck, bandaged and pumped full of antibiotics and pain relievers, followed Chanoah onto the horse trailer, leaving pools of scarlet blood in his hoofprint, I broke.

We ask a lot of horses. They could, of course, kill us on a whim if they chose, but they don’t. Seeing Buck bravely walk, putting his enormous weight on his bent leg, mangled hoof because Chanoah asked him to, was just too much.

“If anyone doubts the heart of the horse, they should see this,” I tried to say to the veterinarian.

She nodded. “Horses are incredible animals.”

With Buck safely tied and stalled in the trailer, my own emotions let loose. I went back to Jasper, who was crowded at a fence with his buddies, watching the scene nervously. I went in and put my arms around Jasper’s neck, rubbed the soft place under his mane, and made him promise me he would never, ever, ever try to jump or cross a cattle guard (not that he’d have the opportunity after this).

Jasper hugged me back, pulling his big head into my back. Have you been hugged by a horse? It’s real.

I started walking back to my car, and Jasper followed me. I stopped, and he stopped. I hugged him again and again. He played with my hair with his silly mouth.

His buddies were up to something, and Jasper turned to look at them. But he didn’t move.

I took a picture of him then, to mark that moment when he deliberately chose me over his horsiness. He stayed by my side until I told him to go on.

Looking toward his buddies, staying by my side

JOURNEY IN PLACE

This publication was meant to record some of my work in the course, “Journey in Place,” taught by Janisse Ray. Just as the title of her course holds two seemingly disparate words together, “Riding with Jasper” this week reflects the intense forward motion of just standing still beside this horse.

There’s something else going on. This week marks the 25th anniversary of my brother Robert’s death, unexpected, accidental. He was my only sibling. 25 years? Sometimes it feels like no time has passed, but for 25 years now I have walked, one foot at a time, into a life without his physical presence. I feel that bloody hoofprint with all my heart.

This week, I have moved forward in my horsemanship, my bond with the dirt under my feet, literally bloodied, and my reckoning with trauma.

My brother Robert riding Spade, my second horse

WRITING PROMPT: CAN WE EVER GO HOME AGAIN?

I don’t know. I know the word “home” comes to me when I spend time with Jasper and the other horses. It also comes to me when I’m on a river, in a salt marsh (which is odd because I did not grow up near a salt marsh), or just standing in my yard.

Sometimes, even when I’m home I feel lost. We all do. I’m not much for giving advice, as I always say right before giving advice, but for anyone searching for their own sweet home spot, I suggest digging into your past and remembering what you loved doing when you were a child, before age 13 when the hormones set in. Then do it.

Build the pillow fort. Walk barefooted in the yard. Ride the horse.

Me, a little girl with a horse, somewhere in Tennessee