An Affirmation of a Life Shared with Animals.
March 15, 2024 / Anna Blake / 73 Comments
It’s springtime in the Rockies. The time change was last weekend, so I’m waking up at three am now, but there’s more light in the evening. I can see tiny bits of green if I bend over for a close look. Earlier this week we were out in shirtsleeves and now we’re halfway through a thirty-six-hour snowstorm. The horses are exhausted. It’s a dangerous time of year to be a horse, especially an older one.
On Tuesday, I had a carcinoma removed from my nose. It took a few injections into that fleshy part of the bridge of my nose. Bad joke, I’ve already had so many pre-cancerous growths burned off, that you can practically see bone. But this time, they carved a bit out and tested it to see if they got it all. They didn’t, so more shots and deeper this time. I peeked in a mirror and saw a pea-sized hole. Better to scare children, I think. The second dig got it all, so they pulled the skin tight and put eight stitches up the center of my nose. It’s sore, it feels broken.
My first broken nose was courtesy of a Suffolk ram when I was seven. What? Your dad didn’t make you show sheep at the county fair? You didn’t get dragged around the arena, people in the stands shrieking with laughter. Because the ram kicked out with each stride to free himself while you were too stubborn to let go? That was over sixty years ago, and it’s strange how little I’ve changed.
Of course, I wear hats and sunscreen now. They tell me the damage was done when we were kids. Boys wore caps, but no one worried about a little girl’s skin on a Midwest farm back then. It was a good day if I had a shirt on. Looking at the bruised and swollen mess in the mirror, it’s still a good trade for those summer days, hiding out with the barn cats, and running with the farm dogs. The unforgettable feel of the sun-warm flanks of a horse under my bare legs, the view from their backs, and inevitably, the view from the ground up at them. Let this fresh scar remind me of my wild luck. I knew the life I wanted, always powered by horses, always told I’d have to get serious one day. Now I’m a gray mare and I think I’ve been serious every day.
A swollen purple nose would be enough, but it seems the older we get, the more the universe likes to play games with the stouthearted. On my surgery day, I woke up with a start of a cold. By evening, just as the injections were wearing off, I started sneezing and sniveling. Is it a headache killing me or has my nose swollen shut? There were so many symptoms to choose from. I was congested but I couldn’t touch my nose, much less blow it, so it constantly dripped while I dabbed a tissue like a maiden aunt. And I was mouth-breathing and drooling a bit. There was a crusty white lace drooping down my chin. If I were the sort of woman who got by on good looks, I’d be in trouble. But back in the days before sunscreen, I traded society’s judgment for the good opinion of my horses and dogs. They tell me I’m a goddess. Even now.
Does this essay seem self-indulgent? It is, and I’m sentimental tonight; it’s the fourteenth anniversary of my first blog. This is what I’ve done every Thursday night since 2010, so I could publish every Friday morning, in sickness and in health. No matter how my nose felt. I’ve posted from dozens of different states and quite a few foreign countries. Wild luck, stubbornness, and horses. Still, an intoxicating combination.
I’ve been training horses for so long now that many of my clients no longer ride. Some are nursing their last horse, and some have retired from horses entirely. I thought we’d all still be here. Other new clients come, of course, and life goes on. I know it will end as it started—me and horses.
Horses aren’t a romantic job. Too much loss, too little rest. Some horses have been difficult beyond reason, some would never be okay. Some horses are hard to love, but to do the best work with horses, love is necessary to sustain the ridiculous amount of patience required. Nothing less would survive. Rescue rehabs, client horses, personal horses; each life a gamble of resilience and loss. Work never ends, money never stretches far enough, and some of my joints are downright noisy. Worst of all, every horse story ends the same way.
Horses are heartbreakers. That knowledge is as constant as bucking bales and mucking pens. Several times today, between Nyquil naps, I shuffled out to the barn, careful of icy spots. The chill felt good on my nose as I filled hay bags and raked wet manure into mushy piles. When my fingertips started to ache, I came in to warm up. The horses are subdued by the cold. I’ve thrown so much hay that no one wants to eat. I know it’ll be gone by morning.
The water tanks are full. I take a last look, gingerly wiping my nose on my glove. Is the goat too quiet? He has a peg leg from sleeping with horses when he was little. So I drag an extra bag of shavings and spread it out for him in his special corner. If you have ever opened a bag of shavings, you know it’s a graceless task. I finish his little nest and look at the goat, who ignores me, expecting no less.
There is something about howling storms, trudging in snow deeper than my boots out to a dark barn. The pull is even stronger. Horses are as they have always been, but I’ve changed. When I was little, they were my magical escape. This kind of selfishness doesn’t last long. Horses are fragile and soon their wellbeing takes more time than our daydreams. We pay in a hundred ways for each shared breath, each view of them grazing. I’m not saying that a life of service to a few horses, an elderly donkey, and a goat with a limp makes me special. It’s what we all do, give or take a few chickens. No one considers their animals a mere hobby.
Caring for animals in any weather is a sweet habit. Like yoga or meditation, horse care can be a spiritual practice. To take less and give more. The work that we do is our prayer. It’s a small toehold against the world’s problems. It isn’t all we can do, but it’s a start. We can tidy up a corner of life whether we made the mess or not. And nod to others doing the same. Let tired muscles be our amen.
This storm will pass, as they all do. My grateful nose will heal, and I’ll post my blog and go out to do chores. It’ll take extra time if I’m lucky. Later, tucked in bed with the dogs already asleep, I’ll hold a wish for my horses and for yours. For old dogs and one-eared cats. Good night to the world that needs our care more than ever.
…
Relaxed and Forward Training by Anna Blake is no longer on Facebook because of repeated hacking. If you appreciate my writing, please share, subscribe to this blog, or join us at The Barn School.
The Barn School, is a social and educational site, along with member sharing and our infamous Happy Hour. Anna teaches courses like Calming Signals and Affirmative Training. Everyone’s welcome.
Want more? Become a sustaining member, a “Barnie.” Subscribe to our online training group with affirmative demonstration videos, audio blogs, daily quotes, free participation in “group lessons”, and live chats with Anna. Become part of the most supportive group of like-minded horsepeople anywhere.
Visit annablake.com to find archived blogs, purchase signed books, schedule a live consultation, subscribe for email delivery of this blog, or ask a question about the art and science of working with horses.
Affirmative training is the fine art of saying yes.